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sunny44 · 6 months

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A new start (Ruin it pt. 5)

Pairing: Max Verstappen x reporter! Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: You and max were always teasing each other and over the years it turned into a huge sexual tension, until the fights of all the years and the accumulated lust turned into one long night of great sex.

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The days in Mykonos passed in a blur of sunshine, laughter, and exploration.

Max and I continued to enjoy each other's company as friends, and we made the most of our time on the picturesque island.

This morning we decided to rent a small boat to explore the crystal-clear waters of the Aegean Sea.

As we sailed along the coast we couldn't help but feel a sense of freedom and adventure, it was moments like these that reminded us of why we were drawn to each other in the first place.

“This is amazing, just you, me, and the open sea.”

“It really is. It's moments like this that make me forget about all the complications.”

“Sometimes, simplicity is the answer to life's complexities.”

We anchored the boat in a secluded cove where the water was a brilliant shade of turquoise.

We spent hours swimming, snorkeling

and exploring the underwater world. It was a chance to escape from the world's pressures and simply be in the moment.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, we reluctantly returned to the shore.

We knew that our time in Mykonos was coming to an end and the real world awaited us with all the challenges.

That evening, we shared a quiet dinner at a charming seaside restaurant.

The atmosphere was serene, with soft candlelight casting a warm glow on our faces.

“Max.” I called him as we were looking at the stars in silence. “I've had an incredible time here with you. It's been like a dream so thank you.

“It has been for me too. Mykonos brought us closer and I'm grateful for that.

“I know can't deny the connection we have, Max, It's special and I know I said we should just be friends for now but I don’t want to just be your friend.” He got closer to me. “I want to be the one cheering for you when you win a race and to be the one who comforts you when you have a bad one. I want to kiss you in front of everyone and to be your partner in life.”

“I want you to be all of this too.” He says and comes closer to me. “No matter what happens, I want you to know that I'll always be here for you.“

“And I'll be here for you too, Max.”

In that moment, we didn't need to say anything more. He kissed me and then turn me around so he could hug me from behind and then we spent a few hour there just enjoying each other’s company.

The next morning we packed our bags and prepared to leave Mykonos. Our time on the island had been a beautiful escape but reality awaited us. We knew that the challenges ahead of us wouldn't be easy but we were both willing to face them, whatever the future held.

As we boarded the plane back home we looked out of the window one last time at the sun-kissed beaches and azure waters of Mykonos. As we landed in Monaco, Max invited me to sleep at his house as we arrived late and I was too tired to drive home so here we are at his apartment.

When we entered, we were greeted by his cats who came excitedly to welcome their owner.

"You can take a shower in the bathroom of my room if you want, I'll bring you a towel in a bit."

"All right, thanks." I went towards the room he had pointed out and got into the shower.

I took off my clothes, tied up my hair and stepped into the shower. When I felt the hot water on me, my body relaxed.

Then I heard the door open and Max came in holding a towel.

"I'll leave the towel here." He says and just as he's about to leave the bathroom I call out to him. "Yes?"

"Wanna join?" He smiled and started to take off his clothes.

We were too tired for sex so we just had a relaxing shower before going to bed.

Bonus scene!

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(Is good to be back home) posted at 00:54

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moorishflower · 1 year

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Dirty Talk (Dreamling, Explicit)

This is because of @landwriter making me realize I don't have much practice writing dirty talk. This is still pretty tame in that regard.

"I don't think you're even capable of talking dirty," is what Hob says, one fine winter evening, comfortable and a bit comfortably tipsy, sat at his regular table in the New Inn with Dream of the Endless sat across from him, and he knows by the way Dream rears back like a cat whose nose has been flicked that he's made a mistake in saying it. It's only been a few months since Dream has come back into his life, since he's gifted Hob with information and explanations and finally, in the trenches of autumn as the leaves had crumpled from the trees in red and gold splendor, the rare sight of his smile and a trembling lower lip, and a soft, My friend, but in those few months Hob's come to the realization that he would do anything, literally anything and everything, to hold Dream's friendship. To make him feel safe. To keep him here.

