#exposed header

[painsandconfusion]

Found

Shelter - Part 1

(tw: zombies, gore, machete, rifle, familial death mention, exposed bone, blood, murder mention, eaten alive mention, manhandling, zip ties, shackle, chain, claustrophobia trigger)

[Masterpost | Next]

Icy air ripped down Nisha’s throat, threatening to cave it in - but she couldn’t just stop fucking breathing, now could she?

Bummer.

Couldn’t stop running either, the damn- FUCK FUCK FUCK SHHHHHIITTTTT SHIT SHIT SHIT FUCK THAT HURT SONOFABITCH-

Nisha’s groan turned more into a growl in her breathlessness, ice still slipping under her knees, wrapped hands, and tingling feet. She grit her teeth, shoving herself back up.

Her right leg didn’t particularly approve of that course of action, trying to buckle limp beneath her.

You piece of shit, I MADE you, now WORK.

She forced it to stay straight, weight limping onto it.

Footsteps.

The rapidly crunching snow was getting closer, she could fucking swear. Only her frantic heartbeat out paced the monster’s gait as it slammed against her ribs and the inside of her skull.

Bleary eyes chanced a glance backwards as she forced herself into a lopsided jog again, ignoring the blood that leaked into her jeans. 

They were close.

Too fucking close - like 30 yards at best.

Fuck-

They were fast. 

Not quite as fast as her, but those fuckers didn’t NEED to breathe. Their muscles didn’t give up. They didn’t care if their flesh was ripped off the bone.

They just kept going.

So fucking unfair-

Her leg crumpled under her, sending her sprawling into the rosethorns bramble and shallow, sloppy snow. 

“Fffuck-”

Fuck it. Plan A = Failed. 

She tugged off her pack, unstrapping it as her eyes flicked desperately from the drawstring to the two runners coming for her. Her hands were trembling so hard, she couldn’t get her fingers into the knot. Whether that was from the cold, the exertion, or just blind fear, she didn’t want to know.

We’re going with cold. Yeahhhhhh - not scared, it’s fine. It’s fine. fuckING OPEN UP, YOU PIECE OF SH- thank you-

She ripped open the bag just in time for the zombie ass bitches to be a few strides away.

Numb hands gripped the handle of her machete as the rotting wretches took their last bounding strides toward her.

Son of a BITCH YOU AREN’T ALLOWED TO DIVE OR JUMP OR SHIT - WHY CAN’T YOU BE LIKE MOVIE ZOMBIES THAT JUST FUCKING WADDLE?!?!?!

She slashed wildly at them, taking off one of their arms just below the elbow. It stumbled from the blow, slipping on the ice.

Nice. ~Nice~ ice. Friendly ice. I forgive you for fucking my ankle up now.

The second lunged at her, and the blood-spattered blade swung forward without her direction, obeying pure fear and adrenaline as it managed to miss its arm and slash almost all the way through its neck.

Fuck fuck fuck close-

It stumbled back, and she stepped forward after it, advancing as it moved. It tried to swipe at her again, but she smacked off its hand, bringing the blade down again - this time clean through the vertebrae at the neck.

The mangled, rotting thing fell to the ground, twitching and writhing. Dying.

Her breaths puffed white into the crisp air, almost blurring her view of it. I killed one. I killed a RUNNER - holy shi-!?

Her thoughts cut off with a scream as the second slammed into her. Her feet slipped and slid uselessly on the ice until it cracked against her hip and elbow, slamming jarring, ripping pain up through her bones at the impact.

Ffff-f-fucking iceeeeeee - I d-on't forgive you again-

FUCK SHIT NOW ISN’T THE TIME TO-

Nisha yelped as the runner crawled back up to her, skittering wildly through the snow.

She scrabbled backwards, trying to find the mache-fuck where did I drop it!??!

Nisha kicked frantically at the creature, jerking her boots back as its teeth snapped and gnashed at her. 

This is it - fuck I’m gonna die I’m gonna die I’m gonna die-

Her scream ripped up through the trees as its hand drug down her leg, shredding the denim with sharp shards of bone, trying to still her kicking and drag her closer.

Nisha squeezed her eyes shut, teeth grit and kicking blindly up at the thing. As if that could help her.

A burst of gunpowder rang through her ears and sent distant birds flying. Blood and brains and goop splattered onto her face as the runner dropped onto her, muscles still squirming as it pinned her down with it’s dead weight.

Eyes were opening the fuck up again. Nisha shoved and kicked and scrabbled away from it, shallow, frantic breaths burning down her throat as she stared around the landscape to figure out what the fuck just happened-

A shotgun cocked, empty shell hitting the snow as a man stepped into view. Black shaggy hair and dark grey eyes. He took a step Closer.

His eyes narrowed, barrel pointed vaguely at her. “Did it get you?”

Nisha shoved herself a little further away. “..n-no. No - I think just the boot..-” She sat up fully, breaths still refusing to get under control. She tugged up the fabric of her jeans, checking the bite marks. “..no - didn’t get through the rubber. No bites.”

His eyes narrowed a little further, but he set the rifle back to default and flicked the safety on. He stepped up to her, holding out a hand. “Okay - c’mon - there’s more coming this way.”

“...fuck.” she glanced down the trail she’d run, scanning the trees for any sign of movement. Nisha hummed a groan - for distaste and agreement - then gave him her hand, wincing a squeak as he pulled her to her feet.

The man looked down over her leg. Some blood was seeping into the denim where its not-claws had bit into her. “......you…sure you’re good to walk?”

…shit shit shit he’s gonna leave me if I say no, isn’t he-

Nisha gave him a tight-lipped smile. Some kind of reassurance. “Mhm.” Well that came out squeaker than I was hoping…

The man frowned, stepping back. “Alrightyyyyyyy. Let’s go, then.”

He took a step toward the way he apparently had come, glancing back to make sure she was following.

Nisha  shouldered her pack and took a limping step after him, scooping up a handful of snow. She scrubbed it against her face, ridding her skin of the blood and brain and whatever the fuck else had just splattered on her. 

Even after dropping the snow again, her pace was slow. Hobbled.

The man sighed, stepping back up to her. He handed her the rifle, barely waiting for her to take it before scooping her up and carrying her. 

Much faster.

Nisha squeaked a little, tensing. “...uhh……th..ank you.”

He hummed in response, eyes ahead as they moved through the snow, back down the path. “My name’s Corvid. What’s yours?”

She kept a good grip on the rifle, visualizing him slipping on the ice, dropping her, and it accidentally going off- hhhhh-

“..Nisha.”

Corvin nodded down to her. “Nice to meet you. Wish it were under better circumstances.”

She almost smiled at that. Almost. “Yeah..same.”

He hesitated, taking a few long moments of snow crunching and silence to eventually say “...I have a bunker. Cold war shit? I don’t know, I found it and…it’s nice, and those bitches can’t get through the blast doors.”

“Oh..” Was that…..an offer…???

He sighed. “You can stay there tonight or whatever - until you’re healed enough to keep going.”

Nisha stared up at this man - not….entirely sure she could trust him?

But what was she going to do? Sit in the snow and wait for the rest of the runners - or heck, even walkers - to show up and rip her apart?

She gave a hesitant nod. “..that would be….really really good.” Pause. “....thank you.”

Corvid flashed a smile down to her. “It’ll be good - I have the finest entertainment. Vintage chutes and ladders board. Very high quality shit.”

She did smirk at that. “Haven’t played that since I was a kid. Though I’ve played so much solitaire lately I think anything else would be a welcome change.” 

“Ooooo you got a deck of cards?” He seemed to have relaxed a lot. Guard down. “Been a minute since I found any of those.”

Nisha nodded. “They’re pretty worn, but yeah. They keep me company.”

Corvid frowned. “...all on your own, then?”

The smile dripped away. “..yeah. My mom got bit last year. It’s just been me since then.”

“..I’m sorry to hear that.”

She hummed, throat clearing before any emotions could deign to creep into her voice. “How about you?”

He shrugged softly. “I never was able to find my friends after this shit broke out. Been on my own ever since.” 

..that must suck. 12 years??? Alone?? Fuck, that sound wretched.

“..I’m sorry, that sounds…..bad.”

He sputtered a laugh. “I mean yeah, it’s not exactly a spa trip, but I’m guessing it wouldn’t have been even with those dicks with me. So I’m not complaining too much.”

Nisha hummed in agreement. “The whole world’s fucked. Makes sense.”

She could hear a river rushing nearby as he set her on her feet again - a wash of empty hissing sound. She gripped his shoulder for support as she found her balance, then handed him the rifle ag-

Nnnnnope he’s already stepped away.

She clutched it a little closer, frowning as he reached into the brush, pulling at a bush-

Oh shit, a SECRET trap door….well that’s kinda cool…

The door pulled up, sticks and brush and leaves coming up with it and resting against a tree trunk. 

Stairs lie beneath it, descending into darkness.

Corvid took a step down, bracing the door as he held a hand out to her. “Cmon - it’s not this sketchy inside, I promise.”

Nisha frowned over it, taking a wincing step forward. Her eyes darted back the way they came. ..not like I have a choice here. So….suuuuuuurrreeeeeeeeeee let’s just go down into the very reinforced and isolated space with the strange man. That sounds like a great idea.

She stared at his hand a good couple seconds before taking it with a soft “thanks”. She stepped - a little shakily - onto the first stair.

Another.

Then another.

Down down down.

Darker with each step.

Nisha swallowed thickly, holding the rifle close as she continued down even after he closed the door, letting them into darkness. This is stupid. I’m being stupid. I’m just on edge from the fuckin zombies, this is fine.

But the stupid alarm bells wouldn’t quit going off in her head.

Then again…they never really did, nowadays.

“Okay, careful, there’s a-” A thonk echoed in the small space as she hit the bottom of the stairs a little sooner than expected, stumbling into the wall. 

“...you found it.” There was a smirk in his voice.

Warm hands slipped around her waist, guiding her to the side as he stepped around her. Her skin crawled at the touch, but she stepped gratefully out of the way, letting him blindly find what apparently sounded like a lock (???) with a key. Scraping, then clicking, then turning…something?? Ambient metal noises, Nisha doesn’t fucking know, stop asking her what they are.

The door pulled open, and she was washed in a wave of warmth. It tangled through her clothes and pressed against her shuddering skin, pulling a soft gasp from her lips. “...you…….do..do you have heat??”

Corvid chuckled, stepping away. Lights flickered on, uncovering the compact but alarmingly pristine bomb shelter. Cabinets, counter, shelves full of canned food and bags of what she assumed to be rice, shower, toilet - presumably more around the curve of the wall. Likely a bedroom area??

“Toldja it was nice.”

She stepped inside, staring around in wonder as he pulled the thick iron door closed behind her and rolled the latch into place - a giant bolt attached to a wheel on a gear. Heavy duty.

“...h….how..???”

He shrugged, leaning against the door. “River nearby. Hydropower and wind energy. I make all my own electricity and store the excess in batteries. Works well.”

She stepped further into the space, still gaping around at the…well….everything??

“....holy shit-”

Corvid laughed again, kicking off his shoes. “I have hot water, too. It’s only as clean as the river is, but it’s pretty clear. I purify it for drinking water of course. But - point is - if you wanna take a hot shower, now’s the time.”

She turns to blink at him. “...wait what - seriously???”

He rolled his eyes, amused. “For sure, go for it. I had a roommate for a minute before he…” He trailed off, a frown shadowing his eyes. He turned to grab a can off the shelf. “..anyways..he’s not…around anymore - think he was about your size, so I’ll set a change of dry clothes out for you. Might as well wash yours too while you’re here. Not like I’m gonna run out of water or something.”

Nisha sagged in relief, crouching to unlace her shoes, too. Matching him. “That…thank you - seriously, thank you.” 

He turned a warm smile to her. “Not a problem - it’s just nice to have company for a little while.”

He set the jar near the stove and moved to fill a pot with water from a pitcher in the fridge. He set that on the stove too, then turned the burner on. “I’ll show you where things are and can get started on supper while you’re cleaning up.”

She couldn’t help but melt a little. The cold had long seeped into her bones and she was grimey…well….everywhere. A shower didn’t seem like mana from heaven right now, it seemed like a fucking 5-course Michelin-star restaurant from heaven. With wine. “That sounds so good, thank you.”

Corvid laughed a little, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on a hinge of the door. He nodded for her to follow as he slipped down the hall, patting at things as he went. “Toilet here - sorry it’s a little exposed, we work with with we got - shower here-” He pulled back the curtain. “Use whatever soap, I really don’t care, I just scavenge what I can for that.” He kept talking as he rummaged through the first drawer across from the shower, pulling out a t-shirt, boxers, and cargo pants. “I thiiiiink these should fit you? I dunno, good enough for now.” He snagged a folded towel off the shelf and set the clothes on top of it, holding out the stack for her. “I’m gonna assume you’re not vegetarian or something?”

She shook her head, taking the clothes happily. They’re so fucking clean - how are they so clean- “Nope, I’m good with literally anything you have.”

Corvid grinned, skipping back around to the kitchenette. “Cool - I’m gonna make the shittiest stirfry you’ve ever had.” 

She laughed a little, setting her pack to the side and stepping into the shower and turning on the water. …he said it would be h-OH FUCK YUP THATS WARM- “As long as it’s food, it’s probably gonna be the best shit I’ve had in years.” She stripped off her blood, muck, and grime covered clothes and stepped into the stream. 

Shiiitttttttttttt that feels good- Nisha could feel her muscles unwinding under the heat, skin then flesh then bone gradually coming back up to temp over the next ten minutes or so - she was too afraid to waste more electricity than that. She scrubbed and washed and literally even conditioned - Who the fuck has conditioner out here???? She wasn’t going to question it too much, she was too busy enjoying this.

By the time Nisha got done, dried off, and re-dressed into the warm, dry clothes, the whole shelter was warm with garlic, soy sauce, and goodness knows what else. 

She stepped out of the little space, looking over Corvid stirring everything in a large pot - frying a little inefficiently, but fucking good enough. Not like anyone had a wok in a space this small, and she sure as shit wasn’t going to complain. 

He turned a bouncy smile to her - she hadn’t even realized he’d been humming softly until he stopped. “Feeling a little better?”

“Definitely.” Nisha stepped closer, still scrubbing at her wet hair with the towel. She peeked around him into the pot. “What all’s in that?” 

He shrugged, poking at the steaming rice. “Rice, a couple kinds of meat, canned veggies from last Summer - I have a garden and can everything I can.”

“Well it looks fucking fantastic.” 

His smile warmed. “Sure hope it tastes that way.” He nodded to a bin behind her. “You can toss the towel and old clothes in there. I’ll wash them in a bit.”

Nisha murmured a quick “got it,” before turning to it and dumping everything inside.

Corvid dumped a few scoops of the stirfry into bowls and stepped through a cut out of the wall to the part she assumed was a sleeping space. She followed, a little surprised to find a small living room and dining room area. Cramped, sure, but still nice. “...shit, how much do you have going on here??” 

He set the bowls down on the table, putting forks next to them. “More than enough.”

Nisha glanced around, looking for the bedroo- Oh, there,

She poked her head into the next room over to see where the b-...

Her mind cluttered to a stop as her eyes fell on a mostly empty room. There was another past it with a bit of bed showing through the door, but the space between them was…almost nothing but air.

Just the chain on the ground, drilled into the wall. The single shackle pristine as the rest of the bunker.

“I got the TV set up t..-“ Corvid’s sentence trailed to a stop as he saw her looking through the doorway.

“Hm.” He abandoned the food, taking a step closer to her, smile fading. “I was hoping we’d at least get through supper before you saw that.”

Nisha turned back to him, much paler now. Her eyes darted to the gap in the wall that would lead her to the outside door.

“…what is that for?” Her voice sounded so much more confident than she felt.

He shrugged, hands slipping into his pockets. “Toys.”

Nisha stepped toward the door, ready to break for it once she was p-

He stepped to the side, blocking her path with a soft smirk.

Nisha’s breath stuttered to a stop as her feet sent her back a few stumbling steps back toward the empty room. Through the frame.

“…I can..I’ll just go.”

His smile grew a little as he took a step closer, forcing her further back toward the chain. “But you’re hurt. What kind of man would that make me?”

Her stomach squirmed as she shied further away form his advance. “I…I’ll be fine, jus-“

“You’re not leaving, Nisha.” Another step. Into the room with her.

She made a break for it, trying to shove past him. She threw her elbow up at his face to knock him out of the way, but irongripped fingers bit down into her arm, shoving her back.

In a few moments of scrambling and thrashing - a spattering of yelps and screams that echoed in the small space - she was on her stomach, arm wrenched tight behind her back, and Corvid’s knee bruising into her spine. Her breaths creaked against ribs, shallow and tight. “Gggfetoff me-“

The chain clattered across the ground toward her, pulled by limp and bored fingers.

Icy metal bruised and cut against her leg as she kicked at it, but it clamped around her ankle all the same, pinching skin in the hinge and ripping a scream from her mouth. 

“Just hold still and it won’t hurt so much,” he muttered, gripping her other arm and wrenching it behind her back as well.

Wrists shoved against each other, shoulders grinding in their sockets as she writhed against the cement in a pathetic attempt to pull away. “Ss-stop! Just STOP!” 

A hand clamped down over her mouth, silencing the scream that started to rip up her throat. “Stop it. This place isn’t fucking soundproof, you’re going to call them here.”

She only froze a moment before thrashing her head back and forth, another scream muffled by his hand, but stubbornly ringing through. Let me go, BITCH, and this won’t be a problem for you anymore.

His grip tightened, mouth pressing to her ear to growl out, “If you call them here, I will break you fucking legs, throw you outside, and listen to them rip you apart.”

The anger running through her cooled to icy fear, dripping through her veins and freezing her in place. 

The screams petered out to desperate, silent pants of breath.

“Thank you.” Thin plastic tickled against her skin before snaring tight around her wrists, zip tie keeping them snugly together.

He finally pulled off of her, letting her shove and skitter against the wall, kicking herself up to sitting. Nisha glared desperately at him, terror softening the rage far too much. The fear that had splattered down her temple didn’t help.

“Wh-what are you DOING!?” She squirmed further back as he took a step closer, desperately trying to melt through the wall and away from him.

He shrugged, crouching down in front of her. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Nisha shoved a kick in his direction - more a warning for him to stay back than an actual attack. It neatly missed him, barely falling short. He seems amused by it, though, snorting lightly as he watched her bare heel hit the ground.

“Y-ou can’t just do this!! How much has this shit fucked you up!?!?”

He laughed softly, reaching for the leg that she quickly retracted again. “Honey, I was doing this long before the outbreak. I just don’t have to deal with feds now.”

She stared, searching his face for any trace of a lie.

She didn’t find one.

“..y…you can’t just…keep people??”

“I’m gonna do a lot more than keep you. Besides,” he stood again, wandering back toward the table, “Finders keepers.”

[Masterpost | Next]

(tags: @wormwriting @happy-little-sadist @cursedscribbles @a-whumped-tea @mirasorastone @michaeltalks @meowsika @shywhumpauthor @whumpasaurus101 @hold-back-on-the-comfort @paleassprince @heavenly-whumper)

New series new tag list, so I just took a shot in the dark as to who I should add. Lmk if you want to be added or removed!

#zombies #gore #machete #rifle #familial death mention #exposed bone #blood #murder mention #eaten alive mention #manhandling #zip ties #shackle #chain #claustrophobia trigger #i know i know i know #'shea why are you doing this to yourself' #'shea you have so many series already' #OKAY BUT ITS NOT ENOUGH ALRIGHT??? #and yes #that header IS the best thing ive ever drawn in my life #why do you ask? #nish and corvid #nisha #corvid #shelter

[timegears-moved]

dusk lycanroc icon i love you dusk lycanroc

#bwark #also it goes with my header. exposing myself as a wolfgirl

[sinfulsunni]

you should’ve named this blog “denalisecho’s daily texts from sunny”

HSGFSGAHHS SHUT UP

I have no idea what you’re talking about 🙄

#the last one 😭😭 exposing myself fr fr #ask box #if I didn’t think my header was funny enough as is I would 100% change it to that #sunnyposting

[crsinclair]

your blog says minors dni so I haven't scrolled past your header!! but I just wanted to say thank you for blazing that post and I'm sorry about the people being shitheads in the comments, can't believe there are babies out there who are too lazy to spend 3 seconds typing something that could prevent panic attacks and seizures. free block list I guess

Lmao, it is ABSOLUTELY a free block list! It's the reason I blazed it in the first place - I wanted to make sure I was blocking as many people that weren't going to be tagging things that NEEDED to be tagged or that thought it wasn't cool to tag. Also, thanks for respecting the header! I occasionally link/post NSFW, so I want minors to stay safe. :)

#ravyn asks #ravyn answers #tagging #free block lists are fun #seriously thanks for respecting the header #also please uh....try to stay away from my blog until you are old enough because I am serious about the dni stuff #i don't want to be responsible for accidentally exposing a young'un to something they might not be ready for alksdaf

[nyxi-pixie]

alr im going back to my minecraft guys ive got interior decorating to do. if the scripts drop spam my asks, my dms, tag me, idc explode my phone

#ill prolly be back in like 10 mins but thats IRRELEVANT. #anyway should i recreate my header (caged grandma the loml) in my mc world. i think it would be funny. #oh god yeah when i said mc i meant it literally im not exposing myself as a secret microdickvan #just to clear that up in case anyone else in the tag has lost their reading skills when it comes to words beginning with m #ANYWAY #byler

[yellowis4happy]

The irony of seeing a former mutual on my dashboard posting a pro-Palestine article when I know they have a track record of being very very fucking annoying abt Taika's stupid antiblack gay pirate show (they even still have OF/MD fanart as their blog header el oh el)

#they kept blogging abt the show long after the antiblackness got exposed so i guess im not surprised abt the header image #but still. girl. did you know that youre rly fucking stupid

[palioom]

little dove

summary: your first attendance of a huge feast is bothersome, alone and inexperienced as you are. until the eyes of a certain prince won't stop following you.

pairing: oberyn martell x f!reader

word count: 4.5k

warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; virginity/innocence kink; implied age gap (oberyn is in his early 40s, reader early 20s); fingering; unprotected p in v; creampie; some biting

a/n: another fic from last summer, hope you enjoy! ; headers & dividers by @/saradika-graphics

follow @palioomfics & turn on notifs for future updates

• masterlist •

Oberyn had been watching her all night already, his dark eyes following the shape of her wherever she went. Between the bustle of the people, her bright orange glowing dress like the sun, rising and settling as she appeared and disappeared, standing around like she didn’t know what to do with herself.

It was adorable, a smirk gracing his features as he watched her wring her hands, smiling sheepishly when someone approached her. 

So innocent.

He could see the nervousness on her face from where he sat, the uncertainty, clearly not used to people approaching her.

He could see the heavy rise and fall of her chest, exposed by the deep cut of her garments.

Taking another sip of his wine, Oberyn stood, deciding now was his time.

The festivities had been going on for a while, and even though he had planned on celebrating with a group of people in his bedchambers later, she had thrown those plans into the wind the second he set sight on her.

Something just intrigued him, maybe it was the innocence she seemed to harbour, maybe it was her beauty.

Whatever it was, he had to know more, waiving away another woman that approached him with a polite smile, then walking over to the mysterious woman.

She looked around nervously, playing with the rings on her hands as people passed by her, some stopping to talk to her.

Feeling incredibly out of place at this feast, her first big one, she didn't quite know what to do. Her parents were somewhere, as were her siblings.

The lords trying to speak to her made her feel uneasy, knowing she was supposed to find a possible suitor at some point, but wanting nothing more than to flee this place.

In fact, she was thinking about just leaving, when she was approached again.

Tall, dark haired and handsome. The Prince of Dorne, Oberyn Martell.

She had seen him at his table, stealing a glance every once in a while and looking away when his dark eyes caught hers.

And now he stood in front of her, flashing her a wide smile.

“My Prince.” She said, curtsying as well as she could, perhaps a little clumsily. 

Out of everything she had expected to happen today, she did not expect for him to approach her.

“Do you intend to sulk in the shadows all night, my dove?”

She blinked up at him, once again playing with the rings on her fingers.

“I have not been sulking.” A frown graced her face, a slight tremble in her voice. His presence was intimidating, but different from the other people who had approached her. “I have been observing.”

Oberyn chuckled, taking a small step closer to her, watching her step back just a little in return. So close to her, he could practically feel the nervosity radiating off of her, trying to hold eye contact before they moved away again, looking at anything but him.

