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simpjaes · 1 month

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HARD CASH, EASY MONEY (p.js)

Jay is rich-rich and likes to frequent the strip club you dance at. You know regulars tend to have their favorite dancers, but to become his favorite? Oh, well….you knew he’d rent out a private room sooner or later.

Or the one where you tell jay that if breaks the rules, he’s going to have to fork up a very large sum of money and, well, he seems entirely ready to pay up.

minors dni! | if you read it, reblog it.

WORDCOUNT― 5.4k

PAIRING― jay x afab reader

CONTENT― pussy drunk and rich as hell jay, stripper reader, jay is taller than reader.

NOTE: if u read this before no u didn’t bc i reworked a lot of it!!! just to cover my bases, hi i am ncteez and if you feel like this fic sounds too close to another one, its because i wrote them both!!! thank you!!!

nsfw tags under cut:

nsfw tags: lap dancing, shy-ish jay, unprotected sex, cream pie, doggy style on a couch, thick cock jay, reader doesn’t cum lmfaooooo

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Having sex with a client is a big no-no in the industry you’ve grown to love. You are to be desired, eye-fucked, and paid to look sexy. The fact that you don’t have to give them any part of you outside of a show? What’s not to love about it?

There are men who try to get touchy, men who are too shy to make eye contact, and men who refuse to break eye contact. All three of these types of clients bring in the big bucks and tend to become regulars to either yourself or one of the other girls who make the men believe they are also an object of desire.

It’s easy, really. After all, why not use the goods you were born with to make the big bucks?

Then you have those clients. The men with big-shot jobs, walking in and ordering the most expensive drink, quietly observing the women as if they aren’t even interested at all. The ones who have wives, children, and stresses that will weigh on them the moment they walk out of their homes for work.

To them, you are their secret little stress relief and you often find yourself acting out towards them, letting them break a rule or two, perhaps. Dancing a little longer for them sometimes just to really rake in the dollars. Mostly because they’re the ones who pay your expensive rent. They’re the reason you can live on the high-end of the city and buy new, sexy, lingerie to wear each night you dance and bounce around on the stage.

Jay was one of those men, so you assumed. A little young looking if you’re being honest, but who are you to pry when he’s throwing hundreds at you and the other dancers?

You remember the first time he walked through those doors. You thought he was going to be one of the shy men, avoiding eye contact and shuffling uncomfortably on his seat to hide the boner, presumably ashamed to know he could never have the women up on stage that are intentionally making him hard.

He isn’t though, and you swear just last weekend he bought out the entire fucking club because he was the only one watching on a late saturday night, silently judging each dancer. You also remember when he made eye contact with you on that night. His eyes were sharp under the dimmed lighting and you swear he could hear the way your heart skipped a beat with the intimidation, mostly because the motherfucker smirked before throwing out five crisp hundred dollar bills.

Even on the first night he ever attended, the girls talked. You remember when your best friend ran back in her six inch pumps, jumping with glee and explaining that the new guy threw two hundred at her only a minute into her dance.

Naturally, all the girls wanted to put on a show for him after that.

He appeared to be rich. And everyone was shocked, really, because even the richest of clients typically don’t give a bill over fifty to the dancers unless he pays for privacy. This man though? He was tipping with bills that showed his status.

It was really only natural from that moment forward for each girl plus yourself to try and win him over. You’d stay near his side of the stage, directing the gyrating and pussy shots right at him just to see those bills flutter to the floor of the stage.

In all honesty though, these types of clients never stay long. Usually they’re in the city on business and visit once, only to never come back. This one though? Oh, he keeps coming back. Every. Single. Saturday.

Having no ring on his fingers only made it better because many of the married men do not feel the guilt of ogling women while married. Huge turn off. Like, hey, if they don’t touch, it’s not cheating right? Either way, eating fancy and living in your nice flat paid for by the lust of men is a perfect lifestyle for you. Even if you have to pretend to like the pigs pretending to love their wives.

You called dibs on this new man as quickly as you could, to the dismay of the other dancers. Calling dibs was never truly honored though, because who the man chooses is usually who ends up dancing for him and getting the most money.

This guy never seemed to choose a girl though. He never pays for dances, never speaks, never so much as shivers in his seat at the image of a pussy sticking to panties in front of his face for his money. All he does is watch and throw bills.

You should be pleased. After all, he’s kind of a perfect client.

Weeks and months go by at this point and Jay keeps his regular Saturday night appearances. After what you and all the other dancers believe regarding him buying out the club last weekend, he’s a very welcome face to see.

Tonight though, several dancers have come back into the lounge crying because this guy didn’t tip them a fucking dime. Given, a bouncer shows up not ten minutes after each crying face with a nice tray of drinks and an envelope with their stage names on it.