And maybe mocking his friend's mode of speaking isn't the right way to go about it but, again, he's just pissed enough for it to not seem like a big deal, and Dream doesn't seem upset so much as he seems offended. Mates give each other shit all the time, Hob reassures himself, and it's not like they were talking about something life-changing. Dream had only been complaining about his sibling interfering with his realm, which has apparently caused some sort of imbalance in the Dreaming, and from there had followed a great lot of metaphysical and esoteric explanations that boiled down to 'wet dreams are on the rise' (pun intended). It explains why he's had so many in the past week. It doesn't explain why so many of them have featured dark hair and skin like cloaked starlight and eyes bluer than the Aegean Sea, but that's his albatross to bear, not Dream's.

And then Dream had said something along the lines of how sex dreams had used to have poetry to them, there'd been an intimate back and forth, not just of bodies but of words, a build-up and a climax. One thing had led to another, and Hob had said what he said, and he stands by it. Still stands by it, even as Dream's eyes turn flinty and the corner of his mouth turns up into a smirk that would shame the devil.

"I am the Prince of Stories," he murmurs. His voice is a laser that cuts through the raucous din of the New Inn. There's a van's worth of footballers a few tables down, either celebrating or commiserating, it's not clear which, and the entire pub is lousy with the noise. Hob doesn't have to lean forward to hear his friend, so tuned is he to that purring baritone, but he does so anyways. It gets him closer to Dream, who also leans in, like he's about to share a secret. "Do you truly believe me incapable of crafting words titillating enough to bring one to completion?"

"I don't think you've ever said the word 'cunt' in your life," Hob says, doubling down like the idiot he is. He's never claimed to be a wise man, and especially not when he's in his cups. Besides, it's the winter hols, he's got nothing to do tomorrow, and if he ends this night with nightmares that make him piss the bed he'll concede that Dream has won this round.

"You would be incorrect."

Hob can't imagine Dream ever speaking in a way that's less than dignified. There's such power to him, all the time, such staid and solemn surety, and there's no room in that sort of denseness for telling your partner how much you'd like to suck their brains out of their prick. More's the pity, because he thinks if he could imagine it, the shape of his stranger's lips around the word 'cock' would surely be a fine feature to add to his repertoire of fantasies.

It's at this point that Hob makes the stupidest decision he's made all night.

"Prove it," he says, and takes a sip of his drink, secure in the knowledge that six centuries of swiving has rendered him immune to embarrassment, even in such a public setting. There is a long pause during which the only sound is the ambient riot of the Inn around them, the clink of glasses and the cheering -- or bemoaning? -- of the footballers, the nearly-incomprehensible drone of the sound system piping Top 40s Modern Rock into the kitchen behind the bar, Marv the bartender swearing as he uncorks a bottle of champagne for a mixer.

Then Hob feels something brush against his foot beneath the table, and the rest of the pub goes silent.

Or rather, not silent, but…muffled. Like someone's draped a great blanket over the both of them, and now it's just him and Dream, as it's always been, as it always will be, facing each other across a worn, wooden table, as much of the original wood as Hob had been able to salvage. He's worked it into the foundations, into the bartop and the tables and the floor, trying to preserve the stories he'd told for his stranger, the history, like it was ale that had soaked into the floorboards. Dream's eyes are focused on him, impossibly blue, and he feels another soft touch, this time higher up his leg. Like a foot stroking up his calf, except no game of footsie has ever left him feeling this breathless before, this yearning.

"Would you have me prove it to you with words of prose, Hob Gadling?" Dream's voice is a thing with texture. It'd be prosaic to compare it to such human stuff as velvet or fox fur, but Hob's limited in his petty human understanding, and to his ears it's plush and warm and welcoming. It's a voice to bury your face into, a voice that drips down the skin like warm honey or candlewax, with just enough bite to be interesting. "Would you have me woo you with poetry? Shall I compare thee, not to a summer's day, but to the wild bounty of the fields? More comely than all of autumn's fruits and grains, thy hair rich as the loam and the fertile earth?"

Fertile is an unfair word for him to use, Hob thinks. His brain's scattered out his ears in an attempt to try and hear better, but he doesn't have a choice, because if he wants to not hear he's going to have to get up and leave. And not listening to this just…isn't an option. Not with how Dream is looking at him, head cocked like a bird and his mouth red as garnets shaping around words, words, words.

