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moonchild1 · 2 months

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jeon jungkook fic rec list (Ⅹ)

yup i've hit you with another list and once again i had so much fun putting it together... i was away for a bit but that spark came back and i'm back in action... this list holds so many amazing fics i've read it's alot of different types of storylines and some new genres i wanted to try out and i am so excited to go down that road with these new genres i haven't explored yet, but please do enjoy this list there's so many great fics here you will get lost in it i know it did, my next list should be out by next month i want to take time to read as many as i can and get back all that excitement so the next one might take a while... since these fics are so outstanding we can't forget to give all the love and support to the incredible authors who have taken the time to plan and write these fics without them we wouldn't get to read such beautiful and entertaining fics so please so them all the love and support in the world cause they truly deserve it leave them a nice comment, like and reblog the posts so others can discover them too and give them a follow and check out their masterlists i'm telling you, you will most definitely fall in love with their work and find lots of great pieces in there. most of the fics i recommend contain smut so no minors allowed and don't interact you as well as ageless blgs will be blocked and if you would like to share a fic with me you are more than welcome too i love hearing from you i hope you all enjoy this list and till next time ~ kiki ♡

f- fluff s- smut a-angst

series

between takes by @jeonstudios f s a

as a fluffer for a popular porn star, your focus is to keep him hard and performing on set. turns out he's not the only thing that's hard.

i want you to stay by @ahundredtimesover f s a

Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You've dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

you're losing me by @sparklingchim s a

in the midst of marital challenges, jungkook and you grapple with the complexities of your relationship. yet, the lingering question whispers: how do you truly determine if the journey is worthwhile?

kiss the girl by @guked f s a

after saving a human prince from being drowned by the sea witch, you’re cursed by that infamous witch to live out the rest of your days as a human—unless you can manage to get true love’s kiss from that very same prince. which would be a simple task, had he not hated you the moment you met.

flux by @yoonia s a ft. myg

One of them is your longtime secret crush, while the other is the man with whom you had shared many heated nights filled with lust and forbidden desire, forever kept as your biggest secret of all time. You had sworn that those sinful nights would end, and that your secret crush would remain a secret. poly au

in motion by @/yoonia s

The rule is simple; you can look but you can’t touch. You’ve been attending the event for a few times since you’ve encountered the voyeurism club, but it was only when a certain boy arrives on one occasion did you feel the fire of lust burning inside.

what the fire gave us by @gimmethatagustd f s a

↬ You were born with a Gift that the world wanted to turn into a weapon. All Jungkook wanted to do was show you that you could find love, even in the dark.

friend in me by @ktheist f s a

“don’t confuse your party friends with your real friends.”

knife's edge by @readyplayerhobi f s a ft. pjm

The Jeon Clan is Family, built on blood and loyalty. It’s been an unspoken fact that one day you will marry the heir to the Clan, Jeon Jungkook. You would be a fool to deny that you love him, but what happens when you meet a blue haired man who offers you a chance at normality?

take a chance by @crystaljins a

You should have known the second your business partner asked you to plan his best friend’s wedding as a favour that it was going to be nothing but trouble. Especially when it turns out he’s in love with said best friend. And dying of a deadly disease because of it.

chess of ice by @jimlingss f a

Jeon Jungkook is a rising star, aka. hockey captain of a team heading for the Olympics. The last thing he expects is to begin a whole ‘nother sport, holding a broomstick in his hand, sweeping the ice and throwing dumb stones towards a target. As if that wasn’t bad enough, his love life is about to turn into a game of chess as well....and you’re his opponent.

diamond in the rough by @kimvtae f s a

When a business heir from Busan, Jeon Jungkook, meets you, a poor girl from Daegu, he doesn’t expect to fall as quickly as he does. He’s been told for his entire life to avoid Daegu, a town riddled with gangs and a history of a brutal murder in Busan, but he can’t stay away from you, even when he’s warned that you’re not good enough for him.

try hard by @hobibliophile f s

Yoongi asks you to help him photograph the university rugby team, and you’re reluctant until you see Jeon Jungkook in uniform. Damn.

cruel intentions by @jeonqukie f s a

All is well in your overtly simplistic life. You managed to maintain decent grades in university all the while progressing through your relationship with your long-time boyfriend and accompanying your best friend in her exhausting personal life. But as the saying goes when there are ups, there will surely be downs. While you’ve maintained this upward pattern, you are defeated when one afternoon inevitably brings you to a downward spiral. All good things must come to an end. Who knew you would be sharing the same sentiment with someone you barely know.

sillage by @deerguk s

Soulmate!AU where soulmates are drawn to one another by the infliction of physical touch, whether it be pain or pleasure. But it is only initiated once the two people somewhat interact.

remote learning by @hansolmates s

working remote sucks, and you would love a little relief. after buying a new toy to blow off some steam, you’re baffled when you can’t cum. however, jungkook thinks you’re doing it wrong, and shows you a thing or two.

when it rains by @choiwrites s a

Being an exotic dancer was never easy. Every day was the same for you, until you reached that one breaking point you’ve been avoiding since your miserable life started. On a rainy night, Jungkook and his yellow umbrella were your last call of hope.

hate at first weeb by artaemis, freckleyoon (ao3)

You just want to weeb in peace but your annoying downstairs neighbour just won't let you breathe

wanted by @jincherie s a

You were a deserter, a renegade, a wanted “criminal”. It was never in your plans to crash land on that planet, and it most certainly wasn’t in your plans to fall in love with it’s handsome ruler.

everything in you by @jjungkookislife f s a

You want a baby and Jungkook is willing to help. f2l, roommates au, pregnant!reader

home for the holidays by @/jjungkookislife f s a

Jungkook is in desperate need to find a girlfriend for Christmas. His mom has nagged and nagged about him bringing someone home for the holidays. Determined, Jungkook recruits his friends in hopes of finding the right girl to take home. In need of a place to stay, and no plans for Christmas, you answer his friend’s ad. You have 25 days to convince not only his parents but his grandmother that you’re in a real relationship, solid enough to get through Christmas with the Jeons.

every breath you take by @junqkook s a

everything was going great when you first met jeon jungkook. he was a new light in your life with soft smiles and tinkling laughs; but then you noticed a lurking presence that seemed to follow you wherever you went.

navy by @jjkfire f a

He’s your best friend, practically your other half and the two of you have always promised to be there for each other no matter what. The both of you have dreams of professionally making music together one day and to you it’s almost like reality, a given really, and with each day, the dream starts to feel like it’s within reach. But, one day, with one sentence, Jungkook destroys it all.

wicked by @adonis-koo s a

In a desperate hope to stop war from breaking you are a serviced to wed the most vile man alive, the one who has committed atrocities and war crimes beyond comprehension, he who is responsible for the fall of many nations, the wicked prince who’s heart is made of stone. You are to marry a man who challenges every belief and moral you stand for, all while being faced in a foreign land with nobody but yourself too trust…But are you both truly that different? Or is hate not too far from love?

paper doll by @winetae s a

When the nation’s little sister, IU, gets into a huge scandal, your agency seizes the opportunity to thrust you into that now vacant spotlight. Your self-composed song Paper Doll becomes an overnight sensation, and soon people are itching to find out who was the one who broke your heart. All hell breaks loose once netizens discover that you used to date popular idol, Jeon Jungkook. Little do they know that it wasn’t him who left the relationship unscathed — it was you.

one shot

the devil's change up by @jungblue f s

Majoring in athletic training means you have mandatory observation hours to perform with every single sports team at your school throughout the year, and so far it’s been going pretty great. However, when regrets from your past cause your rotation with the baseball team to become a little rocky, there’s one star pitcher who says that he can make it all better.

this is how we break up by @/ahundredtimesover s a

There are things you prepared for coming back home and that includes seeing your ex-boyfriend, but helping him design his apartment isn’t one of them. From meetings over coffee and lunches with your friends, you both learn more about the time in-between, and what you find out leave you heartbroken, wondering if there’s enough of you left to try to get back what you’d lost. “You know what they say about past lovers remaining friends? It’s either they never loved each other to begin with, or they still do. And we all know how much they loved each other, don’t we?”

a piece of the moonlight by @/jimlingss f a

For your loved ones, the people who are waiting at home, the people who have died - you will fight. And sometimes to fight means to sacrifice: who you really are and the person you really love.

the quest to bedding the lead singer of frontman by @kpopfanfictrash s

Frontman is your favorite band in the world and honestly, the only reason you waited this long in line is to stand at the front for a shot with the lead singer. Enter sexy sound boy, who just won’t leave you alone. (punk!Jungkook)

heartbreak trials by @dreamyjoons s a

it all started with a bet: the one with the highest body count would get the most illustrious prize - Namjoon’s bedroom. For you and Jungkook, the race was on.

perhaps love by @mangowillow f a

for as long as you can remember, you have been in love with your childhood friend turned roommate, but jeon jungkook remains oblivious even when he comes to comfort and help you sleep every night.

what? now by @theharrowing f s

For as long as you and Jungkook have been friends, your feelings for him have been unrequited. Or have they?

lilac wisteria by @blushoseoks f a

the first time jeon jungkook says that he is going to marry you, you are five years old sitting underneath a large wisteria tree.

tell me no lies by @jeongi f s a

You chose to rob your boss, however; you never expected to fall in love with him.

mcd*ckin by @jinned s

"So, if I'm so predictable," you tease, running your finger along his clothed chest, "what am I going to do next?"

things you said while you were driving by @cupofteaguk f

post breakup au

(y)our name by @jjkpls f s a ft ot 6

It’s always been the two of you since you were little. People came and went in your lives and Jungkook didn’t mind until you turn into grown-ups and he starts to mind a bit too much.

(un)welcomed addition by @shuadotcom f a

After a drunken one night stand with your neighbor, you have your reasons for wanting to forget it ever happened and never talk to him again. Unfortunately, Jungkook wins the award for the world’s worst neighbor so his 3 am wakeup calls and mail stealing have you banging at his door on an almost weekly basis. You just want to make it to the end of your lease so you can leave all the traces of the fuckboy next door behind...unless your feelings get in the way of course.

Just Like the Movies by @/shuadotcom f s a

When you need a fake date for your cousin’s wedding and all of your other friends have plans, that only leaves your best friend Jungkook - who you also happen to be completely in love with. It’ll be easy getting through a week of fake dating him, right?

watermelon sugar by @/shuadotcom f s a

When your friends outvote you for your annual summer trip, you end up stuck at a beachside town. To make it worse, there’s an irritating local surfer boy that won’t leave you alone… that is until you see him shirtless and in the water - then you don’t want him to leave you alone and your unexpected summer romance begins.

take my whole life by @/ktheist f s a

chaebol au. arranged marriage au. expecting parents au.

never let you go by @yeojaa f s

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud. Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t. (or: Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

speaking in bodies by @/yeojaa f s a

The holidays have never meant much to you - less a promise of Christmas morning joy and more a reminder of all the things you’ve lost. Some would call you a grinch; others, just a plain old asshole. Jeon Jungkook would call you both. The more time you spend together, though, the more you thaw, melting beneath the sun that seems to sit right in the centre of his chest.

howling for you by @fortunexkookie f s

The way your Little Red Riding Hood costume lured over a fuckboy in a half-assed werewolf costume was a little cliche, but god damn was he beautiful. He promised he had plenty of big things to show you, and you took him up on the offer, not realizing that you might’ve bitten off more than you could chew

cold nights & blurred lines by @awrkive f s a

jungkook and you have been in a sexual relationship with each other for four months now, and it’s casual for the most part. but as time passes, you can’t help but feel that some of the lines suddenly got blurred in the process. is it a cliché to blur the lines with your fuck buddy? it definitely is. will you do something about it? both of your emotional constipation have a hard time saying yes.

christmas is waiting for you by @/lamourche f s ft myg (ao3)

Being home for the holidays surrounded by your well-meaning family isn’t that bad. All you have to do is (1) survive the Andersons’ annual Christmas Eve party, (2) avoid all questions about your job, and (3) avoid your high school nemesis (not a crush!), Jeon Jungkook.

lost stars by @/subvk f s a (ao3)

Falling in love with Jeon Jungkook was everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more, but maybe it was exactly that: a dream so blissful and comforting that it was too good to be true, something that could all disappear when the night changes to day, and your eyes open again. Or, making a marriage pact with your best friend was supposed to instill a sense of hope for you, so why does this hurt you more than it should?

a beautiful epiphany by @/subvk f s a (ao3)

Derailed by heartbreak and the loss of inspiration, Jeon Jungkook tries to rediscover his love for art again. As his best friend, you’re willing to do anything to help him reignite his lost passion. Little do you know that the struggling artist’s new muse is closer than you think.

the philosophy of goodluck by @kidguk f s

“you told me i looked good and that you needed to get a tattoo of my face” is not the explanation you wanted to hear from the tattoo artist that permanently etched the dumbest drunken request of your life onto your skin.

mountebank by @/kidguk f s ft. pjm

Soulmate AU featuring Jimin, in which you’ve been waking up next to your soul-enemy and running from your soul-mate. Figure that mess out, will you?

holidays of breads and wood by @cutaepatootie f a

Every December now smells like freshly baked bread and wood to you. Its cold wind brings you memories of him every morning as you are kneading your mixture of water, flour and a pinch of nutmeg – the secret ingredient that makes your bread taste so special. It seeps through the open window of your small kitchen and shakes your entire body. It seeps under your flour-stained apron, getting through your clothes and reminding you of his soft touch. It sounds like forest and shines like snow under the sunlight. It fills your nostrils with familiar scents. Every December now feels like distant memories of a man you once knew, who loved to carve his dreams in wood.

a fallen bookmark on a thursday afternoon by @/cutaepatootie f s a

He came to you like the air comes into the train station after the fast arriving of the machine. It comes fast and unexpected, making you hoist your head to look at the long vehicle and the people inside. It is so fast you can’t even distinguish the different wagons. As the train comes to a stop, the wind that it creates plays with your hair, leaving you breathless. That’s how Jeon Jungkook came into your life.

every kind of way by @gukslut s

Three little vignettes, three completely different experiences, same perfectly wonderful boyfriend JK

heavy lifting by @snackhobi f

you work the night shift in a supermarket. and now your crush, aka the cutest boy in the world, aka the guy you’ve been thirsting after for months, aka jeon jungkook, works the night shift too.

blue orchid by @inkedtae f a

hanahaki & soulmate au

up to snow good by @aredheadedmess f a

It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt.

cherry bomb by @milfgyuu f s

You’re a cocktail waitress in a high end nightclub and you’ve been mutually crushing on one of the bartenders. Tonight, one of your customers oversteps boundaries and when Jungkook gets involved, you’re ready to toss your ‘no dating co-workers’ policy out the window.

work it out by @/choiwrites s

You never would have thought that you’d be working with the college dropout who was coincidentally your best friend’s ex-boyfriend, Jungkook. Saying his name already burns your tongue, you wonder how long you can hold your professionalism around him.

all in by @iamjungkooked s a

Jeon Jungkook is everything you have ever desired in a partner. He’s kind, passionate, funny, honest, warm and every positive adjective in the dictionary. He totally gets you and you get him. He seems like the perfect guy for you, except he is dating your best friend. What could possibly go wrong? OR The four times you get the wind knocked out of you by Jeon Jeongguk

until my last breath by @/iamjungkooked s a

Sporting an undercut and tattoos Jeon Jungkook waltzes back in your life after 5 years of being away. You think you know him– and just when you think you have gotten close, he reveals a secret (or two). Following this, is a series of trials and tribulations that concludes in a way you never expect. (Alternatively: the one where Jungkook creates a mess out of you)

está dañada by @aquagustd f s a

life through the eyes of someone who watches you fall apart and helps gather the shards of your heart, only for you to make the same mistake time and time again, but he refuses to accept the truth because to him, you’re infallible.

coin toss by @yoondoze a

you and jeongguk go way back, even before you were the menacing duo many knew you to be, even before he brought you into the mafia and left you there to join the city’s detective agency. a call for cooperation comes out of a common enemy, requiring the two of you to reconcile for one last mission.

wonder by @bubmyg f a

romance novels lie about finding some deep epiphany in the ocean because you find your inspiration in some chlorine tainted red locks or where jeongguk isn’t smooth with a pool net.

starboy by @sugaxjpg s

Jeon Jungkook was, above anything else, the type you should not get involved with. He was the guy who slept around; the guy who was gone before you woke up; who left a path of broken hearts and missed calls wherever he went. He was right in just about every wrong way. That being said, maybe the bet you made with your friend could be the best thing that happened to you in a long time, and even enough to break the chain of misfortune that circled your party nights — after all, it was all just a simple, four-part plan to make Jungkook beg for you. What could possibly go wrong?

symmetry by @adriftmoonchild s a

with both of you being from rival houses, the smirk that jungkook seemed to throw in your direction every shared class did nothing for your disdain towards him. as far as you were concerned he was arrogant and childish; you just wished he wasn’t so damn good in bed.

little surfer girl by @ppersonna f s a

every summer you watched jeon jungkook turn into a perfect, professional surfer. every summer, you wanted him more. this summer, you were determined to make him yours.

↬looking for other jjk fics or the other members check out my library

1K notes · View notes

amaranthineghost · 5 months

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Hi there! Can you do a pov/one shot/ fanfic where Lando is dating Y/N and her love language is biting. She randomly and softly bots Lando but he enjoys it knowing that she is fully comfortable with him to be herself. One day Max,Pietra and some other friends of Lando come to visit them in Monaco and Pietra is annoyed with Max for teasingly refusing to sit next to Y/N, P telling him that he can sit next to Y/n cause she doesn’t bite. Lando starts laughing and says that y/n does bite and moves his shirt to show a small bite mark on his shoulder. Y/N laughs it off but she gets insecure thinking that her love language is bothering Lando so she fights the urge to bite him again. After a few days Lando notices that she doesn’t bite him anymore and starts thinking that he did something to upset her. He asks her why and she eventually tells him and he gets a bit upset. He tells her that he actually likes it because its her way of showing her love and the fact that she is comfortable around him.

Idk some fluff or something

Thank you for at least reading this and I really love your work🧡

| SINK YOUR TEETH INTO ME, MY DEAR ( lando norris. ) |

ꕥ pairing: lando norris x reader

ꕥ summary: reader's love language is biting, but experiences a feeling of insecurity

ꕥ author note: oh to have a boyfriend to experience this with. fair warning, I refrain from using y/n in imagines unless it's really unavoidable because at this point y/n is a whole person by herself. if something is worded weirded, or 'she' and 'her' get repetitive, that's why. but anyways, I really like this request, its so cute and silly and i hope i did it justice :3

HIS BODY WAS OFTEN ADORNED with bite marks, indentions in his skin where you could see the canines had dipped it lower than the rest. it was a reminder to him of her love.

and he happily carried them everywhere with him, smiling to himself with every glance in the mirror at his bare torso. some faded more than others as they trailed along his arms, upwards to his shoulder and across to his collarbone.

the pads of his fingers slowly rubbed over them, a small smile spreading across his face, something he'd done everyday as the new blemishes came and went.

at first, he'd thought of it as strange, taken off guard by the sudden pinch on his bicep as she'd sink her teeth into his flesh. not so hard to break skin, she wasn't a vampire. but it was enough for him to be reminded of it.

as time went on and the occurrences became more frequent, he'd find himself smiling at it. it was his way of knowing she loved him, that she was comfortable around him, that she was safe with him, she always was and she knew that. at least he hoped she did.

to be loved was to be bitten, was what he knew. she had taught him that.

he had noticed a change though, it was hard not to. the sudden pinces throughout the day, he hadn't noticed weren't there because he had gotten used to them being there. if that made sense. it did to him.

but if he didn't notice the lack of sudden but light pain, followed with a trail of thin salvia leading to the culprits lips, he would notice the lack of marks that riddled his body.

lando had woken up that morning, groggy and his body sore from yesterday's training. the warm of his shared bed beckoned him to stay. to lay with her forever.

he wished he could, but he knew better than to lay around, even if it was with his girlfriend. though he might. was there ever any harm to remain within the comfort and grasp of the warm body that stayed passed out next to him, oblivious to his waking?

he always thought not. his trainer thought otherwise but turned a blind eye for the young couple. though their sickeningly love for the other made him roll his eyes behind their backs. all fun and games. something to laugh about.

his veined hands, warm and adorned with rings, traced across the low of her back. he watched the goosebumps take their place on her skin, her face stirring as she pushed herself further into the bed. he chuckled softly at her reaction, his thumb gliding across her exposed skin, dipping below the hem of the cloth on her body.

he lightly squeezed the flesh under his fingertips, pulling his hand across her back before replacing the covers on her. he slipped out of bed, leaning over momentarily.

his fingers slipped through her hair, getting caught in the knots that tied in the midst of her slumber. using his thumb, he brushed the strands from her face to see half her features smushed against the plush pillow.

another low chuckle escaped his throat, tucking the hair behind her ear as he pulled back and stared at the beauty before him. his eyes dilated the more he looked at her, but he wouldn't know.

his journey through the bathroom to get ready would be halted when he noticed a difference on his bare skin. but it wasn't bare because of the lack of shirt he found himself not to be wearing. what was different?

the pads of his fingers traced his skin for the indentions he cherished deeply, only met with the perfect evenness of his tan skin.

his actions haltered and brows furrowed. instinctively, he leaned closer to the mirror, the veins in his hands becoming more prominent as he pulled his skin. he turned in circles.

no blemishes in sight. not the work of his beloved girlfriend anyways.

he frowned, disappointed by the disruption of his routine. his ritual.

he swore to her many times that he could probably differentiate the marks of her teeth in his flesh to any other bite mark he'd come across. he knew her teeth better than his own. he swore he did.

he knew the indentions that littered his skin, but they weren't here. he wanted them to be so bad. why the change?

his heart sunk in his chest. he sighed. how could he not notice?

his eyes met his own gaze in the mirror, his fingers still tracing his bare collarbone and down his shoulder. he pursed his lips, eating away at the pink flesh until it irritated.

his hands fell down to the sink, supporting his body weight as he leaned on them as he pondered.

he surely noticed how faded they looked. how the red inflammation, that manifested on his skin, just didn't. but the change never processed in his brain.

he racked through the events of the past couple of days. nothing stood out.

they'd mostly stayed home together, other than the times lando went out for training. but it surely wasn't that, as she had no problem with it in the past. she understood what he did and the requirements of it that he had to meet.

lando groaned in realization. days earlier, lando and his girlfriend were out on the water with a few of their friends, drivers and their girlfriends.

it was a beautiful day, he had remembered because of the way the sun reflected off her skin, how her pupils shrank at the blinding light, but revealed the capsulating colors behind them.

he sat on the cushioned seats of the yacht, next to her with his warm hand on her inner thigh, a drink in the other. the rest of the group littered around the deck with various drinks in hand as they chatted.

most of them were just hanging out in their swimsuits as none of them had yet decided to take the plunge into the crystal waters.

they had sat next to each other for a while, lando leaning closer to hear her voice, the music was loud. her lips grazed his ear a few times, he remembered. the gloss on her lips left on his skin.

she remembered the scratch of his cheek as he'd forgotten to shave earlier whenever he'd lean into whisper in her ear. his lips ghostly hovered her neck, grazing her skin softly. despite the warm sun, goosebumps took their place down her neck.

he always chuckled at the rising bumps on her skin whenever he did something she liked. it always gave him a surge of confidence to know the effect he had against her.

"get a room!" the brit called out, laughing as he walked over with a drink in hand. his girlfriend followed behind, shaking her head at his words, but a smile evident on her face.

max fewtrell was one of lando's long time friends. their girlfriends also happened to be friends, long before the two guys came into their lives.

"mind if we sit?" pietra asked, not waiting for an answer as she took a place on the leather couch. leaving a space between the two girls so max could sit too.

she looked up to see max still standing, she rolled her eyes and patted the spot next to her, "there's enough room for all of us, why won't you sit?"

max shrugged his shoulder, "I don't know, mate, she might bite me if I try sitting down!" he exclaimed jokingly, inciting a laugh between the group.

she felt her body heat up uncomfortably, laughing along despite her discomfort.

pietra tugged on his sleeve, "she doesn't bite, you're being dramatic." her attempts were futile.

lando laughed and shook his head, "I don't know, mate, you might want to be careful." his hand left her thigh as he pulled up his sleeve to his shoulder, as he hadn't taken off his shirt just yet.

she felt her face flush and reddened, but hid it by laughing with the group, pushing her head into the crevice of his neck momentarily. his hand found her back again.

she felt the cushion next to her dip, followed by a hand squeezing her knee. she turned her head. pietra gave her a sympathetic look when she'd realized the girl's reaction.

pietra leaned close to her ear, like what lando and her were doing earlier. she whispered a few words to her before pulling away and taking a sip of her drink, wrapping her arm around her shoulder. she felt herself smile and relaxed in her seat.

but on the inside, she was eating herself up, overthinking to exhaustion. her stomach felt sick, was her habit a bother to him?

she found herself hiding in the bathroom throughout the rest of the hangout, claiming seasickness but denying medicine for it.

each time she find hersef back in the bathroom with anxious nausea and the door locked, lando would be on the other side. he'd knock on her door, talking her through it, asking her if he could get her anything, telling her he'd wait for her to come out again.

days past and she refrained from sinking her teeth into the perfect skin of his bicep, the valley of his collarbone, or the broadness before the drop of his shoulder.

each time she found herself with the urge to show the love she had through her teeth, she stopped herself.

it killed lando to think about how he could've made her feel. but he needed her to come to him, he didn't want to pry information out of her.

he could ask but he couldn't make her tell.

the door to the bathroom creaked open, lando's head snapping towards the noise, noticing the tired face eyeing him through the slit in the door.

he pushed himself from the counter, his heart beating slightly faster as he sighed. she opened the door more and dragged her feet against the tiled floor. he noticed the way her eyes squinted against the light.

she stopped when she collided against him. her cheek pushed against his chest as she leaned her weight against him.

he pulled her closer when he placed a hand on her head, another one around the low of her back. his lips were against her hair and he inhaled slowly. the faded tropical scent of her shampoo lingered in her hair.

in his head, he debated asking her. not only was she still tired, but he didn't want to push her farther, in case he had done something.

his heart beat heavily in his chest, muttering against her scalp, "what's going on, darling?" he caressed the strands of her hair, "hm?"

her heart skipped a beat, she thought he hadn't noticed, or that he didn't say anything because he had secretly hoped for this to happen.

she decided to play dumb, speaking softly against his bare skin, "what do you mean?" her voice muffled.