“Observing by turning down all lords and ladies who approach you?” He said, watching her fingers stop for just a moment, as if she had been caught, before fiddling with her rings again. “I must admit, I have been watching you for a while - you are the only lady not dancing, not talking to anyone. Just standing in your corner, sometimes moving to follow the servants for a drink or something to eat.”

She stayed quiet. Had she been that noticeable? Just by standing around, hoping for a saving grace?

“I assume this to be your first attendance at a feast this big, am I correct, my dove?”

That nickname.

It made her feel warm, a different kind of warmth than the Dornish weather. Running through her in an unfamiliar fashion, her veins like molten metal, a strange feeling moving up her spine..

“Yes, my Prince.” She said, nodding, but not looking at him.

Oberyn noticed how she became more nervous, smirking at the display in front of him.

“My parents have kept me from them for long, I was only ever allowed to attend small ones.” She continued, sighing. “It is quite overwhelming. I am inexperienced in these kinds of things.”

Her words made him inhale sharply through his nose, still smiling.

If she was inexperienced in this, what else was she inexperienced in?

He had wanted her before, but now the desire for her burned even brighter. Oberyn wanted to show her the things her parents have undoubtedly sheltered her from.

To keep their daughter pure for a potential suitor.

“I understand, my dove. Would you perhaps allow me to accompany you to a place more quiet?”

Usually, he did not beat around the bush when it came to a potential partner for the night.

But it was different with her. If he was blunt he would simply chase her away.

She didn’t look at him, thinking about his question.

All the other men and women that had asked before had made her feel uneasy. Unsure why they wanted to whisk her away, promising a better night someplace else.

But the Prince of Dorne? He made her feel different. A heat and a pressure in her abdomen that she never felt before.

She knew of the rumours, that he took many partners, for whatever they did. Yet, as he stood in front of her, charming smile and good looks, she felt herself drawn to him.

Oberyn reached out, placing a finger under her chin and forcing her to look up at him. “I asked you a question, my dove.”

His fingers on her chin made her still, just looking up at him with her big eyes, lips slightly parted. The touch made that pressure worse, breath hitching in her throat.

“My Prince, I’m-” She stumbled over her words, unsure what to answer.

He just chuckled, a sigh leaving him. “You are quite easily flustered, my dove. Come with me, please.”

Holding out his arm for her to take, he hoped she would. Such an innocent, pretty thing. There was something so endearing about the way she was behaving.

She swallowed hard, looking from his face to his arm, hesitating for a moment. Something drew her to him, and after another moment, she hooked her arm into his with a nervous smile.

Oberyn walked her away from the feast, the noises dying down behind them as they walked the long corridors.

“What did the other lords and ladies ask of you, my dove?” 

She sighed, glad to be away from the bustle in the halls, but feeling uncertain now, a throbbing at the apex of her thighs distracting her.

“They wished to take me away for some fun. I’m unsure what they meant exactly.” She didn’t look at him, too nervous to meet his dark, piercing eyes. 

It was intimidating, she had never been in the presence of a man other than her father or her brothers alone. She knew how to behave, for the most part, but nonetheless was it a little scary.

Oberyn smirked, looking down to her, seeing how she only stared at the floor or ahead of them. 

“You did not know what they were implying?” He asked, a bit amused but genuinely curious. “My little dove, you must be younger than I thought or your parents simply were too careless with your education.”

She remained quiet, her cheeks growing hot. 

A sense of shame washed over her, that he thought she was too young. It was as if her friends were with her, giggling and whispering because of something she didn’t understand.

And when she asked, they never explained, finding it too amusing to laugh and belittle her.

There was something she was missing out on, and she hated not knowing what.

“My dove, you do not have to be ashamed.” He said, his other hand coming to gently rest on hers. “If you wish, I could show you.”

He had been right about the assumptions of her being a virgin, too innocent for her own good.

Walking next to her, he felt something else besides the desire for her, a need to protect.

As if he was the only one allowed to show her, that anyone else would simply take advantage of this fact.

Now her eyes met his, brows furrowed. 

“Show me?” She echoed his words. “How? What exactly?”

Oberyn just smiled, eyes leaving hers to look at the guards standing by the door of his chambers.

He stopped, not too far away from the door, looking back at her.

“Do you wish for me to show you, my dove?” He asked, brushing back a strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear. “If not, I understand.”

She should be wary. Despite him being the Prince of Dorne, she should think about this. But she was curious, so curious about what this thing was that she had been missing out on.

And there was still that feeling inside of her.

“Yes, my Prince.” She said with a small nod. “I am curious, please.”

He chuckled, his knuckles brushing over her cheek. “Please, call me Oberyn, my dove.”

Moving along, the guards allowed them to enter, the heavy door falling shut behind them. Oberyn let go of her arm, walking over to a table to pour himself some wine, then offering her a cup.

She took it with a small nod, taking in his quarters. They were richly decorated, the bed massive.

Just how she would imagine it, if she had ever spent time on that before meeting him.

Taking a sip of her wine, Oberyn laid a hand on her waist with a gentle smile, pulling her closer to him.

“Most people stare when they first come here.” He said, his hand wandering up and down her side. “Don’t be nervous, little dove.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. That was easier said than done, the heat inside her becoming unbearable at this point.

His hand on her side felt like it was burning her, even through the thin fabric of her gown. Like it was hot coals placed on her.

“Have you ever been kissed, my dove?” He asked suddenly, eyes searching hers. Pulling her just a little closer to him.

She shook her head no, slowly. Heart beating in her throat, he was so close to her. 

She could feel the warmth of him, twirling the cup of wine in her hand.

“Would you allow me to?”

There was some hesitation inside her, her hands stilling. Should she allow him to? She wanted to, somehow.

Often had she imagined what it felt like, kissing someone.

Her answer came in the form of a nod, her head barely moving.

Oberyn smiled, his hand coming up to cup her cheek.

“Oh, my little dove.”

Despite his growing desire, he moved gently, bending down to place his lips onto hers. The small gasp that left her made him chuckle, his other hand coming to rest on her hip and pull her hips flush against his.

She stiffened beneath his touch, liking the way his lips felt on hers, surprisingly soft, while his beard and moustache tickled her skin. Holding onto her cup tightly, she closed her eyes, humming when he deepened the kiss and she tried to match his movements, clumsy and inexperienced.

When he parted from her, she chased after him, opening her eyes when she couldn’t. Oberyn laughed at that, staying close to her, his thumb brushing over her cheek.

She looked adorable, the way she greedily breathed in air, lips slightly parted. Still too nervous, too stiff.

“What do you think, my dove?” He asked, leaning closer again so their noses were almost touching. “Would you like for me to show you more? There is quite an array of things I could assist you with.”

His fingers curled into her hip, and when she nodded, he only smiled wider.

“I promise to be gentle, my dove. A beauty such as you needs to be handled with care.”

She didn’t know what he meant, but it didn’t matter, because as soon as he kissed her again, more eager this time, her mind went blank.

His hand briefly left her hip to take the cup from her hands, placing it on the table next to them, before it was back, pulling her against his chest and making her gasp.

Letting his tongue glide against hers at the opportunity, Oberyn heard her muffled moan, relishing in the sweet sound.

The way she tried to kiss him back was delightful, so tender and new, trying to keep up with him.

Slowly he manoeuvred her back towards the bed, having to hold onto her waist as her steps became unsure, stumbling backwards once, her cheeks glowing even hotter.

The throbbing only became more intense, and when they reached the bed and he gently pushed her to sit at the foot of it, she squeezed her thighs together, looking for relief.

There was a wetness now that felt foreign to her.

Oberyn noticed, amused at the display.

“Are you aching, my dove?” He asked, his hands coming to the belt tied around his waist.

Aching.

It did hurt, but in a different way. Not like a bruise or a cut.

She nodded. “A little. My Prince- Oberyn, what- I don’t understand what is happening.”

Poor thing. Her parents had done a horrible job to prepare their daughter.

To leave her in the dark at such an age.

She watched him undo his belt, letting it fall to the floor before motioning for her to move further back to the middle of the bed.

“You’re aroused, my dove. You feel the need for cock.” He explained, shedding his robe, then crawling over her. “Have you seen a cock before, little dove?”

Her mouth went dry as she watched him undress, now only clad in a dark orange tunic and his breeches. 

Aroused.

Of course. But was she really aroused by him? In need of his cock?

She nodded, and she could see a flash of surprise grace his features. 

“In the bathhouses, yes.” She tried to hold his gaze, now hovering over her and letting his hand glide down her side. “From afar.”

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss her cheek, then her neck, hearing the breathy moan spill from her lips, feeling her back arch slightly.

“In the bathhouses…” He repeated in a whisper, still some amusement in his voice. “Yet you don’t know a thing about this… about desire and fucking.”

The word felt vulgar, so close to her ear.

And she felt embarrassed again. That she didn’t know more, that she didn’t understand she was aroused just by him being near her, by him kissing her, by him hovering over her.

“Do you want me to show you, my dove? The thrill of desire?” He asked, still mouthing along her neck, gently, just feeling her as she squirmed, her own hands coming to rest on his broad shoulders. “How to fuck?”

Her breath hitched in her throat when he sucked at the junction of her neck and shoulder, a throaty moan leaving her.

“I- I do not know, Oberyn.” She stammered, fingers digging into his shoulders. The throbbing and the pressure were distracting her, just needing relief. “It hurts, it really hurts.”

His hand moved lower, down her side and to her thigh, gathering her skirts before it dipped below them.

“I can help you, my dove.” His hand wandered between her thighs, finding her dripping already, a soft sound escaping him at the feeling. “Oh, my dove. Wet and gushing like a waterfall and I have barely touched you.”

He sounded pitying almost, his fingers slipping between her folds, raising his head to watch her face when he found her clit.

A hiss left her, looking at him with wide eyes at the foreign feeling. It felt good, strange but good.

“Have you never touched yourself before? Brought yourself to the peak of pleasure?” He asked, drawing slow circles into her clit, with featherlight touches. 

She shook her head, trying to keep her eyes open, her legs opening further.

“Never, I didn’t know-”

“You poor thing.” He cooed, kissing her. 

When his fingers left her again, she whined in protest, one of her hands reaching out to grab his wrist. 

She didn’t even really know what was happening, simply that his touch felt good and that she wanted more.

Needed more.

The burning sensation inside her was so consuming and overwhelming while also hurting her.

“Oberyn, please, continue.” She said, guiding his hand back down but he escaped her grasp. 

“Do you know anything about this, my dove? About fucking, the feeling of something stretching you open? Feeling somebody’s naked skin against yours?”

Stretching her open? It sounded painful, she couldn’t imagine how anything could do that, and where.

But she didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to embarrass herself further.

She shook her head again. “No, I don’t.”

He chuckled, his hand coming up to tug one of the straps of her gown down her shoulder, then further down her arm, exposing her breast.

“My little dove, so innocent, so pure.” A sigh left him, watching her face as he touched her breast, just lightly brushing over the hardened nipple. Nothing could have prepared him for just how much her innocence spurred him on. “I will take care of you, just allow me to do so.”

“Please, please, Oberyn.” She whined, desperate. His hand felt good on her, back arching off the bed and into his touch, her head thrown back as she closed her eyes.

This was what she had missed out on, something so good and intense. If only he could touch her again.

Slowly Oberyn undressed her, slipping the garment down her body and kissing each inch of newly uncovered skin. Taking in how she whined and moaned, took in a sharp breath or hissed at the sensation.

She felt exposed, once he sat back and pulled the gown down her legs, his dark eyes raking over her naked form as she laid before him, resisting the urge to cover herself.

So sweet and pure. And he would be the one to ruin her, to taint her beautiful body.

Thank the Gods it was him and not someone else.

“So pretty.” He said, a hand gliding up and down her thigh, the other working open his tunic. “My little dove, all for me to enjoy. I shall show you the heights of pleasure.”

She watched as he shed the garment, exposing his toned torso, the muscles under his skin moving. She was mesmerized, despite having seen this so many times at the bathhouses, when she came to find her siblings or her parents.

His hands moved down to his breeches, opening them just as slowly as he had done with the rest of his clothing.

“It seems as if my little dove has found something she likes.” He chuckled, shedding the last piece of clothing, kneeling between her spread legs, just as exposed as she was.

Cock heavy and throbbing, her eyes were fixed on it.

It was bigger than what she had seen before. But she didn’t know if she should mind that.

“Don’t be scared, my dove.” Oberyn said, moving to hover over her again, one hand on her thigh, his cock brushing against her stomach. “I’ll prepare you to take me.”

“Take me?” She asked, gasping when his hand found that sweet spot again, applying more pressure this time and leaving her breathless.

He hummed against her neck, kissing and sucking on her skin, taking in her sweet sounds.

So adorable, needing to be taught. Not knowing what pleasures awaited her.

His hand moved lower and he felt how she stiffened when one finger pressed against her hole.

“Don’t be scared…” He repeated, slowly pushing a single digit in, groaning when he felt her squeeze around him, her nails digging into his shoulders with a whine.

It felt strange, his thick finger inside of her, moving in and out slowly. Yet it also felt good, her hips rolling on their own, legs opening wider.

“Oberyn-” She moaned, voice breaking, the pressure inside her easing just a little. 

His mouth found hers again, continuing to move his finger slowly, his cock twitching at the thought of burying himself inside her soon.

“Tell me how it feels, little dove. You might be ready for another finger soon.”

She whined, concentrating on the foreign feeling, the stretch when he pushed a second finger in.

“It feels good, my Prince- Oberyn.” She breathed, her mind feeling as if it was floating on a cloud, hissing when he scissored his fingers inside of her. “It hurts a little, but it feels good.”

He chuckled, kissing her cheek and down to her jaw, then down her neck again.

“My dove, you feel splendid, gripping my fingers so tight with your sweet cunt.”

Something inside her built, blood hot like molten metal as it rushed through her, building her higher and higher until he took his fingers from her again.

A noise of protest died in her throat, his teeth softly sinking into her shoulder.

He grinned at that, lifting his head to look at her, bringing his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a deep hum.

“Finer than any wine.” Oberyn said, positioning himself so his cock was lined up with her. “My dove, I promise to be gentle. It may sting nonetheless.”

She nodded, drowsy and wanting nothing more than this ache to end. He said his cock would help, and so she wished for nothing more than him to enter her where his fingers just had been.

“Please, help me relieve this ache.” She said, feeling him against her, so much thicker than his fingers.

Oberyn watched as he entered her, grunting at how tight she still was, seeing her eyes squeeze shut and take a sharp breath.

It stung, he hadn’t lied about that, his lips finding hers as he pushed in further, muffling her whimpers while he buried inch after inch inside of her.

All the way until he was fully sheathed inside of her, hips flush against hers, one of his hands coming to rest on her thigh, squeezing it gently.

“It hurts, Oberyn.” She breathed when he broke from her, looking back at him, his lips on her cheek again.

“I know, my dove. You will feel better soon, don’t you worry.”

It was so new, the sensation of being filled, of him inside of her and stretching her out just as he had said.

Overwhelming, someone being so close to her, inside of her, his hot skin against hers, his soft lips on her cheeks.

The pain slowly fading into a need, the throbbing returning, as did the pressure.

Her hips moving on their own, making him chuckle, the sound vibrating against her chest. 

“Are you sure you wish to continue already, my dove?” He asked, kissing a spot just below her ear that sent a shiver through her. “I cannot stop myself if we do, your cunt is simply too tight and inviting.”

She nodded, whispering a silent please.

So he slowly pulled back, setting a lazy rhythm of shallow thrusts, her dragged out moans like music to his ears, a little symphony written just for him as he drove back into her over and over again.

“You feel perfect, my dove, what an honour to teach you about the pleasures of the flesh.” Oberyn groaned, his hands grabbing her legs and wrapping them around his hips, making her whimper loudly. “You won’t find a nicer cunt than that of this little virgin dove.”

She let him move, rolling her hips, trying to meet his thrusts, that something inside her building again, becoming stronger this time.

If this really was what she had been missing out on, what she had been ridiculed for, she never wanted it to stop now that she had it.

The feeling pleasant as the ache became less and less present.

Oberyn had to hold back to not just drive into her with his entire force, losing himself in how good she felt, but still wanting this to be something good for her, as much as he desired her.

Already knowing he would seek her out again and again, her innocence far from gone, her sounds so sweet in his ears, her hands so soft as they grabbed at him, trying to find purchase on his body.

“My dove, you are close, I can feel you.” He rasped, his movements becoming sloppier, lips dancing over her skin. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

“Close to what?” She asked, words catching on her breath, feeling something but unsure if it was what he meant.

Gods, she was so adorable.

“Oh, you will see, my dove.”

His hand moved between them, finding her clit.

And with just a few movements, something snapped inside of her so suddenly and with such force that all breath left her, a strangled noise catching in her chest as her veins burned, the pressure in her abdomen released. 

She was trembling, holding him against her tightly as he kept moving, thrusts harsher now.

“There you are, my little dove, isn’t that wonderful? The heights, the peak?”

It was a pretty sight, her face contorted in bliss and pleasure but also so shocked by what was happening to her, by these new feelings.

She could only whine, falling silent when she heard him grunt deeply into her ear, stilling above her.

Spilling himself deep inside of her before rolling off of her, not separating but rolling her with him so she came to rest on top of him.

She felt exhausted suddenly, the euphoric feelings still coursing through her veins.

And he felt solid beneath her body, catching his breath just as she did, his hands carding through her hair.

“Now, my dove, how do you feel?” He asked, watching her face as she rested on him. “Are you satisfied?”

If anyone had told her just a few hours ago that she would land in the bed of the Prince of Dorne, she would have laughed at them.

But now, it seemed quite nice.

She nodded. “I feel exhausted, but I am very grateful for what you showed me.”

A smile stretched her lips wide, he liked it. She seemed to be less nervous.

He chuckled, one hand wandering down to smooth over her back. Normally he would be far from done, already planning another round of pleasure.

But she truly seemed too exhausted by this. After all, she hadn’t even known about any of this until now.

Her eyes drifted shut, but she was still awake, listening to his heartbeat.

“Oh, my dove.” He said quietly, kissing the top of her head. “There is so much more to show you, I am far from done with you.”

She felt warm at the idea, curious what else there was to discover. Her eyes felt too heavy to open them again, slowly drifting off into sleep on top of him.

Oberyn simply smiled, sighing deeply.

Yes, he was far from done. 

There was so much to learn, so much to discover.

And he couldn’t wait to see her face once he began to truly teach his little dove.

#oberyn martell #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell fanfiction #oberyn martell smut #oberyn martell x you #game of thrones #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x you #pedrostories #my writing

[3rachaslut]

kinks i think skz would have (part 3)

SKZXFEM READER

cw: smut obviously (MINORS DNI) the tw’s are kinda obvious with the sub header but read at your own discretion babies 🤍

a/n: not proofread sorry for any mistakes. also i’m so happy to be writing again! lets be delulu together xox

part 1, part 2

bangchan; hair pulling

oh my lord this man is relentless,

he’d be grabbing fistfuls of your hair and yanking your head up to look at him when you’re on your knees underneath him

“you look so pretty on your knees for me doll”

will literally snatch your hair as he’s fucking you in missionary and growl like an ANIMAL down your ear as he’s so deep in your pussy

“f- fuck baby, ah- feel so good around my cock”

the way your mouth drops open at the sting on your scalp as you stare up at him with mascara down your face from him deep-throating you omg you look devine babygirl!

“don’t cry angel you’re doing such a good job for me” *continues to FACE FUCK you*

lee know; edging/ overstim

we all knew this one was coming

you best believe lee know would make you BEG for him to let you come every. single. time. without fail. you would be a whimpering, sobbing mess

“if you want to cum, what do you say baby? … hmm i don’t think think you want it that much” GOD

he would be holding the vibrator to your clit for ages! smirking at your face contorting as the pleasure just builds and builds in your pussy.

“such a good girl for daddy hmm?” HELP (i am simply a dog)

“that’s it, keep begging sweetheart” AHH

and when he does let you come oh. god. he would make you orgasm over and over again until you’re crying! your pussy would be so red and swollen afterwards and he lovessss to see it

“no no doll, you begged me to come so take it like a good girl”

changbin; pussy slapping

hear me out-

so, changbin would be on top of you fully clothed whilst you’re bare naked underneath him and even the sight of you alone is enough to have his cock digging into you from his pants

he’s the type to play with your clit until you’re mewling but would SLAPPP your pussy once he hears you beg to go faster

“you don’t tell me when to do with your pussy darling”

the way he would smirk slyly as your body jolts up and your legs shake in surprise at the sudden impact o.m.g!

each slap would have you groaning from your whole chest as he continues slapping your sensitive clit again and again and he would even have the AUDACITY to chuckle down your ear at your reactions

“you’ll get my cock soon enough baby, don’t worry”

hyunjin; praise kink

i feel like this one being on the list was inevitable. hyunjin and praise kink just go hand in hand

the way he would trace your entire body with his hands leaving kisses on your exposed skin with his eyes full of adoration i’m CRYING

“you’re actually ethereal y/n..”

each time he would kiss the inside of your thighs, he would look up at you with your head thrown back in bliss and smile lovingly at the sight of you enjoying yourself. (all he cares about is your pleasure i SWEAR)

“that feel nice baby?” um YES

none. stop. compliments of how beautiful your body is and how he’s the luckiest man in the world

lots of make out sessions because trust me, this man is drunk on you!

“so fucking beautiful”

han jisung; marking

because han AINT SHARING

the thought of anyone else looking at you has han feeling the need to mark you as his own. you’re his and he’s yours. done!

seriously bestie, the amount of hickeys he gives you is crazyyyy! but would absolutely kiss each one after making them

“my gorgeous girl, aren’t you? only mine” the POSSESSIVENESS i love urgh

the way he would have you moaning underneath him as he sucks on your neck again and again and the way you would sound so sexy he would be lowkey going feral for you.

“fuck baby, i love you so much”

felix; pain play

because, in my opinion, felix can’t contain his dom side around you…

as in he would be shoving his fingers down your throat whilst pinching and twisting your nipples just to hear your choked moans whilst you writhe under him

and the way he would chuckle smugly af at the state he would put you in every time. (his deep laugh has me on the floor)

“is it hurting baby? aww… good”

SLAPPING. EVERYWHERE.

the lasting bruises of his hands all over your thighs and ass for dayssss

the way he would nip his teeth against your clit just to see you jump and buck up into his face when you feel a sharp sting onfbsjsn

*deep voice* “good girl” — AHHHH i’m sat!!

seungmin; objectification & humiliation

this one is my personal fave… stay with me !!…

i know for sure that seungmin is a super soft lover but you can’t tell me this man doesn’t respectfully disrespect you to the point of orgasm !

the way he would tease your clit forever just to look into your desperate af eyes and laugh at you for being “such a needy fucking puppy yeah?” and the way he would call you a whore and slap you in the face afterwards IM WET

“can’t speak now pup? aww are you so dumb on my cock that you’ve turned into nothing but a doll for me to fuck? yeahhh…”

and the way he would choke you until your eyes roll back in bliss just to laugh at how pliant you are O.M.G

the aftercare though! he would give you so so many face kisses and cuddle you so tightly only to do the exact same thing the night after

jeongin; Msub

look, i’m constantly torn between wanting innie to rail me and wanting to corrupt him but this oneeee…

WHINEY JEONGIN.

when i tell you the whimpers this man lets out whilst you tease the top of his cock is heavenly, i mean dangerously

“y/n- mistress! please!” oh my

his eyes would be focused on YOU, never taking his eyes off his beautiful girl

so much begging and pleading and the way he would moan even louder in desperation when you smirk at him because he knows it gonna be a long night

“i’ll be good! i’ll be so good for you! please y/n!”

the way he would grab your face once he comes down from his high and just kisses you for so long with SO much passion. i will cry

#skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x y/n #bang chan smut #leeknow smut #changbin smut #hyunjin smut #han jisung smut #lee felix smut #felix smut #seungmin smut #jeongin smut #stray kids x you #stray kids oneshot #stray kids imagines #skz hard thoughts #skz hard hours

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Manners » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Bucky teaches the new Avenger some manners.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, age gap (reader is in her 20s), dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, fingering, (f & m receiving), unprotected sex, Sergeant kink, metal arm kink, praise kink, size kink, choking, hair pulling, degrading, Bucky’s dog tags, pet names (doll, babydoll, doll face)

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

“I had it under control, Barnes!” You exclaimed, trying to catch your breath.