"Shall I opine about the shape of your body? How broad and virile your chest? I have seen you at sport, Hob, and I know what you hide beneath sweaters and cardigans. I have seen the daydreams of those who lust after you. They imagine you coming in from your war games, stripping the shirt from your back and drinking the sweat from your body. They imagine what it would be like to sink to their knees and bury their mouths into your most intimate places. Worshiping you with hand and tongue. Would you have me describe these fantasies, Hob?"

Oh, please, he thinks, and wonders if it must show on his face, how dry his mouth's become, how tight his trousers are now, because Dream's little smirk grows wider. His pupils are blown so large they nearly eclipse his irises, and there's only a thin ring of startling blue outlining a sea of infinite void.

"Or would you prefer it in cruder terms?" The light pressure that's been dragging up and down his leg inches higher; it feels like fingers kneading into the soft insides of his thighs, and Hob's legs fall open to give the phantom hands better access. The Inn looks and sounds like it's moving in slow motion, but maybe that's just because he can't look away from Dream.

"Would you like me to describe how beautiful your cock is?" Dream asks, and he says it with the disaffected expression of someone asking about the weather and the deep and growling voice of a jungle cat, and Hob is fairly certain he makes a noise of his own, something undignified and stifled by how quickly he bites his lip. "How the weight of it would fit perfectly in my hand? You are made for pleasure, Hob. Thick. Heavy. Better still, to hold the shape of you in my mouth."

"Oh, fuck," Hob says. He's barely aware that he says it, but Dream's eyes light up with fiendish inner fire. There's no blue anymore. It's just black, and stars, and Hob drifting in them like a rogue comet, burning up.

"Yes. I could describe how you would fuck me. How you would turn me inside out. I would want to ride you first, to see the shape of you inside me. I would want you to fill me with your spend until I could taste it in my throat, and then, when I had found my pleasure, I would want you to bear me down into the bed. I would want you to break me in half, Hob Gadling, because I will accept no less than the most ardent lover, and if I do not finish the night with your cum leaking down my thighs and my arsehole gaping for you, I will not be satisfied."

The ghost-touch that's been drifting higher and higher along his thighs presses firmly against his groin, and Hob makes a strangled, gasping little noise, swallowed up by the thick syrupy slowness of the Inn, and comes in his pants. It's an orgasm so sharp and sweet and high that it feels like the prolonged note of a flute, and leaves his thighs quivering in the aftermath, and his breath coming in heady little rasps. He hadn't even been aware he was that keyed up, but then, he hadn't been aware of anything but Dream, and Dream's voice, and now how Dream is staring at him across the way, eyes glittering like a thousand diamonds set in velvet. Hob watches as he slowly lifts his hand from beneath the table, spreading his fingers. They're covered in cum, little beads and drips of it sliding down to the second knuckle, and Dream holds his gaze like a fist around Hob's heart as he raises his hand to his mouth and begins licking his fingers clean.

There's another noise, an uncomfortable whimper, that Hob doesn't want to think is him but probably is.

"Have I sufficiently proven myself?" Dream asks, popping his fingers free of his mouth with the most obscene, wet sound that Hob has ever heard. He imagines those fingers spearing into him and making that same sound from all the lube dripping out of his arse, and Dream's nostrils flare.

"Dunno," Hob manages to say, when he finally finds his voice. It's a thready, needy voice, but it is there. "Could use some more convincing. Don't suppose…you fancy coming upstairs to continue this conversation?"

There's a gentle stroke along the inside of his thigh, making his poor, spent cock twitch, and Dream smiles at him. "Yes. I believe there is more I could tell you, Hob Gadling."

And there is. A lot more. That night, and into the morning, and the next, and the next. Hob needs a lot of convincing.

He's grateful Dream seems up to the challenge.

#dreamling #dirty talk #dream/hob #dream of the endless #hob gadling #the sandman #my fic #fanfiction #oreo sandwich continues apace we've hit 167k now lads lasses other

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drarryspecificrecsdaily · 25 days

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2024.03.23

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. The Boy Who Lived In Cinders by rosy_glass [T, 5k]

►Once upon a time, the Potter family lived in their cottage in the village of Godric's Hollow in bliss. But when a tragedy rips his world apart, Harry is forced into servitude, kneeling on hard wooden floors and cleaning until his bones break. Then, he gets a chance to spend three days at a ball hosted by the Prince, where he trades his torment for joy, at least until the sun sets. But as the last day draws near, Harry fears that he won't receive his happy ending with the one he loves.