"come on, I know your biting habits. what's wrong?" he spoke patiently to her as he cradled her tired body in his arms, swaying softly as they stood admist the cold bathroom air.

her eyes fluttered shut as she mumbled, "I thought it annoyed you."

his head shook against hers, "why do you think that, love?" he held his breath for the answer, but in his heart, he knew what she was going to say.

he was met with silence for a long time, he knew she was thinking it over in her head. she finally spoke, "remember the yacht trip a few days ago?"

he exhaled deeply, his eyes clenching shut as he pursed his lips, "i'm an idiot," he muttered, pulling away partially.

" 's okay," she shrugged, looking up at him with big eyes.

he swore in his mind, if it weren't for the circumstances, he would've folded. he slowly blinked, his tongue gliding along his lower lip.

"it's not, darling. even if max and i were just messing around," he breathed in and out slowly, his hand caressing her pillow-marked face, "i'm sorry you felt that way, okay? you know, i love when you do it," he reassured, and he saw her eyes dilate when he did.

"really? but why?" she questioned him, scanning his face, eyes, body language for any hint of deceit. she found none.

"it tells me you're comfortable, baby, and that's all I want for you."

she listened for his tone. it was sincere.

and they stayed like that for a while. in each other's embrace, they knew all was well again as they talked through it some more.

"ow."

#formula 1 #formula 1 drivers #formula one #lando norris x you #lando norris fluff #lando norris fic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando x reader #lando #lando imagine #lando norris #formula 1 imagine #fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1

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whosjunglejim4322 · 5 months

Text

Reconcile- E.M (S)

Smut!, fluff because uhm how could I not, angst! cause you guys are pent up from stress and this is basically a make up sex fic teehee, mentions of weed, brief arguing, Y’all just desperate and gross, Eddie fucks you till you cry and talks you through it like the slut he is, he cums inside of you, makes sure to fuck all that attitude away, PUSSY EATING, very graphic descriptions of passionate n nasty intercourse

You hadn’t foreseen this happening.

Sure, you and Ed’s have gotten into little disputes before. Petty, insignificant quarrels about whether or not the other person actually took out the garbage or who would pay next date night. Two years is still short to some, for you and Eddie it felt like forever and yesterday all in the same universe. Heavenly, and mundane.

But this is a different beast all together. This morning makes day two that you two have had this weird, suffocating energy between both of you. The antagonist of this situation, is undoubtedly the conversation that was had at Steve’s weekend hangout.

A few hits from a joint, a shot or two of tequila and goofy sentences being passed around between two best friends. You and Robin being the spectators, content in your own little bubble, puffing on a spliff of your own. Heavy, fluffy blankets kept you warm, gave you weight to lean on when your head began to feel like it might float away.

The Christmas lights and the hum of the deep freezer in the corner of Steve’s basement almost distracted you completely in your haze, until it didn’t. Until Chrissy Cunningham came up. Until it was an innocent giggling fit about whether or not Chrissy ever had a crush on Eddie, the oxymoron in and of itself.

“Imagine that ever happening,” Steve chuckled, lightheartedly, taking a sip of his Diet Pepsi. “can’t say I can’t see it. She wanted you for sure, dude.”

Your ears twitched. Eyes thinning into inquisitive slits. Nothing about Steve’s tone was meant to be rude, or disrespectful, but the nature of the comment itself felt awkward and uncomfortable underneath your skin.

You almost turned your attention back to the Walkman blasting David Bowie. Almost.

“I saw her the other day, she came in for an oil change. Honestly, I never would’ve even thought she wanted me,” Eddie takes another rip of his bong. “But then she asked me if I do at home visits. Said she wanted to catch up with me.”

Maybe your reptilian brain overreacted. Or, maybe it didn’t. Honestly, you don’t blame yourself completely for the way you reacted after that statement. Nothing else he said after that mattered. All you could hear was your heartbeat in your own ears. Loud, thunderous

“I told her I wouldn’t do that, obviously.”

White noise.

And not only were you intoxicated, but you were already burnt out from work and school, touch starved from not having any time with your boyfriend as of late. A period of your current reality that you know will pass as all things do in life; but it was too much. This hangout was supposed to be somewhat intimate, something for you to both do together. A simplicity that normally wouldn’t even have to be mentioned. You and Eddie exist on the same axis.

The blanket became too heavy and the smoke in the room threatened to choke you further. You all but threw the fluffy cover off of you and stormed out. You heard Robin call after you, and Eddie. A pair of voices that meshed together like the drum line in a song that is so in sync with the guitar chorus that you can barely decipher it. The steps spin, but you manage to stay upright.

Cold November air chilled your face, your neck. You too a deep breath in while marching to the van parked just a few feet away on the newly slabbed pavement of Steve’s home. His parents are at their lake house so often that Steve claims their Hawkins residence as his own.

Predictably, a heavy thump of boots followed closely behind you. The scrape of worn soles and the squeak of an old leather jacket. A billow of smoke follows him, clings onto him like jasmine and rosemary to the freshly bathed. Your back felt like the warning signs at a crossroad. He felt helpless.

“Baby, hey,” he sounded breathless, desperate and confused. He’s never seen you so upset that you’d just walk out unprompted. “stop walking god dammit, please.”

You stopped reluctantly, the tears of frustration in your waterline blurring your vision of the violet, cloudless skyline. A wide, warm palm touched your shoulder and the heat seared you even through your hoodie. You flinched away instinctively, sore in your limbs from your own concoction of emotions. When you met his eyes, they were wide. Like a deer staring down the barrel of a gun in its own home.

Your face must have been something to see. A scowl, a mirror of sadness reflected in his umber eyes. Angry. He’d never seen you look at him that way. It felt like having his intestines twisted between two cold hands.

“You didn’t tell me that happened.”

You stated it plainly, but spitefully in nature. Your voice cracked and it made a brewing tear spill over your waterline and down the plump of your cheek. He had the overwhelming urge to comfort you, but knew he couldn’t. Knew you would likely flinch away like you did five seconds ago and he didn’t think he would physically be able to bear you trying to get away from him again.

He didn’t exactly know what was making you so upset. The conversation wasn’t anything he wouldn’t have said in front of you, which is why all of it was said in front of you. Perhaps his own intoxication made it hard to fully understand the velocity of his words, what they meant and how they could’ve been interpreted from your point of view.

“I didn’t think it was important.” His thick brows scrunched and deepened the wrinkle between them. You looked like your eyes might bulge out of your head.

You nearly choked on your own spit, the words to your reply getting caught square in the middle of your throat; and so you said nothing. You stepped forward, and then past him. And he realized too late that you were walking away from him.

“I’m gonna ask Steve to take me home.”

He was too stunned to speak. To react. To stop you, to plead for you to tell him what he did wrong. Or at least how to fix it. He felt himself crumble on the inside, like his bones were made of ash.

When he got back to the trailer that night, you weren’t there. And that’s when it all really set in. That he fucked up. For the past two weeks you’ve been here with him, playing house while Wayne caught a gig further up north. He thought, he thought that when you said home, maybe you meant here. With him.

He called that night, almost ten times. You answered on the eighth.

“I’m at my apartment Ed’s, I’m fine. I don’t want to argue, or talk. I just need to be by myself right now.”

He felt paralyzed by the pang in his chest. More so, he felt angry. Genuinely angry, and not just at himself, but selfishly, at you.

“Fine, glad you’re safe.”

He nearly broke the fucking landline.

Your eyes have to adjust to the brightness of your living room. Well, your bedroom, slash living room, slash kitchen. A studio in Hawkins is relatively affordable, but they aren’t lying when they say it’s a studio. The events from yesterday scream in your head instantly, along with the pounding of your pulse. Your bed is almost unfamiliar at this point, the blankets not worn enough, the sheets the scent of fresh dryer sheets instead of you and Eddie’s shared scent.

The beeping of your answering machine pulls you back down to reality, though not one you want to participate in currently. Unfortunately, you have no other choice.

They’re all from Eddie of course, and now that you’re not high you feel those wounds from the night before coming back, sticking you in the chest, ribs, liver. Along with the pain, you feel guilty. For your less than mature reaction. Though you know you can’t blame yourself, not having ever been in that situation. You’re human and reacted as so. But he’s your Eddie.

You listen to the last message, sent twenty five minutes ago.

“I’m coming over in thirty minutes, I don’t care if you don’t want to see me. We are going to talk this out. I love you.”

You huff in frustration, though you can’t say you aren’t relieved. Relieved that he’s coming, that he’s not giving up over some quarrel about Chrissy Cunningham. You have a tendency to think the entire world is caving in around you upon one minor inconvenience. This disruption in your daily routine feels like Armageddon.

You have time to brush your teeth and rinse the remaining paste off of your mouth before your front door opens. If you didn’t recognize his footsteps so well, it might be off putting to have someone just waltz into your home.

The bathroom door is open, so he spots you immediately, slipping off his worn in boots and placing them beside the door. He takes his leather jacket off and puts it over the stool that sits at your kitchen island. It makes your face hot, still. The ease in which you two have melded into each others lives. Even if you’re angry at him.

“I don’t know what to say, Ed’s.” It’s a lie. You walk past him to the kitchen and open the fridge, hiding from his gaze as you pretend to search for something. He clears his throat and you reluctantly close the refrigerator door, staring at the floor and backing yourself against the sink.

“I just - you’ve never left. Without telling me. Or talking to me. And, fuck I-“ he’s stammering already, taking steady breaths and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t think I had to tell you about an insignificant interaction with Chrissy Cunningham.”

You scoff, although it’s more of a giggle. And he looks at you like you’ve just lost your mind. Rare, for Eddie Munson to think someone else has lost their mind.

“Well you and Steve sure seemed to enjoy talking about it. You both were pretty giddy discussing whether or not Chrissy wanted to, or, sorry -“ you’re being defensive. Rude. You can’t help it. “wants to fuck you. Why would I want to hear about that? Why would I want to hear you guys talk about whether or not you both can see you and Chrissy together? Does that not sound incredibly fucked up, Ed’s?”

So much for not talking. Now it’s spilling out like a cracked flower vase. Your chest is heaving rapidly, face and body hot with anger. Your arms are crossed across your chest, a protection against whatever it is he might say, despite the fact that you’re the one who’s being rhetorical.

He shoves his ringed fingers into his hair, scratching his scalp and pulling lightly at the roots as he closes his eyes, contemplating. Seeing things through your eyes, attempting to. He winces.

“That’s not what we were trying to say,” he bites his cheek. “I mean I know it doesn’t matter what we were trying to say, the conversation shouldn’t have happened, but I can’t take it back. For fucks sake.”

He’s murmuring to himself, rubbing his rough palms over his tired face. He’s wearing one of your favorite tee shirts of his to steal. Iron Maiden. The sleeves are short enough to reveal the splattering of ink that crawls up his biceps. When his muscles move underneath his skin, the ink moves with them. It’s captured your attention suddenly, and now you’re raking your eyes over his entire figure.

Familiar black sweats cling onto his lower half. They fit perfectly on his lithe waist, loose on the rest. Except for his ass. He has a really cute ass. And these sweats specifically accentuate the shape before billowing down his thighs.

“Baby? You with me?”

The low timbre of his voice shakes you from your reverie. You’ve simmered off, the anger replaced with a different heat. It’s been too long since the two of you have just been together, this fight might be the most communication you’ve had in the past week due to your jobs, and school. Or the worries of the world, the overwhelming need to sleep when you aren’t working, to work when you aren’t sleeping.

You’ve forgotten about each other. Briefly, but not inevitably. Never that. You feel like you may collapse.

“I’m- yeah I’m with you.”

You let out a sigh, uncrossing your arms. You look and sound as defeated as you feel. He can’t pretend to not have noticed your silky, thin sleeping gown, but he is just a man. And your nipples are hard underneath the garment and he has never not thought you’re one of the most beautiful creatures he’s ever seen. You haven’t worn it in a while, preferring his clothes to sleep in since you’ve been staying with him. He missed seeing you like this.

He steps closer. Tentatively, afraid you might run away from him. You sense his hesitancy and a piece of your heart breaks, the piece where he lives. You meet his eyes, silently inviting him, glancing from his mouth then back up to his softening gaze. You watch his Adam’s Apple bob in his throat.

“I’m sorry.” He says, earnestly. His hands threaten to tremble when you reach out and grab them, heavy in your own. He hovers above you the closer he gets, your limbs connecting in a symbiotic way. One you feel the others skin, you can’t get away from it. Not until you’re pressed together, belly to belly, your chin tilted upward.

“You - ugh.” You can’t get words out anymore. They dissolve in your larynx and your head falls, the need to cry or scream or kiss him an overwhelming choice.

“I know baby, I know. I’m sorry.” He pats down your hair, rough thumbs caressing the softness of your cheeks. He pulls your face upwards again, staring down at you with regret, adoration, hunger.

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have just left.”

He leans closer, till you smell the coffee on his breath and the hazelnut creamer alike. Your noses bump and rub against the other, his thick eyelashes fanning across his own cheekbones - casting a fluttery shadow.

“It’s okay now. We’re okay now.” He says it softly, just between the little space left between you two. “Let me take care of it. Please.” He closes the gap.

Some people assume it’s not supposed to feel as good as it does, kissing someone who’s lips you’ve mapped out like an atlas. That couldn’t be further from the truth, because kissing Eddie feels like being consumed.

And not just metaphorically, because it’s evident in the nips to your bottom lip, the sucking of your tongue whenever he feels it lick his teeth; that your small period of separation, and longer period of not having indulged each other, has weighed heavily on him as well. He’s starving.

You’re overtaken within seconds by the veracity of his mouth, your fingers taking purchase in the curls at his crown. Smacks and kisses and wet noises fill the small space, and the center of your stomach swells with a simmering heat. A reminder of how neglectful you both have been. Your nipples harden against him, as his dick twitches between his legs.

You feel nervous. Tentative. Excited.

His hands implore you like a new discovery, grasping at your back, and then down the sensitive slopes of your sides and over the plushness of your hips. Through the silky nightgown the sensation is riveting, enough to drive a person insane. You arch against him, and a whimper escapes your mouth into his throat.

“Mmm, mhm.” He groans.

“Eddie,” it’s a cry, wanton sound that makes him rut himself against you instinctively. Anything to relieve you. Anything to relieve himself. “baby.”

He smiles against your mouth, pecking it a few times before departing only for a second to see your kiss bitten lips, his and your spit coating your mouth. Your blown out pupils. He mirrors your appearance, like a wild creature.

“Never again,” his index fingers knuckle strokes the inside of your thigh, and you shudder, holding onto his broad shoulders for an anchor. You separate your legs without thinking. “we will never go through this again. I’m gonna make sure of it.”

Three knuckles stroke your pubic mound, then down your covered slit where dampness threatens to leak. Your fingernails grip his shirt, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted in anticipation. He’s so warm, so palpable. You want him to bury himself inside of you.

He’s in front of you, and then he’s not. You blink, and hair tickles your thighs like you’re frolicking through an overgrown field. Strong, rough hands lift the delicate silk of your nightie until it’s being bunched between ringed fingers above your navel. He’s on his knees, devout for you.

You gasp when his tongue broadens against your center. Your panties are just enough barrier to make you wanna cry out in desperation, while also offering enough sensation to not dare stop for even a moment to pull them off. You’re at his mercy. Or is he at yours? Neither of you know anymore, and it’s not important.

Not when he gets a taste of you. Not when he peers up at you between lust sodden lashes and sees you looking down at him like you’re about to crumble. Your knees shake and he bunches the nightie in one fist instead of two, placing his free hand on the back of your thighs to steady you while he soaks your underwear with the spit from his tongue.

The shape of your slit and the plump lips around it begins to show its phantom form through the material from the soaking. He sucks, prods with the tip of his wet muscle.

“Ed’s, fuck.” Your voice is so weak. His cock weeps in his sweats, dribbling with copious amounts of precum. It’s torturous to not touch himself but he’s too focused on watching you, pleasing you. You hums against your mound, mocking you.

He pulls the elastic to the side, not patient enough to take them off all the way. You get to see his face for a split second, cherry red cheeks and a messy halo of hair and stubble on his chin. And then, you feel it.

His nose keeps your lips separated, his tongue already splayed against the soft, sensitive flesh between them. You’re slick and sticky and coating the lower half of his face, though you have trouble grasping onto the helms of reality when he’s licking your pussy like this. He shakes his head from side to side, tongue still flat until he’s spreading your thighs farther, so that he can lick your honey from the source.

“Hold it.” He mumbles, struggling to hand the falling material of your night gown to your shaking hands, though you get the memo when it threatens to cover his head completely. You use one hand to hold it, and the other to tug at his hair.

You can barely hear anything another than the sloppy wetness of his mouth working on you, and the sound of your own heartbeat, but you’re sure you’re whining. You can feel the rawness of your throat as you let your head fall back and cry to the ceiling, feeling the need to tear up.

You grip the roots of his locks, rocking against his mouth like you’ve got no other choice. He hums, encouraged by every squeak and moan that comes out of you, by every drip of your cunt and tensing of your muscles.

He doesn’t care that your thighs are squeezing around his head, or that you can barely hold yourself together. You’re using his face like second nature and his cock weeps in his pants. He feels himself throbbing in tandem with the pulsing of your hole around his tongue.

Then he pulls your lips apart with his thumbs, revealing the pink bud that resides underneath your hood, suckling and coating it with enough spit to drip onto the floor.

“Oh god,” you pant “m’gonna cum. Please don’t stop please please please.”

You’re throttled, and not just by the pleasure but by how fast you’re descending into your own madness. You can’t hear much of anything, see anything but the back of your own eyelids - and your boyfriend is using half of his strength to keep your body upwards as you threaten to wilt.

He doesn’t stop, per your request but to your ultimate demise. You feel yourself leaking as your clit throbs from the aftershocks of a powerful - much needed and thoroughly missed, orgasm.

You think you might pass out, but he feels the trembling in your body and despite his need to keep going until you’re completely done for, all but comatose- he stops.

Through your clouded and hazy senses, your hands tug at his face, his head, his neck. Lazily you attempt to pull him up from his knees, and it’s not your strength that does it, it’s his own. But he lets you believe you pulled him to your mouth, before he even has the chance to wipe your essence off. Not that he cares to.

Your tongues collide in a messy exploration, he’s rough and saccharine and sweet all at once. Your paw at him like you’ve never felt him before, like he didn’t just have his mouth on your most private of parts.

“I need you in me.” You slur the words between open mouthed kisses. He’s pressed so flush against you that you can feel his dick throbbing, and you’re not sure if the wetness is your own or his. Perhaps both.

You’re hungry for it. He’s still starving, and your fingers clumsily pull the waistband of his sweats down until they’re pooled at his ankles. You wrap your hand around the thick member, angrily red at the tip, veins bulging from either side. The thatch of curly hair at his base is covered by his shirt but you don’t have the energy to remove it- to do anything other than ogle at the blood rushing through him, the feel of his pulse through his manhood. He throws his head back for a split second, taking a deep breath.

You turn around, facing the sink and resting your cheek against the cool metal of the edge. You offer yourself to him like this, an invitation in the form of a leaking cunt and buckling knees. His hands, rough and wide pull this godforsaken nightgown up and over the swell of your ass, knuckles grazing the back of your thighs in the process.

You want to look at him but you’re far too flustered, ironically. It’s completely idiotic to still be embarrassed at your own need for your own boyfriend - but someone as beautiful as Eddie doesn’t come around very often. Getting to do this feels like retribution.

“You’re so pretty,” he groans, out of breath. He crudely spits on his cock, you can hear the slick sounds of his precum mixing with his saliva as he strokes himself a few times, one hand on your left hip while he guides his mauve tip to your slit.

“I’m gonna fuck all that attitude away baby.”

The stretch is jarring and unexpected, but the sounds you both make as he sticks himself passed your gummy entrance isn’t. You grip the counter, and he leans his weight over you so that he can mouth at your shoulders while he pushes himself in to the hilt- kissing your cervix before his cock moved around it.

“Yeah?” He taunts, hair tickling your back and lips smearing kisses against your nape. “You’re so goddamn wet, this is all you needed huh?”

He’s genuine within the ruggedness of his voice. Within seconds he’s pulling himself out and shoving himself back in with something fierce driving him. He’s unforgiving in his pace once he gets into a comfortable stance, kicking his sweats off of his ankles and planting his feet behind you.

It’s a symphony of sticky, wet sounds, and grunts with compositions of skin against skin in your small kitchen. It’s been so long since you’ve felt him, since he’s felt you. He’s not just fucking you from the back, he’s mounting you - panting lewdly in your ear while his hands snake themselves around your shoulders.

You cry out, nothing coherent leaving your mouth. Your poor cunt was still contracting from the orgasm he gave you with his mouth when shoved himself inside of you, and now that little spongey spot is being brutally massaged over and over again with each stroke.

“That’s - s-so - good.” Your words are staccato, followed by petulant whines. You’re thankful for his hit breath on your neck, the groans leaving him, the weight of his body behind you. He’s close while still delivering a delicious punishment - a fucking that’s meant to make you forget about anything that’s happened this past week.

“Awe baby, it feels good hmm? You - fucking hell-“

His balls tighten and he knows he’s gonna cum soon, he’s too caught up in how you’re squeezing around him, throbbing from the inside out with your admiration for him. You try to reach back and touch him, but he holds your arms in front of you, a sort of embrace and restraint all in one.

“need to cum baby, need to show you how much I love you. Need to fill you - oh baby - need to fill you all the way. That’s it - there you go there you go, I know.”

He kisses your cheek where a tear falls down, your knees beginning to tremble again in tandem with his own. He ruts and ruts and ruts, your cream coating his cock, your warmth swallowing him whole.

He pulls out, and you think you might start weeping, till he turns you around by your waist and licks the inside of your parted lips. He hiked your leg up around his lithe waist, bends his knees and maneuvers his hips forward so that he can slide back into you.

Now that he can see your face, and you can see his, you both feel cathartic.

You hang onto his shoulders, clawing at his curls and he holds your face, damp lips centimeters away from your own while your foreheads rest against each other. You look down to watch him disappear inside of you, and you marvel at it. Your juices and the sounds they make, how pretty his dick looks coated in your release and his own pre ejaculate.

“M’so fucking deep,” he’s shaking now, sweat beading down his neck. His bottom lip quivers and you begin to realize how this must feel for him as well. How badly you both needed the other. “it feels so fucking good, so good so good so good.”

He’s babbling and you pull his mouth to yours again, suckling on his tongue. With some foreign strength, you use your voice.

“Please cum, I love you Eddie. I want you to cum for me please please, I can’t take it. Cum for me cum for me cum for me I love you.”

He thinks he might cry, he’s so fucking deep when you wrap your arms around him, when your hips are connected so closely that you can’t tell where one of you begins and the other one ends - when the sweet lullaby that is your voice serenades him, begs him to let go.

“Oh god, oh fuck I’m - fuuuuck.”

He tightens, stuttering inside of you while small gasps of pleasure leave him like hiccups. You inhale the scent of his hair, feel the rise and fall of his breath from between his shoulder blades. You’re both twitching, barely standing. A mess, and certainly a sight to see.

He stays like that for a few moments, just enough for all of his cum to dribble out from the tip and into you. When he pulls out, the sound is audible and crude, and he swears to himself he will clean the mess on your kitchen floor.

You don’t know who kisses who first.

Both of you go for the others neck, cheeks, forehead. Gently, with enough love to fill an entire universe itself. It’s a juxtaposition to the way you just had each other. It’s love. Pure, unadulterated, sickeningly sweet to the melancholy.

“I’m staying here tonight,” he kisses your eyelids, then your nose, out of breath. “and I’m gonna make breakfast in the morning. We are never letting this happen again.”

You scratch his scalp.

“Which part? Cause-“ he rolls his eyes, smiling boyishly. Enough to show his dimples, flash his teeth.

“You know which part, I’ll give you whatever you want. But I’m never going this long without being around you. Not ever.”

He’s devout, sincere in a way that is irrevocable. You don’t argue, don’t wince, don’t make a face. You nod, suckling his bottom lip.