“No you didn’t. That guy was about to crush your windpipe with his hand.” Bucky says.

You huffed and rolled your eyes. You stepped over the passed out guy on the floor, walking away from Bucky. You didn’t get far cause Bucky grabbed your upper arm with his metal hand.

“Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you.” He says in almost a growl.

“You can’t tell me what to do, Barnes. You’re not the boss of me.” You say, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Technically I can.” He starts. “I’m your Sergeant and you need to obey my orders.” He states.

“Yea, yea, yea. I get it. You’re a Sergeant. Now let go of me!” You say, slightly raising your voice.

“You need to be taught some fucking manners, little girl.” He says, letting go of your arm.

“Whatever.” You say with sass in your voice.

Bucky watched you sway your hips as you walked away, his eyes lingering down to your ass.

“Stop staring at my ass, Barnes and help me finish this mission!” You shouted.

Bucky huffed loudly and caught up with you. The rest of the mission went smoothly. You walked out of the bathroom after taking a shower to see Bucky sitting on your bed, only wearing sweatpants that hung low on his hips.

“Can I help you?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s more like, can I help you?” Bucky says.

“What?” You say confused.

Bucky chuckles and stood up. You held the towel tight around your body as Bucky approached you. You walked backwards till your back hit the wall. With Bucky’s height, he was towering over you.

“You disobeyed a lot of my orders today.” Bucky starts. “Then you thought it would be a good idea to talk to me with an attitude.” He says.

“I’m sorry.” You say.

Bucky chuckles and tilts your head up with his right hand grasping your jaw. He leans in close to your ear, his stubble poking your cheek.

“You’re way past sorry, babydoll.” He whispers in your ear. “You want to know what I do to little girls who don’t have any manners?” He asks.

“Yes.” You say.

“I’m going to fuck some manners into you so you don’t have to think twice about giving me an attitude.” He says.

Bucky pulls your hands away from the towel, letting it fall to the floor and pool around your feet, exposing your naked body to him. His metal hand cupped the back of your neck and pulled you closer to him.

“Get on your knees.” Bucky whispers in your ear.

You did as you told. You looked up at him, waiting for further instructions. Bucky took off his sweatpants, his cock was hard with precum leaking from his tip. You licked your lips at the sight of it.

“Open your mouth, doll.” He says, pumping his cock in his right hand.

You parted your lips enough for him to slid his cock in your mouth. His precum hit your tastebuds immediately which made you moan.

“This is a better use for that sassy little mouth of yours.” Bucky says with a smirk.

He began to thrust his cock in and out of your mouth. You held on to his thighs to steady yourself.

“Don’t have anything sassy to say now?” He chuckles.

You just looked up at him with an innocent look in your eyes. Bucky places his right hand on the back of your head, pushing your head further on his cock causing you to gag.

“You can take it.” He says, thrusting his hips forward to get you to take more of his cock.

Your eyes started to water every time his tip hit the back of your throat. Soon tears were rolling down your cheeks.

“Fuck.” Bucky moans, tilting his head back. “Your mouth feels amazing.” He says.

You felt your cunt getting wetter by the second. You sneakily put your hand in between your thighs and started rubbing your clit. Bucky quickly noticed and snapped his head down to look at you. He pulled his cock out of your mouth and grabbed your arm, pulling your hand away from your pussy, making you whine and look up at him.

“Get on the bed right now.” He orders.

“Yes, Sergeant.” You say submissively.

You stood up from the floor and laid on the bed. His metal hand touched your skin, sending shivers through your body. His metal fingers ghosted over your clit, making you whine. Bucky smacked your inner thigh, a yelp left your lips.

“Quit whining or I’ll give you something to whine about.” He says.

Bucky spread your legs apart and got in between them. He laid down on his stomach in between your legs, his breath against your wet pussy caused a moan to fall from your lips.

“I barely touched you and you’re already moaning.” Bucky says with a chuckle.

His metal fingers spread your wetness around before his tongue licked in between your folds from your entrance to your clit before latching his lips on your clit and began harshly sucking on it. Then he started eating you out like his life depends on it. Your hands flew down to his head, tugging on his hair. Your jaw dropped, audible moans left your lips. You threw your head back against the pillow.

“Oh god, yes! Fuck!” You moaned.

Bucky sped up the movement of his tongue against your clit. His metal hand found its way to your tight entrance, slowly sliding two fingers inside of your tight pussy. His fingers moved fast, catching you off guard. Your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head. On top of that, the stubble of his beard was scratching your inner thighs which added to the pleasure he was already giving you.

“Feeling good, doll face?” Bucky asks, looking up at you.

“Mhmm yes!” You moaned.

“You want more?” He asks.

“Yes!” You moaned, nodding your head.

“Yes what? What’s the magic word?” He asks.

“Please Sergeant! I want more!” You moaned.

“Good girl.” He praises.

Bucky gave you what you wanted. His finger moved faster while his metal thumb rubbed your clit in circles. A loud moan left your lips when his fingers hit your sweet spot.

“Right there! Please don’t stop!” You moaned.

Bucky smirks to himself, already pleased with the small amount of manners he managed to get out of you in a short amount of time. He intended to get more out of you, even if it’s going to take him all night.

Bucky reattached his lips to your clit and began licking and sucking on it while his fingers continued to fuck you at a fast pace. His fingers hitting your sweet spot again cause you to buck your hips against his face. Bucky laid his right arm across your stomach to keep you from moving.

“Faster please, Sergeant!” You begged.

Bucky moved his fingers impossibly faster, hitting your sweet spot every time. You pussy clenched around his metal fingers. Bucky sensed that your orgasm was starting to build up so he swirled his tongue faster against your clit, making you scream out his name.

“Bucky, please!” You whimpered. “Please let me cum!” You say with a whine.

“No.” He simply says.

“Why not?” You whined again, tightening your grip on his hair.

“Say the right name and I’ll let you cum.” He says.

“Sergeant, please let me cum!” You begged.

“That’s a good girl.” He praises.

Bucky quickened his fingers and tongue, sending you over the edge. A high pitched moan left your lips as you came, soaking Bucky’s face and fingers.

“What a good girl you’re being for your Sergeant.” Bucky hovers over you, his dog tags dangling in your face. “Ready for your next lesson in manners, doll face?” He asks.

“Yes, Sergeant.” You say submissively.

Bucky spreads your legs wider and got comfortable in between them. He pumped his hard cock in his hand a few times before lining it at your tight entrance, sliding it inside of you. You whimpered at his size as he slid his cock inside of your pussy, inch by inch.

“So big.” You whimpered, looking into his blue eyes that are now clouded with lust.

“You can take it, babydoll. I know this little pussy can take it.” He says.

His lower abdomen was touching your sensitive clit when his cock was deep inside of you. He pulled almost all the way out, only leaving his tip inside of you and thrusted his cock back inside of you in a hard thrust causing you to scream out in pleasure. His thrusts were hard and almost brutal, but you were all for it.

“Oh my god, yes!” You moaned loudly, tilting your head back against the pillow and squeezed your eyes shut.

Bucky’s metal hand gently gripped your jaw and tilted your head towards him so you were staring into his lust filled eyes.

“Eyes on me, doll face.” Bucky says.

His metal hand left your jaw and went to your throat, wrapping his hand around it and gave it a gentle squeeze that made you moan. Bucky smirks at your reaction.

“You like that? You like my metal hand around your throat?” Bucky asks huskily.

“Mhmm I fucking love it!” You moaned out.

Bucky lightly tightened his grip on your throat, being sure to not cut off your oxygen supply. Your eyes slowly drifted down his muscular body, stopping at his dog tags and watched as they swung in your face every time he thrusted in and out of you. Bucky noticed and smirked.

“You like my dog tags, don’t ya, babydoll?” He says with a smirk.

You bit your lower lip and nodded your head yes. One of your hands grasped the chain of his dog tags, tugging on it to give Bucky a much needed kiss. Both of you moaned into the kiss. You wrapped your legs around his waist and locked your ankles behind his back, pulling him closer to you. Your lips parted, gasping when his tip hit your sweet spot. Bucky took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside of your mouth, letting it explore every inch of your mouth. His right hand blindly found your clit and started rubbing it in fast circles.

“Fuck!” You moaned loudly.

Your hands found their way to his back and you dug your nails in his skin. Bucky hissed at the feeling.

“Harder please!” You moaned.

Bucky sped up his thrusts, his tip hitting your sweet spot every time. You arched your back in pleasure. Bucky’s metal hand let go of your throat to play with your breasts. He rubbed his thumb over your nipple before lightly pinching it. You gasped at the new sensation. Your cunt clenched around his cock.

“Fuck…” Bucky moans. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.” He says, trying his best not to blow his load too soon.

His fingers continued rubbing your clit. Your second orgasm began to build up. You felt your legs begin to shake. Bucky quickly noticed it and helped you bring you closer and closer till you felt like you were about to burst.

“Gonna cum?” He asks.

“Yes!” You moaned, almost whining.

“Cum for me, babydoll.” He says.

You moaned his name loudly as you came. Bucky fucked you through your orgasm, chasing his own high. Bucky’s head fell against your shoulder, you felt his breath against your skin as he began panting. His thrusts became sloppy when he felt himself coming closer and closer to his orgasm. Your name left his lips as he came inside of you. His thrusts came to a slow stop and he collapsed on top of you. You two laid there panting for a moment before he pulled his cock out of you and laid down next to you, covering the both of you up with a blanket.

“Got any manners for your Sergeant now?” Bucky asks, turning his head towards you.

“Hmm no.” You hummed playfully, tracing your fingers along his abs. “I think I need another lesson.” You say seductively, getting on top of him and straddled him.

“You’re in for a long night, doll.” He says, grasping your hips.

“Game on, Sergeant.” You say in almost a whisper and leaned down to kiss him.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

#sergeant james buchanan barnes #sergeant james barnes #sergeant barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james barnes #bucky barnes #winter soldier #sebastian stan #sebastian stan characters #avengers #marvel #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x avenger!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #avenger!bucky #avenger!reader

[koqabear]

hiiii hope ur doing well !! this is for the "the magic is yours" portion of the 2k event: ot5 with an oral fixation that's so bad giving pleasure turns them on more than receiving pleasure.

[2K Masterlist]

ot5 x fem!reader // wc: 2.7K ; around 500 per member //genre: established relationship, smut, MDNI.

warnings: service top! txt // yj: dom!yj, sub!mc, oral (f. rec and allusions to m. rec), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, car sex, semi-public sex // sb: no established dom/sub dynamics, marking, insinuated free use and somnophilia (consensual), oral, (f. rec)  breast play // bg: switch!gyu, switch!mc, oral (f rec), manhandling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dry humping, hair pulling, (m. rec) pet names, (baby, puppy) name calling, (bitch) unprotected sex, creampie // th: dom!tyun, sub!mc, oral, (f. rec), praise kink, face sitting // hk: no established dom/sub dynamics, oral, (f. & m. rec) breast play, biting, cum eating, creampie, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dacryphilia, aftercare

notes: yes i know i said i was in a disastrous tyun mood and i still am, i always am, (hence the header) but then i remembered this ask and couldn’t stop thinking about txt who can’t survive a day without tasting you. Service tops will forever have my heart, thank you for this anon… you know me too well <3 (barely edited haha...)

[Yeonjun]

Yeonjun isn’t really sure when this happened— when he realized that he’d rather spend his time in between your legs rather than the other way around; he was always more inclined to receive than give in his past relationships, claiming to be addicted to the sight of his partners struggling to take him in, teary eyes and drooly face determined to make him feel good— and yeah, that’s nice and all, but Yeonjun knew he was a goner the moment he first went down on you. 

Sweet whimpers, thighs that shake around his head and threaten to close in on him, your restless body that writhes and arches against the sheets— fuck, he swore he almost came untouched the first time you had sex, eyes widening at the feeling of your shaky fingers threading into his hair and pulling him closer to your sopping cunt, grinding against him with breathless whines of his name— and he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from you, even when you were shaking and crying from the overstimulation, cooing softly that he’s just trying to prep you, that you can handle one more— but that’s a lie and he knew that, much too obsessed with seeing you fall apart on his tongue again to care if you believed him. 

And after months of begging to go down on you practically every hour of every day, Yeonjun finally decided to accept the harrowing truth; he’d much rather give you pleasure than receive it at all, and he’d spend eternity in between your thighs if he could— and you, well you’re not complaining at all. If anything, you took your chance to give him a taste of his own medicine and tease him relentlessly, your wardrobe piling with cute dresses and skirts that you were ready to unleash the moment summer came around. 

And when the season finally came… oh, Yeonjun was a goner. Almost popping a boner the moment he saw you come out of your home for the picnic the two of you planned out, donned in a pretty sundress that hugged and exposed your body perfectly— he almost crashed the car when he glanced over at you and noticed the way the skirt hiked up to expose the soft, smooth skin of your thighs to him.

You expected this outcome, really; unable to make it out of the car as he pulled you to the backseat of his car, spending a good thirty minutes laying on his seats and left to his mercy before you finally emerged with shaky legs, hand placed daintily on his shoulder as he guided you up the hill, one hand placed on the small of your back and the basket in the other, talking your head off about who-knows-what while you tried to pretend you hadn’t just been given some of the best head of your life. 

Yeonjun tops it easily the moment you’re settling down— he doesn’t even bother to eat before his head finds itself under your dress, licking at your clothed cunt because of how desperate he is to finish what he started— by the time he’s finally satiated, you’re entirely spent, face flushed at the way he tells you to take a nap, patting your head fondly as he shakes his head at your offers to return the favor. 

You think you’ll wear sundresses more often. 

[Soobin]

Soobin is someone who is simply unashamed of the fact that he needs to have something in his mouth 24/7. It was a cute habit that endeared you when you first met him, always spotting a lollipop in his mouth every time you saw him, whether that be on his walk to class or while he was studying— he kept a bag of it in his book bag, he told you, ears tinged with embarrassment as you laughed and cooed about how cute he was. 

Inevitably, that habit transferred seamlessly into your relationship; you didn’t think much of it, at first— to you, he was simply overly affectionate, unfazed of the way he constantly begged you for kisses, sweet tongue slipping into your mouth and messily making out with you for hours— lazily cuddling on the couch, a big hand on the swell of your ass as he kept you still, swollen and sensitive lips still pressing messy pecks against yours as you whined that you had to go to the bathroom, or you had an assignment that you needed to work on— you could never get out of his arms without hearing his incessant whines telling you not to go.

But as your relationship progressed and you slowly began to get touchier, that habit of his became more of an inconvenience to you— leaving splotchy marks on your neck without you noticing, nights where you would fall asleep with his head tucked into the crook of your neck ending with you shifting in the odd hours of the night, feeling Soobin’s pouty lips sucking and kissing at the canvas of your neck absentmindedly— and you’d have to spend a good chunk of your mornings attempting to conceal the mess he left on you, your apologetic and sleepy boyfriend clinging to you in the bathroom as he whined and whined about how sorry he was— but you really doubted it. 

So was it really much of a surprise when Soobin finally confessed his oral fixation to you with a red, flustered face? It truly wasn’t, but seeing him confide in you about it allowed him to find himself in what he liked to call his personal paradise— in other words, the interesting little arrangement the two of you conjured up. 

One pouty look from your boyfriend was enough to have you rolling your eyes fondly and tugging your shorts off— scrolling on your phone while Soobin’s hair brushed against your inner thighs, soft lips sucking and pulling your swollen clit into his mouth as he ran his tongue along it, moaning into your cunt that only clenched around nothing pathetically— waking up in the mornings to see your boyfriend had already begun to make himself busy, legs thrown over his broad shoulders and button nose pressing against your clit as he fucked you with his tongue and slurped at your arousal desperately. Movie nights where you were innocently cuddled on the couch turning into you trying your best to focus on the movie while Soobin bit and suckled at your breasts, trying to hold back tears at the way he left them bruised and sensitive afterwards— and if you shed a few stray ones and scolded Soobin to give you a break, he didn’t really mind— he was more than happy to move onto your lips or cunt instead. 

[Beomgyu]

Beomgyu, who moans like crazy whenever he eats you out, messy and desperate and nasty that you’re unable to keep up with him, helpless against his hold as he merely throws your legs over his shoulders, practically pressing your thighs against your stomach from the way his hands remain on the underside to caress your skin, all in a feeble attempt to get closer to you— and it wasn’t as though it made much of a difference, his face already pressed firmly against your pussy and his hips rutting into the mattress as he brought you to countless orgasms, always telling you “one more, just one more baby,” but lying like the little sadist he is, holding you down and not letting you squirm away as he brought you to tears practically every night. 

“What? I just think you look hot when I go down on you,” is what he tells you when you try to question why he just can’t stop asking you if he can eat you out, giving you an innocent and puppy eyed look— but you know it’s more than that, always used to your previous partners treating eating you out like a chore— and you weren’t exactly oblivious to the times where he’s been so lost in your cunt he could only hump into the mattress pathetically, moaning breathily into your cunt and setting a pace that matched the way he was fucking desperately into the sheets— and if Beomgyu thought you didn’t pick up on the many times he was able to cum from that alone, whining against your pussy and soiling his boxers completely, he was sorely mistaken. 

This front of his was quickly beginning to irritate you; exasperatedly shaking your head whenever you’d have to tell Beomgyu no, you can’t eat me out under the table right now. Finish your food, and having to deal with his predictable pouts and whines pleading you to just give in.

So when you inevitably find Beomgyu between your thighs once more, you decide to test something out— watching with lidded eyes as he takes his time running his tongue along your slit, circling your clit and licking at it softly, eyes closed with bliss— and your hand is sneaking down to tangle in his long hair the moment you notice his hips beginning to grind, getting a good grip and tugging harshly; the broken moan Beomgyu lets out at the pain tells you all you need to know. 

“Fuck, desperate puppy just can’t get enough, hmm?” you coo out, his glassy eyes looking up at you and nodding, face twisted in a wince as you tug again— and he whines, hands rubbing your thighs sweetly as he pleads for you to let him keep going, to let you feel good. 

“Y’want it that bad?” you ask indifferently, throwing your leg leisurely over his shoulder and watching his face heat up, eventually giving you a small nod, “Fine. But I don’t want to see you humping the bed like a pathetic bitch.” and you’re shoving him back into your dripping cunt, feeling him move feverishly against you with every tug of his hair— and while he follows your orders nicely, the night ends with him almost crying the moment you tell him to fuck you; so immersed in making you feel good over and over that he neglected his throbbing and leaking cock, cumming pathetically the moment he sinks into you— and his lips latch onto your neck with every broken sob of his, leaving you to wonder if your cunt is really the only thing he likes to have his mouth on.

[Taehyun]

This man thinks he’s slick. Is in absolute denial that he has an oral fixation of any sort, just believes that it’s just because you’re really hot and he simply wants to make you feel good. He’s never experienced this with any of his other partners, so why should he care? It must stem from the dynamic the two of you have— his need to pleasure you like crazy, that is. There’s just something about you that raised his sex drive beyond comprehensible limits, and he just found it even hotter that you willingly took anything he gave you; multiple rounds? Sure, you can handle it. Being rough with you? You’re into that, you’ll take whatever he tries on you. Whatever he springs up on you, you take it like it’s nothing, rewarding him with your sweet sounds and pretty faces he ingrains into his mind. 

So the first time Taehyun eats you out, he’s hooked— your taste is so addicting and you sound so pretty, round eyes looking up between your legs to catch the way your face flushes and your mouth falls open, legs jumping and closing in on his head, threatening to suffocate him. Your hips buck up and your clit bumps against his nose when you cum, making you keen in a way that almost has Taehyun spilling in his sweatpants then and there; your nimble fingers run through his hair absentmindedly, spilling praises and sighs of his name that drive him mad. 

Fuck—! So— s-so good, so good to me tyunnie– ah! Hah, ughhh fuck, just– just like that, god, Taehyun—! 

Was it really unreasonable for him to want to eat you out every second of the day if you sounded like that? Taehyun doesn’t think so. 

Thus begins the absolute agony that is Taehyun asking if he can just please, please give you head, trying to disguise it under reasons that at some point, stop making sense. 

You look really good in that skirt— can he give you head? Oh, you’re studying, you should take a break. Can he give you head? You’re restless, unable to sleep, tossing and turning and sighing desperately— and he turns to you, startling you because what the fuck I thought you were asleep, pushing past your surprise to tell you that sex can help tire you out and sleep. Can I give you head? 

Practically jumps with joy on the days you actually agree, going down on you then and there, no matter the circumstance— dropping to his knees in the kitchen, throwing your legs over his shoulders on the couch, laying on the bed and telling you to sit on his face with bright, sparkling eyes— and he enjoys it just as much as he did the first time, letting you fuck yourself on his tongue and sucking on your clit with his swollen lips, staring at you with eyes of adoration and need each time; he doesn’t even care if he gets to fuck you at the end of it, (though that’s always a plus) all he wants to do is watch his favorite girl cum on his face. 

[Hueningkai]

This man. Can— and does— spend hours at a time between your legs; he just loves to have his mouth on you, loves to lay down on the bed, on his stomach as he lazily licks at your clit, wanting to take things slow as you run your fingers through his hair and sigh about how good it feels. Will be in bliss as he eats your pussy, eyes shut and pretty nose bumping against your clit as he fucks you with his tongue, large hands placed on your tummy and rubbing it fondly because he just can’t get enough of you— he’s infatuated with you, with your soft skin and the way you moan out his name, not even searching for his own pleasure as he solely focuses on yours. 

It’s become routine for you two at this point; running to you when he’s had a bad day, wanting nothing more than to kiss you and use you as his cute little destresser. Starting it off with slow kisses, feeling the way he moves along your jawline and down your neck, lifting your shirt up to expose your breasts— and he spends quite a while there too, watching your nipples grow stiff and sensitive from the attention he give them, biting teasingly and listening to the way you squeal at the feeling— and of course, it all ends with his head between your legs, peppering kisses along your inner thighs and on your clit, leaving open-mouthed kisses on it as he watches you squirm and whine for him not to tease. 

Kai, who gets drunk off your pussy and doesn’t even expect you to return the favor, genuinely surprised whenever you ask him if you can suck his dick or if he can please, please please just fuck you already. And he says yes, bending to your will and giving in to your puppy eyes that are glassy with desire; he’ll be mesmerized at the way you allow him to cum in your mouth, releasing so much that you can’t help but let it bead at the corners of your lips— and Kai is quick to bring you up for a kiss, messy tongues tangling together as he groans at the taste of his lingering cum on your mouth— or pulling out immediately on the nights where he’s fucked you to the point of exhaustion, looking down to see your cunt that drips with the multiple releases of his cum, unable to even protest the moment you see him spreading your folds gently and swooping down to clean you up; warm tongue running along your slit, curling inside you before he’s circling your clit, flicking gently as he listens to the way you mewl and cry at the overstimulation.

Kai, who’s not just obsessed with your cunt, but is also obsessed with you, never failing to pamper and coddle you endlessly, telling you how good you were for him with a fond smile, kissing your cheeks and tasting the salty tears that cling to your skin.