2. Butterfly Kisses by Ace_Phoenix [T, 2k]

►While busy revising for his N.E.W.T.s, Harry discovered that his boyfriend had been hiding something from him in quite a special way, with a little butterfly kiss.

3. The Dark Aegean by @annanother-thing [E, 7k]

►The idea of a holiday is to relax, but Harry finds that very hard when his so-called best friend decides that it is time that he makes a move on his long term crush and coworker...

4. Faking My Own Death by Chase_fanfics [E, 262k]

►Draco had dealt with enough death to make peace with his own. Getting a handle on his emo angst, he assumed his life would end after Dumbledore’s murder. He didn’t expect to keep living. He didn’t expect to find something, someone left living for. He didn’t expect to reach out to Harry Potter for help. Even more so, Draco didn’t expect to fall in love with him in doing so.

5. I Pick This One by TawnyOwl [G, 3k]

►[...] Draco felt his face flare up. "No, no. I know I said you can choose anything, Scorpius, but I meant a pet. Any pet. A dog, a crup, a cat. Even a toad. But not a human." And certainly not Potter.

6. Routine by @yulicchi-x [E, 18k]

►Harry doesn't follow routines. However, meeting Draco Malfoy every morning in the elevator of the Ministry of Magic is something he would never change.

7. you are in love (true love) by greeensword [M, 5k]

►The boys take a trip to the Caribbean to celebrate Luna’s wedding. After downing a couple of drinks they begin to feel more than their usual tipsy. Nowhere was it mentioned that one of its ingredients was Amortentia.

#drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fic rec #harry potter #draco malfoy #daily list #2024 #2024.03

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mothmiso · 3 months

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Leros, Greece 2017 (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) by Per Henriksen

#mural #cats #eating places #around the neighborhood #roaming the streets #abandoned house #automobiles #greece #south aegean #kalymnos

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x011011x · 1 month

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hi! could i maybe request a idia x reader short fic with fluff? if not that's okay ^^ and have a great day :)

Electronic Bakery

Idia x Reader Fluff Trigger warnings: None Word count: 2.2k+

So omg this was such a sweet ask!! I'm not used to this and this is my first fluff so I'm sorry if it's too corny or something. But I really enjoyed writing this and I really wanted to explore Idia's behaivour more and more!!

Your eyes trail behind a cat. It was a nimble creature, prancing on and about around the island of the kitchen. The cat was a gift from Idia. She was keeping you company in the lone Ignihyde kitchen as you were preparing to bake a cake. She would sometimes stop and stare at you for a bit before resuming her haphazard march around the kitchen.

You did nothing to stop her. Rather, you smiled. Because she reminded you Idia. A cat with the brightest yellow eyes. Long white fur, the tip of which were coloured azure in memories of him, courtesy of his brother; your friend Ortho and you. You called out to her, "You miss Idia?"

The cat stopped at that. The name was familiar to her, the name of one of her keepers. Keepers she realised were more like friends, with how affectionate they were. She blinked back at you with confusion, her eyes wide and shimmering. It looked like Idia's, two wonderful jewels set into an even wonderful cranium. Which jewels they were, if asked, you wouldn't be able to answer.

"I do, too," you answered back, though you had not received any answer in the first place. But you knew what the little creature meant.

Because, just like this cat, Idia was a silent companion. It became a speciality of you to learn about how he felt through the way he moved, the way his eyes danced around, the way his mouth curled. Not by loud utterings that he wouldn't be able to muster up either way, too fearful to spill out his guts along with his feelings.

And now you were baking a cake for him, a wordless gesture of affection from you back to him. You realised those are the ones that Idia appreciates the most. The ones that pierces deep into his very much alive heart that he sometimes likes to call dead. The ones that bring out the most beautiful smile on his face. A smile that you'd give away the whole world for.

Pressing a button on your phone, music started playing in the background to accompany you as you worked around the cool room. It was a light tone, the wonderful duet of a melodious grand piano and a violin. It made you want to twirl around, if only you weren't busy with the work in hand.