You listen.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn #eddie munson x you #Eddie Munson au #joseph quinn x reader #Eddie Munson Drabble #Eddie Munson imagine

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love-that-we-were-in · 3 months

Text

indelible scars, pivotal marks

pairing: luke castellan x implied apollo!reader

summary: you might be the only person who actually knows luke castellan. you don't think anyone else is willing to try.

a/n: what if i told you i got yelled at a lot after writing this. enjoy! oh this is also my first x reader in the 5 years i've been writing who cheered. have fun !

Luke is fourteen the first time he can remember sleeping through the night. He’s barely been at Camp Half-Blood for three hours, skin still splotched purple and blue, Thalia’s yells echoing in his skull. There’s no silence, a steady hum of nature that’s leveled by the voices of people he doesn’t know, and he knows he shouldn’t sleep. They’ve lost Thalia, left her just beyond the borders of an unknown place, and it’s a risk to welcome the flimsy pillow they gave him. He does it anyway, eyes closing to the sound of Annabeth’s soft breaths.

The respite lasts one night.

By morning, he’s recounted the last five years more than he ever wanted to. Annabeth clings to him then, a known comfort. She knows the broad strokes of the story, could recount them herself, but there’s gaps from before her time, and there’s things Thalia made him swear not to tell. If she notices, she doesn’t comment, just keeps her fingers close to her side. He knows that’s where she keeps her dagger - he wonders if Chiron can tell as well.

Chiron brings them to Thalia, explains what happened and how lucky it is. Luke looks at the tree, the first time Thalia has stood taller than him since they met - something she always swore she would do one day - and leans back against it as Annabeth sobs into his shoulder.

Mr D sends Annabeth to the Athena cabin before lunch. Luke doesn’t need to be told to make his way to Cabin 11. He knows who his father is. His backpack is left at the base of a bed in the far corner of the room, a group of boys gathered around the area turning to watch him the second he walks in. They move away but they don’t stop their stares.

Sleep doesn’t come as easily to him that night.

You meet Luke Castellan when you’re fifteen, standing on the edge of the lake as a golden sun rises in the horizon. It’s your first morning at camp, your first morning admiring the sunrise in months, and you think you could find a home here. Within the hour, you’re sure the calm won’t be the same – too many kids in the same space, swords and satyrs and strawberries guiding the day along – but for now there’s sunlight.

“Breakfast isn’t for two more hours,” someone says from behind you. It should be scarier than it is, put you on high alert with the way he creeps into the space without a sound. “Just in case someone forgot to mention that.”

He’s pretty. Strong chin, dark eyes. On most people you’ve met, that’s where pretty ends. Not him. There’s this way he stands in your periphery; comfortable in his worn camp t-shirt, like he was made to live in it, to have it define him for an eternity. Very few people are pretty in a way that speaks of forever.

“I like to watch the sunrise.”

He hums. “I’m Luke.”

He waits, steps away, until you offer him a seat beside you on the grass. It was something you were told once, an eclectic art teacher draped in shawls and chunky jewelry, how the sun is only as beautiful as it is when shared with another. As Luke sits next to you, you enjoy the quiet you’re positive isn’t built to last.

Luke becomes a counselor that summer. Everyone saw it coming, the way he’s known to everyone and not just the Hermes kids. Whispers of a legacy, of a potential legend in the making, followed him already, two years at camp creating grand ideas for his future – counselor status just helps to further them. It’s not that big of a deal normally. It’s potentially defining when you’re the best swordsman in almost three hundred years.

You find him on his way back from the Big House that evening, heading in no particular direction but with a clear idea of where he doesn’t want to be. It’s something you’ve learnt to read in the last few weeks, the way Luke fluctuates. How he dips in and out of personas as if it’s possible to switch them out. It comes with renown, you suppose.

“Counselor Castellan, is it?”

He smiles something bitter. “So they tell me.”

Without hesitation, you take hold of his hand. It’s warmer than yours and you feel the difference in your bloodstream. Luke doesn’t look at you, doesn’t comment, and you lead him away from the cabins and down to the lake.

There’s maybe an hour until sunset. You’re almost attuned to it now, mornings spent watching it with rapt attention. Luke normally joins you, sword dropped between you. Some mornings, the thud of metal onto stone is the only reason you know he’s arrived, still so silent in his arrival that you wonder if it’s on purpose.

“Does it make you anxious?” You ask when the silence stretches on for too long, when Luke stares unblinkingly at the horizon for longer than he should. He blinks, irises shifting from a glassy bronze and back to muted brown as the film clears. “Did they even ask if it was something you wanted?”

He scoffs and you wonder if this is where everything changes. Luke always has things he wants to say, balancing on the tip of his tongue until he figures out how to swallow them down and burn them. It’s like you can see it play out in real time, his jaw shifting, arm tensing.

“Mr D told me it was a great honor. Chiron told me it was long overdue.”

“You weren’t given a chance to say no.”

It’s a pattern you’ve noticed, not just within camp but with all the Gods. Clarisse was sent a spear with no note, but everyone knew who had sent it. Annabeth’s hat was exactly the same. Gifts. All gifts. No receipts or return addresses provided. Life at camp was something to be grateful for, always, considering the alternative most of you had already been forced to live. To comment on it would make you an enemy of those too powerful to consider.

Looking at the tense set of Luke’s shoulders, you kind of want to say it anyway.

“I’m about to have all the glory Camp Half-Blood could offer me,” Luke says and the sun begins to dip below the surface of the lake. His palm is warm in yours again. “Why would I complain?”

There’s a flurry of new arrivals no one anticipated the next summer They come in pairs, mostly, with the odd trio. Always one unclaimed within the group. Always one who gets marched to Cabin 11 in the middle of the night, sometimes after hours of questioning.

You know the nights that it’s happened, taking in the way Luke’s movements are less sharp, the way he breathes more shallowly. A conservation of energy. It doesn’t affect you much until it does, the sharp sting of Luke’s sword on your arm as he loses his footing, turns too suddenly at the sound of your footsteps.

“This is insane,” you say as you press your shirt into the cut. It’s not bad, something that will heal quickly and fade into nothingness, but Luke locks his gaze on the red dotting your skin as if he doesn’t understand how it got there. “They can’t keep waking you up in the middle of the night for this.”

“The only other place they can go is the med bay and none of them have been beaten up badly enough to be worth waking an Apollo kid.”

“I’ve seen some of the kids when they’ve gotten here, Luke,” you mutter, shirt hem dropping as the wound stops bleeding. You glance up at him. “They could do with being patched up.”

He sinks down to the floor. You stay on your feet. “This is what I signed up for when I took the position.”

There’s this way Luke’s voice gets sometimes, sharp and low and just a little spiteful. A build-up of years with little mercy granted. That’s how it is now, speaking through clenched teeth, completely biting back the vitriol and pretending there’s no heat to his words.

He’s always been pretty in the sunrise, from the day you met, but you think he might be prettiest right now – lying to himself more than he can lie to you in the moments before there’s any sunlight at all. When you would let darkness spill into itself, Luke forces light to filter in. If you caught him at the darkest hour, you wonder if that would remain.

Taking in the way he digs his nail into the fabric of his pants, you doubt even he would know how to stop himself then.

You aren’t chosen for Luke’s quest. He finds you after the ceremony, face pulled taut and bag thrown over his shoulder already. There’s no regret in his eyes, no determination either. You stand straighter when you hear him approach, grateful that he cared enough not to take you by surprise for once.

“Don’t be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?” You say. It’s disingenuous to your own ears, the way it pitches, so you fold your arms across your chest. “Chris and Ethan will be great questmates. A band of brothers.”

Luke swallows. “Is that really what you think this is? That I wanted to make my quest a guys trip?”

“I don’t think anything of it, Luke.”

In the middle of the day, you can see him clearest. See the golden boy of Camp Half-Blood the way everyone else does. In broad daylight, there’s few things more noticeable on Luke Castellan. The slope of his nose, the straightness of his back, the comfortable weight of his sword on his hip – almost a tether to who he proclaims himself to be. It’s your least favorite version of him.

“I would’ve chosen you. In a heartbeat, I would’ve chosen you,” he says, brown eyes shifting from dim to desperate in moments. A plea to be heard. You know you’re the only one to ever truly listen when he speaks.

“Doesn’t really seem that way.”

“I just needed a reason to come back when it’s over.”

It stills the air around you. The words tangle themselves together in your brain, drown out the archers in the distance, the birds overhead. They echo and twist and they maintain their tone, the low pitch Luke uses when he’s decided to say something he doesn’t want to be heard. They bury themselves in the corner with the other times he’s used it, forever ingrained, and you don’t know what to make of them. How to define them at all.

He waits, gaze firm, until you nod slightly. You keep your chin low, determined to give little satisfaction to the situation. To Hermes giving Luke a reused quest, to the possibility of losing him because you aren’t there. It curdles deep in your gut, refusing to remain unknown.

There’s a moment where Luke hesitates, his hand twitching slightly, arm moving minutely higher from where it hangs down by his waist. Instead, his fist clenches and he exhales long and low.

“Promise to be here when I get back?”

“I’ll be really annoyed if you’re not the one knocking on my cabin door.”

He turns back to face you after he joins Chris and Ethan at the border. They’re all capable, with a history of working together. They’ll succeed, return to praise and glory and everything they deserve to have. The sun beats down on Luke as he nods goodbye and you wonder if it shines on anyone else at all.

The scar becomes a part of him.

It fades into his skin with time, going from raised and rotten to a streak of pale across his cheek. You overhear some of the Ares kids praising it as symbolic of his win, a prize of sorts, and some of the Aphrodite kids saying it makes him more appealing, makes him look stronger. You’re not sure what you think of it, tracing it with gentle fingers as it heals.

It becomes a habit, running a knuckle down Luke’s cheek each morning. Feeling where the skin tied itself back together. He never comments. You want to ask if he minds, that you’ll stop if it’s too much. The first few times you did it, in the days right after his return, he had flinched, features pinching together. Your hand had dropped, all too aware of the matted skin, how it probably still ached but Luke had taken your hand and placed it back where it had been.

His scar becomes a statement, a badge of skill that everyone at camp can recognise. There had been little debate on the truth of his swordsmanship before but now it hardly existed, undeniable proof the first thing people noticed when introduced to him.

Most people don’t bother to ask Luke about it. Percy Jackson isn’t most people.

“You got attacked by a dragon?”

It’s the first time in years that anyone has joined you and Luke at the lake this early. Annabeth used to, on the rare occasions the worst of her nightmares returned. It’s different with Percy, like being close to the water rewires him completely. It makes sense days later when you watch him push open the door to the empty Cabin 3.

“Last year,” Luke hums, one hand resting softly in yours and the other keeping a loose grip on the sword handle in his lap. Percy had wanted to see him in action after hearing the stories, so you’d both obliged. “I made a wrong call and I paid for it.”

“At least it looks pretty cool.”

The way Percy says it is different to everyone else. It’s not ingrained with this odd lust, whether for adventure or the story or Luke himself. It’s more muted, a fact of life. He’s not saying it to make anyone feel better – he’s saying it to disregard. A scar is just a scar to Percy Jackson, as if he’s known too many to care.

“I guess it kind of is,” Luke says and the three of you listen to the morning begin.

#🖋️ abi writes…#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #luke castellan x you

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hypnos333 · 2 months

Text

The Garden of Eden

Adam x Angel Reader

Synopsis: You were in the garden alone growing flowers until Adam came and fell in love with you first sight

Warning:Smut

Your palms wrapped into a glowing gold around the rose ready for the flower to grow and it did. Your long hair was flowed around the garden not getting up any time soon to go back to heaven.

You loved earth, the seven days god made it you watched all seven days, to see the beauty of it all.

Little did you know a naked man was peeking behind the tree, observing you, and fascinated with you. He watched as your long hair flowed through the winds and how you eyes were fixated on growing the flower.

“I know you’re back there, Show yourself human” You said without looking up, Adam continued hiding swallowing his pride to correct you. “I’m sorry that a bit rude of me, What’s your name?” You asked him making step out of the tree now standing behind you.

“Adam, What’s yours?” Adam said confidently and pridefully as hum running your hands through the rose.

“My name is ___ I’m am an Angel taking care of Eden” You replied to him with respectfulness and gentleness in your voice. Not even Lilith talk to him like that all she does is sass back at him and just gives out a full attitude but you were different. You were submissive and you always seem to listen with pretending too.

“Why do you want to work here? Or were you forced to-“Oh heavens no, this is all by choice I pleaded God to let me even step foot here” You interrupted him

He nodded standing there awkwardly before you turned to him gesturing him to sit next to you.

“Lemme show you something” You said as he sat down, you took his hands into yours then you put your hands on top of his before wrapping it around another dying flower this time it was a Sunflower.

His hands glowed a golden as it heals the flower. When it was over his face was full of disbelief and shock you didn’t pull your hands away and neither did he. “What the fuck did I just do” He said making you chuckle and his cursing.

“Well you healed a flower of course” You said stating the obvious.

“Ohhh well fuck me” He mumbles to himself making you playfully push him finally letting go of his hand, Adam was a little disappointed but ignored the feeling anyways.

He laid down on the grass making you follow suit as you both continued getting to know each other.

Days past and before you knew it Lilith and Lucifer got banished to hell, so God gave Adam a new wife but before he even gotten a new wife there was a secret that you both will forever keep.

Moans could be heard throughout both your secret spot as his dick abused your cunt in and out multiple times. You were moaning against his ear as he fucked you against a tree. “A-Ah Adam f-faster” You moaned out making his thrust faster as one of his hand moves to squeeze your breasts making Moan louder. “F-Fuck I might as well milk my cum into you and fuck you a baby angel” He whispers into your ear as you moan even louder at that. “Yes Adam fuck a baby into me” You moan out and that when he cummed deep into your pussy making it leak

Yeah but since Adam and Eve as a new wife you both can’t secretly fuck anymore, it goes against the bible and when Adam fucked Eve you haven’t talked to him when he had three children and got banished of Eden for trusting Eve and eating the apple.

You were also pregnant so you could definitely not see him anymore.

Later you gave birth to beautiful boy, Isaac a name fit for an Angel when he was two that’s when Adam died.

A baby Giggling could be heard coming out of your house, Adam was nervous to see you and maybe thought you moved on to someone else. But he had to at least try and make it seem like he’s a pussy. So he knocked it took few minutes but then when you opened the door he was shocked.

It was you as beautiful as ever but holding a baby angel who had his hair and skin complexion, but your eyes and smile. “It’s either you fucked someone who looked like me or that baby is mine” He stated bluntly making you roll your eyes.

“Lemme put him down for a nap, come in if you want” You said opening the door wider for him making him come in and close your door as you went to put Issac in his crib.

“What’s his name?” Adam asked realizing the baby was actually his.

“His name is Issac” You said simply before sitting on the couch across from him. Making Adam move to sit next to you and pull you on his lap.

“Why were you so far away from?” He whispered in your ear before kissing and sucking your neck making you moan quietly. “A-Adam the baby is in the other room” You said as he slid his hands into your dress groping your breasts.

“He’s sleeping anyways” Adam stated bluntly making you thankful that Issac is a deep sleeper. Next you knew your bouncing on Adams thick cock, cum thirsty, Your moans were loud as the skin clapping of you bouncing on his dick naked.

Adam was squeezing both your breasts as you bounce “Yes take as much as you want you dirty whore” He said before he grabbed your hips thrusting even faster. As you almost scream at the pleasure you came hard at the same time Adam came inside you again.

You laid tiredly on his shoulder as he put you to bed but then the baby started crying making him rush to Issac to see reaching out to his binkie on the counter. Adam gave him the pacifier making Issac put it in his mouth before smiling at Adam one more time before falling asleep.

That is definitely yours and his child

#adam x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel adam #adam x you #Adam x listener

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supernovafics · 6 months

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 2.7k words

summary: in which a moment at a party that led to a drunken kiss and a heartfelt admission pushes you and your best friend away from each other. after nearly a week of silence, it’s still hard to find the right words to say to steve and to find the right way to mend what feels as if it has been permanently broken. until you’re drunk at a bar and he is the one to come and get you.

warnings: bestfriend!steve, explicit language, underage alcohol consumption, angst with a happy ending<33

author’s note: this was sitting in the drafts for a veryvery long time and i’ve finally decided to let it see the light of day🫶🏾 (full “folklore” album series masterlist here)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“i didn't know if you'd care if i came back, i have a lot of regrets about that.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The bar was comforting in a weird kind of way.

It was pretty dark and empty for the most part, which partly made sense since it was ten o’clock on a random Wednesday night. You didn’t mind the music softly playing and the stool you were sitting on actually felt comfortable, or maybe it was the alcohol making you believe that.

Somehow even with the number of drinks you’d had in the past hour, it still didn’t manage to effectively push your thoughts far away from Steve and what happened at Robin’s birthday party.

You couldn’t not think about the kiss with him, which you had abruptly and drunkenly initiated; it was a kiss that felt simultaneously wrong and right. And his words that followed the kiss played on what felt like an endless loop in your mind too.

“I’ve wanted this, I’ve wanted us, for practically forever. Ever since that moment our mom’s forced us to meet at that county fair thing when we were ten, I think I knew it was you.”

It was hard to think about what you did in response to that, but still the quick, “I’m sorry, I can’t,” you managed to stutter out before basically running away from him played on equal loop in your head.

The two of you hadn’t spoken since that Saturday night, with you returning back to your college that was two hours away from Hawkins early the next morning. And you were unsure if it was you leading this dance or if both of you were equally avoiding each other because the phone calls that would happen practically daily were reduced to nothing. It had barely been a week, but it was long enough for everything in your life to feel shifted; to feel a little emptier.

“You look like you need to talk to someone,” The bartender, a woman who you were certain couldn’t be older than thirty, said as she slid you the latest drink you’d ordered.

“No, I’m fine. It’s just…” You trailed off with a small sigh before taking a sip from the cold glass. “I did something stupid this past weekend and I regret it, but I also think it might have been the right thing to do.” You were unsure if you were referring to the kissing Steve part or the running away from him part. “I don’t know, I just wish that entire night hadn’t happened, actually.”

You knew that it wasn’t solely your inebriation that made your words seem as if they didn’t make any sense, because everything going through your head was so damn confusing even when you were completely sober. None of it, the emotions you were feeling or the situation itself, fully made sense to you and you forced yourself to not think about any of it by solely consuming yourself with your schoolwork for the last few days. And when doing that was no longer enough to silence your thoughts, you decided to come to this bar.

It was dumb and probably only making things worse, you knew that, but it also felt so much easier.

“Okay,” The woman said. “Can I have a lot more context?”

You were unsure why you had the immediate urge to tell her everything. Maybe it was the alcohol, or perhaps because it was just always so easy for anyone to pour their heart out to a stranger.

“My friend— my best friend, we’ve known each other since we were ten— me and him were at a party. It was actually our other friend’s birthday and she just turned eighteen, so of course, we had to make it a huge thing for her, and we did it at Steve’s house; my best friend, that’s his name. Anyway, it’s about two hours into the party and we’re all pretty drunk. Me and Steve are in his backyard sitting on one of his old patio chairs, and then I don’t know why, I blame it on my drunkenness and how close we were in that moment, but I kissed him. I pulled away almost immediately, but then he said that he has wanted this, wanted us, to happen for so long, and I didn’t know what to say to any of that. So, I just mumbled out a stupid “I’m sorry,” and then left.”

You had barely taken a breath as you spoke, spitting out what happened that night in one rushed go. Finally saying all of it out loud— recounting the story in pretty much its entirety— made you feel a little better. Everything was still a complete mess, but you felt like you could breathe the tiniest bit easier.

“Why did you leave?”

A part of you expected her to ask that question, and at this point, you should’ve had an answer to it that felt certain, but you didn’t.

“It just… It felt like the right thing to do, I think.”

The thought of anything more happening with Steve hadn’t ever crossed your mind, at least not consciously, and even now you still refused to think more about it. Because it wasn't just about Steve. You didn’t want anything more with anyone; you didn’t want feelings, a relationship, any of it.

It wasn’t that you hated love or the thought of it, it was more so that you had been burned because of it so many times that you refused to fall into it so easily again. Falling for boys that you thought actually liked you only to be proven wrong and left heartbroken.

“I get it,” The bartender ultimately said, her voice soft. “You guys have been friends for practically forever and if you started dating and then broke up it would probably change everything between you two.”

We would never break up.

The thought hit you so abruptly that it actually managed to surprise you.

The woman looked at you, confused. “Okay… So, then what’s the problem?”

“What?”

“You said that you and him would never break up, so what’s the problem?”

You hadn’t realized you said the thought out loud, and you couldn’t even feel embarrassed about accidentally saying it because all you could think about was how completely true it was. You and Steve would work so well together, you pretty much already did. You knew the ins and outs of each other; everything little that was annoying but also so endearing. It was what you loved about him— as a friend and as more.

But still, it was so fucking hard to admit that out loud, and you wanted to forget about the entire realization.

“I– I don’t know,” You finally answered before folding your arms against the countertop and then putting your head down. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that that action would be enough to will away the tears that you could now feel threatening to spill out.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“and i ended up here. pouring out my heart to a stranger.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Hey, you okay?”

The voice was soft and immediately comforting and oh so familiar. It was enough to put a smile on your face, but your head was starting to pound so you couldn’t bear to do anything but groan.

You lifted your head and mumbled out a soft, “Steve?”

You only vaguely remembered the bartender, whose name you eventually learned was Chelsea, asking for a phone number of someone that could pick you up. And although you should’ve given her your roommate’s number, you instead gave her Steve’s.

“I never thought I’d be the one picking you up from a bar,” Steve said as he sat down next to you. “I always thought it would be the other way around.”

“Y’know what they say about college, it changes people,” You told him with a nonchalant shrug. The two of you hadn’t talked in days, but it still felt like second nature to fall back into the joking cadence you had with him. “I’m a total badass now.”

Steve laughed a bit and looked at you amusingly. “Mhm, yeah, sure you are.”

You weren’t as drunk anymore but you were entering the early stages of a hangover that would be a bitch, and you already knew that there was no way you’d be going to your eleven o’clock Statistics class.

“I can’t believe you drove two hours to pick me up,” You said as you settled yourself in the passenger seat of Steve’s car after you paid your pricey tab and goodbyes were said to Chelsea.

Steve offered you a small smile. “What else are best friends for?”

You couldn’t help but look away from him as you mumbled out a soft, “I didn’t know we were still that.”

“We’ll always be that.”

There was so much certainty in his voice that it actually managed to soothe something inside of you. Only for a second, though, because then you were back in your head again.

The drive back to your dorm was quiet with only the soft sounds of the radio to fill the silence. It was a short ride, only about ten minutes, and the entire time you could only focus on your dull headache and what you wanted to say to Steve because you knew that you had to say something. Although you didn’t want to, that night needed to finally be talked about.

When he was parked in front of your building, you still didn’t know exactly what to say, but you decided to start with something. “Listen, about Robin’s party–”

“It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it. Let’s just pretend it never happened,” Steve interrupted you. He pushed a hand through his hair and then met your gaze. “It was really dumb of me to say all of that stuff, and I partially blame it on all the drinks we had— definitely way too many. We’re just friends, I know that. And your life is here now, for the most part, and mine is back in Hawkins, so yeah…” He trailed off with a small shrug.

You suddenly felt nauseous and you knew it had nothing to do with the alcohol. He was saying everything that you fully thought you wanted to hear— what happened at the party should’ve never happened, you two were just friends— so why did it feel so wrong?

Things became quiet and Steve was looking at you expectantly, and you were unsure how long you’d been silent for.

“Um, yeah, exactly,” You finally said as you unbuckled your seatbelt. Before you opened the passenger door to leave his car, you reached over and pulled Steve in for a hug. “Drive safe.”

“Thanks,” He said as his arms circled around you.

For some reason, there was a huge part of you that wanted to say “I’m sorry” in that moment, but you didn’t entirely know why, so instead you said nothing and simply got out of his car.

You headed to the entrance of your dorm building and then turned around, giving Steve a final wave before he drove away.

It was then— as he headed down the street and after a few moments his car became completely out of your view— that you wished you’d been honest; with yourself and with him.

Because it was in that moment of you yearning for him to turn around mixed with you sincerely wanting to go after him that essentially sealed it for you.

Steve was different and he always would be.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“and maybe i don't quite know what to say, but i'm here in your doorway.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You felt slightly lucky that you only had two classes on Thursdays because when you woke up after sleeping through your Statistics class, you knew that you wouldn’t be going to your Psychology class that started at three. And the reasoning actually had nothing to do with your hangover.

Aside from the slight headache, you woke up with your mind feeling completely clear for the first time in a long time. You knew exactly what you wanted and what you wanted to do, and before that feeling could go away, or you could convince yourself to push it away, you were in your car an hour before your class was supposed to start and driving to Hawkins. You were pretty much running off of impulse and hope.

The weather was terrible and you hated driving in the rain, but it didn’t matter to you right then because you needed to see Steve.

You had two long hours of driving in terrible rain to figure out what exactly you wanted to say to him, yet you still couldn’t form a coherent set of sentences in your head. But, similar to the rain, that didn’t stop you from ringing his doorbell.

In hindsight, it probably would’ve been smart to bring an umbrella because it was still pouring and from the short walk from your car to his front door, your clothes managed to become effectively soaked, but it didn’t bother you.

“Hey,” He said when he opened the door, it was easy to tell that he was surprised to see you. “Did you drive all the way here?”