#txt fanfic #txt fanfiction #txt imagines #txt oneshots #txt ff #txt x reader #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #soobin smut #yeonjun smut #beomgyu smut #taehyun smut #hueningkai smut #[2k event!] #[nsfw] #[the mic is yours]

[httpsserene]

ʜᴛᴛᴘꜱꜱᴇʀᴇɴᴇ'ꜱ ꜰ1 ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ

ᴜᴘʟᴏᴀᴅ 1 : ᴄʜᴀʀʟᴇꜱ ʟᴇᴄʟᴇʀᴄ / ᴍᴀx ᴠᴇʀꜱᴛᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ |ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ᴋɪɴᴋ

📖ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: innocent and virgin !reader has never touched herself before. she knows how to, in theory, but whenever she tries, she chickens out. her tried and true way of receiving pleasure is failing her. she thinks that maybe it's time to allow her relationship with her two respectful and experienced boyfriends, to reach the next step. and she'll find that they're very willing to teach her a few things. 📖ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: 18+ only. smut. corruption kink. orgasm delay/denial. praise kink. dom/sub undertones. hair-pulling. possessiveness. slight choking (glimpse and you miss it?). brief reference to previous dub-con (very minuscule, not charles or max). no penetrative sex. 📖ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 8k words 📖ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: charles leclerc / max verstappen x fem!black!reader 📖ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: oneshot 📖ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ: all mine • brent faiyaz

ᴘʀᴇꜰᴀᴄᴇ: the strength i had to summon to post this is something crazy. it's my first smut fic if you can believe it or not, but the way i feel exposed to the world is wild. i almost forgot to include the actual kink because i got carried away, but it's there i promise you, don't get disappointed too early in! can confirm that while i was writing this i had to take several breaks and stare at the ceiling. the black!reader is vague i think, it's not noticeable until the end, but i had written it with all shades of my poc girlies in mind < 3. n e ways: hope you guys like it!

want to be added to my f1 kinktober taglist? or my general tag list? send me an ask!

huge thanks to my beta readers @lorarri and @sweetpiccolo-blog ! i appreciate y'all so much :)

cross-posted on my ao3, htpsss

here's the link to the masterlist for my f1 kinktober special, and send me a private message if you would like to be added to the list to become a beta reader in the future!!!

it’s late. you’ve kicked jimmy and sassy out of the bedroom, and locked it shut. you’re standing with your back pressed against the door, staring with unfocused eyes. you moved your stuffed animals inside the closet and had them facing the wall even though you closed the closet door. the window curtains are drawn shut, and the only light in the room is the warmth of one nightstand lamp. one of the plushest towels max owns is spread across the bed. in the center lays a single pillow.

this is the last chance you have to get off before max and charles get home in a few hours. they’ve been gone for a triple-header, and you haven’t been able to orgasm once in the near month they’ve been gone. you’ve become depraved enough to consider buying a vibrator, but all packages delivered to this apartment have to be approved by max or charles to be sent up, and you’re definitely not bold enough to go out and buy one (and risk being seen by one of their fans or have to physically talk to someone to buy one).

the obvious thing to do would be to talk to your boyfriends, and tell them that you’re ready to start exploring the sexual side of your relationship. you’ve been dating them for two years now, and you’re afraid that they’re getting tired of waiting for you to be comfortable enough to have sex with them. but, you’re also afraid that once they learn how inexperienced you really are—they’ll make fun of you, leave you, and find some other woman who knows how to please them. you know that’s outrageous and never going to happen. they’re the sweetest boys you’ve ever dated (way better than that one dude you dated who tried to get you wasted enough to persuade you into having sex with him), and they’ve been very respectful concerning your boundaries. always pulling away when they feel themselves getting hard, and constantly reminding you to tell them to stop if you feel uncomfortable and that there’s nothing wrong with that, and that they’re willing to wait as long as you need, and will continue loving you regardless even if you decide to never have sex with them. so—of course you know that they won’t be assholes about your innocence—it’s just your own self-esteem, insecurity, and overthinking that prevents you from saying you’re ready.

you make a deal with yourself. if you can’t manage to get off grinding against your pillow one last time, you’ll force yourself to sit down with your boyfriends, stare them in the eyes and state that your ready to have sex. who are you kidding—you’re going to get off right now one way or another even if it kills you, because you definitely will wither away and die if you have to have that conversation with your boyfriends.

you walk over to the bed, heart beginning to race as you start playing one of those curated “songs i’d like to be railed to” playlists, before throwing your phone somewhere up the bed. you move to straddle the pillow, and begin to calm your heartbeat. you take a few deep breaths and let your mind wander. the first thought that comes to your head is the goodbye kiss you got from your boyfriends before they left. 

they had gotten all their luggage together and were pulling on their shoes at the entryway. charles was pouting at you, wide green eyes and all, “you are sure that you don’t want to come with us? for at least one of the races? we’ll be gone for almost a—“ 

“yes, cha. i’m sure,” you cut him off with a firm nod, “lemme give you a kiss before you leave, okay?”

charles frowned at max who laughed—like he wasn’t the one begging you to come with them last night before you all went to bed. with a little upset ‘hmph’ charles leaned down and kissed you softly. you had pulled away, only trying to give him a peck, and charles grunted disapprovingly. one of his veiny hands rose and gripped at your waist over your t-shirt, strongly pulling you forward, causing you to tumble into his chest. “oh, i am going to need more than that, mon ange,” charles smirked down at you, “i am leaving for so long, and that’s the goodbye kiss you’re leaving me with? no, i do not think so.” 

you glanced away from him, cheeks beginning to become warm as you make to hide your face is his broad chest. charles tutted at you, tightening his grip on your waist, and his other hand gently pushed your head up to look at him, “c’mere and give me a real kiss, pretty girl.”

you made a suppressed little squeal in the back of your throat, a noise max and charles became very familiar with, often present when they start teasing you. you surprisingly leaned up and initiated the kiss, causing charles to let out a shocked gasp into your mouth. his hand on your waist moved lower, falling to the small of your back and pushed your body completely against his. his other hand caressed your jaw, soothing you enough to allow him to control the kiss, as he flicked his tongue at the seam of your lips. you shakily sighed, allowing him entrance and the kiss deepened, a pleased humming noise in the back of your throat escaping.

you impatiently shift side to side on top of the pillow, not yet allowing yourself to get any friction. sliding both of your hands underneath your sweater—well, max’s sweater, and you start playing with your chest. flicking gently at your nipples, just the way you like. 

you could feel charles chuckle into the kiss, but you dismiss it, and keep kissing at him eagerly. however, you failed to recognize that he wasn’t laughing at you, he was laughing at max. cockily making eye-contact with him, before he let his eyes flutter shut and devoted his attention to you.

max stared on, his mouth slightly open as he watched his two loves give him a show for free. charles’ hand slipped lower, gliding over your ass, across your criminally well-fitted jeans, and found its home on the back of your thigh. max is well acquainted with how skilled charles’ mouth is, so he knows he must have done something spectacular to cause a choked-off moan to escape you, your hand raised to grab at charles’ polo in a fist, wrinkling the pressed shirt. max huffed, deciding to no longer spectate, and took the few steps to reach you across the foyer.

you let out a shocked gasp, eyes fluttering open in surprise at the feeling of your other boyfriend pressed up against your back. you attempt to break the kiss, but charles doesn’t let you. hand slipping from your cheeks to the nape of your neck, tangling in the hairs there and keeping you exactly where he wants. one of max’s hands came to rest at your hip, while the other rested on your navel. your eyes fell shut again in pleasure at how charles gently nipped at your bottom lip, and max’s presence is pushed to the back of your mind.

you didn’t register max’s hand disappearing from your abdomen, but suddenly, the air was cut with a pained moan from charles and his lips were ripped away from yours.

your eyes flew open, and max’s hand was buried in charles’ hair, tugging his head backward and maneuvering it into what must be an almost uncomfortable angle, but with how pleased charles looked—you wanted to feel it too. his eyes rolled backwards, before he pressed them shut and re-opened them to reveal dilated pupils and half-lidded lashes; panting hard, lips covered with your shared spit, and a fucked-out look in his eyes.

you struggle to pull off your sleeping shorts, eventually managing to tug them off to reveal your white cotton panties. your hand leaves your breast to touch at your heat, and you’re shocked at how wet you’ve gotten already. you use that same hand to adjust your pillow, before you let your hips fall all the way and make contact with the pillow. you sigh in relief.

now, max is the one to laugh with his hand firmly keeping charles in place. “oh, you know better than to tease me charlie…” he started, and you barely heard him. fixated on the way charles’ tongue frequently slips out to lick at his lips, but you could hear the smirk max was wearing. 

“and you’re also not the only one leaving our sweet girl for a month. you should be nice and let me have a taste too, hm? isn’t that right, schatje?” he directs at charles. max’s other hand made its way up your abdomen, copping a feel at your chest, before it rested across your throat. he wasn’t squeezing at all, but the weight of his hand, how it spans across your neck, and how you can feel the strength lying underneath his skin, caused you to lose your breath. he guided your head back and dropped his to get his own goodbye kiss.

the kiss felt like it lasted for a lifetime, but realistically it had to be less than a minute of max forcing charles to watch how he ravaged your mouth, before charles started whining loudly. max patted your neck gingerly before pulling away and laughing at charles’ teary eyes. your legs were trembling and you were pretty sure if max wasn’t behind you, you would’ve fallen long ago. in one smooth motion, his hand fell to the monegasque’s throat from his hair and pulled him closer, completely sandwiching you between them, as their lips met in a wild kiss. 

your hips start to rock against the pillow, keeping it slow in the beginning, learning your lesson about friction burn the last time you got too erratic with your moves too quickly.

charles—completely desperate—whined deep in his throat and max kept pulling consistently depraved moans and grunts out of your boyfriend. max’s other hand moved off of your hip to smack at charles’, a nonverbal command for him to calm down and let max take care of him. you felt charles practically vibrating against you in need, but he slowly started to calm; his posture slackening and lips slowing, allowing the dutch full control. 

the two of them were completely ignoring you. caught in their own world, putting all of their energy into their kisses, and in turn gave you a front row seat to something you're never going to forget about. you felt so small in between the two of them, like the only thing that kept you from floating away is the fact that you were stuck in between their bodies.

eventually, max released his grip on charles and separated from the kiss, giving charles air to breathe. the blonde stepped backwards away from your body, and you stumbled embarrassingly. max’s hands went up to hover around your waist (suddenly so shy to touch you) to make sure you actually didn't fall. charles shook his head, physically trying to clear the haze in his mind before he stumbled away from you as well, pressing his back against the wall. 

his chest was heaving with exertion, cheeks flushed a pretty red color, while his hands went to tug at his uncomfortably tight pants, failing to adjust himself to make his erection less obvious. he suddenly turns shy as well—it probably doesn’t help that max was laughing at how easy he is to turn on—, and charles tries to try and tug his shirt down to cover up his problem as best as he can. 

your hips start to pick up in speed, movements more sure and less shaky. the friction between the cotton pillowcase and panties is multiplied on your cunt, and when you rock down deep enough, the catch of the panties on your clit is nearly immobilizing. 

thinking about the moment before your boys left leads you into fantasizing about their dynamic, and how they are in the bedroom. that morning alone proved who was actually in charge; charles will tease and take whatever he can, as long as max allows him to. you can recall many instances of max guiding a well-fucked charles out of the bedroom and depositing him on your lap, before he went on to clean up and run the monegasque a bath. 

the multiple post-sex facetimes you’ve gotten from the two when they’re across the world always starts with max softly speaking, “i’ve worn him out pretty good, but he refuses to fall asleep unless he gets to call you.” and the phone is passed to charles, who’s voice and lips are ruined to hell and you have to decipher what he’s attempting to say.

you’re starting to acclimate to the current tempo, so you pick it up another notch. you lean forward, bracing your hands on the bed for support as you focus on doing deeper and slower grinds against the pillow, allowing your clit to get constant attention.

you find comfort in the fact that charles allows max to take him to such a vulnerable state, and sometimes—you even find yourself getting jealous. you started joining them to see their aftercare for yourself, and found out that you're aching to be taken apart and put back together like max and charles do to each other. 

the sound of max’s constant praises of charles being “so good for him,” and charles’s constant stream of “thank you, thank you, maxy” has you losing all train of thought.

you abandon the slow-and-steady technique, you’ve tried it several times this month and it’s failed to get you to come. you bite your lip, letting out a frustrated groan. your hips slow, and you grab the front of the pillow with one hand and pull it upwards, hoping that a tighter space allows better friction. you start moving quicker, doing smaller more shallow motions and it’s tons better. you can’t stop thinking that it would be even better to ride charles’ face. 

even though your eyelids are scrunched shut, the thousands of tiktok edits you’ve seen of your boyfriends post-race; balaclava lines, sweaty, messy hair, and all—are playing behind them. you moan out desperately, toes curling in your socks. you hear the phantom noises of monegasque moans along with the imagined whispers of dutch-accented praises. 

the knot in your navel tightens, your thighs begin to tremble, and you can feel yourself clenching around nothing. this is it, the feeling that’s escaped you for a month, it’s returning, you can finally come. 

you start to rut against the pillow, uncaring of how your wetness has seeped into the pillow cover and sticks against your thighs—if anything, it’s just another pleasant sensation. unfiltered squeals and gasps start slipping out, you’re too blissed out to regulate your volume at this point.

but then, a minute passes and you still haven’t fallen over the precipice. it’s right there; you can see it, you can even hear it, but you can’t fucking feel it. 

your moans of pleasure turn into cries of frustration. your legs start to quiver with exhaustion, and the orgasm you almost had fades. tears spill from your eyes, as you frantically rut against the soaked pillow, not caring about rhythm or technique anymore. and your chance is gone, your sobs echoing around the room at another failed attempt.

you climb off the pillow and fall on your side, crying into the towel trying to muffle your anguished noises. you have the fleeting thought to think that you're overreacting, but fuck that. you’ve literally been unwillingly denying yourself for a month.

after you’ve cried yourself out, you get up and start to clean up the mess you made. when you lean down to pick up the shorts you flung across the room, you hear jimmy and sassy start yowling outside of the room. and faintly, you hear the front door open.

fuck.

a giggle slips out of charles as the cries of the cats are heard outside of the apartment door. max shoots a glare at charles for laughing at his children, before he loses the fight and a smile slips out in response to the monegasque’s. finally managing to slip the key into the lock, max speaks, “we’re supposed to surprise her by being early, cha—maybe we should’ve let the cat’s know when we called earlier today?” they step through the threshold, quickly shutting the door behind them so the cats won’t run out. charles makes a questioning hum as they both start slipping out their jackets, “they are cats, mon minou. i do not think they care about anything other than when you come back to feed them.”

max side eyes him heavily as he squats down to untie his sneakers, and looks around slightly confused, “i think we are missing a greeting from one more kitten, wouldn't you say, charles?” the man in question nods in agreement, while finally petting jimmy and sassy to calm them down a little bit. whenever the two of them return home, you usually race to the door along with the cats. you give them warm hugs and sweet kisses, help them take their jackets off, and let them know if you cooked a meal for them, or prepared a bath. 

but tonight, they don’t hear the sound of your footsteps coming towards them. it’s rare for them not to be greeted at the door, most of the time you beat them to unlocking it, with the alarm system the cats provide. 

charles questions, “maybe she fell asleep? we did not tell her that we moved our flight earlier. and we did tell her to go to bed because we would be arriving late.”

max snorts disbelievingly, “when has she ever gone to bed when we’ve told her to,” he starts, “she’s probably just in the bathroom or something.”

the two spend a few minutes paying some attention to the cats, before they begin to get suspicious at the fact that you still haven’t come to welcome them back. they straighten up and start heading towards the bedroom. 

max pushes the door open, and everything looks normal except for the fact that you’re nowhere to be seen. the bed is put together, one nightstand lamp is on, and the bathroom is empty. max and charles stare at each other with matching baffled expressions, before you clear your throat in the doorway.

max jumps, “shit!” and charles flinches, “oh, what the fuck!”

your giggles reverberate through the air, and the two men can only laugh along with you. “oh? so you find scaring us funny, schat?” max teases gently. you pad over to him, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him in for a tight hug, nodding softly into his neck as you breathe him in. charles huffs after he’s deemed that you spent too much time loving on max before he pulls you into his own grasp, one arm braced tightly around your waist while his other hand cradles the back of your head resting in his chest. “she’s absolutely frightening, max, can’t you tell?” he teases back, defending you jokingly. 

max hums, “definitely. where were you hiding, baby?”

you freeze for second as you pull away from charles’ grasp, before stuttering your way through an explanation, “u-uh oh, i was-um, i was just in the laundry room! i was just putting a few things i had accidentally spilled uh- spilled juice on-yes juice of course, in the uh-washing machine, yes,” you nod firmly, to fully convince them.

the monegasques raises an eyebrow at you and dragged out an, “…….okay, i guess?” max follows up with a sarcastic, “yeah….we definitely believe you!”

you narrow your eyes at him, “are you calling me a liar, max? because, why would i lie about—“

charles cuts you off, turning your head back towards him as he squints at your face. he runs his thumb underneath one of your eyes, and speaks softly, “were you crying, mon ange? your eyes are red and swollen.”

you shake your head rapidly to attempt to dismiss his worry but it’s already too late. max practically teleports to your side and scans your face and with a gasp he reveals, “yes, you did cry. i can still see the tears stained on your cheeks.”

you shift uncomfortably, “yes, okay! i did cry! but it was nothing serious,” you pause and mumble the last part of your sentence, “i was just overreacting anyways, it doesn’t matter.”

max smacks his teeth at you disapprovingly, “hey, don’t be mean to yourself, schatje. anything that causes you to cry does matter. tell us, and we can try and make it better for you.” the two boys wear you down with earnest eyes; the monegasque brushes his lips against your hand comfortingly and the dutchman tucks your hair behind your ears soothingly. they wait patiently and don’t attempt to push you any further, but there’s an unspoken understanding between the two of them; they won’t let this go until you explicitly ask them two. and suddenly, your resistance falls and words start rushing out of your mouth.

“im so tired, okay? i’ve been trying for ages, ages, and i can’t get there! everytime i try, i-i-it’s like i’m right there–right there! and then it never comes! it’s torture. the harder i try to reach for it, the more it slips away, and then it doesn’t even feel good anymore! i thought this was supposed to feel good–and now what’s the point?! i don’t even wanna try again if i’m just going to be–”

“woah, woah, woah.” max cuts you off, “what are we talking about exactly, schatje? have you not been getting enough sleep or something? because we can try and–" you interrupt, “NO! i haven’t came in a MONTH! are you even listening to me?!”

charles chokes on his own breath and max damn near faints. most importantly, they’re shaken at your bluntness around the topic; every time they try to ask if you’ve been finding…relief–for lack of a better word, you tend to snap shut if they use any ‘explicit’ words with you– you tell them not to worry about it. so, to hear you say it plainly reveals how much distress this has been causing you. secondly, the thought that you’ve been desperately trying to get off for a month on your own, is a paralyzing thought. they nearly convinced themselves that you had no idea about anything sexual due to your refusal to answer any of their questions—which there would be nothing wrong with, they’d be happy to teach you how to please them and them alone. it’s a seductive thought, the fact that you’re untouched, that no man has had the opportunity to taint you and ruin your perspective on how you should receive and give pleasure. they’ve been praying for the day you’d be ready to let them teach you how to be good for them. maybe that makes them monsters, for taking advantage of your naivety and innocence, and molding you into their perfect girl, but they stopped feeling guilty for desiring this long ago. 

you seem to have missed the fact that you sent their minds reeling and continue venting, “i don’t know what to do, maxy!  i’ve been doing the same thing, and it’s NEVER failed me before. it’s cruel that it stopped working when you guys left me for more than a month! no matter how i did it–if i did the exact same things i’ve always been doing, or tried something new, nothing worked! i was literally just considering buying a fucking vibrator! a vibrator, charles, i’d rather run naked in the street than buy that online and have to put in this delivery address–”

charles gently presses finger against your mouth, shushing you. he pulls you into a deep hug, rubbing a hand up and down the length of your back , the motion pacifying you. he hums, and it vibrates through his chest to yours, “mmm, we’re home now, mon ange. there’s no need to run in the streets naked–” “definitely not,” max jumps in, reacting possessively at the implication of other people seeing you undressed. charles rolls his eyes and continues (like he’s not just as jealous as max), “or buy a vibrator. i know it must be so frustrating, to not cum,” you gasp softly, “especially when you’ve been edging yourself accidentally for so long, hm?”

a questioning sound slips from your lips, “hm? what’s edging? i just haven’t,” your voice drops to a whisper, “cum.” max thinks that he’s seriously fucked-up in the head, because he watches how you bury your face into charles’s chest after your whispered word, refusing to make eye contact with them out of embarrassment; and relishes at the fact that you absolutely have no idea about what exactly you’ve been doing to yourself. he’s going to enjoy ruining teaching you everything he knows.

“edging is repeated instances of sexual stimulation and stopping before your orgasm. it’s called that because you are kept ‘on the edge.’ you can do it to yourself or with others,” max states in an unfazed manner. he sees you start to relax, knowing that you find comfort in his matter-of-fact tone. 

a pout lowers your lips, “who would enjoy that? it feels terrible.”

max breaks out in a grin, slipping an arm around charles and squeezing at his tapered waist, “you know somebody who enjoys it very much, liefje,” charles blushes at the sudden call out, and watches the way your eyes widen in shock. max continues, “anyways, you may find that you enjoy it when it’s done properly—with people who are experienced enough to make sure you’re feeling good and keep you feeling good… and show you how to have a proper orgasm, hm?” max segways into the important topic, not allowing you to deflect any longer.

charles stops your attempt at hiding in his broad shoulder this time around, and firmly holds your face to keep you facing max. the dutch give charles a nod of appreciation and watches how he shifts on his feet at the acknowledgement; he might have to take care of him after he’s done with you, too. max allows your eyes to avoid meeting his, letting them roam his face as you battle your own insecurity.

“liefje,” max deepens his tone, knowing how you melt at any pitch similar to his morning voice, “there is no need to be embarrassed about your virginity and innocence. you had your boundaries set, and never bent or broke them to make someone happy at the cost of your comfort. no matter how much pressure someone applied to you, you refused to let them have you in one of the most vulnerable positions you could ever be in because you felt unsure or plainly uncomfortable with them. that is something you should take pride in and no one should make a joke out of your virginity for that instance. tonight, you can still make that decision if you are not completely sure on allowing charles and i the privilege of teaching you how to feel satisfied. we will continue to wait for you; you have the power here, not charles or i. do what is best for you at this moment, and if that changes, tell us so, and we will continue or stop at your will.”

the room is silent as the three of you digest max’s spiel. charles and max seem to be completely nonchalant about the matter, but they are trying to hide how anxious they are about your possible refusal, for your sake. of course they are hoping that you’ll accept their helping hands, or lips, or tongues, or coc—but, that’s not their main intention tonight. the goal is for them to start building a deeper level of understanding and trust with you, to where you allow yourself to be in your most vulnerable state with them. and that will take time; they’re not expecting you to completely reveal your innermost workings to them instantaneously. however, they most definitely want to show you how good they can make you feel and how good you can make them feel. and once you internalize that, then they can start working on showing you the wonders of sex—or plainly put, they can start tainting you.

you nod. charles eyes brighten and his cheeks dimple with the appearance of a wild smile. he leans in to kiss you in thanks, but max halts him with one finger to the forehead and a quick ‘aht aht,’ “that won’t do, liefje, i need verbal confirmation—words, please.”

“y-you can…you can help s-show and teach me how to…how to feel good. i am ready to have…,” your voice thins out, and suddenly you shake your head, eyes meeting max’s straight on in an unusual act of confidence, clearing your throat, “i am ready for us to have—i’m ready for you to fuck me.”

max wasn’t exactly ready for that wording and faltered, a little shook. charles on the other hand has to struggle to refrain from laughter. at the mixed reaction, your bravado slips away, and you add, “please?” charles loses the laugh automatically; your timid but desperate widened brown doe eyes stare up at the two of them, flickering between them anxiously, plump lips parted with your tongue flicking out—he has a few ideas of something he can offer to keep that mouth of yours busy.

max rumbles in satisfaction, “see, that wasn’t so hard, was it pretty girl? we’ll work on that confidence of yours for sure—but, i have a few rules for you first before we get started. charles, why don’t you tell our girl the first two?”

“number one, always answer our questions with words; if you don’t, we’ll stop and wait for you to respond. two, if you feel uncomfortable at any point, tell us, and we’ll stop what we’re doing and make it better for you or stop completely if necessary,” charles answers assuredly.

you nod, and max raises an eyebrow at you, “i mean, yes!”

max praises you, “you’re already doing so good for us,” he watches your breath catch at the sentence and figures he may have another praise kink on his hands, “you wanna be a good girl and tell me what you were really doing before we came home?” your cheeks burn and your previous embarrassment returns full force, but you fight through it, not wanting to break the rules right off the bat.

“well, you remember how i said my usual method wasn’t working anymore? i wasn’t lying about that. i only g-get off when you guys leave, andidoitbygrindingonapillow—and i have to put down a towel before becauseimakeamess. so! i really was doing laundry, i just didn’t spill juice on it…i kinda, spilled on it.”

charles’ hands fall away from you in shock, and max really doesn’t know if he can handle another revelation like this from you without actually passing out. you continue to over-explain, “and i i-i didn’t even get to, y’ know (oh my god, she soaked the pillow without even cumming, max!), and i got that wet anyway…and i can’t really control it, but if you guys don’t like it i can try and—“

“NO!” “PLEASE DON’T!”

you flinch away, and they apologize heavily for their overreaction.