Megara stopped by your feet, pawing at your calves with its soft fluffy arms. You looked down at her as you oiled the baking tray. You asked her, voice carried by a melodious lul, "What's up, Meg?"

She simply meowed back at you, trying to climb up your leg. You put the tray down with a light giggle that echoed around the empty kitchen. You picked the small feline up and pressed it against your chest, almost like you were carrying a newborn. You realised what she wanted. The melody was as dear to her as it was to you.

The baking could wait.

Handling her with one hand, the other held onto one of her cushiony paws. You pressed onto it as if holding the hand of an actual dance partner. Closing your eyes as the music melted into a more sombre note before rising up to that playful lilt that you loved, you started swaying around the room in smooth strides, that of a waltz.

The music went on, the notes stringing along to make a wonderful harmony of romance. As you twirled around, the music taking you along a love story with all its highs and lows, you missed the sound of the light footsteps against aegean tiles.

A figure paused it trek as his eyes met you dancing with the cat. It seems as though you were in a completely different world. He figured that much, considering the upbeat music playing on your phone. Something that would be normally perceived as romantic and lovey-dovey.

He thought for a brief second how the cat felt about the music. Did it ignite any positive feelings in her as well? Or was it simply another set of sound waves that she was used to?

But that wasn't what he came in here for, he reminded himself. Idia came here for a pack of instant noodles that he could cook up and chow down in the gloomy cave that he called his room. It might as well have been his whole world, it being hard to spot him coming out of there. Now, he was enthralled by your figure. The way you moved along in a perfect choreo, your carefree form not quite fitting in a dorm like this but still oh-so-dear to him.

Megara, on the contrary, was not so impressed, a bored look present on her face. Only because by the blessings of the Great Sevens, she was much calmer than the average cat that she laid on your lap quietly. It wasn't horrible being swayed like this. Though felines, even as kittens, aren't used to being swayed on their back as much as they are used to being hung and carried around by the nape of their neck.

All that aside, originally she wanted food.

Not this complex set of weird movements you were subjecting her to. If given the ability to speak, without a sliver of doubt, she would go on an entire rampage speaking of the ways that, as much you did understand her as well– your random obliviousness filled her with so much disappointment that it was almost scarring to her soul.

When her eyes met with Idia's, a new hope awakened in her heart. It was still the hope for food, of course.

She meowed, calling out to Idia before trying to turn in your firm hold to jump out and go to him. You stopped yourself at that, looking around to see what caught her attention.

Olive met (E/C) and at once she let go of the Megara. She was all too happy with that, of course, treading towards Idia with a pep to her step and nothing but food in her mind. On the other hand, you froze. The song came to end on that very second and then there was just an awkward silence alongside the three of you. Megara sat by Idia's legs patiently. Idia kneeled down to pet her as he once looked at you and then her, then back at you again.

"What are you doing here?" He asked curiously as he didn't expect you at this time.

"Um… stuff. What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean? It's the dorm kitchen. I'm getting food, of course."

"I'm getting food as well."

"From this dorm?" he asked, concern suddenly lacing his voice, "Did your dorm run out of food? Why that old headmage…"

You stopped him before he could get more annoyed, waving your hands to sign that it wasn't like that. You sighed because the act was up. There was no surprise to be given anymore. You raised your hands in mock surrender as you told him, "Look at the table, genius. What does it look like I'm doing?"

He looked past you at the table. There was flour, milk, baking soda and stuff like that laying around on the sleek countertop. He observed them and then looked back at you, "You're baking a cake?"

"For you."

"For me?!" he yelled, his voice echoing throughout the room and hitting your ear drums loudly. You covered your ears as he went on to rant, "M-Ms. (Name), you don't h-have to do this, we can j-just order takeo-"

"But, you're my boyfriend," you deadpanned.

"I get that," he drawled out, and it seemed like life was being taken out of him from how embarrassed he was. The azure tips of his hair turned to a rose like hue as he covered his face.

At the beginning of your relationship, he couldn't even believe he managed to get a girlfriend. A girlfriend that he loves, one who also loves him back. Now, it felt like he was elated. That girlfriend was also baking a cake for him? For a shut-in like him, it felt a great gesture of your shared affection. Even though, to you, it didn't seem like that big of a deal.