You quickly nodded at his question. “Yes.”

“You hate driving in rain.”

“Yeah, but I… I just really wanted to talk to you, and didn’t wanna do it over the phone.”

“Come inside,” Steve said, pushing the door open wider so that you could step in.

You almost followed him but then stopped. “No, wait… I kinda just wanna say this here.”

Steve looked at you confused, but ultimately nodded. “Okay.” He then stepped out of his house and closed the door behind him; his clothes immediately got wet. “It feels wrong that you’re the only one getting hit by the rain.”

You laughed a bit. “Thank you. That’s very considerate.”

Things got quiet for a second and you suddenly felt nervous, but you pushed that feeling to the side.

“I know you said that we don’t need to talk about the party and we should pretend that it never happened. And although that’s exactly what I’d been doing for the past few days, I don’t wanna do that anymore.” It actually didn’t feel too hard to let all of this out; verbalizing exactly what had been going on in your head. In a way, it felt like a relief. “I think I kissed you that night because deep down I know that it’s you too. And that it’s always been you… Which is actually so scary to think about because we’ve known each other for so long and you’re the one person in my life that has been the biggest constant. You’ve seen every part of my very horrific love life and I don’t want us to end up like any of the stupid relationships I had before, and I think that’s why I ran away that night, which I do really regret.” You pulled your eyes away from his for a second. “But, what we have is different, and I want to try. I want us to try.”

You let out a long breath. “Okay, that’s it.”

Steve didn’t say anything for a few moments, and it was then that you realized how loud the rain was, and somehow it was actually a bit calming to hear the sounds of the heavy drops hitting the ground.

You searched his eyes to see if you could decipher what he was thinking, but before you could get a clear read on anything, he was closing the small bit of distance between you both and reaching up to cup your face in his hands before leaning in to kiss you.

The abruptness of the action slightly startled you, but you were completely okay with this nonverbal response to you pouring your heart out. You were kissing him back almost immediately and suddenly the sound of the rain was gone and instead all you could hear was your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

The kiss felt perfectly new but also so insanely familiar; even though this was the first time this was happening sober. And so many things were running through your mind, but it was also effectively blank and you knew you wouldn’t be able to form a coherent sentence even if you tried.

Most of all, though, everything happening right then— the way your hands fisted themselves in his rain soaked t-shirt to pull him impossibly closer to you, and how his thumb stroked your cheek so tenderly— it all felt so certain and sure and right; there wasn’t an ounce of doubt lingering in the air around you both or lacing its way within the kiss.

When you pulled away to catch your breath and smiled up at him, a smile that Steve immediately matched with an elated grin of his own, it slightly killed you that all of this hadn't happened sooner.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“i just wanted you to know that this is me trying.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things fluff #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington

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leclsrc · 10 months

Text

decent incentives ✴︎ cl16, mv1

genre: this is. Smut, porn W plot, threesome, driver reader

word count: 6.9k

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs. Or: You’ve been a brat, and only two people know how to mellow you out. title from this

auds here… hi hi hi! scanned my reqs last week, found a max/charles threesome one, and wrote this out in half a day after a friend showed me the challengers trailer (i love tennis and it drove me to write abt a sport that was not, in fact, tennis) also i truly cannot explain the phenomenon behind me finding smut/these kinds of works easier to suss out these days (long form fic i talked abt in the last drabble is not this one fyi) but it’s just ???? like i don’t… i’ve no clue. i hope u enjoy this anyway!!!! love auds :)

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, double penetration, sexual tension, masturbation (f), teasing, praise central, reader is a MASSIVE brat, size kink, dirty talk, i don’t want to say brat taming but kinda kinda

Your first time in Max Verstappen’s hotel room happened after a tiring night of media and press, where you spent hours together smoking to calm yourselves down. You’d almost been caught by a manager, stepping on your sticks as soon as the back door swung open and your names were called out to do another interview. This was with ESPN, if you remember right. There’d been a muddled chaos of journalism in the venue, all the jumbled mess of the same questions. As young as you both are, do you feel intimidated by success?

It didn’t—and still doesn’t—help, you suppose, that both you and Max had stared, tight-lipped and deflated brows, and stated, with finality: no.

The afternoon stretched into an entire night, and by the time the clock ticked nine and everything had formally wrapped up, Max mustered up the courage and a half it took to invite you to his hotel room for a cig and half a Cuervo divided into three shots each. The conversation had progressed as he drove, the continuation of an otherwise unorthodox friendship between a Red Bull and Mercedes driver—a fact you’d both acknowledged but opted to ignore.

Drivers are friends all the time, you figure—you’re close with few drivers—but none of them are Max. You had made the lousy small talk, commented on how different the pre- and post-race processes have become since your entrance in 2018, which, back then, had seemed like forever ago. “It would seem like forever to a world champion,” he’d said, and his voice is all teasing and raspy and scruffed up. You had laughed, a scoffy little noise, and told him to shut up.

He obeyed, for two seconds, then added, “Do you mind if we meet someone there?”

The hotel room was what you might expect a high-level athlete to be bestowed with, wide and huge but not as wide and not as huge as yours a few streets over. There’d been a thing of cologne left uncapped on the table by the door, Adidas shoes on the floor next to Nikes, and then a low table housing a still smoking joint that left the entire living room smelling like grass.

Somehow, Max had managed to turn a neutral, sterile hotel room into a boy’s room. The scent of weed mixed with Tom Ford cologne. The rap music blending into the open balcony’s traffic noise. The socks on the floor, two pairs, both white. It’s a strenuous effort, you’d thought—and you were beginning to think this wasn’t the work of Max alone. “We have a guest,” he’d hollered when he managed to fiddle with the key card properly enough to leave the door alone.

No one had answered, or surfaced from the hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom, so you followed Max into the bar area. Bottles of booze in varying states of empty, lemon slices and salt now cold—“Do you not call housekeeping?” You’d asked, amusement concealing curiosity as you accepted a poured-out shot. He said they do—they—and sometimes hotel staff are just a bunch of pricks. He asked more questions. How it felt to win at twenty-one, how it felt to be driving, to be the youngest winner, the first female driver.

Ask me something I don’t hear fucking journalists say all the time, you’d replied back, half-jokingly. The August air nipped at your cheeks, chilling your warm face. He’d laughed, and explained that he re-asked the questions in case you have a more honest answer to give him. The most honesty you could offer is that you’d grown to hate your reputation because it precedes your skill. It’d been silent for a bit then, just the scent of the unclaimed weed. Then Max went, We have a new friend.

You turned to see who he was talking to. Charles was at the doorway, eyes on you already, raising a hand to say a silent hello. “H…” He trailed off. “Hey.”

He was shirtless, Calvins tight on his legs, his free hand scratching absently at his abs. Behind you, you had faintly picked up on Max introducing you and Charles rolled his eyes before replying, clipped, I know who she is, wiseass. He’d taken the weed and almost left, but you spoke next.

“Want to come sit?”

He paused, turned, and blinked. “I’m alright,” he rejected. “We have a meeting tomorrow, don’t forget.”

Then he was back in the bedroom area, leaving behind him a trail of grassy smoke. He was clearly rugged and fresh from sleep, the delicious sleep athletes have all grown familiar with: post-race, overcome with a terrible exhaustion. You’d only ever exchanged a few words with either of these two, and the fact that you were alone with them sent a warm, drawling thrill up your spine.

You were two and a half shots in when Charles reappeared, sans weed. “Any left for me?”

—

If you grouped the grid into years, you would be with Max and Charles—on the younger end, still at the ripe years of your careers. You entered first, though, then Max, thenCharles, which meant you were connected to, and friends with, relatively different people on the paddock. But the 2020 season and your many close calls with Max began the media and manager tirade of constantly lumping you and Max into the same interviews, press conferences, and media days, to maybe somehow elicit a bit of drama out (a tireless and unrelenting effort).

That’s how the rumors started. The rumor that permeates you most is one that asks about you, Max, and Charles. Some say you dated one then the other (a homie hopper, they’d branded you in 2021), others say they dated each other and you butted in. All of them were woefully untrue, in the same way all had some ring of truth to them.

And you suppose that’s what hotwired the beginning of your nights spent at Max’s hotel room, where Charles would nearly always be camped out, then eventually vice versa (Charles’ room, Max camping out; your room, solo, housing them for one night), drinking and/or smoking and/or playing some form of cards. And you suppose again that it was all this that radiated into everything else, all your wins and successes and bad days and near crashes, that just caused the entire universe to topple over, into itself, and creep up onto the three of you in Bahrain that year.

But that year is three years ago, and if you try to detail every last divot of it, you’re going to wind up rubbing a migraine out of your head. And you’re not interested in developing a headache—not when you’re celebrating the fifth race of the 2023 season.

It’s your fourth win this season. It’s all anybody ever talks about, how you had gone and secured a third championship for yourself last year, and how you’re gunning for four, the greatest the sport has seen in years. It’s all anyone can repeat and echo—you’re a fucking legend!—and you know from experience that praise does more than the most dangerous cocktail of drugs to get you high.

The afterparty is full and obnoxiously loud, dark and smoky and low-visibility. You’re wearing a flimsy dress and running a hand through your hair while you nurse a drink, feeling drunk on compliments and confused with certain absences. You can feel the bass through the tiled floor, heels clicking on it as you search, search, and come up short. Neither Max nor Charles have sent you a text, a play they always perform to break a routine you’ve become familiar with. You frown. Hey, somebody says next to you, you’re better than anyone else on the grid right now! You thank them, thinking to yourself—where the fuck is anyone else on the grid anyway? The relevant people, at least?

Half an hour later, you’ve ditched the party and are pounding with your fists at Max’s hotel room door in an effort to get them to open it quicker, after your knuckles didn’t seem to do the work well enough. You half—no, mostly—expect Charles to be the one who pulls it open. He’s more prudent. He gives in easier. He’s nicer and he can spare a thought for the other people on this floor (but the price of this room means there barely are).

“What.” His voice is gritty.

“You told me you would come tonight.” Your voice is steady—you’d chosen not to drink much, and what little you consumed wore off on the ride here. Even with your heels on and even in sleepiness, you notice his presence towers over yours. “You both said.”

“We were tired.”

You scoff and gently push past him into the room, where evidence of their existence rags the furniture. “Every hotel room you ever stay in is turned into a fucking frat house.” Beer bottles, cigs, gifts from fans stored with precarious care but peeking out from suitcases.

“We were sleeping. I am sleepy,” he says behind you, unamused by your sudden appearance. He shuts the door and stands still, looking as disappointed as he can. It’s unlike him. You’re buying time to find out what the problem is.

“Okay, I’ll go,” you say, relenting, running a few fingers over the mess of clothes strewn atop the armrest of the couch. “My driver’s downstairs, anyway. I wanted you there tonight, though.” You look up, meet his eyes. Tired and green and fed up. “Both of you. We could’ve celebrated.”

He pulls his lips tight and stands straighter. “I know, I know.” He softens a little. “I’m sorry, okay? Desolé. Just… tired.” You know he’s tired because his team is shit, and you know it has nothing to do with you, but you’re so wrapped up with everything that your irritance fails to quell.

“Where’s Max?” You ask roughly instead, thumbing at the strap of your minidress. He gestures to the bedroom. You’re quiet but stormy when you walk in, finding him, messy hair and tired eyes notwithstanding, fully awake, unlike what his roomie has been telling you since you arrived; you scoff out loud again. Des-fucking-picable. You sit yourself on the couch, crossing your legs petulantly.

They both stare. They’re mad, it occurs to you, which is weird because they had you in between them on that same bed less than forty-eight hours ago. You’d come thrice and begged for more, but they laughed and said you all needed sleep to get up for race prep. Race prep. Race prep.

“Okay, then.” You throw two hands up in a semi-shrug. “Let’s have it. What’s the matter? No use lying.”

They both look irritated. “Nothing,” Max says.

“Fuck nothing.” You trail a hand over the hem of your dress. “You’re pissed with me, but I didn’t do shit.” You try to rerack the race, but you hadn’t so much as collided with them in the slightest, apart from overtaking them a few times, but they weren’t man children to whine over that. You’d shared the podium with Charles, for Chrissake.

“You’re right. You just went and…” Charles blows a raspberry and makes an explosion gesture, opening his clenched fist. “Shat on us in your post-race interview.”

And there it is.

You huff out a laugh, momentarily losing control over speech, and it’s caught in between itself and a sigh, a breathy noise that makes waves in the quiet room. Okay, you think. I get it. Your eyes flit in-between the two men across you, your shoulders straight and eyebrows raised, posing a challenge. “What, are you jealous?”

They’re silent. And you know silence always means—

Your eyes relax, smug and a little teasing as you elaborate. “Because you know I’m better than both of you?”

—Yes.

Their silence is redeeming and rewarding and permissive and it speaks volumes louder than if they’d actually admitted to it. You stare back at them, eyes narrowed, amused, coy. You’d been joking around in your Sky Sports interview. Sure, you’re a bit of a tease, especially on the high of a win. But they should know that by now.

You know it annoys them more to leave the door wide open as you leave, than to slam it closed.

—

“Will you draw me a tattoo?!”

“I’d love to, but you are going to regret it,” Charles laughs, signing his name off with a heart on the frenzied fan’s outstretched cap. The busy, busy practice day had now worn into night, though nothing seems to be taking his mind off the fact that you’ve been giving him and Max the cold shoulder since last week. And he knows it’s stupid, he knows he and Max were being irrational and pissy—him especially—but now he just finds himself needing to apologize before anything becomes worse.

But his priority is getting to your hotel, which now seems like the journey of his lifetime. His bodyguard is a bulldozer and grips his elbow to traverse them through the sea of people who cheer him on, go Charles have faith in Ferrari and yeah, that’s been getting more and more difficult as the races pass without much good progress. There are flashes all around, noise and laughing and whoops and gifts he tries to receive, but he just—he needs to get to your hotel. Preoccupied, he remembers where he’d seen Max last, just seconds before leaving the paddock for the evening.

You spend a lot of time with a certain pair Ferrari and Mercedes drivers, says the interviewer in Dutch. Charles squints at the subtitles and waits for Max’s reaction.

He’s in the passenger seat, being driven around for a change, and maybe he’s a pessimist and he misses you and Max, or maybe the city he’s in is just. Dreary, so he opts to stare at his phone like every other person. The clip’s been posted by a fan on Twitter, and the caption is something jokey—something about a dream threesome. He can’t help but laugh as he watches. We are close, us three, Max says, nodding. In fact I will be meeting them later.

The media’s always speculated, rumors born out of a few close calls outside clubs where you’re tipsy and giggly and getting into one car. The fans, funny as ever, also make some fun of it—posting pictures of you three captioned with something like polyamory is real or her and the guys she told you not to worry about, but God if any of them knew the real picture, the whole three years of it, all the sex and hickeys and rumors.

He scrolls a bit more. There are a few photos of you leaving the paddock, hand poised atop your face to shield it from the paps. You get loads more of them wherever you are, loads morecompared to anybody else on the grid. You always attract the media, the press. He finds a picture with your face in it, smiling at your result during FP2. Fuck. You’re pretty, hair damp with sweat, lips stretched into a proud grin, suited hand raising a thumbs up.

“Where to?” The driver beside him asks suddenly.

—

“Fairmont,” Max says to his assistant as he pulls out of parking. “I’m hanging up, doei.” He presses the red button and sighs, shutting his eyes and driving the steady, increasingly familiar routes of the city. He’d called you this morning but you didn’t pick up. Last night he’d slept restlessly, which was no different from the nights before, anyway.

He gets to the valet parking of your hotel when purple is just settling into blackness in the sky, the beginnings of a civil discussion at the tip of his tongue as he exits the elevator and finds your room, opening it and finding it unlocked already. Charles must have done the brunt of it, or maybe you’d gotten an assistant of an assistant to pass an extra keycard to him. You always plan around them, thinking ahead. Both on and off track.

Like the hotel rooms he and Charles share or camp out at, your existence is terribly visible. Unlike them, though, it manifests differently.

It smells like your perfume, the pink bottle he’d found you spritzing on once, and everything is neat and tidy and gorgeous. A vase of white peonies on the low table, lipstick on the table by the mirror, even the pack of cigarettes you barely smoke is pretty and unassuming on the sofa. The only thing amiss—a pair of men’s shoes, those ones with stars on them that you bought Charles on a spur-of-the-moment shopping trip. He toes off his own beside them, eyes the alignment, and fixes it lest you scold them for it later.

Anyway. It smells like you. That’s the only thing he cares about right now. It hits him like a tidal wave, after being ignored the whole week and then some. Your perfume, your favorite linen spray—that black and white glass bottle you carry around like a rosary—your favorite lip balm, even. He swears he smells the vanilla, can recall the taste of it from kissing you ditzy.

It’s beginning to rain—it had been drizzling already, en route here—and the noise pelts the windows, an accompaniment to his footsteps down the hall. He’s familiar with the layout of a penthouse suite, but still he tries out the WC door, and then the closet with the ironing board, before finally he figures the bedroom should be at the end of the hall.

He’s reciting it. I’m sorry. Would you stop being a brat? No. No, just say you’re sorry and then he’s standing at the ajar door of your bedroom, pushing it open, and he can’t feel anything. The words have evaporated. So have his warm little sentimental feelings, and so the annoyance he’d come busting in with.

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs.

He opens his mouth but nothing leaves. His eyes find Charles, standing by the door, propped against the desk, arms crossed and fingers digging into his biceps. Max looks at you again. You have a pretty flush high on your cheeks, a slight sheen of sweat on your exposed collar. He blinks and realizes you’ve been talking.

“I said, you can sit the fuck down.” There’s a couch to his left.

He pulls himself together and stays beside Charles. “I’m good here, thanks.”

You eye the two of them. They look like stupid twins in the same way they look like Republican husbands. You roll your eyes and allow it; anyway, you’re not in the mood to order either of them around too much.

Charles has been watching you for a while now, watched you fake moans and exaggerate whines, feigning pleasure over two of your fingers. It’s almost laughable—he’d allowed a smile, in fact, because he knows better. Once, he’d pulled your hair so hard you teared up, nodding, hand at his wrist, whimpering more, harder, do it. Another time, he and Max had gotten you all riled up and edged for half an hour, so riled that all you could mutter out were please and their names when they finally stuffed you full. You’re evidently playing your games again. You love to play around with them. It’s almost—you could almost call it a hobby.

“I’m not going to stop just ‘cause you’re both here.” Your hand moves, two fingers fucking into yourself, pink lace pushed aside. Your cunt is so pretty, they’re both thinking. “Did you think I would?” When silence greets you, you decide to address them directly. “Max. Did you?”

His voice is thin and tight when he responds, “Yeah, actually—so we could suss this out, at least.”

Your laugh is patronizing. “I prefer it this way. And you know what?”

Max stares. Charles has already been told this, several minutes ago when he found you in the exact same position. It’s not any easier for him to hear it again, chaste and sweet out of your lips. You can’t touch me.

See, they would’ve been content without touching you, if they sit and think about it. Max didn’t walk in here thinking he’d even be kissing you, and he knows Charles thinks the same thing. Maybe touch you—innocently, that kind of way. Sure, they’d been pent up, heady with arousal, but that came second to talking things out. But now you’ve told them they can’t touch, and that’s worsened them to their limit. Charles imagines touching you, the same touch he gives when it’s post-race and he gets you alone, to himself, nobody else’s, quick fucks in a dim closet, whispering some dirty shit in your ear and getting you like putty in his hands.

Max thinks of nearly the same thing. Imagines running his hand over your hair, gentle but firm, the same way he does when he knocks at your hotel room after hours and gets you from high-strung and bratty to begging for more. You notice their eyes, darkened; you realize their minds have wandered. So, they watch hopelessly as the smirk spreads prettily across your flushed face, and they remember the events of a week prior, when childishly, they’d acted out, and think, for a second, that maybe they deserve this.

You all know what it’s like to keep them from touching you.

It was both easier and worse then, in 2020 when everything started—when everything was brand new and thrilling and exciting. Easier, because they were satisfied as soon as they got you to come, maybe kiss them both, and they were content with slow exploration. Worse, because you were all insatiable. It felt like none of you could go minutes without some form of touch, during, in-between, after practice, quali, fuck—it was worse, much worse.

As you all grew older and got accustomed to the drivel of racing, you all got better. It didn’t get much easier.

Charles recalls how insatiable he was—and thinks, with amusement almost, that if he was insatiable then, he’s worse now. Now he knows where, how, for how long to touch you to get you wide-eyed and warm in the face even in the most serious of moments. Max, too. He knows how you taste, bend, tease. They love touching you. Just skin to skin. And you’ve gone and put a great big X mark over that.

“So,” Max says, voice flat, the way it is when he’s unamused with a reporter, “we’re in a time out.”

“You can call it that,” you giggle, and it segues into a huffy whimper when you angle your hand just right. “You were acting childish, anyway.”

Charles sighs, long and deep. “We—fuck.” His eyes can’t unglue themselves from your fingers. He knows he could make you feel so much better, fuck real moans out of you until you’re crying. “We were being childish, oui, and it was—we were just tense. I was unhappy with strategy. I could’ve been P2 but they pitted me at the worst time, putain. I took it out on you, and I’m… I was… I was worn out, and you called us childish in your interview.”

Ever the minx, you only smile. You’d been joking, you clarified that a day later; it was crass, spurred on by team radios of the two of them complaining in the latter half of the race. “It was a joke, Charles.”

“I know, baby, I know.” His lip curls and he breathes steadily, controlling himself. “It was unprompted though. You weren’t even asked about us. And yeah, a joke—but it felt shitty, love. I don’t mind it—we don’t mind it, but—” He needs to think about the phrasing, think about his intentions.

Your eyes are on fire, clearly still angry, but steadily softening.

“But in moderation,” comes Max’s raspy voice. “You’re running your mouth a lot in the media.”

“You’re one to—ah—talk,” you huff back, a futile argument.

“You need to understand that—that when you’re giddy, or angry, you can’t keep turning to interviews to express all that out. You need to sit with it. Just because we’re not…” your boyfriends, Max almost says, “…yours, doesn’t mean you can shit on us then expect us to be okay with it a few hours later. It’s a thing you do. A game you play. And it’s nice, it was nice then, but it’s annoying now, and it’s almost, like, do you even want this to keep going? To work—?”

You recoil. “You seriously think I don’t want th—”

Charles cuts in. “Well, when you play at us like this, yeah. Put in the work. If you’re high off a win, or mad for some other reason, just let it happen. Don’t fucking.” He exhales. “Call us names, then show up at our hotel acting like an angel.”

They’ve always looked out for you like this, known when to scold you or put you in your place for doing too much or not doing enough. They’ve never let personal things cross too much with business, which is a blessing of an ability when you’re three people having regular sex while balancing a ludicrous athletic career. It’s all sussed down to stupid ‘I care for you’ stuff that, frankly, they’re both too horny and angry to get into the grit of right now.

They don’t realize how quiet the room has grown until you eke out a noise, a thoughtful sound of agreement. You’ve pulled your fingers out, both hands playing with a loose thread on the hem of the sweater, rolling it into a ball. Your hair falls in waves. There’s a crease in it from the ponytail you wear when driving.

Your expression is still murderous, but much softer now; you cough, “I—I get what you’re saying. And I know I play… I have these games, or—but, honestly, I could say the same to you both.” You stutter through your totally shit explanation.

“How do you… mean,” deadpans Max.

“I mean, when I’m acting out, you two just take it.” Having them at your mercy like that is satisfying in its own right, but pragmatically, it’s unhealthy. “You don’t ever tell me off. Even now. I need you to tell me… to fucking,” you’re warm and spluttery now. “Fuck's sake, okay? I know I can be annoying. I know I say stupid shit when I don’t finish and I’m way less diplomatic than Mr. Il Predestinato,” you breathe. “But you two just let me be annoying!”

“Then don’t be annoying,” Charles says, diplomatic as ever—his voice rises, though, nearly matching yours.

“Not like that!” You huff, folding your legs and sitting straighter, and they catch a glimpse of your pink panties again. “When I’m out of line, you”—you point to them—“need to correct me.” They’re nearly blindsided by your request to… be told what to do, which is so different from how sex usually works. From how this whole dynamic usually works.

But Max remembers your manager, and Toto, and your teammate Lewis even, and your engineers, who have all, at one point or another, had to talk you down and tell you to calm down and correct your behavior. So he says, “People do that all the time, but it only works for a second.”

“Because th—” You suck in a lungful of air. “They’re not you two, you daft fuckers!” You’re at the centre of the bed now, sweater drooped over your folded thighs, eyes matching the rain outside. “Every time, I need to be talked down, and you never. Do it. So do it. Fucking—do it. I have to tell you everything.”

“You don’t—-”

“Oh, I do.” You say, folding your arms over your chest.

“This is despicable,” Max says. “We need to sort this out properly.”

“So what? This isn’t”—you raise violent air quotes—“putting in the work?”

They glance at each other for a minute. They feel you thinking you’re winning, thinking they’ll grovel and say okay we’ll do that next time, can we fuck you? Like all the other semi-resolved fights before. You’re sitting straight, eyebrows raised, defiant. But for them to do that—you just said it wasn’t what you needed.

And they’d have to be caught dead before not giving you what you need. If you want to be bossed around a bit, then they’ll do it.