“please, don’t, mon ange. i can tell you that max and i aren’t ever going to hate what’s between your legs, or what comes from there,” charles suggests with a smirk, before his face shifts to a more blank state “wait. did…did you have a chance to change?” you hum a little “mm-mm” glancing down at yourself still clad in max’s sweater and cotton panties, “uhm. no, i was a little more concerned with cleaning up the bed before you guys saw it so—sorry, i’m not a little more presentable—“

“are you wearing the same panties, mon ange?”

you freeze, brain lagging at what the monegasque had noticed. “mhm, yeah,” you whisper softly, playing with the hem of the sweater self-soothingly.

“can i,” charles takes a deep breath, “can i touch you, mon coeur?”

you squeak, “yes please, charlie.”

max watches as charles places his massive hand on one of your thighs, spanning the front with no struggle, and gently caresses his hand up, slowly making his way up your thigh. charles taps two fingers gently against you, and you spread your legs a smidge wider, and the sound of your thighs peeling off one another from the stickiness you leaked, reverberates around the room. max can’t help but let a moan slip out. charles slides his hand in between your legs, both of your own hands fisting at the hem of your borrowed sweatshirt, and you gasp at the lightest touch of charles pointer and middle finger against your soaked panties. max sees charles pupils blow wide and mouth drop open in awe—and he can’t wait anymore.

max presses his front to your back, sandwiching you in between them once again, and impatiently asks, “schatje, can i?” you let out a breathy ‘yeah,’ and max doesn’t hesitate to bully his hand in between your legs as well. he cops a more generous feel of your cunt, and groans at the state of ruin your panties are in.

“liefje,” max starts, “walk with me to the bed, please.” max pulls away, and unfastens one of your hands from the sweater to guide you. you turn around stumbling through your first few steps—charles sets you upright more prepared for your legs becoming jello than you are, and helps you over to the bed, one hand firmly set on the small of your back. max sits on the edge of the bed, man spreading comfortably, and watches how your eyes automatically fall to stare at his thighs with a smirk. he glances at charles behind you, who mouths ‘can’t blame her’ with a smirk of his own. the dutch pats his lap, “c’mere and give me a kiss, pretty girl.”

you rush to sit in his lap, slowing at the last minute, not wanting to sit your full weight on him. he huffs, and grabs at your hips situating you firmly on his lap, before leaning in and kissing you stupid. your gasp of shock transforms into a hum of pleasure, letting max have complete control of the kiss. his hand comes up to rest on the back of your head and moves you exactly where he wants, sucking on your bottom lip before slipping his tongue against yours. max kisses like he’s going to run out of time, he ravishes you completely. you squirm against him, pulling away to pant against his cheek needing air. max chuckles, and you only get to whine at his teasing for half a second before charles, who’s now sitting next to max, pulls you into another kiss. charles, on the other hand, kisses like he has all the time in the world, he draws it out. he keeps the kisses slow and closed in the beginning, pausing to pull away and thumb at your lips, relishing at how they’ve already swelled from max’s abuse, the surrounding skin already beginning to turn raw and sensitive from their friction of their facial hair. he continues kissing you, all tongue and sloppy not caring about about the way your hands come up to grasp at his chest in desperation, before switching to absolutely bruise your lips by nipping and tugging at them. 

your hips jump forward against max’s, and he can’t stop the groan that tumbles out. you jolt away from charles’ assault and stare at max with an embarrassed expression, “s-sorry—“ max narrows his eyes and dismisses your apology, “don’t apologize for that. you feel good, you’re allowed to show that unless i tell you differently.” 

“yes, max,” you answer, even though he didn’t ask a question.

“oh, you’re such a good girl for us, liefje,” he tests. and his instincts didn’t fail him. your hips twitch against his again, and a near inaudible moan slips from your lips.

he turns towards charles, “yeah, that works doesn’t it, cha?” charles nods, eyes still stuck on your lips. max smirks at charles being completely entranced, before turning back to you and clocks the glaze beginning to form over your eyes, “alright now, liefje, i need you to pay attention to me really quickly, hm?”

you hum, bobbing your head a few times, before you manage to get out a “yes, max.”

he holds your head steady with his thumb and pointer finger gripping your chin, “i’m not going anywhere, baby, take your time and focus.” it only takes you half a minute to truly focus in after your heart stops racing to give him another verbal confirmation before he continues. “tonight, neither one of us is going to make love to you—“ your shoulders drop and a frown is quick to spread across your mouth. you really only prepared for the situation that you’d tell them you were ready, and then you’d get railed into next sunday. you start to panic; maybe you came off too depraved, and he’s letting you down slowly—

“hey, hey, hey. no overthinking yet, let him finish, mon ange,” charles calls out to you worriedly, he’s experienced the same thought process you're going through before and would rather try and prevent the self-doubt from overtaking you.

max pets at your waist over the sweater and continues, “not tonight. we’ve just gotten off a flight, and had three back to back races. it’s late, and i’m sure all three of us are tired. we should initiate something like that with a clearer mind,” you feel a little selfish now, his points very valid, “but, i still want to give you an orgasm, okay? sure, you may not be able to get off by grinding on a pillow anymore. you’ve probably just acclimated to it and need to give it a break. so, to compromise: you’ll get off by riding my thigh.”

charles and max wait for your reaction. your frown lightens into a pout, but you’re disappointment doesn’t completely fade away. “how is that any different from riding the pillow? it’s the same thing.” charles laughs shakily, “oh, mon ange. you have no idea. listen to max and give it a try before you take it off the table completely.”

you shrug, and agree, “fine. how do i….uh how do i do the thigh riding, i guess?”

charles turns to look at max, wordlessly asking for permission, and max grants it with a wave of his hand. charles scoots up closer, and shifts your straddle from max’s whole lap to his right thigh. as soon as your pantie-covered cunt firmly presses on the muscle of max’s jean-clad thigh, a soft ‘oh’ croaks out of you. max flexes and relaxes his thigh once and your hips jump up and away from him. max and charles glance at each other; you’re ridiculously sensitive, they’ll have to see if that’s your natural state or if it’s just the result of your prolonged edging and the fact that you were grinding against a pillow not too long ago. charles squeezes your hips, bringing your attention to him, “i’m going to start guiding you now, you ready, mon coeur?”

“mmm, yeah—that felt really good, i want more,” you speak timidly.

“good,” charles states, and then he pulls your hips forward dragging you against max’s thigh, and a flash of heat zings up your spine. you moan, a small, breathy exhale, and charles keeps it slow at first, not pushing you down to roughly or making the motions too quick—he wants you to learn to love the friction again. barely a minute passes before your hips start fighting charles’ guided rhythm, and a frustrated groan slips out of you, not able to fight your boyfriends grip. max clocks back in from where he was watching the pleasure start to flicker on your face and asks, “what are you supposed to do, baby?”

“more-ah, please, charlie,” you moan shakily. charles smirks, “look at you, still using your manners like a good girl—“ a louder moan echoes, “okay, okay, mon coeur. i’ll get you there, i’ll get you to cum like you need, okay? i’ll make you forget all about your manners too, hmm?”

you stopped listening to anything after charles reassured you that he’s going to get you to cum, you believe him. he adjusts his grip on your hips and starts incrementally increasing the pace and pressure for you. your moans start to become more frequent, and increasing in pitch rapidly, the drivers can tell you’re hurtling towards your long-awaited orgasm, sooner than they thought. charles slowly releases his grip on your waist letting your hips take over once he’s sure you’ve gotten the hang of it. you throw your head back in pleasure, your hips have a steady grind and…and you’re feeling good. a suprised laugh slips out of your lips at that and shifts into a sharp moan when max starts flexing his thigh rhythmically giving you a little more texture to work with. max lets his heavy hands fill in for where charles’ and presses you down into deeper slower strokes. 

you cry out, it’s a little too much for you, but it feels so good, that you bear with it, they know what’s best for you, anyways. max grins down at you smugly, and you start to tear up a little; he can still feel your hips twitching away from the pressure sometimes. not wanting to push you too far with that motion alone, he lightens up on the pressure but starts bouncing his thigh. the shriek you release surprises all three of you, but you don’t run from it, if anything you lean into it more. one of your hands fists into charles’ shirt for support, and the other falls to max’s, tugging it off your left hip so you can hold it tight. max’s grin softens into a small smile and he kisses your joined hands, and charles leans into press kisses on your neck, praise slipping out of their lips freely.

“doing so good for us, pretty girl.”

“yeah, baby, that’s it. take what you need.”

“don’t be shy, let those sweet moans out for us.”

“just like that, oh! look at that, you’ve leaked all over his thigh,” charles points out. max looks down and registers that his pant leg is sticking down to his thigh and the denim has darkened with the amount of wetness. “oh, yeah. look at that, baby,” max pats on the side of your face, and you can’t even recall when you screwed your eyes shut, but you look down, and a mortified squeal leaves you. not much longer and you’ll have drowned his thigh. the dutchman sucks his teeth at you, “don’t be embarrassed, liefje. i can’t wait until i can taste it straight from the source,” he moves his other hand underneath the sweatshirt, and slips two fingers between your inner thigh while gathering your wetness. he sucks on one finger moaning explicitly at your taste, before offering both fingers to charles to clean off. the monegasque flicks his tongue out teasingly tasting them first, before he makes a quick motion of sucking them in and fully running his tongue in every crevice to get every last drop of your taste. 

you moans start to become pitchy little ah-ah-ah’s, and you frantically start rabbiting your hips. you’re so close. max squeezes you hand, and starts up the praise again.

“i wasn’t joking, schatje. when i finally get my mouth on your pretty little cunt, you won’t be able to pull me off of you until i force at least three orgasms out of you.”

charles pulls off of max’s fingers and adds, “i need to give her three or four from my mouth too. i don’t think she’ll be able to handle that many.”

“yes, she can. she’s such a good girl for us, she’d let us keep going until we tell her when she’s done.”

“mmm, yeah—she’s right there, look at that cute little face she’s making.”

“her pretty little o-mouth, we should fill that up for her too.”

“thinkin i’ll fill that sweet little cunt of hers first with my dick—“

what escapes your mouth is definitely a scream, and max can’t bring himself to muffle it even though it’s the middle of the night. he pays a hefty sum of money for this penthouse, they can deal with hearing how charles and him make you scream with pleasure. your orgasm completely whites-out all of your senses; ears ringing, eyes rolled back, skin feeling raw and thighs shaking. max and charles work your hips back and forth a few more times, helping you with the aftershocks until you squirm out of their hands. you fall forward into max’s chest, body trembling, and tears streaming down your face.

max cradles you close and scratches at your head, calling your name a few times to get a gauge of how out of it you are. with no verbal response, he sends charles to get water and a towel to clean you up. max softly murmurs praises at you constantly, and charles joins in with the affirmations when he returns. the both clean you up when you’re still floating; they put you in an oversized tee, not bothering with undergarments, wiping all wetness and cream away from between your legs trying to avoid looking at your cunt directly, they even manage to get your bonnet on for you, and even have time to change the duvet before you start becoming aware again.

you turn and automatically move to snuggle into the crook of max’s neck, but he gently presses a straw to your mouth so you can hydrate after the amount of fluids you seem to have lost. your eyes open, and you croak out a disapproving hum at not being able to go to sleep, and max shakes his head at you, “drink, schat. non-negotiable, pretty girl.” after slowly draining ¾ of the bottle, you pull away and with a shattered voice, start mumbling, “thank you, thank you, thank you—“

and charles leans over to cut you off with a soft press of lips, “no, thank you for letting us give you that, mon coeur.” you hum, whispering out, “i love you, charlie. i love you, maxy.” 

they both respond with resounding ‘i-love-you’s back, and start soft conversation just checking up on you before they let you fall asleep. 

“i’ve never felt this good before from an orgasm,” you start, “i wanna—i wanna keep being good for you guys. i wanna learn how to feel good like this again, and i want you both to show me how because i trust you. please?”. charles and max both murmur affirmatives to you, and you continue speaking softly, “you guys can take showers now, i’ll probably be asleep before you come back.” after making sure you’re truly comfortable, max and charles head to the en-suite to take the world’s speediest shower so they can cuddle up with you sooner. 

shutting the door, max and charles stare at each other in completely silence. charles starts, “are we sure that we’re the ones corrupting her and she’s not corrupting us? because, i’ve almost came in my pants three times tonight.”

max stares at charles with unseeing eyes, “i will never forgot the way she soaked my fucking leg, charles…i’m pretty sure i did come in my pants.”

taglist: @lorarri | @soph1644 | @jaydensluv | @fanboyluvr | @nissaimmortal | @redgonerogue | @hollie911 @saintwrld | @buendiabebeta | @butterfly-lover | @lana-d3l-rey | @dylan1721 | @spicybagel14 | @dhhdhsiavdhaj

© httpsserene 2023

#f1 smut #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #lestappen #charles leclerc x female reader #max verstappen x female reader #charles leclerc x black!reader #max verstappen x black!reader #poly!formula 1 #poly f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x black!reader #f1 x female reader #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #max verstappen fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfiction #serene’s chapters. #serene’s fave. #⋆⭒˚｡⋆. series special: formula 1 #♡ ༘*.ﾟ love interest: cl. #♡ ༘*.ﾟ love interest: mv. #httpss :// kinktober 23

[daddyricsdoll]

Masquerade ✭ Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri

Summary: A night at a masquerade ball ended much better than you had ever dreamed of. Starting with two men and one you.

Warnings: Fingering, Oral (Male receiving), unprotected sex, double penetration, anal, creampies, degrading praise (good little slut), slapping, if I have missed anymore let me know.

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: Here is some highly anticipated papaya boys smut. I need Lando and Oscar to wear suits and take photos together as well as wearing masquerade ball masks so I can have the perfect header. This was based off of a request and I really hope this reaches expectations.

I walk into the ballroom, everyone's faces covered by masks. People linger around the bar and tables are scattered all around, the middle holds an orchestra and few couples dancing. My eyes search the room for anyone that I might recognise, but there wasn’t much luck.

I walk around the room, staying in the outer circle surrounding the dance floor. And then from across the room I meet eyes with a curly haired man and then with another man next to him. I had only just realised they had been doing the same as me, stalking around the room, observing everyone else.

But the difference between me and them was I was alone at the moment. The curly haired man gave me a smirk and the one next to him let out a chuckle. I wish I could see behind their masks, I just knew they were beautiful. Then their lips started moving, they spoke to each other but eyes never left me.

I questioned what they were talking about, I presumed me, but what about me? I’m glad I had a mask veiling my face or they would note my anxiety, so I forced my lips to curl and I surveyed the confidence in both men. They exchange their last words and then start walking in opposite ways, their confident strides show purpose and I know they have a plan to reach me. So while both of them are out of view, behind and between people, I make my way further back, getting buried by fellow guests. Finding a good sized area, that is scarcely hidden but still open to guests, I lean against the wall and wait for whichever one has more determination to reach me first.

“You moved.” I look up to the voice, his accent is different, australian and oh, I never knew I would go internally feral from a man's voice but here I am. “I figured you guys wouldn’t prefer the crowd.” I watch his mouth move into a smile and he emits the most beautiful chuckles. He takes a few steps closer to me. “Yeah, you’re right” The Australian's hand rests on the exposed skin of my thigh. His warm hand caresses my leg and the other leans on the wall behind me. His fingers travel further than the slit in my dress, sliding on my inner thigh then the outer, his eyes stuck on my face, watching every twitch and meticulously listening to every sound I make. 

“You started without me?” A voice speaks, and then the Australian man smirks and slowly pushes his body off mine to turn around and look at his friend. “Well you can’t expect me to just stand and watch her.” I attempt to hide my smile as I watch the two men converse and then they both turn my way. “Something funny?” The curly haired man asks, and finally I see the colour of his eyes, a mix of specks of blue and green.

“Oh no, you guys can carry on.” I wave them off, and then both of them start walking closer to me, concealing the crowd from my vision. 

“I’ll finish what Oscar started.” The blue eyed man purrs and his hand sneaks around my waist. I lean into his warm touch with an arched back, forcing myself into his crisp suit.

“Was his hand here?” He places his hand between the slit of my dress, I take a sharp breath and look over his shoulder at Oscar, he just nods his head and I fall into the touch of his friend. “Was it?” He asks me again and I nod my head, unable to find the solitary word to answer. He continues exploring the part of my exposed thigh before his hand slides into the middle, stroking my inner thigh and the tips of his fingers so close to my core.

The indigent feeling inside of me heightens and then his fingers start tickling the fabric of my thongs. I shudder from surprise but then move my hips closer to the feeling of his fingers. I look at the man whose substantial hands could ruin me by themselves and he gives me a charming smirk. “Do you think you can be quiet for me? And don’t worry, they won’t see you. Oscar’s here.” I nod again, giving him a little “a huh” and then his fingers finally make contact with the part of me I had only silently begged to be touched.

“You’re pretty wet for me huh?” He pushes his firm fingers underneath the thin fabric of my thongs and drags his calloused but delicate fingers through my desperate folds. 

My breath hitches and head inclines onto the wall. A large hand cups my cheek and turns my head so my eyes are locked with Oscars as he captures my lips in a kiss. I moan into Oscar's mouth as the other brunette curls his fingers inside of me.

“Be quiet for us now and then we’ll let you be as loud as you like.” He whispers against my ear making me clench around his thick fingers. This whole situation helps my climax arise. Two men using me, I only know one of their names and all our faces are covered by masks. 

Curses leave both of the men's lips and as another finger is added into me I feel my release creeping up on me. My eyes flick to each of the men and I can’t hold back a moan at both of their features. Each of their eyes ravenous and it makes my stomach do backflips.

One with an ocean and forest of colours. The other consists of my favourite chocolate and leather bag. My eyes shut tight as my climax reaches me and I force the moans down. Trying my best to keep the attention away from us. But when Oscar's fingers weave into my hair and pull my lips to his I can finally let the filthy sounds leave my mouth. 

Not long after I feel the loss of his fingers and I watch as Oscar clasps his lips around them. Oscar doesn’t lose eye contact with me as he sucks on the other man's fingers, tasting me. 

“Fuck Lando, she tastes good.” The Australian groans. “But I need more.” Suddenly I’m being pulled by the hand, I manage to catch all of my steps and follow as Oscar leads me out of the main ballroom, Lando not far behind. 

I didn’t have time to observe the room before Oscar commanded me to get on all fours. My dress being pulled up so the bottom half of my body is exposed and on display. I hear the door one more time and a “fuck” leaves Landos mouth before he circles my body and stands in front of me. My head tilts to look up at the Brit and a grin is on his face.

The cold air of the room is replaced by the warmth of Oscar’s hand on my ass. He makes my thongs disappear and the silence of the room is filled by the sound of his pants. I don’t have enough time to compose myself for his next moves so when I feel his dick slam inside of me I nearly collapse on the floor. His hands grip my hips so tightly I’m sure it’ll create bruises. My mouth is agape and my whole body moves at each of his rams. In front of me Lando starts to peel off his clothes, everything except his shirt and mask. My walls flutter as my eyes make contact with Landos thick cock. I see the vein that runs along his shaft and wish to trace it with my fingers. 

Oscar’s thrust never loses power and I just imagine what this whole situation will look like from his view. How his dick would look as he completely ruins me. How it looks as Lando thrusts his dick into my mouth. 

The momentum of Oscar ramming into me forces Lando’s dick to immediately hit the back of my throat. I don’t realise that my climax has come to me a second time this night until an involuntary whine leaves my mouth and words finally leave Oscar’s mouth. 

“Fuck, such a good little slut coming all over my dick and taking Lando too.”

I expect him to stop driving into me with so much force, but the change never comes. Both of the men ruthlessly thrust into me, and I hold no control over my body. 

A harsh slap lands on my ass and I can’t help but whine full of pleasure. That whine brings vibrations throughout all of Lando’s dick and he curses repeatedly before releasing in my mouth. 

He pulls out to see his cum covering my tongue and the inside of my mouth making him groan and his dick is still as hard as it was when he first shoved it into my mouth. “Swallow, I want you to swallow every little drop of my cum like the good slut we know you are. Right Oscar?” 

Another slap against the skin of my ass is the reply he gives to Lando and me. And being the good little slut I am, I do exactly what Lando asks of me. I swallow all of his cum and then open my mouth to show him how well I followed his instructions. “Fuck Oscar, I wanna be inside of her.” Lando nearly pleads and the grunt that emits from Oscar was a reply and an indication that he’s reaching his climax. I clenched around Oscar’s dick and it was all he needed to ultimately release inside of me.

Filling me up with his cum and barely riding his high out with a couple harsh thrusts before pulling out. I don’t hear his quiet steps until he stands in front of me, his dick covered in my arousal and his own cum. Both of his hands grip my arms, lifting my body up to kneel below him. He doesn’t have to tell me what he wants as my lips wrap around his dick. I can’t hold back my moans and Oscar cuts them off with a quick but strong thrust. 

“Fuck. Oscar, you really filled her up. But it’s my turn now.” Lando’s words help me acknowledge the feeling of Oscar’s cum slowly dripping down my leg. I clean up his dick, but not without whines and moans. Once I’m done he lifts my body up and the spot on the floor where I just knelt is now sat with Lando. “Come here pretty girl. You’re gonna ride me.” I knew my body couldn’t handle it, but oh I couldn’t stop myself from going to him. 

I hold onto his toned chest as I lower onto his dick, taking into consideration his thickness and the stretch accompanied by a little sting. His large hands hold my hips in the same spot that Oscar had gripped them earlier and I look down at him with watery eyes. 

I make sure to go as low as I can, so I can feel Lando even deeper. My clit rubs against his skin and the friction is now an unforgettable sensation. 

I gained some more contact, but not from Lando this time. I feel Oscar’s hands help lift my body, but not lead me off Lando. I let him move me and he whispers in my ear. “Do you think you can take me too?” Just the thought makes me moan and clench around Lando. “Y-yes.” I breathe out and it doesn’t take long until I feel the tip of Oscar's dick press against my hole.

I have to stop moving and I hold my breath as he slowly inches inside of me. I managed to handle the pain, although the sting was far from little. But the loud groan that escaped his mouth helped convince me the pain was worth it. When I grow more comfortable with the feeling I start riding Lando again. My position had our lips so close to each other and all Lando did was sit up a little bit to close the gap.

The kiss was soft and it soon turned rough, we bit each other's lips and hungrily went in for more, never getting enough. I knew his body more than any other part of him and when his dick started twitching inside of me I knew I would get filled up again. The quieted grunts from Oscar told me he was seconds away from releasing and so was I. The grind of my hips against Lando and little thrust from Oscar was the last push that had us all coming simultaneously. 

My head was clouded and I couldn't focus on just one feeling. We all let filthy sounds leave our mouths and my fingers dug into Lando’s tan skin as I came. Oscar pulled out of me seconds after he came and instantaneously I could feel his cum dripping out of me. 

A little while later I got off of Lando, with the help of Oscar and all I could do was lay helpless beside his body. Only then did I get a perfect look of both men without their masks on and I had thought my eyes deceived me. Such gorgeous men and I wondered how I could’ve landed so lucky to have both of them deep inside of me. Each memory makes the fire ignite inside of me once again, but I’ll leave it for the next time. And I’ll hope it’s these two once again.

#f1 smut #lando norris #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 fic #f1 #f1 fluff #landoscar x reader #landoscar #op81 smut #op81 #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fluff #lando x reader #lando norris smut #lando norris imagine #lando fluff #lando imagine #lando norris fanfic #oscar piastri #lando norris x reader #mclaren f1 #papaya boys #mclaren #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri x reader

[hoesformatt]

LEND A HELPING HAND

matt smut, I got this idea from these rubi rose photos (she’s litch in all my headers) + i wrote this in a day 😝

dom!matt • slutty nurse!poc!reader friendly

contains: pet names, no use of y/n, nurse ROLEPLAYYY (that’s the whole theme if you hadn’t got it yet…), oral (m!receiving), cowgirl + the butterfly position (new position unlocked 🔓), LOTS of sex talk, breeding kinks, choking kinks, markings, raw/unprotected sex (fictional!), multiple orgasms, the whole damn freak show

word count: 1.5k

semi-proofread

I went through the racks of clothing, and everything started to look exactly the same by the time. Nelly got sick and tired of my shit as we’ve only been in the mall for an hour and I’ve been trying to leave for the past 30 minutes.

We exited the store being met with the Spencer’s directly across from the store we were in.

She relentlessly dragged me across the busy stands and seats scattered along the way to the next.