"You don't have to get it, Idia. I'll bake you a cake and feed you. It's a plan," you smile, winking, "Sounds good?"

You asked the question but you didn't care for an answer. Stubborn thing, Idia liked to call you. But, if it meant it made your sweet boyfriend melt, baking a cake was hardly anything compared to how much more you were willing to do.

He hummed around the silver spoon as he ate the cake delightfully. It was a blueberry shortcake. He had never told you he liked it before, but you made it from a hunch. It suited the blue that he and his surroundings were. Not the gloomy kind, though. The deliciously sour kind.

"It's good.." he muttered out, still blushing. You were almost impressed how he had managed to not faint yet, being this red for the last two hours. You couldn't complain though, now you were blessed to see his content expression. What you had hoped to see from the start.

You sat beside him on one of the counter stools. It was cushioned white and blue, a bit different yet still blending into the theme of Ignihyde. You yawned beside him, your shoulder exhausted after whisking the batter for so long. Idia insisted that you use the electric whisk but in your words, "It's not as romantic if I don't do the whole process by hand for you."

He watched you lean against the counter, and asked, "Aren't you going to eat."

"Feed me," you widen your mouth, "Aaah."

"...What?"

"Dude, what do you mean 'what'? Feed me." you sounded confused, you didn't get why he wouldn't feed you.

Mumbling something about being really embarrassed, he cut off a small bit of his cake using the side of his fork before holding it down to your mouth. Seeing your blatant disinterest in taking it for yourself, he gently put the fork inside your mouth and watched as you closed your lips around it before letting it go. The cake was gone. You were smiling.

"I quite like it. What about you?"

"I-I like it as well." He stuttered out, countenance flushed even more from the sweetness of your honeyed words.

"Really? I'm glad to hear that," you clap, excited like a small child would be from hearing praise from a guardian figure, "I'll make more for you in the future! Promise!"

"You really don't have to!" He tried stopping you before you made more decisions that were taxing for you. "It doesn't matter if you feed me sweets or not. I can see how exhausted you are and if that's so then I don't need the cakes…" he trailed off before adding at the end, hiding his face in the sleeves of his oversized hoodie, "Having just you is enough, Ms. (Name)."

Your heart soared at how considerate he was. A lover of sweets yet he didn't want you to bake any because he didn't want you to stress out because of him? It's like he gave you a reason to fall in love with him over and over again through the smallest things in both of your day to day life.

It was an exhilarating feeling to know that what you had found was true love. It presented itself in the form of a small blueberry shortcake today but in the sweet things that you did for each other in the present laid the foundations of the adventures you'd go through and the life you'd lead together in the future. But, you'd suppose, it was futile to say these flowery words to Idia.

He wouldn't get it, a true believer of the phrase 'actions speak louder than words'. So you'd have to wait for the future, a time which would slowly approach till the daunting challenges of graduation and life beyond come at your doorstep. And you knew at least one person would be by your side.

It was odd to you. Before meeting him, you didn't realise that such small actions can make someone feel such layers of intricate emotions. Now, the more you stayed with him, the more you understood why he had a tendency to take things to heart. It was the first time you had baked for him, but it represented what was next and you imagined to yourself what you would bake him the coming months that would eventually slip into the years.

As you watched him take another slice of cake onto his plate, you felt the urge to say something to him. Something simple, something that would backdrop him eating the cake perfectly. Maybe you could tease him? Maybe you could ask him what sort of cakes he wanted in the future?

All thoughts blended into one and you realised you had much more suitable words for him. Mesmerised by the beauty he could fester in the most mundane of actions. You whispered to him, voice filled with admiration, "I love you, Idia…"

He smiled, a smile that was so genuine and raw that it made your heart skip a beat. Internally gushing about his handsome features, you felt like your head would explode when he said those words back, this time confident on the sentiments he held "I love you too, Ms. (Name)"

Ah, how did you get together with such a sweet guy like this?

Don't copy my work okay!? >:((

Though taking inspiration is always welcome <33

Be sure to like, comment and reblog if you like this fic, it'll definitely help in my goals of becoming popular.

#disney twst #twisted wonderland #twst #idia shroud #idia x reader #ignihyde

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