“Sit down,” Charles goes. Unmoving.

“What.” You’re deadpanning, eyes narrowed.

“Sit the fuck down,” he repeats. You open your mouth, but he’s quicker. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You pout, leaning against the headboard and unfolding your legs. He rounds the room, sits at the foot of the bed. It’s a big bed, so even if he’s on it, he still needs to reach over a bit to be able to touch you. The distance is good, though, keeps them in control. Max sits opposite him, both of them on either side of you, and they’re so close, so scrutinizing, so handsome.

“Put your fingers in your mouth,” he says. You take a second, spreading your knees and obeying. You find a way, though, to make their little challenge all your own—you make a show of it, peeking your tongue out and licking your bottom lip all shiny before hollowing your cheeks. You stare at them the whole time and you don’t blink. It’s hotter than it has any right to be. “Suck on them.” You continue doing it, lips slightly curled.

“You’re a brat.” You try to conceal the whimper that leaves you but it fails pathetically. Charles presses on. “A spoiled brat.”

He’s the nicer of the two. Your whole threesome situation had began three years ago, and in almost every tryst since then, he’s been nice. In fact, if any of them were to ever ‘tell you off’ like you so desperately wanted, apparently, it would have definitely been Max. He’s firm, yeah, but he’s sweet. And he’d hate to boss you around too much, even if it’s something he wants. So he thinks, and he pretends he’s back to quali day of last week. It was a slow morning because of weather problems, so everyone was in a mood, and you were absolutely no exception. You come off as quiet to the public and to some of the grid, but to your friends, you’re anything but.

In an effort to lift the mood, you’d been mouthing off the entire day to your close circle of driver friends, in particular retelling the story of how you had teased Charles post-DNF in Saudi, and even gotten Lando to laugh about it at the time. What a season starter, you said when you were recounting it. You left out a detail: that night in Saudi, he’d fucked you and refused to let you cum, soaking your pillow with tears and goading a sobbed apology out of you.

Watching you joke about it again, even if it was a fucking joke and even if it was because you were mad at him and Max—got him all red hot, pissed off. Seething.

“Do you remember last race weekend when you joked about my DNF in Saudi?”

Cheeks hollowed, you nod.

“Fucking brat. That whole day. Ignoring me, ignoring Max. Didn’t listen to our apologies. Just noise all day.”

Your brows knit defiantly.

“I’m serious. You weren’t being funny. Just a brat. And if you were bored or pissed, you could’ve said so instead of making me look stupid.” You nod.

He glimpses at Max; the latter speaks next. “Open yourself up.”

You spread your legs out farther and sneak your spit-slick fingers down, pushing the flimsy material aside to rub at your cunt, two fingers sliding right back in. You breathe out shakily and wait for them to talk again. You’re still fussy, high-strung, not totally calm and mellowed down yet.

“When Charles and I aren’t here to fuck you into behaving, who’s going to make sure you’re acting proper?”

“Carlos,” you grit out in between thrusts.

They seethe. “Again,” Charles says, unamused.

“Nat,” you name your manager. “Lewis, or something. Fuck. Lando? I don’t—”

You asked to be told what to do, but you never said, they suppose, that it would be an easy job. “Guess again.”

“Toto.” You look delighted at that last one, knowing the implication. They’ve always been a bit jealous there. You thrive off disobedience, getting your two favorite boys all angry and flushed red with it. You open your mouth to try smartassing your way out of their orders, but Max beats you to it. “If you guess wrong, you’re not cumming. We’ll fuck you tonight, but no cumming.”

You whimper out loud, sinking your fingers farther in, adding a third.

“Don’t add another. Answer Max,” Charles says.

“Fuck,” you seethe, slipping the third out on your next thrust. “Me. I’m supposed to keep myself in check. When I’m mad. When I’m giddy and fuck—yeah. Me. It’s me.”

“Good girl,” he rasps out. “Good girl. You have to practice. How does it feel?”

I know, you mouth, eyes fluttering. You scissor the two fingers you’re thrusting in and out, wet with slick. “Feels good.”

“Not your fingers, love,” Max says. “How’s it feel hearing what we just told you?”

“Good, better,” you say in-between breaths. “I’ll practice. I like it. You’re not… letting me push you around. You’re—you can punish—fuck. Me.”

“Yeah? How, then?”

“Fuck me,” you repeat breathlessly. “Both of you.”

“Add another,” Charles orders, and you nod, quick and pliant, fucking yourself open. They’re both so hard, cocks heavy and uncomfortable in their jeans. You can see the thick shapes of them through the denim, and you thrust harder, a futile attempt to replicate how it feels when they’re fucking you.

“You remember how it feels, having both of us in you?” Max sounds amused.

“Yes,” you moan. Your pathetic imitation of moans and gasps earlier pales in comparison to this, voice dry and thick with pleasure and raw desperation. “Yes, pl—fuck, yes.”

“Why aren’t you feeling it now?” They need to hear you verbalize the reason why, admit it one last time before they give you what you want. You whine, rutting your hips up against your hand, catching your clit on the heel of your palm.

“Because I was being a brat, and I—you were being childish, but I didn’t want to talk things through either—and I’m always taking out my emotions on you guys, and I’m sorry, okay, would you just fuck me already?”

They’re on you immediately, all words and whispers, fingers at your chin turning you both ways to slot kisses on your mouth. Your free hand palms over Max’s bulge; he’s the one to your right. It’s hard and thick and heavy and you need it, need them. Charles’ hand takes over yours, thrusting deep and you’re whimpering into his sweet mouth.

“Feel my cock?” Max asks, “Could make you feel real nice, baby.”

“I know,” you sigh, breathless. “I want it.”

“When's the last time you took us both?” Charles asks, smile wicked. “Little thing like you.”

You grit out a moan, fuzzy and floating, letting them lift you up to straddle—one of them—you open your eyes and see Charles staring up at you, wonder and green eyes. “Got this, love?” You nod, yeah, I’ve got it, you say, little sighs. Both of you. Now.

This space you’re in, where it’s pleasure and fuzz and nothing else, is comparable to the high of winning. And you know you prefer that to sex, at least now, because racing is your life. It’s the slow satisfaction of being the best on the entire grid, despite everything. It’s the cheers, the raised fists when you climb atop your car and bring the crowd to a crescendo. The even louder screams when you pull your helmet and balaclava off and smile, trophy and all, champagne shiny and glowy on your face. All that shit—it’s addictive, and it feels just like this. So similar, in fact, because when you win, you finish on top of Charles and Max, and—

—Max is behind you, jeans tugged just enough for his cock to be pulled free, slick with lube and prodding at your ass—

—it feels just fucking like this.

“Like Max’s cock filling you up?” His cockhead is breaching your tight entrance and you moan out loud.

“I missed it,” you say, muffled by Charles’ free thumb at your lips, swirling it on your tongue. You flip him off for cutting you off and he laughs. “Give it t’me,” you goad, turning slightly. You want it so bad, missed being fed with their cocks. A week is too long. “I need more of it, all of it. In me, fill me up,” you beg, whimpering, desperate.

Max stares at your ass, grabs at the flesh there, at the string of your thong. You suck him in so hungrily, like you’re challenging him to not thrust in fully; you’re canting your hips backward too, and Max has to hike the too-big sweater up to watch the muscles of your back flex to meet his dick.

“So pretty, princess,” Charles says, because with them you really are a princess. Max begins to thrust into you from behind and you’re getting little moans fucked out of you, watching Charles unbuckle his jeans to tug his cock out, thick and pretty and you want—if you could, you would suck on it, let him fuck your throat, but you’re in the business of being filled to the point of blank thoughts right now.

You feel Charles at your cunt then, your slick making the slide easier, and Charles bucks his hips up and you—this is what you needed, to mellow you down, get you all loose and ready for more. “Take it, baby,” Max says, “all of it, all of us.”

“Ah,” you gasp out. “Ah.”

“Come on,” he grits, voice hardening. “You’re ruined. Pretty little girl. Come on.”

“Maxie,” you call out weakly, your fond little nickname for him. You remember Charles whining about how he doesn’t have one, so you save baby for him, had sussed that out on a night where they took turns fucking you. Your hips torn between the two dicks stuffing you, face sweaty and the sweater doesn’t help, gets you hotter; Charles gets the hint, and with effort, pulls it off you. Your skin is shiny underneath, matching bra sticking to your sweaty, sheened out skin.

“Love it,” you say, voice strained. “Split—fuck—me open.” Your holes clench around them and Jesus, they could have you all flushed and pretty and spread out like them, like this, forever. Charles grabs at the flesh of your ass, slaps you once and you’re tightening around them, breath impossibly still, thighs shaking. Max’s hands hold your hips tight, hungrily traveling up, groping at the wire of your bra to press at your tits. You’re pressed against both of them at a delicious angle that gets you dizzy.

“I’m gonna cum, I,” you breathe out, moaning, “I haven’t touched myself since…”

They both moan at that, delirious. Fuck. The thought of you holding it—for them—fuck.

“You’re so perfect, so—fuck—slutty,” Charles says, and you can’t hide the moan fast enough. “Feels good, having us in you, yeah? Getting you all noisy and… fucking—shit. I know how much you needed this, love. I know how much you love it. Us.”

From behind, Max snakes a hand up your abdomen, the column of your throat, and wraps there. You see white from the sensation of it alone.

“Tell me—I can’t—please, I—Charles—Maxie—” You’re increasingly incoherent, slick running down your thighs, twitching vigorously. You try to comprehend everything but you’re losing coherence and they get it, they get it, wiping your tears and sweat and coercing you to cum, yeah, pretty little pussy so fucking wet for us, cum hard, come on, you’ve been so good, baby, the best girl for us.

There’s no way either of them are lasting after that, after watching you fall apart and finish on top of them, stuffed full, stuffed pliant, stuffed fucking docile.

It’s your turn, then, to praise, your favorite boys, always so good for me, thank you for letting me cum, come on, let me taste it—and you’re stained with their release after a few minutes, Max biting on your shoulder, Charles’ thumb indenting your hip.

—

What. A. Podium, ladies and gentlemen! Max Verstappen of Red Bull, from P6 in the last race to a stunning P3 drive—Charles Leclerc, braving the team’s dismal strategy to get P2! What a knockout. Of course the Mercedes legend, gunning for four championships now, had crossed the flag first to claim her fifth P1 of the season.

What a legendary race, absolutely proper podium. They showed us what driving is, real driving.

The season is heating up.

Makes you wonder what happened over the weekend for them to get such good results.

This is F1. I’m sure they keep each other motivated.

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader

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poetrysmackdown · 10 months

Text

welcome to the 2023 tumblr poetry smackdown

tumblr has developed something of a canon of poetry over the past couple years, and i figured others might enjoy getting a chance to voice their opinions on a few of those poems! poems i chose for the poetry smackdown had to be more or less widely read on tumblr (generally 10k+ notes, most with more or spread across compilations), and relatively short so as to make voting easier. they also had to be complete—there are a lot of popular lines floating around on tumblr that are excerpted from very long poems and/or poems that are inaccessible via internet, and those aren't included here. a handful of poets are represented here twice reflecting my sense of their popularity, but i arranged the bracket in such a way that it won't be able to stay that way past round 2 at the latest. if i missed a poem that is super popular i'm sorry, that said the bracket is staying as is because this was a shit ton of work to put together and i don't want to. ty.

you can get to the polls by following the links below or going to the #round1 tag on my blog. you can also send me propaganda if you want via ask and i'll post it/add it to the next round's post if the poem wins.

happy voting!

sincerely amelia @poetriarchy :)

ROUND 1: ENDS JULY 17 at 6pm EDT

"The Two-Headed Calf" by Laura Gilpin vs. "Butter Dish" by Leonard Cohen (cow poems)

"Poem" by Langston Hughes vs. "A Meeting" by Wendell Berry

"Miss you. Would like to grab that chilled tofu we love." by Gabrielle Calvocoressi vs. "My Sister, Who Died Young, Takes Up The Task" by Jon Pineda

"Hammond B3 Organ Cistern" by Gabrielle Calvocoressi vs. "Hong Kong" by Sue Zhao

"someone will remember us" (fragment by Sappho trans. Anne Carson) vs. "Wait" by Faraj Bou al-Isha trans. Khaled Mattawa

"The Quiet World" by Jeffrey McDaniel vs "Invisible Fish" by Joy Harjo

"Want" by Joan Larkin vs. "Come, and Be My Baby" by Maya Angelou

"Swan" by Mary Oliver vs. "How I Go to the Woods" by Mary Oliver

"The Orange" by Wendy Cope vs. "The Tenor of Your Yes" by Mary Ruefle

"Here There Are Blueberries" by Mary Syzbist vs. "Instructions on Not Giving Up" by Ada Limón

"To The Young Who Want to Die" by Gwendolyn Brooks vs. "A Litany for Survival" by Audre Lorde

"Night Walk" by Franz Wright vs. "Meditations in an Emergency" by Cameron Awkward-Rich

"Summer Was Forever" by Chen Chen vs. "I'm not a religious person but" by Chen Chen

"How to Be a Dog" by Andrew Kane vs. "Scheherazade" by Richard Siken

"I'm going to Minnesota where sadness makes sense" by Danez Smith vs. "Dream Song 29" by John Berryman

"Having a Coke with You" by Frank O'Hara vs. "Having 'Having a Coke with You' with You" by Mark Leidner

ADDENDUM: at 6pm on July 17th (or possibly a day earlier if there's already a clear sweep), I will be releasing a one-day poll that will give voters the option to sub in "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver for the winner of matchup #8: "Swan" vs. "How I Go to the Woods". this is to help correct my significant oversight when I was remembering which two Oliver poems I've seen most on tumblr, and it's the only time I'm doing this kind of thing, so don't suggest it for any other poems after this please. that said, a sincere ty to @darkcomedies for first bringing its absence to my attention! and keep an eye out for this extra poll which i am calling ROUND 1.5: A HAIL MARY (OLIVER)

#poetry #poll #bracket #round1 #masterpost

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yourstrulynix · 11 months

Text

god is a woman || cl16

social media!au | charles leclerc x singer!reader

synopsis; celebrity sweetheart and f1 dream boy leave the internet spiralling face claim; ariana grande

voguemagazine

liked by chanelofficial, flowerbomby/n, livelaughlove, nicolapeltz and 983,232 others

tagged: yourusername

voguemagazine a teaser for the y/n l/n march 2021 vogue cover next month. the young singer continues to take over the world, one record breaking record at a time. with continuous yearly grammy nominations and wins, y/n has become the top name in music. she sat down with vogue for an intimate interview in her own home to show the side away from performances and award shows. we can't wait for you to see and read about the beauty inside and out of the young superstar

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yourusername i loved every minute of it x

voguemagazine thanks for having us 🤍

flowerbomby/n what an absolute icon ✨ i can't wait to read about her new album she's been working on!

mimiy/nlove we our literally watching this woman make history! i just want her to have the world 🥺

yourusername

liked by zendaya, f1, y/nfandom, dualipa, ellemagazine and 6,140,885 others

yourusername hope i don't have helmet hair ;p

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bellahadid see you next week in Monaco my love!

f1worlds stfu is y/n going to the grand prix next week because i seriously might pass away????

leclercmania there's no way my two worlds are colliding right now 🤯!

y/nsflower what a queen 👑

scuderiaferrari we can't wait to have you with us next week 🏎️

fangirl21 wtf is a ferrari account doing in y/n's comments??

hoefory/n all the comments are freaking over our girl going to some f1 race? don't understand the hype 🙄

f1paddocknews

liked by f1fandom, charlesheart, ferrariboys, papayared, y/nsslut and 2,734 others

f1paddocknews the ferrari boys after qualifying today, speaking to y/n l/n and charles looked very smitten 🥰

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papayared charles is absolutely fangirling inside!!

charlesleheart he didn't even look at Charlotte like that and they were together for 2 years 🤭

ferrariloves i can't wait to see pictures of y/n in the paddock - greatest race weekend everrrrrrr

yourusername

liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc, lewishamilton, dualipa, daydreamy/n and 11,048,444 others

location: monaco

yourusername brb moving to monaco and marrying an f1 driver

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f1 it's official, we've made her an f1 fangirl 🙌🏼

yourusername it's true, i'm obsessed

scuderiaferrari we've got just the man for you y/n 😉😏

ferrariboys not ferrari admin setting up charles and y/n - iconic

lewishamilton lovely seeing you this weekend, looking forward to seeing you in silverstone 👍🏾

hammy4life lewis what you doing here????

daydreamingy/n isn't he like 10 years older than our girl 😧

charlesheart16 charles with the sneaky follow and like....

Twitter

charles_leclerc

liked by scuderiaferrari, yourusername, georgerussel63, carlossainz55 and 1,642,431 others

charles_leclerc a good few days by the sea and in the outback before the season begins 🌊

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danielricciardo man...that is definitely not the outback

pierregasly dropping a quick shirtless insta to keep them interested 😉

pierregaslyyyy22 pierre knows something we don't....

yourbestfriend I'm offended you called utah the outback

charles_leclerc and you called monaco france - we're even

yourusername

liked by yourbestfriend, dualipa, flowery/nbomb, pierregasly and 6,941,071 others

yourusername hot summer nights mid july when you and i were forever wild ♡

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lanadelray you beautiful girl 🖤

yourusername i love you 🤍

tchalamet it's mid january

yourusername i'll shave your head chalamet

landonorris very violent....

yourusername watch those curls norris

girlcrushy/n eh...who is that fine man ???

charlesbabygirl i recognise those calves....🫢😮

boychuckleclerc no it can't be?? there's no way...

Twitter

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, tchalamet, voguemagazine, isahernaez and 8,203,008 others

location; marseille, france

yourusername oh la la

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charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, arthur_leclerc, yourbestfriend and 1,538,542 others

location; marseille, france

charles_leclerc it was a weekend of ups and downs. we had pole position in the bag but I made a mistake on lap 19 and it cost us a win. i had great company with me to bring the ups. we'll keep working on things before the final race of the summer 👊

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carlossainz55 tough luck today but as you say, we'll come back fighting 🔥

scuderiaferrari our boys have got this!! off to hungary next

ferrariboys22 excuse me, sir? how dare you throw this at us after everything we've been through today 😡

f1girlie charles with the soft launch but who that with him???

yourusername 30 mins ago

side note; part ii will be out soon x

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc social media au #f1 imagine #f1 social media au #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc instagram edit #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #ariana grande #social media!au #f1 fandom #ferrari boys #f1

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sarahscribbles · 5 months

Note

thirsty thursday idea! since you've done a marking kink drabble, maybe a bruising kink drabble? I've never seen a fic about it. I'm thinking that the reader is really turned on by Loki bruising her with his grip/ roughness. him grabbing her hips while she's riding him so hard it bruises. bruises the next day on her arms/wrists from where he held her. bruises on her thighs from loki holding her down while he eats her out. okay I'm done now, hopefully this inspires you😂

Oh, Lord, I hope this suffices as a bruising kink! I did my best!

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟖𝟓𝟎

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The very first time Loki had left a mark on your skin, you had thought the guilt would consume him.

Tiny splotches of purple and red had quickly blossomed beneath your skin - the aftermath of eager fingers following a week apart - but to Loki, those tiny marks indented in your skin were akin to a bullet straight through your heart.

“I hurt you,” he had said, ghosting the tips of his fingers guiltily along your thigh. “My darling, I can’t apologise enough.”

At first, you had thought it was an act, but the heaviness that settled across his face and the pain shining in his eyes brought the realisation that he meant every word. He truly believed that ten little bruises no bigger than a fingertip had left you in agony.

“Loki,” you had called to him softly, watching his eyes quickly rise to meet yours. Those pretty green irises held so much remorse that you wanted to wrap him in your arms and never let go. “You didn’t hurt me, love. Not in a way I didn’t enjoy, anway,” you added, reaching a hand down to cover his.

Two perfectly groomed eyebrows had furrowed in clear confusion. “How do you mean?”

Beneath your hand, his thumb still traced slowly over the bruise it had left there, and, for some strange reason, it made heat creep slowly to your cheeks. You had talked about so many of your kinks with him - hell, only a few weeks ago you had told him it gets you going when he finishes on you - yet it was this that made you embarrassed?

“I…I like it when you mark me,” you had admitted. “Brusies, biting, I don’t care how, but I like it. I like the physical reminder that I’m yours. I like other people knowing that I’m yours.”

His hand around yours had tightened and you watched the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Say that again, darling, please. I need you to say it again,” he had said softly, a new roughness lacing around his words.

You had bitten your lip coyly in the way you knew drove him crazy. “I want everyone to know that I’m yours, Loki. Please.”

A grin had spread cross your lovers face, one that was both soft yet wicked, and he had climbed back eagerly between your legs. “Your wish is my command, darling.”

That had only been a few short weeks ago. Now, as he thrusts into you almost ruthlessly, his fingers are gripping your thigh so tightly to his waist that you might pass out at how good it feels.

He’s lost the hesitancy and the fear, and now a patchwork of purple and red splotches covers every part of your body that he can reach. Your chest and stomach are covered in bruises - all courtesy of his beautifully sinful mouth - and similar marks pepper the inside of your thighs from where he had held them apart to lick you to your first orgasm.

Tonight, you’re riding a high so powerful and so blinding that you yearn for the ability to stop time, to stay locked forever in this bed with this god between your legs.

Loki’s hand tightens around your thigh as your climax builds, making tiny stars dance enticingly at the edge of your vision. “Oh, fuck, Loki!” you groan, clutching him to you in sheer desperation. “Please! Let everyone…let everyone know…I’m yours!”

He rolls his hips against yours with a ferocious force that makes you whimper and pants roughly in your ear, “I promise you…no one will question who you belong to…when they see you tomorrow morning.”

His lips find your neck and you explode on his cock to the feel of him leaving a trail of fresh marks along the column of your throat. No part of you has been neglected tonight.

Your orgasm has barely faded when Loki pulls his cock from your cunt, and you’re still floating so blissfully on the pink cloud of release that you don’t even raise an objection when he maneuvers your body so that you’re on all fours on the bed.

“Oh, fuck,” you slur out when his cock thrusts back into you. Vaguely, it registers somewhere in your mind that you’ve had two orgasms while Loki has still to have one.

A shiver wracks your entire body.

“Oh, darling,” Loki purrs in faux sympathy. You feel a large hand clamp firmly around one hip while the other gathers your wrists to pin them against the small of your back. His grip on you is heavy and unyielding, and your cunt clenches joyfully around the aching length of him. “It looks like there’s still more canvas for me to paint.”

He gives a single roll of his hips and squeezes your hip in his iron grip. A sharp cry of pleasure tumbles from your lips while you wriggle back against him, silently begging for more. “I do hope you have no prior engagements, my love, because I don’t intend to stop until every inch of you is covered in my marks.”

#loki #loki x reader #loki fanfiction #loki smut

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spiriteddreams · 1 year

Text

what leads me back to you

Or, the five times you look for Al-Haitham, and the one time he looks for you Pairing: Al-Haitham x Reader Warnings: fluff, some angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending Word Count: ~5.3k A/N: happy birthday to the feeble scholar himself, al-haitham! <3

I. Feels Like “Met you at the right time, this is what it feels like.” The Acting Grand Sage is a busy man. There are papers to be filed, positions to be filled, and an entire political government to be reconstructed. The reconstruction process is slow and tiresome and with each passing day, Al-Haitham looks forward to the day that they accept his resignation letter. The day that he returns to simply being the “Scribe,” and a “feeble scholar,” is a day he swears he looks forward to. In the meantime, he is stuck to a large desk in an office that is far too spacious for his liking.

When he hears the rumble of the elevator coming up, an irritated groan escapes his lips. He runs through the words in his mind, ready to chew out whoever has decided to disturb him. His office hours are posted just outside of the elevator entrance, and everyone in the Akademiya knows that he’s far too busy to deal with menial things. Which means there are only a few reasons as to why someone might be coming to bother him: there is more paperwork to be filled out, some old scholar has come straight to him for complaints, or there’s an emergency. He counts the seconds in his head, waiting for the elevator to rise until he can see who’s decided to disturb him.

“You are here!” your voice cuts through the silence of the room before he can even get a glance at who it is. You’re a rush of words and feet, marching up to his desk and near slamming a book on his table, whilst ignoring the glare on his features. You are one of the last people he expected to see. That isn’t to say he doesn’t mind your presence. You’ve proven to be a sensible person, unlike his ridiculous roommate, and he’s had the pleasure of spending more time than he would have ever anticipated with you. As a good friend of Kaveh’s (Al-Haitham thinks it’s a shame), you’re often invited over for dinner or found sharing drinks with Dehya, Cyno, and Tighnari. But ignore that for now, instead, he wants to know what could be so important that you’ve decided to ignore his office hours and disturb him while he’s knee deep in paperwork.

“Okay look, I know you’re probably not happy to see me but this is important! I have this new research project that I wanted to start, I even ran it through Cyno this morning!” you’re flipping through a notebook, not even looking up at him. Since approaching his desk, Al-Haitham hasn’t been able to see the entirety of your face, not that he’s actually searching, yet you’re far too caught up flipping through papers to see the way his eyes follow your every movement. He takes in the differences in your appearance since the last time he’s seen you, which he feels like has been forever with the way he’s been cooped up in his office. There’s a cut on your finger that’s in the process of healing, and a new padisarah charm hanging at your side, right next to the Vision that seems to glow brighter than usual, as if reflecting your upbeat mood. He’s only half listening to you ramble about this project, which by all means, was approved the moment you approached him. You’re a brilliant scholar, there’s no doubt about it, careful about everything you do and meticulous about the smallest of details, and frankly, someone who’s research seeks to better the Akademiya. So why would he deny your approval?