Spencer’s was a… unique store, we waltzed in at the perfect time, when Ayesha Erotica was blasting from the speakers, “Are we in hell?” I was thinking more of a Hot Topic but this definitely proved me wrong.

“I know you’ve been wanting to try new things with your little bae thing... and I also know you refuse to do it raw, which kind of makes you a pussy, but I can assure you if you put on of these—” She came up to the back of the store while explaining it to me, then picked up a slutty nurse outfit.

I examined it, debating in my head whether it would look good on me or not. I ended up coming back to my senses and slamming it back down on the rack. “Fuck no”.

Nelly rolled her eyes “You’re so fucking vanilla." She mocked me, leaving the section that also had dildos and other sex toys.

I’m not vanilla. “Let’s go, I don’t need anything” Not even 10 minutes on being in we left anyway without buying anything once again. Nelly’s arms flew into the air like a surrender “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you” she sing-songs. I contemplated on purchasing the set when we left the retail but I kept on walking until I saw the restroom.

“I’m going to the bathroom, I’ll see you in the car?” Nelly went on with it, typing off her fingers and not taking her eyes off of her device. When I saw her get caught in the traffic of people, I proceeded to walk back to Spencer’s and buy the outfit.

By the time I dropped Nelly off and I got back home, Matt was playing his video games in his room, and his fingers were moving so strategically across the console.

I knocked on his door and said, “I’m back.” I smiled at him when he glanced back for a second before focusing on his game again. “What’d you get?” he inquired. “Nothing.” I didn’t know if it fit yet, so I just hid it behind my back and walked towards the bathroom to try it on.

It’s cute… The thigh-high fishnets were a bit tight around the band, and my ass hung out the mini-dress showing a bit of my red v-string, but shit, I looked more than motherfucking good. I knew Matt would instantly get hard from the red compliments of the outfit because he loves when I wear red.

I took my photos in the full-sized mirror, spreading my legs erotically, exposing my panties and the wetness already visible.

I slammed down my phone on the counter before checking myself out for the last time.

Slipping the door open, Matt was still infatuated with fornite and cussing out Chris across the screen. Matt showed no attention until I sat on his desk, legs apart, and finally his eyes peered to my blood-red panties.

Exiting the game, he threw his console onto the desk, reverting his attention to me and gripping my thighs. "Go ahead; I don’t feel so well” He almost instantly folded and played the part. Matt put my legs over his shoulders to kiss my inner-thighs “Don’t worry, I’m just going to see how it tastes and how this dick feels” I remarked while he licked the skin close to my pussy. The louder my whimpers got, the more his hardness grew a tent in his shorts. "Baby, you know how to turn me on” Matt muttered.

I moaned quietly, removing Matt from between my legs. I pushed him back into his seat, I creeped up to kiss him, and he gripped my neck holding me still while he put his tongue down my throat. “Slow down, you’re my patient—” I planted my feet, sinking down to tease the band of his grey shorts “And I’m going to take care of you”.

Matt gleamed a smirk from my words, stripping off his shorts to his ankles, I pulled his cock out, being met with his rock-hard rock cock that throbbed in my hand. I wrapped my hand around his dick and slapped the head of his cock on my tongue. I swiped my tongue across Matt’s length making him let out a breathy moan “You're so hard and you taste so good”.

I sucked on his tip only and Matt grew more in my hand. Finally, I took my hands off, stuffing his dick in my mouth to the point where I was spluttering on him. Matt’s groans were deep and loud as I dragged my mouth along his length, his chest heaved up and down, loving the way I deep-throated.

He held my head, thrusting upwards for his length to hit the back of my throat. “You’re so good for me” Matt threw his head back from all the pleasure.

He was barely able to breathe with his climax rushing through his body. Seconds before he came, I popped my mouth off, jerking his cock in my hands so that he could cum on tits.

I raised myself from my knees, dragging my v-string off agonisingly slow for Matt to watch. I tossed my panty at him “On the bed, baby” He sat at the edge of the bed and I hovered his lap, positioning his length to my heat. I lowered my hips onto him, completely stuffing my pussy with his twitching cock.

Rocking my hips upon his lap, Matt gripped my waist, having the feeling of my wet insides clench around his cock. “I might just cum with how you’re closing around me” Matt took out my tits that were already spilling out of my dress, spitting on my nipple putting it into his mouth, sucking feverishly on my nipples to stimulate me while kneading my other boob in his hand.

We paused as I hoisted up onto my feet to bounce on his cock, feeling empty whenever I lifted up. “This dick isn’t good, it’s fucking amazing” My boobs jumped in Matt's face, putting him in a trance.

Matt grasped my neck, choking me out. He thrusted underneath me, causing me to roll my eyes back. My lips parted as I moaned Matt’s name repeatedly. “Yes please sir, yes”, My climax was about to catch up to me until Matt pulled out. “Fuck Matt” He replaced his dick with his fingers before he laid me on my back and lifted my legs in the air.

Matt was between my legs, lining up his length with my cunt once again, he applied his tip to my clit and toyed with my pussy. “Please put in Matt”, he inserted his cock, groaning loudly as my heat clamped around while he was still going in. “Shitttt—this pussy is the only medicine I’ll ever need." He grabbed my ass as he began to thrust into me at a fast pace, cutting up my pussy.

My breasts recoiled, and my mind was fogged because I saw Matt above me with his silver chain dangling from his neck and his lips a blushed-bitten pink. The snaps of his hips made my leg shake uncontrollably, sending his dick full throttle to abuse my spot. Matt forced his thumb between my lips, making me suck on it until he drew out and put pressure on my clit.

I yelled when he began to rub my clit while he continued to ram in me, “I love the way you look when I’m inside you." He smirks, flattering himself with his work of making me look like a mess. The wet sounds of my juices, combined with his length slipping in and out, our liquids spread across my lower abdomen.

Matt’s rough grip was leaving darkened bruises from my waist to hips. "Matt, I’m coming,” he continued hitting my g-spot “I’m gonna fill you up.”

His thrusts began to get sloppy as our pre-cum mixed together. “Cum in me Matt, cum in me, please” I begged, feeling the tension buildup, and I came on his cock. Matt had finally spilled in me, coating my walls.

“You make a good ass nurse.”

tags: @lunariaxzz @chrissturniolosbitch @leahsbussy @luv4kozume @mattslolita @muwapsturniolo @idkwhosnyla @strniohoeee @iiheartstef @nonamegirlxsturniolo @ka1nani @1800chokedathoe @fuzzycupcakebeliever @mattgirly @love4chris @mattslutt @nicksmainbitch @luhsexcbihh @hearts4chriss @junnnilieee07 @chrryclouds @chr1sgirl4life @theresa-30apr @mattssluttywaist @heartss4matthewq @sstvrnioloo @thenickgirl @sturniol0s @intoxicatedkissess @sturnioloange1 @8blonded @c6ina @sturnsintrouble @jataviaswife @chrissturniolosslutt03 @matthewsturniolosactualgf @imwetforyourmom @whoreformattsturniolo

#hoesformatt #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo smut #fan fiction #fan fic #sturniolo smut #smut #sturniolo triplets

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒂 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒓’𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒏

hello, I want to thank @foxyprincessworld for inspiring me to write this.

connected to fairytale

summary - it has been a while since meeting ari in the woods, and while he goes out to gather food for you two, you manage to get yourself stuck.

warning - smut, inter-species, tiny fairy, stuck, slight fingering, creampie.

18+ only please, the gif and headers I use aren't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

Ari had gone out to gather some berries and vegetables from your little garden outside the cabin, ensuring you’d be stocked up for the rapidly approaching winter. While he was out picking, you were fluttering around the house, ensuring things were clean and neat. Since you met Ari that fateful night, becoming his partner, the cabin also became your home. 

You had been cleaning all day in your human form, making sure you could cut the cleaning time in half with your size before finding a spot that no large thing could reach. You wave your hand, allowing your magic to dance over you and shrink you into your fairy form. You fly over to the area, noticing through the small hole that it has become dirty. You knew Ari didn’t care about these things, but you did. So, you began to clean, softly groaning as you kept missing a few spots, pulling yourself further into the tiny hole, your hips catching onto the sides. You wiggle, huffing when you realise that you are stuck. “Oh no… I do hope Ari gets back soon.” You let out a cute little sneeze as the dust tickles your nose. 

Ari grins at the basket in his hands, loving that it’s filled to the brim and that he can show you what he’s managed to gather. He heads into the cabin, setting down the basket on the table and then looks around confused, wondering where you are as you usually came to greet him. “Fairy? Bear here!” He grunts, scrunching his nose. “Little Fairy?!” Ari begins to walk deeper into the house, becoming worried that something may have happened to you.

“I’m here, Bear. I’m okay. I’m just stuck...” You sigh and allow magic to flow through you, appearing before your man.

Ari stares at the bright ball, following it as it slowly leads him to where you are stuck. The ball disappears when Ari stops where you are, and his eyes widen. “Oh, Fairy! How?” He can’t deny that his cock twitches when his eyes land on your exposed arse, your dress lifted from wiggling. “Stuck?” You still weren’t able to teach him how to speak proper sentences, but you found it endearing with his short answers. Knowing he tries so hard, his face always scrunches up, trying to find the right things to say, and the thing you love most about him is even though it becomes hard for him sometimes, he never gives up. 

“Yeah, Bear. I’m stuck, and my magic cannot get me out of this one.” You pout, not noticing that the more you wiggle, the more that becomes exposed, causing the giant bear behind you to become aroused. “Could you please help me?” 

Ari nods, too preoccupied with how your arse jiggles and your sweet honey pot glistens. He licks his lips at the thought of honey and how delicious you taste. “Help after,” Ari growls out, quickly ridding himself free from his pants and gripping his thick, monstrous cock. He begins to stroke it, grunting as pre-cum leaks from his angry tip.

“What? Ari, what do you mean after? Bear?” He ignores you, too lost in his mind now. You softly squeak as his finger connects with your dripping cunt. You now understand what is happening and allow your magic to wash over you. “You can enter, Bear.” You whimper when he pushes his thick finger inside, stretching you and curling it, ensuring you are wet enough to take him.

“Okay?”

“Okay.” Your head falls forward as he pulls his finger out and replaces it with his member. His tip stretches you wide as Ari pushes in. “Oh, god…” He rests his hands against the wood, fucking into you harder and faster, enjoying how your tight walls squeeze him. 

“Not god.” Ari growls, fucking into you harder. “I Bear!” Your tiny body rocks back and forth, and your eyes roll back as the pleasure intensifies. Your walls pulsate like crazy around Ari, causing a groan to slip out. “My Fairy!” Your arousal builds, leaking alongside his thick base, coating him and creating a white creamy ring. “So pretty and tiny.” He hums, staring down at your stretched-out cunt with a dazed look, entranced by how hot it looks. 

Your fingers curl, nails digging into your palm. “B–bear! I’m going to–” You cut yourself off with a strangled moan. Your vision becomes white as your walls squeeze around him, and your juices squirt out of you. You fall limp, exhaustion hitting you. Ari continues to thrust into you, throwing his head back as his balls tighten, cock twitching. He releases thick amounts of cum into you, coating your walls. 

Once Ari empties himself, his cock softens, and he slowly pulls out of you. “Bear, help now.” He grumbles, wiping off the sweat on his forehead before punching the wood, snapping it enough to rip it away and pull you out of the tiny hole. He lies you on the palm of his hand, looking down at you with a soft look, “Fairy, okay?” 

You snuggle into his palm, looking up at him with a sleepy smile. “I’m okay, Bear. Thank you.” You give him a soft tap and sigh as he moves you to the chair. Your hand waves, and you feel your body slowly grow, allowing you to become human-sized. You stretch, kissing Ari’s palm as he rests it on your cheek. “How did your picking go, Bear?” 

The smile on his face makes you think he’d be able to brighten up a room with how bright and gorgeous it is. Ari quickly moves over to the basket and brings it back to you, showing you the many things he picked. You smile, eyes dancing around the many different colours. “You did wonderful, Bear! I could maybe make some soup for dinner and a pie for dessert.” You slowly stand, legs feeling like jelly. 

Ari places the basket back down and pulls you into him by the hips. He looks down at you with such love and adoration, like he cannot believe he has you in his life. “Bear love Fairy… S–so much.” He wraps an arm around your waist while his hand cups your cheek, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss on your lips. “Pretty Fairy.”

You smile, eyes becoming clouded with love. “I love you too, Bear, so much. My big handsome bear.” Your hand rests flat on his chest, and the other cups his cheek, stroking the soft beard underneath before moving up to scratch between his cute bear ears. “Why don’t you get some rest? You’ve been working so hard lately.” Your lashes flutter as you continue to stare up at him. “I’ll prepare dinner, okay?” 

Ari shakes his head, huffing. He peppers kisses against your face, smiling at how beautiful you look. “I help.” 

That night you and Ari make dinner, and as that is cooking, he helps you prepare dessert. You couldn’t have wished for anything better. He’d wrap you in his arms as you made the food before pulling you over to the couch, holding you against him while you both waited for dinner. Your hand rested against your stomach, knowing that when you finally told the news to Ari, he would be so happy. You’d finally have everything you had ever wished for. 

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[softlyspector]

Honeyed

Summary: You hate being touched, but you might be willing to put aside your discomfort for a tattoo from Joel.

Pairing: tattoo artist!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~11.7k

Warnings: slow build, no outbreak tattoo!au, reader has issues with touch and is mostly touch adverse, tattoos and getting tattooed (the reader only has one tattoo that is described in any detail), description of a past abusive relationship and a bad experience getting tattooed, insecurity, anxiety, loneliness, implied undefined past trauma with men, Joel gets to have both his daughters in this

A/N: We're ignoring canon and pretending like Joel can draw for this fic, thank you. I love this fic with everything I am and hope you all like it too. I'm trying something new with this header because none of the gif were giving me what I wanted, so I hope its not too cringe as I am not an aesthetic girlie. Thank you for reading! As always, I would love to know your thoughts! Please please please, be sure to leave feedback!

Summer is at its peak when you first happen by Joel Miller's tattoo studio.

The sky is a jewel bright, cerulean blue, the shining yellow saturation of the sun blurring the air around you in a washed out haze that reminds you of childhood summers past. 

Main Street’s sidewalk is hot enough to fry an egg, hot enough to boil soup. It sends shimmering waves up from the asphalt. Blinding sunshine pierces through the tired trees that line the road, undulating waves of emerald green and twinkling golden light shifting over the pavement. The leaves wilt in the heat. A single cloud floats on the sky’s horizon. 

The sun feels nice, maybe a little like you’re baking alive, but you don’t mind it. When you suck in a deep breath of that sun warmed air, you feel at home—it tastes like dust and heat and the slightly floral desert bloom. 

The town, just a couple hours outside Austin, already feels more like home to you than the city ever did. It’s idyllic, lush with shaded parks, an ice cream parlor and a coffee shop, plenty of restaurants and food trucks, a walkable little main thoroughfare not far from your apartment above a bookstore. 

It’s more than idyllic; it feels like a town straight out of a novel. Quiet and quaint and safe. 

And, apparently, it has a tiny tattoo studio that you’d somehow missed on all your walks through town. 

The shop looks a bit rustic—all raw wood tones and metal—but the art that hangs in the front windows is beautiful. Paintings that seem to be for sale hang next to artfully taken photos of healed tattoos. 

You step closer, pressing a hand over your brow to block out part of the glare that rains down from the sky in glimmering waves. 

The lone cloud in the sky slides over the sun in what feels like a moment of divine intervention, just for you, so you can see the displayed art properly.

It’s lovely, and your skin begins to itch and tingle with a need you know well. You know exactly what you’d ask for, from the hand of the person who’d created that which hangs in the front window. 

You want—need—another tattoo. You need this person’s art to live on your skin, to make a home there. 

You step back from the glass as the cloud drifts on and the sun reveals itself again, perfect golden rays slipping over your exposed skin. The world seems to filter back in to you then. The heat of the day, the hush of the breeze that does nothing to cool the air, the sweat gathering at the base of your throat. 

Children shriek at the park a block over, splashing in the fountain at the center of it all, parents reclined on benches in the sun, cold lemonade close at hand. The scent of sugar and sun and fried food burns through the air. 

The buzzing need only increases as you note the name of the shop and move on to the record store and then the clothing boutique, your mind still hovering in front of the studio. 

As much as you would have liked to just burst in, you want more than what a walk-in appointment could probably get you. That, and you needed to do some research about the place before you decided, no matter how much your skin itched with want. 

To your dismay, the tattoo shop seems to only have one artist, though it shouldn’t have surprised you, considering the size of the shop. It’s tiny and you doubt there was room for more than one artist to comfortably work there. 

A fairly new instagram account lists his name as Joel Miller, owner of, and soul artist at, the studio you had passed. The shop doesn’t seem to have a website, but the few google reviews that it does have are all glowingly positive. 

Bookings appear to be wide open according to the instagram bio, but a different kind of itch crawls under your skin at the thought of being tattooed by another man. Your stomach goes foamy, gives an uncomfortable lurch, at the thought of any man at all having to touch you. 

You scroll through the few posts that have made their way onto the account, the last dated two days ago. And, for the first time in years, you feel the need for this person’s art on your skin begin to outweigh your aversion to touch. 

There are no pictures of Joel Miller, just his art, though some of the posts give glimpses of strong hands and thick forearms. Despite yourself, arousal pools in your belly at the sight. A few scars run beneath the wiry black hair on his arms, thick veins snake beneath his skin to collect in rough, strong hands that speak to hard labor. It makes you wonder if he’d always been a tattoo artist or if he’d made a career change at some point. 

Some of the captions on the posts make you snort and you have to wonder if he runs the account himself. You somehow can’t picture the owner of those hands typing out the cheesy, often pun filled, lines. 

You ruminate on it for weeks, passing by the shop anytime you have to walk through town to admire the ever changing line up of photos and art pieces hung in the windows. The second week a drawing of a doe appears among the photos and paintings—big eyes wide, ears alert as she looks over her shoulder, surrounded by a thick forest bright with sun and shadow. Bumblebees hover around her alert ears. 

She looks familiar but you can’t quite place why. 

Sometimes you go out of your way to pass by, just to check out the new photos, even making a day of it, buying yourself an expensive iced coffee and lingering far too long in front of the window, just looking, pretending like the small shop doesn’t take up your every thought. 

You spend each evening hoping for a new post to the shop’s instagram page, hoping, too, that the new post contains glimpses of more than Joel Miller’s hands. 

The man remains an enigma, a mystery, and if he’s ever in the shop when you stand in the window, you never see him. You convince yourself that if you could just get a glance at him, you’d know. You’d know if you could handle being tattooed by him. 

You find yourself rolling your eyes at yourself often. You avoid hugs with friends, cringe your way through having anyone unfamiliar do your hair, tense at casual accidental touch. Phantom echoes of pain and want twin themselves around your heart, slide thick and cloying around your chest, breaking your breath from your body. 

It’s inexplicable, how much you crave touch and fear it. It’s terrifying, how you wonder what Joel’s hands would feel like. 

Probably it would feel like everyone else’s touch always has. Like your skin is too tight, like your heart might stop beating, like there’s something wrong with you for feeling like prey near capture, like the soft press of another person's hand might start burning. 

One hot afternoon, you finally find out what Joel looks like. 

The heat is relentless that day as it has been for weeks, the ice cream you’d stopped for at the local parlor rapidly melting as you completed your, now weekly, routine of stopping by the tattoo studio. As unbearable as the heat is, you somehow still find it blissful. On this day, a young woman stands outside the shop cleaning the front window. The door is propped open, frigidly cold air swirling out onto the street. 

“Sarah?” A voice calls from within, graveled and gruff and warm. “You ‘bout finished up out there? We need to get goin’. Tommy’s waitin’.” 

The girl, who could only be Sarah, turns away from the window, swiping a few errant strands of her hair away from her forehead, her opposite hand anchoring on her hip as she answers back.

You don’t catch her response, too distracted trying to glimpse the man just inside the door. 

All you’re able to see for a moment is a crop of dark hair laced with a fine sprinkling of gray before his broad shoulders that test the strength of the t-shirt he wears comes into view. Dark wash jeans fit snugly around his thighs and narrow hips, worn but well kept boots on his feet. He’s certainly handsome and looks rugged, and that both scares you and thrills you.

When you glance back up to his face, you meet his eyes. The slash of sun, a spinning shard of light falls over his gaze when he pokes his head out the door. In the warmth of the Texas sun, his eyes are cast in honeyed tones. The man you know must be Joel Miller smiles at you, one forearm lifting to brace against the doorway, the lines by his eyes crinkling up. His beard is threaded with that attractive gray too. 

“Howdy,” he says and he looks like he means to say more, but something seizes your throat and you avert your eyes and keep walking, barely managing to nod back politely. You don’t dare to breathe until you’re well past his shop.  

It takes you two blocks to realize the ice cream in your fist had melted over the edge of the cup and dripped over your fingers and that the man whose art you’ve been lusting over for weeks is just as pretty as his hands. 

Joel noticed you the first day you lingered outside his studio. 

He’d watched you cup a hand over your eyes, squinting against the glare of the sun. Your nose had scrunched up too as you gazed in at what was hung in the window. 

A curl of nervousness that he couldn’t exactly place had settled hard in his gut. But you just looked, eyes filled with wonder as honeyed sunshine fell in drafts around you. He half expected a colony of bees to buzz around you, like some long forgotten god. 

You’d reminded him then of a deer caught by surprise, big eyes and searching gaze pulling him in, something skittish and troublesome looming around you. 

It wasn’t in Joel’s nature to bother folks on the street anyway, but he suspected if he even cracked the door open you’d go flying down the street in a cloud of warmed sun, just like a deer that hears the first snap of a branch under a hunter’s foot. 

Eventually you’d moved on, and he’d tried not to feel too bad about it, not that he had any real reason to. 

His hand had itched as you walked away, to pick up a paint brush or a pencil or a whittling knife.

To his surprise, you start coming back all the time. A least once a week, and sometimes it seemed like you came by just to come by, like you didn’t have any other reason to be out. 

His girls notice, too, when they visit because of course they do. 

Sarah is kinder about it than Ellie who tells him to man up and talk to you. 

He just tells her to mind her own business, watching you look at the things he’d created with wonder and reverence. It flatters him, really, makes an embarrassing blush he’ll never admit to heat his chest. He considers himself a pretty average artist. 

But each time he thinks about following Ellie’s advice, he sees your doe eyes and knows he’d frighten you. 

There’s a drawing that hangs in the window now—several actually—of a doe with wide, curious eyes, not necessarily afraid but cautious. He can’t seem to stop painting, drawing, whittling deer.  

One deer really, a very particular doe that bees seemed to want to follow. 

He wonders if you know that that painting in the front window is of you, if you recognize yourself. You surely don’t, because you keep coming by. 

“Since when are you so obsessed with deer?” Sarah asks one evening. The light has faded from the sky in an orange and red blaze, the close blanket of night wreathing the street outside, street lamps buzzing haloing yellow light in patches down the sidewalk. 

“Always liked deer,” he comments, mumbling it more than anything. 

Sarah rolls her eyes. “Sure.” 

He’s right not to disturb you though. The day he finally gets the chance to say hello to you, when Sarah had insisted on washing the front window free of the accumulated summer dust despite his protests that he would do it, fear darts behind your eyes, nervousness seizing your shoulders. You don’t so much as look at him, head ducked, feet carrying you swiftly down the road away from him. 

A thread of worry that you’d stop coming by wrapped around his chest until the next week when you’d again lodged yourself in the window, peering in at the ever rotating catalog of his work. 

He figures that’s fine for now.

He’d rather you be there, unreachable on the other side of the glass, than have you disappear entirely.  

You are a creature of distrust. Of longing and starved skin, of loneliness and want. You aren’t sure where those things begin and you end, you aren’t sure where it started. Maybe you had been born that way, shoved onto the Earth and into existence with a mistrust of the world that shaped you into an infinitely lonely thing, an incredibly wary thing. 

There’s always been something missing inside you, that might let you bridge that chasm inside you, climb to the other side and put yourself in someone else’s hands and hope they didn’t burn the path behind you. 

Maybe you are skittish and adverse to touch by nature. Maybe it started when you were a kid, with your parents who have never been tactile, not even when you were a child, not even when you were hurt or in pain.

But you aren’t sure, you have never been sure. 

What you do know is that it's left behind a raw hole, aching with a loneliness you can't figure out how to battle.

The times you had slipped your heart into someone else’s palm, wet and sticky with blood, the viscera of who you are, admitting to the pain that vibrated always at a low level frequency below your skin, you regretted it.

Mostly because you’re never able to explain it. It just is. You just are. 

It’s who you’ve always been, and sometimes one step forward necessitated two steps back with how much you could handle. 

Touch wasn’t even always bad, sometimes it was just too much. And no one wanted or tried to understand that sometimes it just felt too good, overwhelmed you to the point of exhaustion, and sometimes to pain. 

You’ve always wondered if there would ever be anyone who’s touch felt safe, felt like it belonged. 

The aversion you have to touch and the deepening trust issues that grew wilder every year were only solidified by your last boyfriend, by the tattoo he carved into your skin. He confirmed everything you ever needed to know about yourself, that you were not worth cracking the code on, that no one would ever be willing to try to handle you with care, to expose you slowly, to meet you halfway. To know when you asked not to be touched that you weren’t mad or punishing them. 

If he wasn’t willing to put up with you, he’d said, to figure it out, then no one else would be. 

You swore off having a relationship, content in the loneliness that you were destined to have claw at your heart, at least in that way. 

But with that tattoo came too a deep mistrust, an aversion to anyone getting too close to you, a swearing off, a final nail in the coffin of trying for things to be thrown back in your face. He’s the reason you moved to this tiny town, away from Austin and all the memories that he’d left in you like jagged shards of mirror, reflecting everything you didn’t want to see. 

Before he tattooed you, you’d been tattooed several times before. The experience had always been good, one of the few ways you didn’t mind being touched. It had always been the making of a happy memory for you. And he had taken that from you. 

He hadn’t just stolen something you loved from you, but shut the door on vulnerability or intimacy with almost anyone. 

Joel Miller’s tattoo studio, his stupidly attractive hands, the deep drawl of his howdy, and most of all the beauty of his art in the front window of the shop, captures your mind, ensnares your every thought. It’s woven a net around all the thoughts and worries that normally flutter around your head and calls for them to be silent. 

“All I do is think about this damn tattoo,” you say to a friend back in Austin one evening, phone squished between your shoulder and your face as you cook dinner. “Is that normal? Like, I can’t just go get one somewhere else, by anyone else.” 

No one knew about the sharp fanged demons that lingered in your past. The distrust and loneliness that ate out parts of your heart, bite by bite, year by year. But Leah does know about your ex, about the tattoo on your shoulder that still aches with long healed pain.  

“You said it looks like he does walk-ins, right?” She asks, not unkindly. “Why not just go talk to him for a bit,” she eases you into it. “See if it might be the right fit. I know. . .things in your past haven’t been easy. But he might be alright. I can go with you, if you think that might help.” 

And that doesn’t seem so bad. Just talking to him doesn’t seem so bad. You find that you want to. Then you would know if you couldn’t be tattooed by him, no matter how much you admired his art. Leah reminds you again of the nice google reviews, the funny little captions on his instagram posts, that he is not your ex even if he is a stranger. 

“He’s running a business,” she says gently. “It isn’t like then.” 

She’s right, you know she is, and you miss the experience, you miss getting tattooed. 

So, the next morning you brace yourself and make the now familiar walk to the little studio, picking up an iced coffee to sip on the way so you hopefully won’t be too sweaty in the early morning sun that blooms rose pink on the horizon. It gives your hands something to do too, and you fidget with the rim of the plastic lid as you walk. 

When you push the door open, Joel is standing at the counter. He has glasses perched on the end of his nose and is paging through a leather bound appointment book that sits next to an ancient computer that looks as though it hasn’t been switched on in a decade.

Something about the sight makes your shoulders loosen just a bit. You certainly hadn’t expected him to look like that, domestic and relaxed and calm. His pen scratches across the paper, a landline phone slotted against his ear. 

He glances up at you in the still open doorway, surprise pulling over his features for a brief moment before he makes a hasty end to the call. It makes heat crawl up your body, the way his attention latches onto you and sticks. “Hey,” he greets when he sits the phone back into the cradle, sliding the glasses off. “I’ve been wonderin’ when you’d finally come in.” 

There’s something light in the rough, drawling timber of his voice, like he’s trying not to startle you, like he’s inexplicably glad you’re there. 

You stiffen and he chuckles, cold air pulsing around you in the doorway before you finally step fully into the shop and let it swing closed behind you. You remain there, just inside the door, trying not to feel like a fish in a barrel, easily caught, even more easily killed. “Caught me, huh?” You try to keep your voice light, waiting for a striking arrow that would never come.  

“S’alright. Thought maybe you just walked this way a lot but you always stop to look,” he gestures at the front window. “My daughter is the one that’s always changin’ it around.” 

“I appreciate her efforts,” you say, taking a hesitant step forward. “I look forward to seeing the changes. Best part of my week.” 

He nods, looking just a tad embarrassed, and then closes the appointment book, giving you his undivided attention. “Lookin’ to get tattooed?” His eyes trace over your exposed skin, noting the few you already have. 

“Maybe,” you answer, giving a half-shrug that you hope comes across as nonchalant. “I saw on instagram that you’re, uh, taking appointments.”

“That I am,” he answers easily. 

You swallow and glance around the studio. It’s as tiny as it seemed from the outside, but homely and comfortable. The walls are a deep green that remind you of forests you’ve never seen. The walls are covered in photos and art, both created and bought, the styles too different to have been made by the same person. 

When you squint closer, you see that a few of them have tiny plaques beneath them, etched with names and dates. Shelves line the walls filled with knick knacks and children’s drawings in frames, and what appear to be family photos. One shelf is stacked with records and coffee table books, an ancient turntable perched precariously on top. A door is propped open behind the dark wooden counter, through which you can see the actual tattooing space, clean and sterile looking. 

A lone guitar is hung on the wall, and you wonder if he plays. Your imagination conjures up hands that you’ve been studying for weeks softly plucking at the strings, curling around the bridge. 

It’s shameful, the way your body flushes at the thought, the ghost of strummed notes floating in the air around you.  

“Darlin’?” 

Joel’s voice pulls your eyes away from the guitar and back to his face. Embarrassment drops like hot coal into the pit of your belly. You like the shape of that word in his mouth. 

“I just wanted to stop in and see if maybe we’d be a good fit,” you explain hastily, not thinking about the words before they fall like broken promises from your lips. “If you’d be interested in tattooing me.” Before he can open his mouth to respond, you continue, “That wasn’t what I—I don’t mean to take up any of your time. Just if you have a moment. I should have messaged maybe—” 

Joel waves you down and gestures around at the empty space. “No, it’s alright, hardly got anyone comin’ through here. Next appointment ain’t ‘til this afternoon.” He reaches below the counter, callused fingers catching on another notebook which he sets on the counter with care. 

You follow the motion of his hands, your eyes snapping back to his when he continues, “What are you lookin’ to get done?” The knot of anxiety in your chest loosens a little when he seems to take your nerves for concern over the piece you want done. 

Joel’s hands are ones that are familiar to you now after all the times you’d spent looking at the spare pictures of them online. That want, the heat, crawls back up inside your lungs and curls up to stay, making a home among the throbbing tendon and muscle. Though you’d glimpsed him that day on the street, it's a very different experience to stand for an extended period in front of him. His voice paired with the broad set of his shoulders, the cut of his brown eyes focused on you, all adds up to something devastating. 

Another vinegary squirm of nerves in your gut is accompanied by your treacherous heart squeezing tight in your chest, battering something long abused, long closed off. 

“You can show me reference pictures if you’ve got ‘em,” he offers when you don’t respond again, instead just looking at him, his presence calming in a way you can’t really explain. You blink and pull out your phone, approaching the counter slowly. The ice in your half finished coffee rattles as you set it on the counter, away from the appointment book so the condensation won’t accidentally get on it. 

Joel unsettles you, but not in a way that people usually unsettle you. Not in the way your ex-boyfriend had from the very beginning. Instead of feeling the need to flee, you feel the urge to stay. 

You show Joel the inspiration pictures you’ve been collecting the last few weeks, swiping slowly through what you have saved in your camera roll and describing what you imagine as best you can. When you lean closer to show him, the scent of clove and cinnamon and leather washes over you. The smell makes you a little dizzy, runs circles around your head. 

His brow is furrowed, concentration etched into his features. “I’ll need some time to work out some designs for ya.”

“That’s alright,” you nod, watching those rough fingers sketch broad lines in the notebook he’d pulled out. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, don’t know where my manners went. I didn’t get your name,” he says, and glances up at you. “I’m Joel,” he holds out a hand.

Sweetheart. You’ll be hearing the low timber of his voice whispering that and darlin’ in your dreams, you’re sure of it. 

You find yourself smiling, your mouth involuntarily pulling up at the corners. You take his hand without thinking. His hand is warm and firm; his fingers engulf yours.

He hums as he takes his hand back, pencil already between his fingers again, and you’re left feeling chilled, like there’s an empty space in the middle of your hand that needs filled. “Real pretty name y’got.” 

Oh. You like the hum of pleasure in your chest that chases the nerves below your skin. It’s a pleasant kind of warm.

“You can send ‘em on to me on that. . .app,” he grumbles. And you have to laugh. Between the landline phone, the physical calendar book, and that app he sounds just like the kind of cranky that you find endearing. “Uh, just so you know if you get a reply that don’t sound like me, it’s because my daughter runs it for me.” 

“Sarah,” you guess, thinking of the young woman you’d seen cleaning the window. 

“Ellie, actually. She thinks she’s a goddamn comedian.” He rolls his eyes, but you don’t miss the affection lodged in his gaze. He gestures at one of the pictures framed on a shelf where two teenage girls are slotted on either side of him. “Got two of ‘em,” he clarifies. “Sarah—she does the window. You saw her that day you passed by, the taller one there in the picture.” 

You tilt your head, Joel’s eyes following the motion. “They help you run this place.” 

“They’re my marketing team,” he grumbles. “Self-appointed, if you couldn’t guess.” 

You find yourself leaning on the counter, watching Joel’s pretty hands sketch absentmindedly. “That actually sounds like fun.” 

“They seem to think so,” he agrees, glancing up at the same time you do. A touch of pink colors the high points of his cheeks. The delicate little shading makes something warm curl into your gut. “Anyway,” he clears his throat. “We don’t get a lot of foot traffic around here, you might have noticed. Ellie’s thinkin’ that account might lure people up from Austin.” 

You nod. “It’s a good idea. People have traveled further for tattoos. And we aren’t too out of the way up here.”

“I take it you live around here,” he glances down again, like he finds looking at you hard. 

“Not far,” you confirm. “That’s how I found you.”

He goes silent for a moment, fingers continuing to twitch around the pencil before he looks back at you. “I’ll, uh, have somethin’ to ya in a couple a’ days. You can let me know if you want any changes and we’ll set a date.” 

You straighten, feeling only slightly dismissed. “Oh, yeah, sure. Thank you.” You start to turn when you remember yourself. That’s not really what you came here for. “Actually, listen, I don’t want to waste your time. You don’t need to start on anything. Not yet. I’m not sure just yet, I just wanted to meet you. I really admire your art.” 

You leave it at that. Pouring out all your other issues would just make you look insane. 

Joel raises a curious brow at you, waiting, a question in his eyes that he doesn’t ask as you take a step back. “Alright,” he agrees. “I won’t start on anythin’ just yet.” 

“Okay,” you back further away, trying desperately not to turn and run, aware you must look odd. “I’ll see you around.” 

“I hope so, honey.” 

Though the tattoo shop is cold, heat that rivals the temperature outside dissolves the bones in your chest from the way his eyes linger on you.

But that want—need—is within reach now, and something tells you that you can trust him. 

At least with this. 

Joel sees you more often after the first day you actually come into the shop. 

Well—

He supposes he sees you about the same amount, but now you actually come inside. You always pause in the doorway for half a second, those watchful doe eyes going wide, like your instincts always kick in a second too late.

But once you make it inside, you talk to him, share snippets of your life as you watch him draw, eyes focused on his hands. 

You breakup the monotony of his days, those times between appointments and the few walk-ins that he does see. 

Sometimes, most times, you bring him coffee from the shop at the end of the road, and he hates that you feel obligated to bring something for him. “For letting me hang around,” you always say. 

Most times he feels like he’s trying not to scare you away, like one wrong move will send you bolting right back out the door. But he comes to rely on your presence, the sunshine earthy smell you bring inside with you, the cautious questions and wide eyes, the way you dart to your feet and disappear the second a sign of work for him appears, even if he wouldn’t mind you waiting, taking up room in the tiny front room. 

Joel has to wonder what happened to you, if anything, or if you’re just a nervous person. Maybe it’s just in your nature to be distrustful. He doesn’t mind you coming in all the time, in fact he likes it, hates the empty spaces you now leave behind. The studio seems impossibly empty and cavernous without you around now, asking about the guitar on the wall, about where he learned to draw, about his girls. 

Still, summer passes by slowly, like a jar of molasses catching sun in a window. He watches you come and go, watches you get to know him through tiny encounters that loosen your shoulders more each time you stop in.

He doesn’t tell you that he spends most evenings working on a design for that tattoo you may or may not get, that he has a dozen different versions of it clogging up his notebook. 

He figures if you don’t end up getting it tattooed then he can just give you some of the sketches to keep. 

Like he’d ever find a damn way to do that without feeling like a fool. 

Toward the end of summer, with heat still burning up all the air in Texas and showing no signs of abating, you push the door open with your chin lifted and a smile on your face. Heat, like the rush of burning air from an oven, whips around you and into the shop. 

He tells himself the heat is why his mouth suddenly feels dry. He tells himself it has nothing to do with how your ass looks in those jeans you always wear or the curve of your hips in the snug fit or the tank top that shows off your shoulders and arms and chest. All topped off with you smiling at him. 

“Hey Joel,” you greet, crossing the studio in a couple strides where you deposit a cup of coffee onto the counter next to his hand. He likes the way you say his name, breathy and quick. “I think I’m ready.”

“Ready?” He questions, bewildered. 

His mind takes a moment to catch up to what you mean. The tattoo. You’re ready to get your tattoo. 

And Joel becomes aware that he is distinctly not ready for that. Because then what excuse will you have to stop by so often? “Right now?” He asks. 

You smile. “Not at this exact moment, obviously,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “Just…generally. Whenever you have time for me. I know you’ll need time to work on a design. I’ll send the inspiration photos to the instagram account so you can look at them again.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, the notebook with your designs tucked under the counter burning a hole in the corner of his vision. “Shouldn’t take too long.” 

Your smile widens. “Thanks. I can’t hang around today.” You wave a hand back in the direction of the front window, “Errands to run. I just wanted to say that I really love the new painting.” 

“The—”

“The new deer. She’s beautiful. More confident than the other ones. I think, or maybe it’s the same. I really like the new one though. You’ve been doing a lot of deer lately.”

He swallows and nods. “Yep.”

Your head tilts to the side before you take a step back, anxiety pulling at your face. “Okay,” you say, your voice noticeably smaller. “Well, I’ll see you around. I’ll message Ellie.” 

Before he can stop you, you’ve bolted out the door. 

He sighs and rolls his shoulders back as he watches you walk down the street in the honeyed sunshine. When you’re finally out of sight, he pulls the sketchpad out and starts on yet another design. 

“Dude, you’ve got it baaaaaad,” Ellie accuses as she sets a platter of fried chicken on the dining room table. “He didn’t even ask for a fucking deposit!” 

“No deposit?” Sarah asks, adding a bowl of salad next to the plate. “That’s just bad business practice, dad.” 

Joel rolls his eyes. “Not everyone takes deposits.” 

The girls glance at each other. “Yeah, but you usually do. You told me not to ask for one!” 

He grumbles under his breath, settling at the table, just glad that his girls were there at all. He’d half expected the standing weekly dinner to fizzle out once he moved out of Austin, but they always made the drive up, or he went down to them each Friday. 

His girls had their own lives, Sarah still in college, Ellie still trying to find her footing as an apprentice at a tattoo studio in the city.

“Did she seem interested?” 

Joel assumes Sarah is asking about the tattoo. 

You seemed exactly as he’d thought. A little nervous and wary, but mostly curious and eager. He’d been blushing like a kid, the warmth you always tugged along with you into the shop no match for the air conditioning. 

“Yeah,” he answers, shrugging. “Ellie’d know more than me—”

“I mean does she seem interested in you?” 

Joel glances sharply up to find both his kids grinning at him. “I’m talkin’ about the damn tattoo,” he says, exhaling sharply through his nose before he reaches for a plate. 

“Well, that’s obvious,” Sarah mutters with a roll of her eyes. 

“Yeah, c’mon, man,” Ellie leans back in her chair. “Isn’t she there, like, every fucking day?” 

Joel frowns at her. “Manners,” he reminds her. 

He gets an eye roll from her too, before she tilts her chair back down onto all four legs. 

“Watch it,” he says, “Your eyes are gonna get stuck like that.” 

“Joel—”

“She’s nervous enough as it is,” he grumbles. “Never met someone s’damn skittish.” 

“What, like a horse?” 

“Like a deer,” he corrects. “She don’t need me makin’ passes at her. I think she’s just now comin’ around to the idea of trustin’ me so don’t say something stupid to her.” He directs the last bit to Ellie. “Clear?” 

She spears a piece of chicken. “Clear,” she grumbles. 

“I think she likes you dad,” Sarah says, primly cutting into the chicken on her own plate. “I don’t think she’d mind it.”

Ellie sends you scans of a couple designs two days after you abruptly tell Joel you’re ready to get tattooed. It’s accompanied by a message that makes something in you squirm in such a pleasant way that you worry there might be wrong with you. 

the old man told me you know i manage the account for him. he’s really excited about this one and can’t wait to tattoo you. he worked on the design for weeks - ellie 

Another message pops up almost immediately after the first. 

don’t tell him i told you that

A warmth that has nothing to do with your open balcony door and the heat pouring into your apartment floods your veins. He’d said he’d need to work something out for you.

The two designs she sends are beautiful, and it's easy to see not only the talent but the time he put into them. Clearly he’d been working on a design since you first talked to him all those weeks ago. 

Your whole body goes awash with heat, warming you pleasantly from the inside out. 

You message her back to figure out the day and time, before flopping your phone face down on the couch, a nervous thrumming centering in your body. It folds your veins up into anxious little knots. The phantom echo of his low, drawling voice reverberates around your brain, the casual little sweethearts and darlin’s he throws your way kicking your heart into overdrive, a skittering pounding knocking against your ribs.

A thrill goes up your spine. At the prospect of a new tattoo, at the thought of spending so much uninterrupted time with Joel, of his hands on you. 

The last thought jolts you a little. 

That that’s something you’re looking forward to. 

You aren’t expecting another message, not after finalizing a date only a few days in the future. But your phone buzzes again, yet another message waiting for you.

just a heads up - joel said you’ll have to sit for two or three sessions. he doesn’t want to wear you out. 

Well, at the very least he was more considerate than the last man to tattoo you. 

A rare rain splashes down the morning of your appointment, driving away the humidity that had curled in the air like a choking wraith the last few days and cooling the temperature down to something mild. It’s the first false start of what will always turn out to be a warm fall. 

You take your time getting ready just to ease your nerves, hydrating and eating a bigger breakfast than you normally do. 

In the afternoon, the walk to the studio is dreary. The street smells like petrichor and summers long gone. The gloom only makes the interior of the shop feel more cozy. 

And more intimate. 

When you push the door open, Joel’s daughter, Ellie, is standing at the counter complaining loudly about how old fashioned Joel is as she slowly pages through the leather bound appointment book that seems to never leave the side of the ancient computer you suspect is rarely, if ever, switched on. She seems to be logging appointments from her phone into the book. 

Her eyes snap to you the moment the door swings shut, then glances at the clock. “Early,” she says. “Joel is still setting up.” 

“That’s okay,” you say, pointedly sitting down on the leather sofa that takes up most of the floor space of the front room. “I can wait.” 

You snap your mouth shut to avoid the waterfall of words that want to cascade from your lips. Nerves tingle under your skin, buzz lowly just beneath the surface. 

Waiting makes you hot, makes heat rise from your skin in painful waves, as your anxiety continues to crest. 

At the counter Ellie snaps the appointment book shut, now grumbling about Joel’s chicken scratch, when you peel off your sweatshirt. “Oh,” she says, surprised. “I didn’t know you had tattoos already.” 

You jump a little, eyes flashing to the woman leaning on the dark wooden counter. Her chin is propped in her hand. You aren’t quite sure what to make of that, that she thought you didn’t have any. 

“Yeah,” you stand and move closer to the counter. Maybe she’s just trying to distract you. “Why is that such a surprise?” You smile and offer her your arm. “I not look like the type?” 

“Joel just said you were nervous,” she says, turning your arm in her hand, inspecting the tattoo on the top of your shoulder, and then the one that wraps around your bicep. “So I figured it was your first.” 

Joel had talked to his daughter about you. 

Maybe he talked to her about all his clients; she did manage the instagram account for the shop after all. 

“I’m always a little uneasy beforehand.” 

Your excuse is weak but Ellie doesn’t call you on it. Her eyes are latched onto the tattoo over your shoulder, the one your ex had done. You know what she’s seeing, how a few of the lines are blown out, how it healed badly. 

She releases your wrist with a nod, her eyes more knowing than you would like. “Scared of the pain?” 

“No,” you shake your head. “It doesn't hurt much, usually. It's relaxing more than anything.” You nod to the tattoo on your shoulder. “But, that one was the last and it did hurt and, uh, it put me off getting more for awhile.” 

She looks it over for a minute, brows furrowing at what you know is shoddy work. Your gaze slides to the tattoo on Ellie’s forearm. “You don’t have to worry about that with the old man,” she informs you and releases your arm, her tone serious. “He might not look it, but he’s got a light touch.” 

Before you can respond, Joel emerges from the back, rubbing his hands together as he glances between the two of you, his eyes wary. “Ellie,” he says, his voice that low gravel. “You stickin’ around, kiddo?” 

“Nope.” She stabs a finger into the top of the appointment book, “Get fucking rid of this.” She grabs her jacket and hops up onto the counter, swinging herself over it, as Joel snaps at her not to. “Too late,” she chirps already out the door. “See you Friday.” 

When you turn back to Joel, those splotches of pink and cresting red are back in his cheeks and neck and you have to wonder if he heard what Ellie had said. “That girl,” he grumbles. “Come on around here, darlin’,” he gestures with a roll of his eyes. “You don’t have to climb over the counter like a wild animal.” 

You round the end of the counter and follow Joel into the back room where he’s already meticulously prepped everything. He sits on a rolling stool and gestures you in front of him. “I take it you already know the drill?” He asks. 

You hum in affirmation and try not to jump when his hand brushes yours. “Easy,” he mumbles, almost to himself. It doesn’t stop a flare of heat from spiking in your blood. “You already decided on your left forearm, right?” 

“Yeah,” you answer, holding your arm out to him.

You wonder what it is about Joel that makes him so magnetic, that makes him feel so safe. His hand, already in a sterile glove, slides around your wrist to hold you steady while he cleans your skin thoroughly. The sharp scent of antiseptic blooms around you, chasing away the clove and leather scent that usually lingers around Joel. “You alright?” He asks, glancing up at you to watch your face. 

“Yep,” you answer tightly. 

“Alright,” he agrees warily, like he doesn’t quite believe you. “I’m gonna haveta shave the area.” 

You nod, you already knew that, and watch him pick up a disposable pink bic razor from the tray to his left. Despite having gone through this whole thing more than a few times before, this feels different, it feels more intimate and reserved. 

He drags the razor over your skin slowly, carefully, then sanitizes your skin again when he’s finished, the cool flush of the moisture against your skin almost shocking. You go back and forth about the placement of the stencil. Your body tenses when you waffle for what feels like too long. You expect him to get frustrated with you but he doesn’t. His voice remains unbothered and patient. 

Maybe your standards are in hell, maybe he’s just being a proper tattoo artist like all the others that had tattooed you before your ex, but it still makes a knot form in the back of your throat.

Eventually Joel presses the stencil into your skin when you give the go ahead. He rubs at it gently, warming your chilled skin, before he peels it away. The warmth of his touch is surprisingly soothing, the loss of it leaving you cold. “If it ain’t right, we can do it again,” he says, jerking his chin at the mirror in the corner, the picture of calm. “Go on and take a look and let me know.”