When you finish speaking, Al-Haitham clears his throat and his eyes shift from your papers to your face, surprised to see that you’re already looking at him. He can see the uneasiness in your eyes, and something in the back of his mind whispers that he doesn’t like that when you’re looking at him. Do you not feel comfortable around him? The thought is bitter to swallow but he pushes it down anyway and looks back down at the papers.

“I see no reason to reject this, do you?” he asks flatly. You stare at him incredulously, eyes narrowed and ready to snap back at him. “Besides, you ran this through the General Mahamatra earlier, no? If he thinks it’s fine, and from what I’ve heard, there’s no reason for you to be making such a fuss about this.” For a moment, he’s afraid he might have irritated you beyond belief with the way you glare at him. But almost instantly it’s washed away as you sigh and shake your head with a fond smile.

“Glad to know I have your approval,” you say it so warmly that Al-Haitham’s chest nearly lurches. He locks that expression in his memory, tracing over the smile on your face, the one that reaches your eyes and makes them glint a bit brighter than before as an amused huff leaves your lips. It’s a pretty expression he thinks to himself. And when you leave him to the silence of his office, only joined by a mountain-load of paperwork, he finds that he misses your presence immediately.

II. Pancakes for Dinner “I wanna eat pancakes for dinner, I wanna get stuck in your head.” “A little birdie told me that you haven’t come home to eat dinner.”

“Is this little birdie’s name, Kaveh?” Al-Haitham doesn’t even look up from his spot, secluded near the back of the House of Daena. He had found this spot as a student, and since then, had claimed it as his own. Other Akademiya scholars knew better than to disturb him if they saw the light flickered on in the back corner of the library. It was an unsaid rule that started when he was a student, and continued on through his occupation as Scribe. Don’t bother Al-Haitham if he’s working in the back of the library. He’ll get mad at you. And yet here you were, pulling out the chair from across from him and leaning forward as if you were going to try to read his book upside down.

“Perhaps,” you hum, “but regardless, spending the entire day working on paperwork isn’t healthy. I thought you would have left by now. What happened to making it clear that you wouldn’t be working outside of your working hours?” You have a point, Al-Haitham thinks. At his first meeting as Acting Grand Sage, he had made it clear that he would not engage in any Akademiya work outside of your working hours, and yet he was here, secluded in the back of the library. The only catch, he wasn’t actually working, simply reading a physics book for pleasure.

Al-Haitham slides his bookmark between the pages, “I’m not doing work. Just reading.”

“Reading a physics book?”

“Yes.”

“Archons above…”

Al-Haitham casts you a dry look. “You’ve seen me read these types of books before, what’s so different about this time?”

“This time,” you reach over and slowly close the book, maintaining eye contact with the Scribe, “it’s late. So you need to tuck away your physics bedtime story and get some food.” Al-Haitham holds your gaze, multi-coloured eyes seeming like they were digging into your mind. He prides himself in the fact that you break eye-contact first, clearing your throat as you lean back. Your fingers accidentally brush against his and you murmur apologies but Al-Haitham can only focus on the way your touch on his ungloved fingers had sent tingles up his arm.

“Are you planning to cook then?” Al-Haitham brings his focus back to the conversation at hand. His words are meant to be sarcastic and yet you take them in a completely different manner.

“Of course not, it’s late, you silly Scribe.” His heart jumps at the childish nickname. “Instead, you and I are going to get dinner at Puspa Cafe!” He raises his eyebrows, making no effort to move. Is that what you’ve come to bother him about?

“Hey now, don’t give me that look. I know you enjoy a good meal at Puspa Cafe, and I’m craving food there, so it’s a win-win situation,” you scold him. “Come on, pack up your things or I’ll drag you there myself.” He wants to remind you that there’s no way that you would ever be able to drag him anywhere but he still sweeps his book into his arms, tucking away his other papers before standing. He’s only doing this because you won’t stop pestering him if he declines, that’s the only reason, he tells himself. The thought of eating dinner with you is nothing special. It’s just as if he was eating dinner with Kaveh, except that you’re much more tolerable. He keeps reminding himself of such facts as you lead him out of the House of Daena, talking animatedly about the research project that you had been working on, the same one that he had approved. You’ve already made so much progress, from extensive notes and an in depth plan ready for execution. The next step, you excitedly ramble on about, is finally exploring the ruins in the desert. Yet Al-Haitham shoots you a concerned glance. The ruins you’ve mentioned are dangerous and he hadn’t realized you might be interested in actually exploring them. There was no doubt that you could protect yourself. You were skilled in elemental practice and weapon alike, so really, there was no reason for him to be worried. And yet the creeping desire to protect you from harm had planted a seed in his mind.

III. Glowing Review “You ask what I tell my friends, said ‘It’s a glowing review.’”

When Al-Haitham knocks on your door, his palms feel unnaturally clammy. He’s not nervous, no, why would he be. It’s just you. You had found him hard at work the other day with a small bag of pastries and two cups of coffee in your hands. One was for you and the other for him, you had said cheerfully, placing it on his desk. A housewarming gift, you joked, seeing as he had finally stepped down from Acting Grand Sage and was back in his office as the Scribe. He hadn’t even realized that you were staring at him when he took a bite of pastry, and perhaps his expression was enough for you to propose that the two of you go to the little shop hidden within Sumeru City to check out the other pastries.

Which is how he finds himself here, counting the seconds as he waits for you to open the door. It’s just a hangout between friends, right? You hadn’t specified anything more, so, by Al-Haitham’s rationale, you simply wanted to try out more pastries with him. Why you didn’t ask someone like Kaveh, is beyond him. He’s sure that his roommate would immediately jump on the opportunity to try something as simple as a “pastry.” And yet he finds the thought of you going out to a bakery with Kaveh to be something he doesn’t ever want to imagine. His roommate, despite what he may argue, has no taste when it comes to romance, so there’s no possible way that the two of you would have a good time. Al-Haitham freezes as he replays the thought in his head. Romance? He shakes his head, how did a thought like that pop up in his head? The two of you were just getting pastries. Because you asked. And you’re friends. That’s all.

“I’m so sorry about the wait!” you throw open your door and the snarky remark on his lips dies instantly. You’ve traded your usual wear for something lighter and rather fitting for the nice weather. Your vision still hangs at your side, clinking against your padisarah keychain but you look different. In a good way of course. Al-Haitham thinks you look more relaxed like this, and for a moment, he feels silly that he’s dressed in his typically day-to-day wear and that maybe he should’ve chosen something more casual because what if you feel uncomfortable around him and what if you roll your eyes with a sigh and what if—

“You look good,” you tilt your head and Al-Haitham feels his cheeks flush when he catches the way your eyes drag from his feet up to his chest, and up to his eyes. “I mean, you always do, but you seem more relaxed today. You should try that expression on more often, it’ll scare people less.” Your teasing words comfort him instantly and he realizes there was really no reason to be so nervous about this. It’s just you and him.

“The less people that try to stop to talk to me at work, the better,” he responds dryly, earning a bark of laughter from you as you lock your door. He watches your every movement carefully from the second you turn back around to set off, up to when he steps ahead to open the door for you. And when the warming smell of fresh baked pastries envelops the two of you, Al-Haitham finds himself looking over at where you stand. Your hands are clasped in front of you, eyes closed and soft smile painted across your lips. You look so peaceful, so calm and serene that the thought of what’s coming next at work makes him want to hide away. If you knew what papers lay on his desk, ready to be signed and put into effect immediately, you might hate him. If you knew about it, would you still want to get pastries with him? If you knew about it, would you be disappointed? Angry? Would you ignore him? If you knew about it, would you still like him the way that he can tell you like him now?

But instead of saying anything, he pushes the guilt down his throat and shifts closer to you. He’ll take what he can for now and deal with the consequences later.

“What are you thinking of getting? And I’ll pay. No arguing with me,” he glances over at the display of mouthwatering cakes and croissants. You still try to argue with him, batting his hand away when he goes to pay, much to the baker’s amusement. He still manages to toss them a bag of mora and you still push him gently, mumbling under your breath that “next time, I’m paying, you got that?”

Next time. Al-Haitham smiles to himself at the thought. Next time.

IV. An Ego Thing “I won’t go first, won’t apologize. Pretty sure it’s an ego thing, but I can’t stand a compromise.”

If the Akademiya scholars thought the General Mahamatra was terrifying, then this was a close second. You were furious, hands clenched and eyes laser focused on finding Al-Haitham. You stormed through the halls, glaring at any scholar that tried to meekly call out to you. You could deal with the repercussions later. Finding the infuriating, cocky, self-absorbed, emotionless Scribe came first.

What had gone from a good day, waking up early in the morning and ready to set out on the expedition that had been approved for research had quickly fallen flat. Cyno had been the one to break the news, knocking on your door in the morning with his mouth pressed into a thin line. The expression on his face was enough to spark concern as you offered to make him a cup of coffee and sit down to talk. But Cyno’s hesitance had your mind racing.

“It has to do with the research expedition” his eyes searched your face. “It’s been called off, by the Scribe’s order.” It was those words that led to where you were now, storming through the Akademiya halls in search of the same man who had approved your project, and now had gone back on his word. Poor Cyno had been the one to watch your expression crumble, words near breathless as you asked for the reasoning behind such a sudden decision. And when he sheepishly said that Al-Haitham hadn’t said anything further than that, you felt the spark in your chest light. If he wanted to play dirty and hide behind words and walls alike then you would tear them down yourself.

“Archons above you’re so infuriating!” you snap. “This is why no one wants to be around you! You knew how much this project meant to me and you even approved it! And the next thing I know you’re halting it halfway and you can’t even come up with a decent explanation as to why?!”

“Look, I get you’re upset—”

“I’m more than upset!” you shake your head, mouth parted in disbelief. “Do you not trust me or something? What did I do wrong? Please, enlighten me!” He finds himself at a loss for words. Should he lie and protect his own dignity or lay out the bare truth? Neither were ideal and yet you stand in front of him, chest rising and falling in anger as you impatiently wait for an answer.

“You know it’s not like that. It’s just not safe,” he says bluntly. “And it really isn’t that big of a deal, you’re just being prideful.” He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. Because the sight of your face falling, a tired scoff falling from your lips as you nod slowly and take a step back is enough for Al-Haitham to know that he said the wrong thing.

“You’re calling me prideful?” The laughter that falls from your lips is dry and painful to hear. The words bubble up from your chest, laced with such anger and poison that it even shocks you when they fall from your lips. “Aren’t you one to talk? You, the great Scribe Al-Haitham, pride and joy of the sages, bowing to their every will then working behind their backs. So what you did was for the greater good, should I grovel at your feet then?”

“Archons above, you’re being unreasonable.”

“I’m being unreasonable?! That’s rich coming from you,” you run a hand across your face. “I’m humiliated. Is that what you want to hear? You approved my project and then rejected it just as I was getting to the most important part. I’ve told you about how excited I was about this and the next thing I know, you’re shutting it down! Was this some sort of act, some sort of game to you, to humiliate me like this?” Al-Haitham hesitates and that one second of hesitation is what marks his downfall. He reacts too slowly and you take it the wrong way. You shake your head in disappointment, lips pressed together. You refuse to meet his eyes, refuse to let him see the hurt that’s built up all day. If he wants to play dirty, then so can you.

“You’re a shitty person,” you don’t mean it, but you want to hurt him back. “Clearly, nothing that comes out of your mouth is sincere. Nothing about you is genuine. I can’t believe I’ve tried to be your friend, tried to get closer to you. This was clearly a mistake. Everything between us was a mistake.” He’s quiet at your words. Perhaps you’ve stepped over the line this time and when you look up, Al-Haitham just stares at you. There’s hurt in his eyes, something you didn’t think you would ever see, and it’s because of you. The apologies die on your lips, because how do you apologize to someone after tearing down their walls and striking where you know it hurts? You open your mouth to say anything but Al-Haitham turns away first. His back faces you and he asks you to leave, and as the door clicks shut behind him, you swear you hear a sharp sniffle followed by him clearing his throat. You don’t stay to hear anything more.

V. Tough Act “Saying goodbye to a best friend is the bad part of the right thing to do.”

Guilt, in its most basic terms as defined by any Akademiya dictionary, is “a feeling of having done wrong or failed in an obligation.” And yet the feeling that brews inside of your chest can’t quite be encapsulated in just the word “guilt.” There is a heaviness that weighs down, burdening your every thought since you’ve left his office. The words that had spilled from your lips were cruel. They were sharpened knives ready to strike and the sight of Al-Haitham’s face falling, letting you see the hurt flashing across your features, was enough to know that a line had been overstepped.

Everyone knows that he’s a rather rational person. He doesn’t always express his emotions, and when he does, it’s usually because he has a plan rolling in his mind. So to catch him off guard like this, and see how hurtful your words really were, quickly plagued your thoughts. That didn’t mean his own words and actions hadn’t hurt either. By the time you left his office, you still hadn’t quite gotten an explanation as to why the research project had been cancelled. The first day after everything had unfolded you cursed Al-Haitham’s name, grumbling to Dehya over dinner.

“You know… I’ve noticed that you’ve spent a lot more time around Al-Haitham recently,” she tosses the statement on the table, forcing you to stop eating and stare up at her with a spoon of soup halfway to your mouth.

“He’s just nice— well, I just find that I enjoy his company,” you let the words stumble out.

“Haven’t you gotten dinner with him nearly every day this week?” Dehya says it so nonchalantly that it surprises you. You had, in fact, had dinner with Al-Haitham five of the seven days of the week. Three of them were a result of both of you leaving work at the same time and two of the times you had been invited over by Kaveh for dinner. Al-Haitham had volunteered to walk you from the Akademiya to their home, then from their home back to yours, sending you off with a gentle smile and the promise to see each other the next day.

Admittedly, neither of you had clarified the relationship that had grown between the two of you. Unsaid promises, unsaid labels, unsaid confessions lingered in the air. It had become a dance of back and forth footwork, your hands gliding along his figure until you had stumbled, tripping over your feet, curses tearing from your lips as you pushed him away by accident. There was no doubt that he was actively making an effort to avoid you and while you weren’t seeking him at every moment, it still hurt to hear that he wasn’t anywhere that you could find him when you wanted. Which is exactly what leads to you seeking help from Kaveh, who had at first, rolled his eyes, claiming that you were better off without him. But upon seeing the crestfallen expression on your face, he mumbles that the “feeble scholar himself” is in his room.

To your surprise, he lets you in and yet you stand as close to the door as possible. Al-Haitham doesn’t like the way you’re so tense and ready to run, as if the slightest movement might send you fleeing. But he can’t reach out to pull you in. The fraying rope is on its last thread, ready to snap unless the two of you can find some sort of compromise.

“I’m sorry,” your head hangs low and you can’t look at him. “What I said to you, I didn’t mean it. You’re not a bad person.” You’re afraid of what you might see in his eyes. You can hear his breathing, counting the seconds between each breath as you wait for him to say something, anything. It’s clear that he’s trying to find the words to say and you’re preparing for the worst.

“But you think anything we had was a mistake?” Ah, that’s not what he wanted to say but he had blurted it out anyway. He knows that you don’t think so, but he just wants to hear it from your lips. But saying it this way, he isn’t sure he’s going to get an answer because his chest physically hurts when you flinch at his words and inhale sharply. You still refuse to look at him and it’s eating him up inside.

You exhale sharply, “No. I don’t. I just… I was upset because I was looking forward to going on the expedition and it was cancelled without even a day’s notice. And when I heard that the order had come from you, I didn’t even try to hear you out, I just… yelled at you instead. I’m sorry.”

Your words are honest, and Al-Haitham knows that you didn’t mean the words you had said. You were upset, rightfully so, and had taken the anger out on him. But the words still stung, leaving him reeling from the sudden burst of anger and the subtle truth that had been woven in. You didn’t mean them, and he knows it. So why is forgiveness so hard to give out?

“I’m also sorry about what I said and did.” Al-Haitham ducks his head slightly in hopes that you might meet his eyes. You don’t and it frustrates him. It worries him that he can’t read the expression on your face. You, who wore your heart on your sleeve, was now covering it up and he hated it. “I cancelled the project because I was worried about your safety. I know you’re more than capable of handling yourself but I didn’t want to put you in any danger. And I ended up cancelling your expedition. I’m sorry.”

“I understand.”

But do you? What are you supposed to do now?

“Are we okay?” your voice is small and tight, as if Al-Haitham’s room is starting close in and suffocating you. The tension continues to build and there are no signs of it dissipating.

Al-Haitham answers honestly, “I don’t know.” It’s three words, but not quite the words you’ve dreamed of hearing from him. It’s three words that tear into your chest and hit you full force because it tells you that Al-Haitham can’t forgive you.

“Right.” You clear your throat. “Right! I understand. I’ll leave you be then. And I’ll give you some space for a bit. Thank you… for hearing me out.” Your voice sounds a bit more high pitched, words choppy and sentences fitting together awkwardly. But the tension in the room has filled to the brim and it feels like it’s hard to breathe, so the next step is the run. And you leave immediately, pushing your way out of his room, down the hallway, past Kaveh who glances up at the sight of your tear-filled eyes and hasty steps. You leave out the front door with shaky breaths, unaware of the way Al-Haitham tries to go after you with his hand outstretched and your name silent on his lips. But the door clicks shut, and the rope snaps.

+ I. Invisible String “And isn’t it just so pretty to think, all along there was some invisible string tying you to me?”

“Have you seen (y/n)?” Al-Haitham stops Dehya as she’s slipping through the streets of Sumeru City. The Flame Mane raises her brows at him, sending him a suspicious look. Her arms cross over her chest and she tilts her head as she studies the expression on his face. He looks more tired than usual, less composed and shaken. It’s quite a surprise to see him like this, but Dehya knows better than to poke fun at him. Now, she’s seen both ends of the Spectrum. She’s seen your disheveled look, puffy eyes and half-hearted attempts to do your work at home. And now she’s seen Al-Haitham, actively searching for you in the middle of the day, exactly when he should be caught up with menial tasks at the Akademiya. It’s been a couple weeks since the aftermath of an attempted reconciliation and while you’re attitude

“They’re not feeling well.” Dehya answers carefully. It’s not exactly the truth, but also not a lie. You had been under the weather just a week prior but had recovered quickly. Today was the first day you had returned to work without feeling congested, but Al-Haitham didn’t need to know that.

“They’re sick?” his back straightens and almost instantly he looks more alert. An interesting reaction, Dehya thinks to herself.

“Well, not anymore.” Dehya shrugs, “They went back to work today.” She watches the change in his expression and gives herself a little invisible high-five. This is just the push the two of you need. Then maybe she won’t have to hear the groans from your lips whenever someone brings up Al-Haitham’s name, and she won’t have to hear from Kaveh how his roommate has been “moping” around. As if on cue, Al-Haitham thanks her, bids her farewell, and walks down the street, not quite in the direction of the Akademiya but she assumes that he’s off to pick something up for you.

That something just so happens to be flowers from one of the local vendors. And when you tiredly open your door to get ready to get lunch you’re greeted by the sight of Al-Haitham about to knock on your door, mouth parted in surprise, one hand raised and poised to knock and the other holding a small but pretty bouquet of flowers.

“Grand Scribe?” Ouch, that hurt. “Is everything okay?”

“Um… are you free?” he tries to regain his composure and yet you stare at him like he’s grown a second head.

You clear your throat, “I’m about to get lunch. Did you need to… discuss something?” Your eyes flick between the flowers and his face. He wants to curse himself because he has no doubt that he looks like a ridiculous gaping fish. But you had thrown open the door when he hadn’t even finished planning what to say and now his plan was falling apart.

“Could we get lunch together? I just wanted to talk about us.”

You’re silent. Al-Haitham curses and you giggle quietly, trying to cover it up immediately. It’s almost as if the laughter melted any tension between the two of you because he feels his shoulders relax instantly and a fond smile crosses his features.

“Sure! Puspa Cafe?” you propose. There are things to be said, boundaries to be discussed and no doubt a relationship to be repaired, but if this is how easy it is for the two of you to move past such arguments and find comfort in one another, then, you think to yourself, things will be okay.

“Ah, would it be too soon to call it a ‘date?’” Al-Haitham blurts it out before he can stop himself. It’s like he loses his filter around you, the words that he wants to phrase better just falling out and laying bare his true feelings.

You raise your eyebrows and Al-Haitham wants to run. “Are you going to give me the flowers first?” He feels like an absolute fool with the way he’s acting. It’s like he’s a teenager again and he wants to hide away. He swears that he’s more composed than this. But instead of replying, he offers the flowers to you with a sheepish smile. When your fingers brush against his he feels all too aware of the close proximity of the two of you.

No doubt, there are things to talk about, but for now, the two of you can bask in the moment. You both find that despite all that has happened, when standing in front of one another, it’s difficult to stay mad. It’s as if there was an invisible red string wrapped around your pinkie fingers, leading you through life and tugging you towards one another, waiting for your pinkies to intertwine and a confession to be sealed. Just wait, let time be the guide, let your friends cheer on the sidelines and whisper to one another that of course you and Al-Haitham were meant to be. After all, only the two of you could keep up with one another and match one another in every way possible. Isn’t it so pretty to think?

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! <3 a/n: if you know all the songs i used i love you

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #yaepublishinghouse #alhaitham #al haitham #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact angst #spiriteddreams writing #spiriteddreams

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nanuer · 1 month

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‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡GODDESS [ introductions ]

synopsis: in the ethereal world of dance, the white swan glides with grace, her every movement a poem of longing. the human prince, a star on the court, finds solace in her delicate steps, a symphony amidst the chaos of his world. their love blossoms, a forbidden dance between two realms, but as the final act approaches, will their love defy the constraints of their reality, or will they be forever trapped in the melancholy of what could have been?

╰┈➤ pairing: basketball player gojo satoru x fem!ballerina reader

⋆·˚*genre: strangers to friends to more, college au, complicated situationship

˚ ༘⋆warnings: nsfw, suggestive, contains smut, sexual, excessive smoking details, getting high, self-destructive, mentions of bleeding, scars, fluff, angst, mentions of drowning, commitment issues

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･updates: every other day

chapter i.

↺go back ⊜ playlist next ≫

🎼chapter: i. ↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

10:14pm

feet clicking is the only thing you can hear right now,

after the performance earlier this evening, Shoko and you decided to immediately go home to your respective dorms

as you both walked towards the girl’s dorm Shoko suddenly received a text from someone, she stopped walking which you also did mindlessly - you stared back at her raising your brows

“hold on a sec, y/n” she said as she pulls her phone from her bag, she turned it on before shuffling her shoes back down onto her bag

“oh, my friends are inviting me to a party of theirs, seems like they won another game tonight” she said as she typed something on her phone,

“are you going?” you asked, as you tilted your head to the side curious whether she'll go or not

“hm.. yea i probably will, one of my friends’ is a bit insufferable when i decline his invites sometimes” she said as she placed her phone back, before shooting you a smile

“I'm definitely washing up first though, heaven knows how much I sweat” she said giggling, as she continue to walk towards the dorm as you follow-suit

“you wanna come along hm?” she turned her head towards you, as you shook your head ‘no’

“sorry, my feet are just killing me tonight. might be best if i stay and rest up” you replied, as you both went inside the elevator pressing on your respective floors

“can't argue with that, make sure to rest well alright? and take a bath before you treat your wounds, you'll feel much better afterwards” she said as the elevator signaled you both that you have arrived at Shoko’s floor, she smiled at you one last time before walking out

“say hi to Utahime for me, bye~” she waved at you, causing you to do the same gesture and nodding at her “i will, take care tonight”

the doors of the elevator finally closed as you took a deep breath and exhaled, you stared back at doors watching your reflection as you brush a few of your hair strands away from your face

ding!

as you got off and started walking towards your dorm, you suddenly feel super exhausted and took out your keys from your bag

opening the door to your dorm you were met with silence and lights that were dimly turned on, you knew Utahime was home since her shoes were in the front so you took a quick glance at the kitchen to check if she were there

no one and so, you started to walk towards your bedroom knowing she's probably in her room studying

you placed your bag onto your desk, as you started to look for your towel and head towards the bathroom

as you closed the door shut, you started to strip off your clothes and made sure to place it on your laundry basket and not mistaking it with Utahime’s

as you started the water making sure it's hot enough to ease the aches in your body, using your fingertips to check if it was just the right temperature

“y/n, are you home? is that you?” you heard Utahime’s voice outside the room, you turned to the door before replying

“yes i am Utahime, sorry i didn't see you earlier when i arrived” stepping in the shower, you sigh when you felt the hot water relieving you of the aches from today

“it's alright, hey do you want something to eat or drink? i haven't had dinner anyways, so i figured we should eat together” she said, as you turned to take your loofah and body soap

“i guess i could eat, that would be nice thank you” you said smiling at her gesture, as you started to rub your body with your loofah

“alright then, come out when you're done, okay? i'll be in the kitchen” she said as you heard her voice starting to fade away,

after changing onto your pj’s, you got out of your bedroom to meet utahime cooking some instant noodles with 2 bowls present

“oh by the way, Shoko told me to say hi to you” you said as you stood behind her watching her place the noodles on your respective bowls,

“oh that's nice, sorry i couldn't come to your show earlier. it's ‘cause of this crazy prof we have, i swear his favorite phrase would be probably be ‘the bell doesn't dismiss you does it?’ I'm pretty sure it does! he made the students who was supposed to use our classroom, wait 45 minutes outside” she said as she handed you your bowl, sitting down on your table before you follow-suit

“maybe someone should report that, didn't the students who waited outside had their teacher with them?” you asked as you both started to eat, she furrowed her brows before angrily slurping her noodles

“they didn't, they were supposed to film in that room and the worst part is that they had to send a 2 weeks notice permission slip for it!” you sympathize with the students, as you and Utahime continued to talk about each other’s days and other gossips or rant she had

“Shoko! You came, glad to see you!” Satoru watched as Shoko entered the sorority house, the loud music and blinding colorful lights causing her to hesitate, second-guessing her decision to come,

“yeah, I knew your bitch ass would complain if i didn't” she said as she took a deep sigh, she looked around and saw Satoru’s fellow teammates

“you’ve declined most of my party invites, of course I'd be upset!” Satoru said handing her a cup of some alcoholic drink she smiled at him, and then noticing the cup in his hands

“i thought you didn't drink?” Shoko said pointing towards the drink in, “it's not alcohol, just so you know” he replied pouting before gesturing her to follow him

they both arrived at the kitchen seeing Suguru there, pouring some drinks into his cup as he looked towards them and sending a smile at his two best friends

“you actually came, i for real thought you wouldn't have come” Suguru said as Shoko leaned against the counter beside him, being in-between the two men

“take it as my apology of some sort, also i’ve had enough of this buffon’s whinings” Shoko points at Satoru making the guy furrow his brows,

“is it my fault that I missed my other best friend?” Satoru pouted looking down at her making the other two chuckle, Shoko pinched his arm making him swat her hand away

“as if, you guys have your own hangouts and never invite me, scared I'll ruin your date huh?” Shoko teased making the two roll their eyes, before Suguru placed his hand on her shoulder

“we invited you a bunch before but you always complained ‘cause we always end up at the school’s court” Suguru said, sipping his own drink as a smirk formed in his face

“besides, now we both can watch Satoru be a man whore together” Satoru let out a dramatic gasp, as he held onto his chest

“why do you even consider me a man whore, i do not sleep with everyone you know?” he said, before pouring himself a drink once more “you may not be some sex god, but you're the living definition of a attention whore Satoru” Suguru replied, as Shoko nodded along while Satoru only sighed

“you two haven't been together for less than an hour and you guys are already ganging up on me, I'm leaving” he said dramatically leaving the kitchen, making the two roll their eyes at his theatrics

“oh yea, why have you been declining our invites anyway? got a boyfriend or something?” Suguru said, taking his hand off Shoko’s shoulders as he turned to face her

“no if I did, by the way, I'll kill him before he gets to tell me who i can and should hang out with.” she said turning to face Suguru, taking another sip of her drink before adding

“it's ‘cause i had a show earlier, can’t really party when your feet ache from practice. i’m not like you jocks, with your crazy stamina and shit” she said, tilting her head back staring at the ceiling before smiling

“also, i got a new friend from my ballet group. i guess she's rubbing onto me, always in a hurry to go home or practice at our studio” she said looking at Suguru again, making the male raise his eyebrows at her before chuckling

“well, she sounds like a real delight might come to your studio to see her myself”

walking to your first class in the morning after a night show was your least favorite thing in the world, the urge to sleep more and stay curled up in bed was incredibly tempting

getting through the first class was also a struggle, the professor would either not show up but make everyone sign an attendance sheet at his desk, or he would show up but refuse to teach

you sighed, knowing you still had one last class before you could go home - there were no practices today in consideration of last night’s performance

as you headed towards your final class of the day, you noticed the school’s coliseum was open, the sound of feet dragging and balls bouncing off the floor filled the air - you spotted a ball at the foot of the door and took it upon yourself to return it before sprinting to your class

as you bent down to pick up the ball, a tall figure loomed in front of you. you stood up, holding the ball with two hands, and looked up to see blue eyes and white hair, making you question the guy’s hair color choice.

“thanks!” he said, waiting for you to hand him the ball, which you did before nodding at him

he smiled and jogged back towards the court, you noticed he was still wearing his school uniform but without the blazer

peeking inside, you saw he was playing against a guy with black hair tied up - they were exchanging insults, making you raise your eyebrows before continuing to walk to your last class.

“Satoru~ doesn't your class start in like 10 minutes, aren't you going to head in?” Suguru said, as he passes the ball to Satoru

“what, trying to get rid of me Suguru? scared i’ll beat you even more huh?” he teased dribbling the ball before taking a shot in the 3 point liner, Suguru rolled his eyes before walking towards his bag and wearing his blazer on

“whatever man, i’ll be leaving first i’m going home” he said, as he turned to face Satoru who returned the ball back to the equipment room

Satoru scowled at this before walking towards his bag, and holding his blazer over his shoulder and wearing his sunglasses “should I just skip this class, it's my last one anyways”

“no Satoru, you've skipped at least 8 of this class this semester. pretty sure you're gonna end up being dropped, or worst retaking the class” Suguru said before walking towards the exit, as Satoru followed-suit

“ugh fine - guess i’ll listen to the wonders of computers” Satoru rolled his eyes before dabbing Suguru up, and walking towards his class’s building

as you arrived in your class, you finally took your sit down and started to open your phone before the teacher could arrive

you noticed that you had a few texts from Utahime and Shoko, which you made the decision to read later and placing your phone back to your bag

1 minute left

1 minute left before class can start and you noticed a lot of missing students today, you really wanted to skip this one out too but thinking back on the consequences you decide to shoo those thoughts away

the door in front opened, making you look to check if the teacher finally arrived only to meet that white haired dude again who looked quite unbothered by the fact he walked in through the front door reserved for the teacher

he then started to walk towards the back of the classes but then stopping besides you, you had your attention to the computer in front of you trying to turn it on, so you didn't notice that he bent down to pick something on the floor before taking the seat beside you

you then felt a poke from your side which made you turn your head towards him, he had his hand out towards you and you turned to look at it noticing it's bondage?

“I'm guessing this is yours, since you're the only one sitting in this side of the class” he said, before handing you the bondage and you looked at it before reverting your eyes back at him noticing that he had a smile plastered on his face

“oh right, thank you” you replied, sending a smile at him and placing the bondage at your bag

“no problem, will you do me a favor and wake me up when classes start? or if the teacher calls me for anything” he said taking his sunglasses off about to lay his head down on his arms, before you nodded and he winked at you mouthing the word ‘thanks!’

he then laid on his head on the table with his arms covering his face, you turned back to the computer in front of you as you finally managed to turn it on before hearing muttered words out of him

“i’m gojo by the way, may i have the pleasure of knowing your name?” you turned your head back towards him, as he stared up at you while still laying his head on the desk

“i’m y/n” you replied, making the man nod his head before turning his head back to face the desk covering his face

➥taglist:[OPEN] @sadmonke @purpleguk @kazoomasoo @ritsatoru @lzaj19 @bol0-de-morang0 @aechmea01 @pearlstiare @blognicole @reagan707 @cybrnaya @anthastudios @kareabtu @c0smouche @orphicarchive @misslovingpearl @a1hina @coloredsolos @fandomtrash5092 @bubera974 @gojonegs @kookap

➥names in bold cannot be tagged!

[author’s note: had to debunk the hoe gojo agenda cuz this mf cannot commit! i finished editing this at 5am cuz i took a long ass nap also, i suck at making introduction stories><]

#gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo smut #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #gojo smut #jjk gojo satoru #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk #jjk satoru #jjk satoru gojo #jjk gojo x reader #jjk gojo smut #goddess gojo satoru

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nolita-fairytale · 1 year

Text

comfort & chaos | carmy berzatto x fem!reader | chapter four: 2/22/22

summary: carmy receives bad news that changes his life forever, while you're relationship with him comes to a head. (the five times carmen berzatto fell in love with you a little and the one time he finally told you)

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+ only), death, grief, mentions of suicide, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, drinking & smoking, suggestive language

word count: 5.5k

listen to: hurting kind - del water gap | robbers - the 1975 | hostages - the howl & the hum

a/n: i need therapy after writing this. so sorry bbs love you all. ok but fr, i thought that i was going to write a smut scene that was not going to be hot bc we know it's canon that carmy does not fuck and then it ended up being really hot and i'm once again asking for therapy.

read: chapter three

2/22/22

Something happened. Can you come over?

That’s all the text said. It’s all that needed to be said for you to drop everything you were doing and hop on the subway. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you imagine every single worst case scenario possible. Carmy had given you little context in regards to what this was about, and you almost regret not asking as your mind runs rampant with possibilities. Not that he would’ve given you an answer. Something about him seemed different. He’d never sent that urgent of a text.

Not even when the restaurant was slammed and he needed you to come in on your day off.

Something happened.

The words continue to echo in your head until you reach him.

You're at Carmy’s doorstep faster than you ever thought your feet could carry you, and when he opens the door for you, your heart breaks. He’s wrecked. His face is a flushed red, though you don’t think it’s from crying, and he looks like he hasn’t washed his fuckin�� hair in days. You take in his somber expression, like all of the joy he’s ever experienced has been sucked out of him.

Carmy steps aside, allowing him into your apartment.

He mumbles something you can barely hear, gesturing towards the couch, so you follow him, taking a seat on the crappy couch you’ve come to love. He stares at the floor, his eyes cold and empty, as you sit in silence.

It’s you who breaks it, bursting at the seams with anxiety.

“Carmy, you’re scaring me,” you say softly.

He keeps his eyes fixed on the floor as he licks his lips, swallowing as he opens his mouth to say something. It’s a few moments later that he’s finally able to put two words together to tell you what happened.

“It’s Michael,” is all he manages to get out. You can hear the break in his voice when he utters Michael’s name, and you’re terrified of what he’s going to say next.

“Your brother?” you ask, secretly hoping he won’t say yes.

You feel your stomach drop.

Carmy nods slowly, “Yeah.”

He takes a few beats before saying anything else, his head swimming. On one hand it doesn’t feel real, and if he doesn’t say it out loud, maybe it won’t be. There’s a part of him that still thinks this is some cruel, sick joke that Mikey cooked up, just to fuck with him.

But he knows it’s real. He could hear it in the way that Sugar’s voice broke on the phone. He could hear it in the way that Richie practically screamed at him to stop being such a fuckin’ cuck and come home. He knows it’s real, because for the first time in years, his mom’s called him.

Must be Sugar or something calling from her phone for her…. ‘S gotta be, he thinks to himself.

“He’s-,” Carmy starts, before stopping again. Carmy looks away, in the opposite direction of you, focusing his eyes on something outside of the window.

He can’t look at you because if he looks at you, he might lose it.

“He’s dead.”

“Oh Carmy,” you gasp, your heart wrenching in your chest as the words leave his mouth. You reach out to touch him, but he flinches, pulling away from you.

“No,” is all he says through gritted teeth.

You cannot touch me. You cannot make me feel better about this because I’ll have to feel worse about this, is what he wants to say.

“The fuckin’ asshole shot himself on the State Street bridge. I don’t-, you don’t get to make me feel better about this,” he snaps, his tone almost a warning.

“Fuck,” you sigh, sitting up straight and leaning towards him. He may not want your comforts, so you’re going to give your presence. He had asked you to come over after all, right? “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says, coldly.

His response is jarring, leaving an unsavory taste in your mouth. You understand that he’s just gotten the most unimaginable news, but it doesn’t sit right with that he’s taking it out on you either. Is that why he invited you over? To be his punching bag? Instead, you decide to pivot to crisis control-mode, hoping to remedy some of the animosity he’s harboring.

“Okay, well, I’ll call Kate and let her know that you can’t come in tonight, if that helps. Just so you don’t have to-,” you suggest.

“Why would you fucking do that?” he yells, snapping his head towards you as he finally turns towards you. You can see it in his eyes: how angry and devastated he is – at Michael, at what happened – and even though you know it’s not personal, it stings all the same.

“Because!” you shout back. “Carmy, you just found out-... something terrible. I just don’t think you should-.”

“Yeah, well you don’t get to tell me what to do. You’re not my mom and you’re not my girlfriend so,” he’s quick to retort, rebelliously.

You scoff at him, shaking your head in utter disbelief.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve, Carmen,” you cut him off with a yell. You know he’s hurting, but this is where you draw the line. “I’m well aware that I am not your girlfriend, but I am your friend, and I care about you.”

You’re right.

He knows you’re right.

He knows he’s being a dick, but it’s like he can’t stop his own rage from spilling out sideways as yells:

“Well, if you don’t want to be here, then get out!”

“Stop it!” you cut him off, venom in your voice.

Carmy looks at you, his bloodshot eyes wide with utter despair.

“You called me, Carmy. So shut the fuck up and let me fucking help,” you lower your voice, bringing the confrontation between the two of you back down.

With his eyes fixed to the floor, his mind zoning out to numb the pain, he manages to get out, “I don’t want to-. I need to go to work tonight.”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” you plead softly, yet firmly.

“Yeah, well, you don’t get to make that decision,” he dismisses.

He’s right. You don’t.

“Yeah, okay,” you sigh, giving in.

It’s a horrible idea – for Carmy to go into the restaurant – but you know he’s going to do it anyway.

“What can I do for you in the meantime?”

“I just-, I don’t think I can be alone right now,” he mumbles, averting his eyes once again. “Can you just like… sit here with me? Till we gotta go?”

“Yeah.”

The afternoon passes slowly, and you feel like the both of you have been lit on fire – only a matter of time before you burn his whole place down. As you’re getting ready to leave, Carmy sprints into the bathroom, emptying what little contents he has in his stomach into the toilet. You’d been aware that he’d been having some trouble – throwing up before work – but he’d refused to see a doctor. Another decision he’d made clear wasn’t yours to make. What you weren’t aware of was that it had gotten this bad.

Like you’d imagined, going into the restaurant had been a mistake. It hadn’t taken long for Carmy to blow up at a line cook, mid-shift, over an undercooked duck breast. Sure, it was a big mistake, but Carmy had sent the line cook home after making a very public example of them. After the event, Tim had urged Carmy to take a break, offering to expedite for a few, while you rushed him into the walk-in.

“Hey! You can’t do this shit. Not here. These people look up to you!” you chastise him.

“He’s a fucking idiot! How do you undercook a fucking-,” Carmy yells, his face twisted into a look of disgust.

“Carmy!” you shout, stopping him mid-sentence.

You both know this is not about the duck breast.

You share a moment of silence together, the cold of the walk-in leaving goosebumps on your skin. You lower your voice, a quiet and intentional demand leave your lips as you instruct:

“Listen, I’m going to give you five minutes to fuckin’ lose it in here, and then you’ve gotta pull it together and finish dinner service, okay?”

He nods in response, his lips pressed together in a thin, tight line. You watch him pace a few times, before he clutches at his chest, his breathing becoming more uneven.

This is why coming in had been the worst idea ever.

“Carmy, are you o-?" you start, genuinely worried about him. You feel like your head is spinning. Carmy is losing control and all you can do is watch.

He holds out a hand, as if to stop you from coming any closer, so reluctantly, you leave him to it, closing the door behind you. The sound of empty storage containers being thrown across the walk-in fills your ears, as you close the door to the walk-in behind you. You feel like your heart is caught in your throat and watching him go through this is more painful than you could’ve ever imagined. You take a deep breath before returning to your station, keeping your head down for the rest of the shift.

Dinner service is pure chaos as Carmy undulates from unbroken focus to volatile and unpredictable throughout making the evening hell for the rest of you. The tension is thick, and it’s as if everyone is walking on eggshells around him, more so than normal. By the time it’s over, you insist on walking Carmy home. You make a stop at your favorite deli near his apartment to pick up a quart container of matzo ball soup on the way.

“You gotta eat something,” you encourage, the silence in his apartment deafening.

You’re met with silence as he stares blankly at the table in front of him, his spoon dipped into the soup. Instead, you sit with him, watching him take a few sips of the broth, while the actual food in the soup goes untouched. He doesn’t have the stomach for it.

He doesn’t know if he has the stomach for this either.

All of this. Any of this.

You eventually give in, packing up the soup to put in the fridge for another day, even though you know he’ll probably just toss it when you leave. Just when you think it’s time for you to go, he stops you with the most tender touch to your arm, as he asks:

“Stay?”

His eyes are watery, and although he’s going to let himself cry yet, he looks more vulnerable than he’s looked all day. How could you say no?

“Yeah,” you agree.

You change into one of your favorite t-shirts of his and the pair of sweatpants that he always seems to give you as you get ready for bed. He doesn’t even wear them anymore, as if he knows they’ve become your favorite… as if they’ve just become yours. You spend the evening with the TV on, not talking, just sitting in each others’ company. You watch as he smokes a cigarette inside, stress-running a hand through his slicked back hair from his shift earlier.

Tonight feels heavy.

Tonight is heavy.

Before bed, you fill up a glass of water for him, before placing it on his bedside table. Carmy lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling, as you crawl into bed with him.

He’s too afraid to his close his eye, because if he closes his eyes he’ll picture it: the State Street bridge, Michael….

How could he? he thinks to himself, the bitter taste of betrayal welling up at the bottom of his throat.

You close your eyes, trying your best to fall asleep next to Carmy – something that feels like an impossible task when you can practically hear him thinking out loud beside you. Instead, the two of you just lay there, frozen in silence. You’re not sure how long you’ve been doing it for when you feel Carmy shift closer to you.

He turns to you so tenderly, practically folding himself into your body, earning the smallest gasp of surprise from you. You’ve never seen him like this as he buries his face into your chest, his body shaking against yours. It’s then that you realize he’s crying, and you know it’s highly likely that this is the first time he’s cried since he heard the news.

“Carm?” you whisper, unsure if he wants you to acknowledge it or not.

“Carmy.”

But he doesn’t respond. He just cries.

So you let him.

“I’m so sorry, Carm. I’m so sorry,” you whisper, over and over again.

You stroke his hair, wanting nothing more than to ease the pain of your best friend, but you know there isn’t much you can do. Instead, you let him cry, running your fingers along his scalp and through his delicate curls, desperate to give him any kind of comfort you can. This is breaking your heart. You fight the tears coming to your eyes because this is so not about you right now.

Carmy’s body shakes against yours as he finally lets go, surrendering to the huge waves of pain and grief that crash and pull him under. He feels like he’s being taken under a riptide, never to see the surface again. He knows he’s been wildly unfair to you and as he weeps against your body and he’s not sure what he’s done to deserve someone like you.

Someone who chooses to say, even when he’s being a dick.

Someone who cares enough to fight with him.

Someone who cares for him like this.

When he finally looks up at you with bloodshot eyes and swollen lips, all he can think to do is to kiss you.

It catches you off guard as he surges forward, pressing his lips against yours, that for a moment, you let him.

But reality hits and you’re afraid he’s gotten too carried away, swept up in a moment of grief.

“Carmy, stop it. You’re not-, you’re not okay right now,” you murmur, pushing him away.

He leans his head against your chest again with a sigh, letting out another sob, almost as if he’s given up on the idea. You feel like he’s put you in an impossible position. You’d have been lying if you said you didn’t want to – hadn’t thought about kissing him before – but this felt wrong. He was vulnerable, and you know you’ll both regret it in the morning.

“I’m sorry, Carm,” you apologize quietly. “I just feel like-, well I’d feel like I'd be taking advantage. I don’t think we should.”

His silence only makes you more nervous, beginning to over explain yourself.

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I-, I do. I just… I don’t want you to regret it because… because you’re upset right now and cause you more-.”

“Please,” is all he says, cutting you off mid-sentence. With the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the sun, the moon, and you hang the stars, you’re not sure how to say no.

Carmy leans in to kiss you once more before whispering mere inches away from your lips:

“Please.”

He presses his lips against yours again, immediately regretting his past self for not doing this sooner. He’s never tasted anything sweeter than you, and the way you kiss him back seems to bring all thoughts flooding his brain to a halt.

In between kisses you manage enough self control to stammer out, “Are you- are you sure? Is this really what you-?”

“Yes,” he replies, as if it’s a declaration.

“I’ve wanted this for so long. Just-, please,” he pleads, murmuring your name into the soft kisses he begins to leave across your collarbone. “Just wanna feel good.”

“Just wanna feel good,” he repeats.

You surrender, letting go of your own ambivalence as you focus on the way his lips feel against your skin. It’s then that you realize what absolute fucking idiots the two of you had been for the past few years by ignoring this thing between the two of you. For a moment, you’ll tear down the walls, the rigid boundaries that you’ve kept to help you compartmentalize your relationship with Carmy.

There’s no possibility of hiding from it when his body feels this good so close to yours.

The truth is that you are fully, wholly, and stupidly in love with each other.

“Yes,” you parrot.

With your confirmation, his mouth is back on yours, as you’re pulling him on top of you, deeper into your shared passionate liplock. He wonders why he’s denied himself the pleasure of having you, for this goddamn long. His tongue slides against yours, a tender hand moving up to cup your face. The way his name sounds tumbling out of your mouth sends him into a frenzy. It feels absolutely intoxicating and he can’t get enough.

Carmy’s hands begin to wander, fingertips sliding at an experimental pace underneath the hem of the t-shirt you’re wearing. You shudder against his touch, gasping as you anticipate where this is going.

Carmy raises his head to look at you, not sure if it’s a good thing or not.

“This okay?” he asks you, concern evident in his voice.

“Yeah,” you nod, giving him permission. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” he whispers.

And then he’s kissing you again, dragging calloused fingertips up and down your torso underneath the shirt, hesitantly making their way to where they’d like to be. You’re not wearing a bra, he realizes, as his fingertips find soft, supple skin at the rounded bottom of your breast. He follows the shape of it, before bringing a cautious palm up to grab hold of the fullness of your breast. You arch into his touch, encouraging him further. Carmy takes his time exploring your body, giving you the lightest touch as his fingertips graze your nipple.

“Can I take this off?” he questions, only willing to move forward if you say yes.

You nod, breathlessly, “Please.”

You watch as he sits up, pushing the hem of your shirt up over your breasts, revealing your bare body to him. He has to hold back a groan, swallowing hard.

Carmy stops what he’s doing, in pure awe of you, as he marvels at you. He can’t believe this is real: that you’re here, laying in his bed, allowing him to do the things he thought could only live in his head.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” are the words that tumble out of his mouth and you think you may cry.

“Touch me,” you whisper desperately, begging him to come back to you.

“Touch me, Carmy.”

Carmy lays his body over yours, and you spread your legs wider, allowing him to fit perfectly between them. He begins to roll his hips against yours as he returns his attention back to your bare breasts. He drags his fingertips over your erect nipples, following his touch with his mouth.

He practically groans as he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, earning a strangled whine from you as his hot, wet mouth engulfs you.

“Carmy,” you moan, arching into him.

He’s rolling his hips against your clothed core on pure instinct, as he takes his time, now exploring unfamiliar territory with his lips and his tongue. You find a good rhythm as he continues to drag his mouth over you, grinding your hips into his underneath your remaining clothes. He’s surprisingly good at this – something you hadn’t expected considering he’d let you know he didn’t have much experience when it came to dating. You assumed that that meant sexually as well.

As Carmy moves to your other breast, you feel one of his hands snake under the elastic waistband of your sweatpants, lifting his hips so he can feel you. You know you’ve soaked through your cotton panties from the anticipation, and it goes right to his dick as he feels just how wet you are. He doesn’t have much experience with this, but he’s seen in porn. He begins to rub circles across your clothed core, while he busies his mouth with exploring your other breast.

But he’s not quite where you want him.

“Wait,” you say, stopping him.

Had he just gotten caught up in the moment?

Did you not want to go this far?

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks you, a concerned tone in his voice.

“No,” you’re quick to reassure him, shaking your head. “No, I just-.”

Instead of explaining, you reach down to grab his hand, guiding him just a little higher up to your clit. He presses the rough pad of his index finger against it, finally touching you where you need him, gasping to let him know that he’s found the right spot. His eyes are locked on you, watching your face change as the new spot you’ve shown him brings you more pleasure than he could’ve imagined.

He practically groans into your mouth when he hears the way you whine his name, and he swears he’ll do anything to hear you say it again.

“There?” he asks you, rubbing tight circles across your clit.

“Yes,” you pant, growing wetter with every touch.

Carmy pulls away just for a moment, daring to touch you underneath your panties. You’re so wet for him, and he thinks he may lose his mind as he slides his index finger in between your folds curiously.

“Take them off,” you practically demand.

“Hm?” he hums, lost in the way you look at him with hooded lids and pupils blown out with pure desire.

He’s never been this guy.

The guy that gets the girl.

He never knew he could feel like this guy, but here you are, begging him to undress you.

“I said take them off,” you repeat yourself, more desperate this time. You take a lighter approach with what you say next, the smallest giggle in your voice. “And while you’re at it, we gotta get you naked too.”

“Yeah,” he says, with the kind of conviction he’d say ‘heard’ with.

He’s stripping off his shirt, and you’re sliding your pants and underwear off with him.

“I have a condom in my emergency kit,” you say, the both of you busy shedding your clothes.