You both agree the placement looks good, and then comes the moment when you have to climb onto the table and put yourself in his hands. You will have to lie there and let another person touch you, albeit professionally. It doesn’t make it any better, any easier. 

Your skin is so empty, so hungry, and Joel’s attention makes you feel like wax held too close to heat. 

It already feels like too much and he’s barely touched you. 

A cold prickle of fear slides down your spine too, pulling your shoulders in tight. The last time you did this you—

“You comfortable?” Joel is watching you, his eyes shaded and attentive. 

You nod, aware that you are the picture of uncomfortable as Joel changes his gloves. Your hands are in fists, your spine hard and tense. All the air seems to have been sucked out of the room, cold and sterile and icy in your lungs.

“I ain’t touchin’ you until you relax,” he says when he turns back to you, settling next to you on a stool, hand hovering over the tattoo gun on the tray by his elbow. “You don’t gotta—”

“I am relaxed,” you interrupt in a bite, harsher than you mean to. You grit your teeth, your hand only curling into a tighter fist. 

“Sweetheart you’re as taut as a bowstring,” he says gently. “Take a couple breaths.”

You do and your heart rate slows. Now isn’t like then. Now is different. “Good,” he says and the praise slides warm against you. “I’m gonna touch you now.” 

You nod and the buzz of the tattoo gun starts, his free hand curls over your fist, warm and reassuring and so present it makes tears sting at the backs of your eyes. You realize then that Joel has been touching you quite a lot, and that you haven’t exactly minded. 

“Relax, I got you,” he reassures. “You’ll tell me if you need a break,” he says and it’s not a question. 

You nod anyway, not sure which part you’re agreeing with. 

Joel talks while he tattoos you, mainly about his kids, his two daughters who are clearly his entire world, the point that his life hinges on. 

The pride in his voice, the love there, makes you smile. 

Joel is much chattier than usual. 

Normally you talk his ear off while he works as he silently listens and nods along. Joel is the gruff quiet type, not that you much mind. You’d expected to sit in relative silence, to listen to the rain still drumming against the roof and the low hum of the tattoo gun. 

Listening to his voice is a welcome change. You would listen to him read from a dictionary. 

Sarah is from his first marriage, Ellie adopted. Sarah is going to college— “Gonna be a doctor someday,” he says proudly. “For kids. Pediatrician.” Ellie is following in Joel’s footsteps, apprenticing as a tattoo artist. “Hope it's what she wants to do,” he says, equally as proud. “She’s got some art out there on the wall—well, I’ll point it out later, much better than mine—it took me long enough to make this switch.” 

“What did you do before?” You ask as Joel swipes a damp paper towel across your skin. Ellie had been right, he does have a light touch, a gentle touch. 

“Carpenter,” he answers, and you can’t decide if the way he squeezes your wrist is conscious or not. “Long hours, hard work.”

So you’d been right about the look of his hands. Hands that so carefully held yours as his other drew over your skin. “Mm,” you hum distractedly. “What convinced you to take the jump?” 

“My girls convinced me. Gettin’ outta Austin helped. Havin’ the money to finally slow down.” He chuckles to himself. “That’s why the marketin’ is a little ridiculous. Moved all the way out here just to complain about the foot traffic.”  

You find yourself smiling, watching the flex of tendon in his forearms as he works. His mouth is set in a concentrated line, a divot between his brows. “Looks like you’re doing alright.” 

“We manage,” he says with a groan, straightening from his position hunched over your arm. Something in his back creaks and then cracks before he goes back to work. “Although I regret not startin’ a little younger. My brother, Tommy, manages our business now.” 

“Carpentry business?” 

“That’s right,” he hums, leaning in closer to your arm, his breath ghosts over your arm, goosebumps racing across your skin. You swallow and your hand clenches reflexively beneath his. “You doin’ alright?” 

You wonder if he knows his hand is still cupped over yours, if he can feel the racing of your heart beneath his fingers. Maybe he did that with all his clients, just a way to steady himself and you. 

You don’t expect him to be looking at you when you lift your eyes back to his face. 

Heat blooms in your chest, the flutter of wings beating against your ribs. “Mhm,” you give a nervous hum, trying not to show the feathering thoughts that float like down through your mind, swirling and impossible to bat down. 

“Y’have to tell me if you need to take a break.” 

“I don’t,” you say quickly, wondering if you should explain yourself a little, if it would be better or worse for Joel to know exactly how fucking nerotic you are. 

It shouldn’t matter if he thinks you’re crazy or not. 

But it does. 

“Just…I’m not so good with touch,” you admit. “I never have been and my last tattoo was…”

You aren’t sure how to phrase it, so you stop and look at his hands again. His hand swallows yours, barely any of your skin visible beneath his touch. You wait for your skin to prickle, for the urge to rip your hand away to swim up the back of your throat, but it never comes. “I’m fine, really. I’d tell you if I needed to stop.” 

“I know it,” he says, not blinking, watching you carefully. “I’m just checkin’.” He looks back down, adjusting his grip before he continues, his thumb sweeping over your wrist. “Was it the one on your shoulder?” 

“What?” 

“The tattoo that was a bad experience?” 

You suck in a deep breath through your nose and look away from the top of his head, away from the graying brown that makes your belly clench and the butterflies that live permanently in your chest swing back to life.

The breath you pull in does nothing to steady you, instead flooding your senses with the clean woodsy smell of him. It’s dizzying. “That easy to tell?” You sigh. 

“Just a few of the lines are blown out,” he says, not unkindly. “Thought maybe an apprentice did it or somethin’.” Joel’s voice is mild, only lightly prying, an extended hand that you could lie a pearl truth in if you wanted to. 

The nerves subside a little. “Apprentices aren’t usually that bad,” you joke. 

“No,” he agrees. “Ellie’d never get ya like that. Shouldn’t be tattooing on people yet if you’re gettin’ ‘em like that.”

He doesn’t ask what actually happened, but you find yourself answering anyway. You find that his hand still securely over yours acts like an anchor rather than a weight. 

“I had bruises for a couple weeks after,” you admit. “It hurt. He wanted it to hurt. And it healed really badly.”

Joel’s hand pauses, the needle lifting away from your skin, but he doesn’t look up. A long moment passes, and his voice comes out in a forced calm. “Who wanted it to hurt, honey?” 

“My ex,” you say and Joel leans back, dark eyes flashing to yours. “He wasn’t my ex then, obviously. He wanted to tattoo me, but he wanted it to be his name. I wasn’t going to do that. He wanted to compromise for initials but I just…couldn’t. Something about it felt wrong. I let him—” you wave your free hand at your shoulder. “—do that. And…I don’t know what happened,” you say. “I think he wanted to brand me. He wanted to leave a piece of himself on me, whether I wanted it or not.”

Joel doesn’t say anything for a while, just blinks away from you and slowly leans over your arm again to continue working. 

The tattoo your ex did is the only one that ever hurt, but Joel is gentler than you remember. Or, maybe you simply can’t remember the other times as well, pain of the most recent one blotting out the memory. 

“I don’t want you to think about this like that,” Joel says eventually, not looking up. “I don’t.” 

“What do you mean, Joel?” 

His hand stills, his fingers flexing around your wrist, thumb subconsciously sliding against the side of your wrist. “I mean—I’m not puttin’ something of mine on you,” he says. You frown and open your mouth to protest. “I made it for you. This is yours,” he says adamantly.  

You watch him for a long moment, not sure what to say, an emotion you can’t name welling up into the back of your mouth, swollen and trembling. 

“I want you to think about it like that,” he says, looking up at you from beneath his lashes, his mouth a hard line. “I’m not markin’ you, because it's not mine. It’s yours. It’s for you.” 

You just nod, not trusting yourself to speak. 

You avert your eyes, blinking away the water that crests against the edges of your lash line. 

Though you’ve been bothering Joel for the better part of the summer, you don’t really know much about him. Today is the most he’s talked, about himself or otherwise. All you know is that he makes you feel oddly safe, that he has gone out of his way to try to make you feel comfortable. You can hear the words he doesn’t say, the quiet anger that vibrates under the surface of it. What happened to you was wrong, I would not do that to you. 

He wants you to believe he’s gifting you something, and you suppose he is.

You remember Ellie’s message, how she’d said he’d been working on the design for weeks. You think of every moment you spent hanging around his shop for the last few weeks while he worked on a design for you, never saying a word about it, knowing you might decide not to get tattooed. 

“Joel,” you murmur, carefully lying your free hand on his shoulder. Muscle flexes beneath your hand, thick and warm. “I know you wouldn’t do that. And you know I wanted to do this, right?”

Joel’s hand squeezes yours again. “I know it,” he shrugs and leaves it at that. 

Something unspoken passes between you though. He would not do that to you, but you also sense he would never let anyone else hurt you like that again either. 

You watch the feathering of his lashes against his cheeks, the firm set of his mouth, the way he keeps sliding his thumb over your wrist. You study his nose, the line of scar on the bridge, the hard ridge of his brow, the wrinkle that pulls at the skin of his forehead. 

“You don’t have to be mad about it,” you say. “I already have that covered. I think I’ve been angry for a long time.” 

The room is quiet, the sound of rain on the roof having abated in the hours you’d been there. Joel doesn’t say anything for another long moment, the only sound his breathing and yours, the sound of the tattoo gun buzzing its familiar tune. “I could, uh, fix some of it for ya,” he offers, eventually, leaning back to study the progress he’s made on your arm. “The lines where they’re blown out, we could think of somethin’ to blend it into.”

You look away again, not able to answer around the thick knot braided into your chest. You try swallowing around it, trying desperately to think of something to say. His hand is starting to feel a little heavy on yours. The aching clawing that is two steps back begins to threaten you. 

This time, unlike the others, you aren’t quite sure if you want him to stop touching you or for the feeling of his hand to melt into yours, if you’d just rather he became a part of you instead. 

You decide to try to ignore it, to focus on the nice parts of it all — how warm his skin is, the calluses you can feel, the scent of his skin and hair, so close you could press your nose into him if you leaned forward a little. 

“You have really nice hands,” you comment, entranced by the flex of muscle and vein and sinew even through the black nitrile gloves. 

Joel glances up, his face close to yours. You can see the threads of honeyed gold and warm hazel in his eyes, almost sun-spotted “That so?” He asks with a quirk of his brow, fingers tightening over your hand. 

You swallow, glancing away from his eyes to focus on anything else, and give a nervous hum. 

“You still alright?” He asks, his thumb slipping back and forth over the back of your hand. “Still comfortable?” When you just nod, suddenly too anxious and warm to do anything else, he leans back and releases your hand to strip off his gloves. “Let’s take a break.”  

The loss of his touch is—you aren’t sure what it is. 

You just know you hate it, and that has never happened before. 

“I’m alright,” you protest. 

“You’re startin’ to shake, which means you’re goin’ into shock. I’m sure Ellie told you this’d take more than one session,” he says, matter of fact about it. 

“She did,” you breathe. 

He grunts and offers you a hand down from the table. “Let’s get you wrapped up and then I’ll take you to get somethin’ to eat.” 

“Oh,” you say, surprise and that spark of warmth flooding you again. “And you do that for all your clients?” 

“Just the ones I like,” he deadpans, fitting a second skin over your tattoo before giving you the usual spiel about how to care for it once the second skin was removed. You hardly listen, thinking only about how Joel said he likes you. “But I assume you know all a’ that,” he says, twisting your arm. “And ya know where to find me if somethin’ ain’t right.” 

“Mhm,” you hum, trying not to let the disappointment show when he releases you again. “I’m something of an expert with tattoo care, I think.” 

“Three tattoos makes you an expert?” He asks, not looking at you as he meticulously cleans up.  

“Well, three that you can see.” 

He turns, eyes sliding over you. You’re awash in that warm feeling again, the one that is an anchor and not a weight. “You got more than three, honey?” 

You just smile and make a show of looking over the work he’d done on your arm, ignoring his question. 

Joel chuckles, “What else do you have?” 

“If I told you I’d have to kill you.” 

He laughs again and herds you out the back room when he’s finished cleaning up, keys jangling in his fist. “Shouldn’t I pay—”

“Nope. You’ll do that when it’s done. Should just need one more session.” 

“Joel really—” 

But you’re already out on the street, the door firmly closed behind you. You watch him lock up and then gesture you down the street with a jerk of his head. It’s dark outside, the sky still tinged with dark blue on the horizon. The road smells like heat and rain, like damp dust and lightning. 

“You really ain’t gonna tell me what other tattoos you got?” 

“You really ain’t gonna let me pay?” You ask, imitating the gruff cut of his voice. 

He rolls his eyes. “Alright, fine.” He walks away, leading you down the street, light from the streetlamps cartwheeling over his face, throwing his jaw and eyes into sharp relief and then plunging him into shadow. “C’mon now. You need somethin’ in you.” 

You’ve never ventured into the center of town after dark. You’re always at home long before that, curled on your balcony with something to read. 

Cicadas light the air with sound, the crisscross of wired lights spear butter yellow onto the pavement below where a bar is serving drinks and a local food truck still idles. 

Someone has set up a speaker that folks twirl each other around to, old country music, the good kind. Others park themselves on benches, chatting and eating. It’s nice. 

It makes you feel incredibly lonely, reminded of all the gaps in your life, all the places people should be, all the places love and familiarity should be. 

Before you can sink into that mire, Joel’s guiding you into line with a careful hand against your back. 

His palm is broad and warm, heating you from the inside out. It rivals the warmth pulsing around you, the leftover heat of the day leaching into you. 

“What d’ya want?” 

“Shouldn’t I get you something?” You offer. “You worked all day, I just laid there.” 

“I drew a nice picture,” he retorts. “You lost blood. Pick somethin’ sugary.”

“Bossy,” you comment, feeling alight with nerves as his fingers flex against your spine. 

“Mhm, that’s what Sarah and Ellie are always sayin’.” 

You glance at him—at the rough cut of his jaw, the thick tendon in his throat—and swallow, nerves pinching at your belly in a way you haven’t felt in a very long time. You press back, so his hand rests more firmly against your back and hope he doesn’t notice. If he does, he doesn’t say anything, just humors you by tracing his hand up and down your spine. “Maybe they’re onto something then.” 

“Definitely are.” He glances back down at you, “Pick somethin’ yet?” 

You look over the menu as the line inches forward, and pick something to drink. Something sugary, as Joel had demanded. 

But when he orders he makes a show of not letting you pay and ordering something for you to eat too. 

“You should after sittin’ for as long as you did,” he argues when you settle at one of the picnic tables. “You don’t gotta, just thought I’d offer it.” 

You and Joel face each other, one leg on either side of the bench, knees brushing. With each tiny touch, lightning zings up your spine, settles in amongst your bones and blood. You have a feeling you could lie all the bones and blood and viscera of yourself right at Joel’s feet and he wouldn’t so much as flinch. 

“Right,” you say, picking at one of the tacos he’d ordered. “I can see why you have such nice reviews on google if you’re taking your clients out on your dime after tattooing them.” 

“I wouldn’t say you’re that,” he scoffs.  

“Mm,” you nod, not sure exactly what he means by that. “What does that make me then?” 

You glance up at him and Joel just stares at you for a long moment, something unreadable passing behind his eyes. “You really not gonna tell me about your other tattoos?” He ignores your question to go back to his own. 

“Nope,” you take a sip of the lemonade you’d ordered. Despite what you said to Joel, you are exhausted, muscles still trembling in little starts, and the sugar does help. “But you can guess.” 

You know he won’t try to guess. He’s too gentlemanly, too mindful of his manners to go around pointing at body parts and guessing if there might be something inked there. 

Joel raises a brow, taking a bite of his own taco. “Are you using my manners against me?” 

You shrug, smiling. “Maybe.” 

“That ain’t playin’ fair,” he accuses, leaning in, the inside of his jean clad thigh brushing against the outside of yours. Your belly clenches, the center of you suddenly aching. 

“Who said anything about fair?” You manage. “Do you have any hidden tattoos?” 

He shakes his head and glances briefly up, like he’s asking for patience from the stars. But he doesn’t answer your question. 

It makes you smile. “Fine, you can keep yours a secret. I won’t pry,” you tease. 

“Mhm,” he grumbles again, ignoring your jibe. “You’re mighty brave tonight.” 

And suddenly your teasing feels dangerous, falls flat against the stone shore of Joel. The air seems to go frosty, a shiver raking down your spine as you shuffle back a little, suddenly aware of how close you are, how very brave you’ve been. You aren’t sure when Joel started to feel familiar to you. 

Since you first met him, you suppose. You’ve carved out a place on that rocky shore whether he wanted you to or not. 

“Sorry,” you say, starting to stand, thinking of how annoying you must have been all evening, all day, every single day you’ve taken up his time. You let him comfort you, plied him with trauma you’ve barely touched yourself, let him buy you something to eat against your better judgment when clearly it’s his manners that made him do so. “Don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’ll message Ellie to figure out the second session. Thanks for everything. You didn’t have to—”

“Your hip,” Joel says, curling his hand around your wrist so you can’t move any further away than you already have. You pause, your mind spinning as he clutches you gently. 

His voice is steady, like you’re a spooked animal that might dart away at any moment. 

“What?” 

“I bet you one of your other tattoos is on your hip,” he drawls. 

He squeezes your wrist again, now familiar and comforting. You fight the urge to pull your hand away, and instead let the feeling of his skin sink into yours, no cheap plastic gloves separating you now. You can properly feel the calluses on his fingertips, the catch of them against your skin, the soft center of his palm and the lines carved into his skin. 

“No,” you lower yourself to the bench again, a tentative smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “None on my hip.” 

“How many other one’s you got?” His hand stays around yours. 

“Two, not including my new one,” you say, laying a hand over the ink, your skin warm under your hand. “That’s my prettiest one, for sure. And it’s not even done.”

Joel ignores your compliment entirely, like he always seems to. His eyes rove over you, trying to guess the places you were inked, trying to picture it you would guess. It makes you squirm, the thought of him trying to imagine your bare skin, all the hidden places you might be tattooed.

He nods, his gaze heavy on you. 

“I’ll just have to keep guessin’ then,” he says, taking a long sip from your cup of lemonade. 

You glance away and bite the inside of your cheek. “You’ll be guessing a long time, I think.” 

“I’ve got time.” He releases your arm when you start to squirm under his attention, chest burning, lungs compressed into too small a space. Your chest doesn’t seem large enough to contain the feelings beating to life in your heart. “So long as you keep comin’ by.” 

A smile pulls at your mouth again, feeling unreasonably charmed. “Okay, fine, I’ll tell you what they are, but not where they are.”

“I ain’t askin’ you to,” he says, even as a smile tugs at the corners of his lips, mustache twitching, like this concession is the only thing he’s ever wanted for. 

“One is a honeybee,” you answer. “The other is antlers.” 

Joel goes still and doesn’t say anything for a moment. “A bee?” He asks, like he’s never heard of the creature before. “And…antlers. Like a deer?”

“Yeah, like a deer. With flowers and vines and moss all tangled around it.”

“Huh.” 

“What? Don’t like deer?” You smile. “Funny isn't it? You’ve been drawing them a lot the past few months.” 

He eyes you and then shakes his head, “Don’t like ‘em? Jesus Christ, no. I think I’m gettin’ to be real partial to deer.” 

💞 Thank you for reading! Comments and feedback are so appreciated. 💞

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

[florence-nomachine]

I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about Stu/Ghostface coming face to face with a horror fanatic female!reader character and she finds his whole Ghostface thing incredibly sexy ^^’

'Some Kind of Groupie' - Ghostface x Reader

A/N: YAY MY FIRST GHOSTFACE / Scream ASK! TYSM Anon, I’m going to be updating my header to say who I write for, but take this as a sign to ask for Scream related content :) 

I didn’t specify which Ghostface, so fill in the blanks…(Outside of one line, they’re silent in this anyway, which I think is hot) Also, Reader is implied to be a little unhinged but we love her. Enjoy!

Ghosts. Killers. Blood. Guts. 

Gore. 

You loved it. All of it.

Which was why you were sat calmly on your bed, a devilish look in your eye and a smirk on your face as you stared up at the figure in front of you. Sheathed in black with an unmistakable white mask and contorted features was the Ghostface, the fiend’s signature knife pointed out at you and aimed towards your exposed neck.

Others would tremble and beg for their life, but not you.

“I’ve heard all about you…” you said seductively. “You’re the killer who’s sweeping our town. You’ve killed a lot of people…”

The figure cocked their head. 

“I don’t blame you…” you said, playing with the strap of your nightie, your movements inviting by dragging the fabric down your bare skin. “…They probably deserved it,” 

The figure was likely going to kill you; but the sheer thought of being choked under their strong grip or motion of gloved hands smearing bloody remnants across your eager lips as you were ravished to death was enough to send a tingle down your spine and a heat straight to your pussy.

The masked individual was now looming over you, and you instinctively stopped touching your clothes. Using the blade of its knife, it hooked under the strip of fabric, slowly beginning to continue pulling it down for you, the tip of the blade grazing your skin ever so slightly.

Your heart practically leapt out of your chest. You wondered how long you’d been stalked; if they’d seen you fiddle with knives (for just a bit too long) when you were out at dinner with your friends, or how you were lined up front and centre at every new Craven or Carpenter release. Better yet, if they’d seen the way you’d touch yourself when you popped in a horror movie into the VCR, shoving your vibrator deeper into your pussy as the killer chased down the buxom blonde, her clothes ripping off in her panicked flurry. There was always something about how the victim would be cornered, and the killer; either an endearing psychopath or a deformed sleaze, would grab and pull at the body, walking that oh-so fine line between arousal and murder.

Nothing but your panties remained. The material didn’t last long around your legs, as the killer ran its gloved fingers up your thighs, stopping as it reached in between, rubbing the outside of your lips through the fabric. Its movements were greedy yet controlled, the leather creating a pleasurable pressure on your desperate cunt as the other hand ripped the sides of your underwear. You gasped at the sudden friction of pure leather on your bare skin, gasping as the figure motioned their fingers in circles around your clit, occasionally slipping into your folds.

There was no way you didn’t look like a complete slut. 

Ghostface’s movements began to increase, yet you noticed that the grip it had on its knife remained. It only made you hotter.

“Fuck,” you whimpered. “I-I’m gonna —”

Tsk.Tsk. So soon. What was the point in coming here if it wasn’t to take what was wanted?

The figure withdrew their hands, and your own instinctively went between your legs, hoping to finish yourself off with your fingers - an attempt that utterly failed as the knife blocked your path, the blade once again coming into dangerously close contact with your fingertips. In a swift motion and brutal display of strength, Ghostface grabbed your thighs and pulled your torso towards the edge of your bed, legs dangling off the edge to either side of the figure. Large hands spread your legs apart before releasing its cock, wasting no time in lining it up with your entrance. One hand remained firm on your hips whilst the other snaked up your body, making sure to grope your breasts before planting its grip around your neck.

“Don’t. Fucking. Move,” 

That was all you heard before you were thrust into, pussy stretched apart as the figure drew its hips in and out of you. Your bed creaked as your mouth remained agape, wanting to make a noise also but finding it to be utterly impossible to do so as the masked figure squeezed at your throat, hips slapping against your own. Its robes flapped around with every movement, tickling your bare skin as the threads of the fabric danced along your thighs, the gentle indirect activity a contrast to the bruising grip on your hips as the killer focused on pounding you.

No inch of you was left unexplored, reaching the point of overstimulation as the leather friction returned to your cunt, rubbing your clit as its cock continued to thrust into you, your juices beginning to leak down its throbbing vein. Ghostface thrusted deeper into you, large hands squeezing tighter at your neck to the point you may have passed out completely if it weren’t for the fact that you’d decided to lock your legs around its waist, drawing him deeper.

You wanted a killer’s hot cum; each and every drop. How funny would it be if you got knocked up? Not only because the father was an enigmatic, psychopathic murderer, but because you didn’t know who it was. It could’ve been anyone; perhaps the blonde or brunette you’d seen by the fountain, or the Tarantino fan in your friends’ film class, or the local music video director…Even an Econ student.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you reached orgasm, a Pandora’s Box of possibilities swirling around your head. The sensation was unimaginable, and you momentarily saw white as you came, juice gushing all over the masked figure’s cock as you stared around your room in a daze, smiling at all the horror-related posters on the wall. 

Fiction had become reality.

#florence writes!! #ghostface x reader #ghostface smut #scream x reader #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #mickey altieri x reader #roman bridger x reader #ethan landry x reader #slasher x reader #slasher smut