“Yeah?” he asks you, relieved to hear it. He hadn’t thought that far yet.

“Yeah, hold on,” you reply, getting up from the bed.

Carmy thinks he may pass out as he watches you stand, giving him a full view of your naked body. You disappear only for a moment, before returning with the small emergency kit you always keep in your backpack. It’s equipped with all the ‘just-in-cases:’ tampons, panty liners, safety pins… condoms. You pull out a single condom before returning to the bed. Carmy’s kneeling on the bed, and you mirror his body language, doing the same.

“What would you like to do?” you inquire softly.

As turned on and hot for him as you are, you want to make sure that he still wants to do this. He finds himself surprised at your question, not sure how to answer it.

“Think we can just pick up where we left off?” he asks you.

“Yeah,” you reply.

You place the condom down beside you on the bed, before leaning in to press your lips against his again. He inhales as you kiss him, his tongue immediately sliding against yours as one of his hands goes to the back of your head, pulling you closer to him. He’s surprised as you pull away from him, beginning to leave hot, open mouthed kisses down his neck, his chest, and he hisses in anticipation as run your hands down his muscular abdomen, following with your mouth.

“Hold on, I uh-,” he stutters out, as he anticipates where you’re going with this.

You pause, sitting up tall as you kneel, your body across from his.

“I just uh… if you do that, I don’t know if I’ll last long,” he admits, a blush running across his cheeks.

“Yeah, no. Totally cool,” you reassure him, before crashing your lips against his once again.

As you tangle your tongues together once again, Carmy begins to lead you down towards the bed, pushing you back, and climbing on top of you. He still has his sweatpants on, so you begin to bring your hands down to them. He hisses as you cup his rock hard erection, pleasantly surprised by what you feel.

“Wanna take these off?” you ask in between kisses.

“Yeah,” Carmy nods, sitting up for a moment.

You wait with baited breath as he strips his sweatpants off, wondering if he’s as thick as he feels. You’re practically pulsing, squeezing around nothing as you finally see him, Carmy, your best friend, fully naked.

God, he’s beautiful.

How had you not noticed how physically attractive he was?

It’s not that you hadn’t noticed. It’s that you hadn’t let yourself think about it.

You reach over to where you left the condom, handing it to him. Carmy takes it, a blush running across his cheeks as he rolls it on, still in disbelief that you’re about to do this. He returns to you, laying his body over top of you as you space for him once again between your legs. He’s hesitant to give you his full bodyweight as he gives you a long, passionate kiss. And before he knows it, you’re reaching down to stroke him, and he’s thrusting into your hand, his breath becoming heavier and heavier.

You feel him as he presses his tip against you, rubbing it up and down before pushing into you. You both gasp as he gives you shallow thrusts, testing the waters, thrusting deeper into you with each one.

He pauses, exhaling as he’s fully inside of you. You’re pulsing around him, practically causing him to lose his mind with the way you feel alone.

“Fffffuck, you feel good,” he moans, trying not to cum right then and there.

He begins giving you shallow, hesitant thrusts, unsure of himself. He wants to make you feel good. And he’s also terrified that this is going to end before it’s even properly started.

Carmy stops again, pausing within you.

“Sorry, I just-.”

“No, it’s okay. Take your time.”

He’s nervous. You can tell he’s nervous and that he’s trying not to cum.

“How about… I take control?” you suggest, hesitantly. “And that way, if you need me to stop we can um… well, you can just tell me.”

“Uh… yeah,” he agrees with a nod. “Sure.”

Clumsily, the two of you switch positions, making sure he knows you’re okay with this. As he lies on his back, staring up at you, you straddle his hips, giving him the smallest smile. You reach down, guiding him into you once again. You gasp as he fills you, his thick cock stretching you, especially in this position. Carmy’s hands go to your hips as he watches you take him.

“You feel really good too, Carm,” you finally say, your hands moving to his chest to brace yourself as you begin shifting your hips forward and back at the most unbearably slow pace.

Carmy thinks he must be dreaming as he watches you ride him. His hands slide over your hips, wrapping around your body so that he can touch your butt. He’s practically digging the pads of his fingers into your hips as you begin moving over him at a faster pace.

“Shit… you’re really good at this,” he groans, as you lean down to kiss him.

You giggle against his lips, and whatever thoughts he has in his head disappear. Carmy begins thrusting up into you, his hands on your hips encouraging you to move a little faster as you kiss him. You’re moaning his name, whining as you feel every single inch of his cock slide against your walls, becoming more and more breathless by the minute. Your gasps turn into moans, getting higher in pitch as you go. His hands are guiding your hips, taking some control back as you grind against each other.

“Carmy,” you cry out as he thrusts his hips hard into you. “If you keep doing that, I’m gonna cum.”

“Yeah?” he asks. You nod, breathless, as you bury your face into his chest.

He holds your hips down, pinning you down against him as pushing his hips into yours.

“You wanna switch?” he asks, breathless. “Can I-?”

“Please,” you reply eagerly.

You switch positions once more, and as Carmy guides himself into you again, you can tell he’s much more confident than last time you’d found yourself in this position. You wrap a leg around his waist and he holds you there, beginning to move his hips against yours again. He works his way up to a rapid pace, his face turning red as he does, and you’re writhing underneath his body, whispering the dirtiest things into his ear with every single thrust.

“Holy shit, Carmy. You feel so goddamn good too,” you praise him. “God, you’re gonna make me cum.”

“Yeah?” he manages to get out in between grunts.

“Yes. Please let me cum,” you beg him, as he hits that spot inside of you, earning another loud cry.

“Don’t stop.”

He’s surprised to learn that he likes it when you beg as he tangles his fingers with yours, pinning you down so that he can fuck you. With your hand in his, so close to your climax, you let slip:

“I thought about this too. I’ve wanted this for so long too, Carmy.”

“Fuck,” he howls as he drives into you, his sole purpose to earn more praise from you. To hear you cry out his name. To give you what you’ve been begging for.

You angle your hips upward so that he can go even deeper, hitting all the way to the back of you. You’re grasping at his back, his arms, his biceps, hanging onto any piece of him that you can as he shudders, letting out the most guttural sounds. You’re squeezing around him, as he takes you to your high. The feeling of you cumming, squeezing around him like your life depends on it drive him wild, and he’s fucking you through it, the feeling of your orgasm bringing him to his.

As you finally come down, you pull Carmy in for a searing kiss.

“Holy shit, Carm,” you say, breathlessly.

“Yeah,” he pants against your lips.

Even if just for tonight, all feels right in the world.

This feels right.

The light of day is sobering. Before Carmy’s even had a chance to open his eyes, the events of the day before come flooding in, running in vicious circles around his mind: the phone call from Sugar, Richie screaming at him… and then….

Fuck.

He’d crossed the line with you.

He doesn’t know whether to be mad at himself or devastated that he fucked up, considering he’s sure as hell not going to let himself feel anything about Mikey yet.

Michael.

Michael’s dead.

And he might’ve done the one thing he swore he wouldn’t do – the one thing that he’d been afraid of: that he might just lose you.

As you stir in bed next to him, slowly blinking your eyes open, you turn over on your side. Carmy’s sitting on the edge of the bed and you can see Carmy’s stuck in his head. While you’d let yourself surrender to whatever that was last night, you knew today was different.

“Hey,” is all you say, hugging Carmy’s bed sheets closer to your naked body.

“Um… listen. We don’t have to-,” you begin, searching for the right words. “Let’s just forget about this, okay? I don’t-. You’ve got a lot going right now and-.”

You take a breath. You know the two of you can’t be together right now, even after your revelation last night.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Carmy swallows, fighting back the emotions that begin to swell in his chest.

He feels sick to his stomach.

But he doesn’t want to do this in front of you.

“Yeah, no. We can… we can just forget it,” is all he gets out, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“You sure?” you question.

He takes a beat before answering:

“I don’t want to lose you either.”

And even with the declaration you’d made – the promise to forget since neither of you could afford to lose each other – things had become different. In the weeks following, your communications with Carmy were less than normal. While you understood he was processing, grieving, he’d withdrawn from you, and it hurt more than you had the words for.

You’d check in, making sure he knew you were here for him if he needed to talk. But he put his head down, working night after night at the restaurant, cold, stoic, and checked out. You worried about him. And you also knew that you both needed some space from each other.

Some days you regret it – sleeping together – and other days, you don’t. You think that maybe everyone had been right about the two of you all along – that this had been inevitable. But it happened under the worst timing, the worst circumstances and you miss your best friend. You wish, in some ways, that two of you could just go back to normal.

read: chapter five

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#carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy x oc #the bear hulu #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto headcanon #the bear headcanon #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy berzatto fluff #comfort and chaos #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto smut #smut sunday

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sunny44 · 6 months

Text

All these years (Part 9)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Ex girlfriend Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Separated by a disagreement, Charles and Y/n meet again after years apart and all the feelings they had repressed come flooding back.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Ten months after the last chapter

This was the first night I managed to sleep properly.

Today, our baby turns 1 month old.

Matilda Leclerc was as smiley as Charles, and the dimples were identical.

I carried her for 9 months, felt every pain for her to be born, just like him.

And speaking of Charles, I could hear his baby voice speaking softly to her as I lay in bed with my eyes closed.

"Do you know you're daddy's love? And that I'll take care of you forever?" she made some noises with her mouth. "Your mom is jealous that you look like me, but I honestly love that. I love you, you know, love your little eyes, chubby feet, and your baby smell. I love you even when you're all messy."

"Good to know." I say, looking at him. "You'll be in charge of the messy diapers now."

"I can do that." we hear a little fart, and he laughs.

"I think you'll have to start now."

"Well then." he gets up and leaves the room, and I brush my teeth and decide to go to her room. "Babe, come here."

"Problems?"

"I don't know if I'm doing it right." I see that the diaper is all crooked, making me laugh. "Don't laugh at me."

"Sorry, love. But you're doing a great job. Don't worry."

"Guide me."

"Okay, she's already clean, and the diaper is already positioned on her bum, so now you grab the front flap and pull it up." he does. "Now, open the tabs and fasten them in the front."

He does it slowly and fastens the last tab, then strokes her little tummy, and she giggles, making Charles's eyes fill with tears.

"Did you see that she laughed at me?"

"I saw, love." I hugged him from the side.

He finished putting on the onesie that said "I'm daddy's baby," which Charles had bought the day after we found out I was pregnant.

"Okay, I'll finish packing their bags so we can go to Arthur's."

Arthur and Megan are living in Milan for a few months to help us with the baby and we were going to visit them. It would be the first time everyone would meet her. Our parents followed the pregnancy, but during the delivery, there was a snowstorm here, so they couldn't catch the flights to come. And since today is her first month, we're all going to meet to celebrate.

In the first month, we didn't go out much with her. I think the fear that something might happen was greater, and I think all first-time parents have that fear.

"I'll take a shower, and then we can go."

I took a shower, did a quick makeup, and put on warm clothes since it was winter in Monaco.

"Look at this." he appears excited with Matilda dressed in a mini Ferrari uniform. "Look at how my baby is."

"She looks just like you on race weekends." he laughs. "Can we go?"

"We can." he hands her to me and takes the bags.

I locked the apartment door, and we went to the car, and obviously, Charles went straight to the Ferrari, a track that I started to hate since we had it.

"Let's not go in this death machine." he looks at me offended.

"My baby is not a death machine."

"Your baby is here on my lap, and I'm not going to put her in that car, which besides not having a back seat, is not safe."

"Okay." he gives up, and we go to my Range Rover."

My car and his two cars have a car seat for her since it was good for emergencies, and in fact, I haven't bought any since my parents, his parents, and Arthur and Carla gave them.

Matilda was the most spoiled child in the world, I think.

"Well strapped." he kisses her forehead and sits in the driver's seat. "Let's go."

The journey was composed of Matilda's cries and children's songs on the playlist that Charles had made for her on his Spotify account.

We arrived at Arthur's apartment and took all the luggage and went to the door. Charles had put her securely in the baby carrier on his chest so we could carry everything. She had fallen asleep and was covered with a blanket, her little face leaning against his chest.

When I tried to put her to sleep, it only worked when Charles wasn't home, but when he was, she only slept in his arms.

"We're here, family." he says somewhat loudly, and everyone comes running. "We know this rush is not for us."

"Yeah." I laughed, and we greeted everyone who went straight to Charles and Matilda.

"She's so beautiful." says stroking her thin hair. "She looks just like Charles."

"Don't say that near Y/n, or she'll ask for a divorce." I rolled my eyes, and they laughed.

Speaking of which, we got married. A few months after I found out I was pregnant.

We decided we didn't want a very big party, so we got married at the courthouse and had a little party for the family later, where we announced that we would be parents.

"She's a copy of Charles, literally." they look at me. "From the noises when they're sleeping to the stubbornness."

"I'm not stubborn, you liar."

"Yes, you are."

Soon, she started crying, and Charles took her out of the carrier and handed her to me. She hadn't breastfed before leaving home, so she woke up because of that.

"Someone is hungry." my mom says, and I sat on the couch.

The boys went to the kitchen to get something to drink, and I started breastfeeding Matilda while the girls sat around.

"How's it been? I mean, being a mother."

"It's great, to be honest. It's tiring at first, especially since none of us had experience with this, but we're doing well. She's very calm."

"That's great. Charles was the calmest of the three."

"Y/n was calm too and hardly caused any trouble."

"The only trouble she gives is when it's time to sleep. When Charles is away, she even sleeps with me, but as soon as she senses when he gets home, she wakes up. And when we're together, she only sleeps in his arms." they look, dying of love. "She'll finish here, and even though she's sleepy, Charles will have to take her."

"She's very attached to him, apparently."

"Yes, a clingy one." Matilda finishes, and I hand her over to Pescale, who said she wanted to fix her.

This was another funny topic. She always vomited on Charles, who surprisingly started laughing, and Matilda giggled along with him.

"Is she done already?"

"She's with your mom." I point, and Charles goes to his mom and takes her.

"Charles." she scolds him when he takes her.

"She's my baby, not yours." he says and leaves, making me laugh.

"Is he always like this?"

"Yes, even with me, but then I say that I carried and gave birth, and then he pouts and hands her over to me." they laugh. "He's very attached to her and doesn't leave her side. She grumbles to cry, and he runs to wherever she is."

"He's adorable."

We talked a little more, and I decided to go to the guest room, where I saw Charles passing with her a few minutes ago. I stopped at the door and watched them.

Charles swayed her slowly and murmured something. I approached him, and he smiled, then gently put her in the middle of several pillows, gave her a little kiss on the head, and hugged me from behind as we watched her sleep.

"I love you. And thank you for giving me her." he whispers in my ear, and I smile, snuggling more into his embrace.

"And thank you for not giving up on me."

He kissed my forehead, and we stayed there, watching our baby sleep.

Bonus scene!

Yourusername Instagram post

Liked by @charlesleclerc, @leclercpescale, @scuderiaferrari and others 84479

@yourusername this past year has been the best of my life.

I’ve married the love of my life, gave birth to our beautiful baby girl and I feel like I’ve never been happier.

Thank you @carlesleclerc for being the best hubby for me and the best daddy for our daughter.

@charlesleclerc I’m the lucky one to have you in my life and thank you for giving me our baby girl

@yourusername we love you 😘

@lorenzotl baby M is so cute

@fan753 her names starts with an M guys 🥲

@yourusername we love you uncle L

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lomlhwa · 9 months

Text

the silent sea (p.sh)

pairing: siren!seonghwa x marine biologist!reader

preview: strange things have started happening around your boat. you've been out at sea alone for a few weeks, studying whales. but recently, things on your boat have started disappearing and animals have started dying. you can't shake the feeling that you're being watched by someone. or something.

tags/warnings: fem reader, monster cock seonghwa, scales everywhere (i mean everywhere), biting (he has sharp teeth and they do pierce your skin), belly bulge kink, degrading, sadomasochism, he eats a chunk of your leg (it's not fatal), unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), creampie, impregnation

trigger warnings: blood, cannibalism(?), a whole lot of dead animals, it's pretty much not consented cause um siren song

wc: 2.1k

song recs for this fic: bye bye bye by wei, tank by nmixx

a/n: when i posted my yeosang siren fic forever ago, someone asked for a less violent version with seonghwa. so here it is. still slightly violent but you don't die this time <3 (please note that i made up some things about sirens to make the story better. there's a lot of variation in the story of sirens so please don't take my word for anything.)

you wake up to the waves crashing on the side of your boat just as you had for the past two weeks. when you got your marine biology degree, you didn’t realize how lonely you’d get at sea. you go to grab your binoculars and look out into the open sea, only to find that they’re missing. you search for a few minutes before deciding to just use your backup pair.

you hold the binoculars to your eyes and peer out into the never ending water. you see a few fish and the large shadow of one of the whales you’ve been following. it’s a beautiful female blue whale. tracking her size and interactions with other blue whales has been your task for the past few weeks.

you walk to the other side of the boat to see if you can spot your male blue whale. when you look through your binoculars, you see something floating in the water. you squint, trying to make out what it is. you’re horrified to find that the water around it is red and it’s clearly a dead animal.

you put on your full diving suit and get into the water, worried about what had happened. you tether yourself to your boat before swimming over. you come to find that it’s a dolphin. you roll it over to find strange bite marks. they’re much too small to fit any of its natural predators. the bites look more like the bite size of a human. you run your finger over one of them, finding that a couple of the teeth sink deeper than others, indicating sharper and longer teeth.

you leave the dolphin where it is, knowing that there’s other wildlife that will use it for nutrition. you climb back into your boat and detach from the rope you’d used to not float too far. you grab your journal to note down your findings.

the rest of your day is pretty typical. you spot your male blue whale later on in the day, monitoring his interactions with your female. nothing else seemed out of place but the incident with the dolphin never left your mind. what had killed it?

the next morning, you wake up, prepared for more research. when you walk to the side of the boat, you scream. 4 more dolphins have been killed overnight. the closest one smacks against your boat with every crash of waves. you use the net from your boat to catch it and bring it on board so you can examine it.

you find that this dolphin has the same bite marks as the one from yesterday. you assume the other 3 are in the same condition. horrified, you try to figure out what could be doing this. it can’t be a shark, their bites are much bigger than this one. it can’t be any of the fish because their bites are too small.

bewildered, you put the dead dolphin back in the water, leaving it for food as you had done with the previous one. you look out into the vast waters, wishing you could spot something else out of the ordinary that might explain all of this.

while you’re standing on the right side of the boat, you get a sudden chill that feels like you have eyes on you. you feel like you’re being watched with malintent. you turn around abruptly, only to find that there’s nothing there. you walk over to that side and lean over to see if there’s something hiding. nothing. unnerved, you go to note down the sudden death of these dolphins.

tonight, you decide not to sleep. you need to find out what is causing these animal deaths. what sort of monster is killing full grown adult dolphins with a bite so small? you keep a small flashlight on you and wander around the open space of your boat. you keep the light off so you don’t scare whatever is lurking in the sea. you’ll only turn it on if you hear something.

for a few dark hours, you hear nothing but the usual sounds of the ocean. crashing waves, whale songs and the wind. but then, you hear the flap of what sounds like a fin. you think for a moment that it might just be a fish, but the contact it makes with the water sounds too big to be a fish but too small to be a whale.

you rush to click on your flashlight and manage to catch a glimpse of an unusual tail-looking fin. it’s bright orange and highly bioluminescent. it doesn’t look like it belongs to any of the known animals of this ecosystem; at least not to the ones you know of. it appears a couple more times before disappearing. you can see it glowing under the water for a few meters before disappearing into the night completely.

the next morning, you hope and pray that no more animals have died since you went to bed. you stayed up as late as you could but you did need to sleep. unfortunately, your worst nightmare has appeared. one of your whales is dead. one of your huge blue whales has fallen victim to this unknown creature. this feels like it’s getting revenge on you for spotting it.

you scream and collapse to the floor, staring at your whale floating on the surface of the water. the water surrounding it is dark red. you can see that he’s missing chunks of blubber from his back and sides. “leave my animals alone!” you yell out into the vast sea, wishing that whatever was doing this would hear you.

you feel that same feeling of being watched again. the thing is listening to you. you can just feel it. “stop killing the animals, they never did anything to you! if you want my attention, just show yourself!” you yell again.

you hear the water splash before hearing and feeling something crash onto the floor of the boat. fear shoots up your spine, every part of you urging you not to turn around. are you really about to face the thing that’s been tormenting you and the ocean? yeah, you are.

you turn around and you’re faced with a beautiful man standing across the deck from you. his arms are crossed and his dark eyes pierce yours. you know that he was the one causing the feeling of being watched but there’s no way he could kill a whale. matter of fact, there’s no way he could be all the way out here without a ship.

“you’re really fucking annoying. all that screaming these past couple mornings has been piercing my ear drums,” he finally speaks. he tilts his head and smacks the side of it, forcing water out of his ears.

“are you what’s been eating the dolphins? and my whale?” you ask, getting up off the ground. you gesture to your very dead whale behind you. the man nods, shrugging. “i’m not really a fan of the taste of whale but i knew it would set you off, so i killed it,” he picks at his teeth as if he has food stuck in there. “your scream made it worth it.”

“what kind of sadistic fuck are you?” you stare at him, completely horrified at what he just said to you. he laughs at you. finding joy in your displeasure. “what, sea creatures can’t have a little fun anymore?” he walks closer to you, waving his hands in the air as if he’s offended.

“you don’t look like a sea creature,” you make a confused face at him. he doesn’t have gills or fins or anything that would really scream ‘sea creature.’ he rolls his eyes, rolling up his sleeves. he reveals bright orange scales that go all the way up his arms. they seem to match the color of the strange tail you saw last night. he grins with terrifyingly sharp teething, seemingly sensing that you’re putting the pieces together.

“what… what are you?” you say, subconsciously taking a step back to go back to a safer distance. “well, let’s list my features and see if you can figure it out with that stupid brain of yours,” he bares his teeth at you. “scales, mermaid-like tail and sharp teeth. take a guess little miss marine biologist.”

that’s impossible. what he’s describing is fictional. merely folklore. “siren,” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper. he clasps his hands together in excitement. “ding ding ding! look at your feeble brain go,” his smile has sinister undertones and a new rush of fear surges through you.

“now, i’m here for one thing and one thing only,” he plops down onto the ground, crossing his legs. “see, sirens can only reproduce with a human, not other sirens. and you, being out here all alone, are the perfect candidate,” your face contorts into minor disgust. “no,” you retort.

“i think you’re misunderstanding. i’m not asking,” he says before he shakes his head at you. he opens his mouth and a beautiful song fills your ears. it is haunting and echo-y in your head. you feel yourself being drawn to him instantly. you’re unable to move at your own free will.

your legs carry you to him on their own accord. despite his mouth closing, the song continues to possess you. you halt in front of him, your body completely limp. you’re only being held up by the powers of his siren song.

he removes your clothes with an inhuman ferocity. your body is laid down on the ground, completely stripped. he hovers above you having removed his own clothes as well. you come to find that the orange scales cover his whole body. you strain your eyes to look further down his body and find your eyes meeting what was hiding under his pants. it’s basically the size of your forearm. you can already tell it’s gonna hurt.

he spreads your legs and gets between them, lining his length up with your hole. you want to fight and close your legs, but you’re completely immobilized. he shoves his whole member into you at full force. it hurts so much you see stars. the stretch is enough to make tears sting your eyes.

“shhh, good whores can take cock with no warm up,” he caresses your face with a gentleness you had yet to see from him. “you’re gonna be my good cum dump and do what i make you.” he lets you adjust for a few moments before pulling all the way out and slamming back in. screams beg to leave your throat but you’re unable to release them.

he pounds into you with animalistic speed. his only focus is on breeding you. that’s the only reason he’s been tormenting you. he’s using your body for continuing his own bloodline.

out of nowhere he pulls out of you, his high clearly creeping up on him. something in his demeanor changes as he leans down to one of your legs. without warning, he bites a chunk out of your thigh, chewing and swallowing it in front of you.

“need more stamina to fill you up like the good whore you are,” he says as he wipes your blood off his lips. he shoves back into you before leaning down and digging his teeth into your shoulder. he doesn’t rip any skin off but he leaves a few deep bites.

his hips stutter and his sharp nails dig into your hips. he pumps you full of his seed. it’s so much that it streams out of you as he continues to thrust into you. “gotta make sure you’re gonna get pregnant. otherwise i’ll have to follow you home for more than claiming my child,” he whispers in your ear.

he pulls out of you, cum spilling out from inside you and pooling under you. he puts his clothes back on and sighs, staring at you. “your pregnancy will be fast with a siren baby. maybe, 3 weeks? don’t go back to shore until after you give birth or i’ll gut you like i gutted that whale.” with that, he jumps back into the sea.

you lay there in shock of what just happened. you finally regain control of your limbs and you stand up. you grab tissues to clean yourself up. you put your clothes back on and sit on your bed, wondering how the hell you just lived through that.

before you know it, 3 weeks has passed and you give birth to a beautiful baby boy. he takes after his father with his orange scales. as promised, the siren returns to claim the child. “perfect,” he says, taking the child from you and heading for the water.

“wait!” you yell. he turns around, looking at you puzzled. “what’s your name? that’s the least you could tell me after i just had your kid.” he smiles at you and jumps into the water. you rush to the side of the boat and he pokes his head above the water.

“seonghwa.”

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