It’s gotten to the point now that with how long he’s been visiting the club, some girls even roll their eyes at him. Wondering how desperate he must be, how privileged he must be to flaunt his money the way he does.

Still, that doesn’t stop every single one of you from working your bodies for him in hopes of more, more, more money.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Same old, same old at the club half a year later. Saturday night, several regulars, several new faces, and of course, that young rich guy sitting front and center.

You walked into work just as the sun began to set and there he was. At this point you can tell by the back of his head with that nice hair cut. So many other men show up disheveled, and half of them are already wasted by the time later shows even start. Still, you smile in knowing you’ll make rent again this month. After all, you just spent a bit too much money on some new shoes and outfits.

Still, but this point regarding this rich ass guy, even you’re getting annoyed. Every saturday he tips you anywhere between five hundred to a thousand dollars. Given, you’re very aware that it’s much more than the other dancers get, and you kind of have been lying about the amount he tips you so they don’t feel bad. It’s the fact that he isn’t giving anyone a chance to really show him a good time.

Private rooms and VIP services are highly sought after in this club and he can definitely afford it. It just appears that he doesn’t want to get personal with anyone.

Given, there’s no sex involved, of course. It’s just intimate lap dances, music of their choosing, sharing drinks, and occasionally just becoming a therapist for loser old men. Still, you wish he’d give you a chance to really get into your moves.

And, well, would you look at that.

You’re in the back room settling into your seat to lace up your new shoes when one of the owners walks up to you.

“You’ve got a dance.” He says to you, smiling. “You’ll never guess who it is.”

You look at yourself in the mirror, popping your lips with the pretty lipgloss before wiping some off that overlined your lips, and then shift your eyes to the owner through the glass.

“Jake, again?”

The owner shakes his head with a laugh. Surely Jake would be here soon to try and get you to dance for him again though.

“Who, then?” You laugh, leaning back down to fix a strap on your shoe.

“His name is Park Jongseong, goes by the name of Jay.”

“Okay?” You laugh, turning in your chair to face the man. “Is this his first time buying a dance?”

“Oh yeah.” The owner says brightly. “He bought you out for the entire night, head to room 11 when you’re dressed, he’s already made himself at home.”

Nothing else is said by the owner as he turns and walks out.

“The whole night?” One of the girls laughs at your situation. “You’d better hope he tips well.”

“Well, buying out the entire night sounds expensive, he must be one of the rich ones.” You laugh with a shrug, a little frustrated that your new shoes won’t be seen by the foot-fetish men. They’re always out and feral on Saturdays.

“Maybe–” The other dancer laughs, looking at you with kind of a pitiful look. “Hope he’s not ugly.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You’ve done so many private dances before, but none that had ever taken the entire shift. To be fair, you didn’t even know they could do that. You assume that the owner took the offer because he decided the money was worth it. Wondering how much was offered to pay for your presence, you feel kind of good.

This isn’t exactly a cheap club, surely this is a great opportunity.

Whoever Jay is though, he’d better make this wasted shift worth your time.

“Hi,” You whisper without looking up, sauntering into room 11 with a small voice. They always like when you’d act smaller in terms of personality, submissive even.

The lights are dimmer than usual when you walk in and you’ve only used this room once or twice during your entire career at this club. It was the most expensive room, one with its own pole, a large velvet couch, and more space to move around compared to the others.

The man doesn’t respond to you as your eyes adjust to him, but then–Oh.

Oh.

Jackpot.

“Jay?” You look at the man who had spent thousands on you and the other dancers since he’d become a regular. “That’s the name of the man who spoils us?”

He just nods at you, staring you up and down with the same sharp eyes he had the night you’d first seen him.

“Not a man of many words?” You question, walking over to him slowly, swinging your hips like the way you always do when you’re on the clock. “So, I take it you won’t tell me why you picked me, huh?” You laugh playfully, looking over to the pole but parking yourself in front of him.

“Why wouldn’t I have picked you?” He lets out, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re my favorite to watch.”

Hearing his voice felt surreal, somehow setting him apart from any other client you’ve had seated in front of you. His voice is smooth, but you can’t tell if you think that because he’d held your curiosity for the longest time, or because he just said you’re his favorite to watch.

“Oh yeah?” You smile at him with a tilt of your head. “Lucky me.”

With that, you see how he relaxes against the couch to watch you. Business as usual. You don’t even ask how much he shelled out for this, because you know it had to be a lot. His first offer was probably much more than what the owner would have accepted to begin with.

You do your job for him though, twirling and sliding yourself against and on the pole. The music is a lovely choice, one that is chill enough to move slowly, but upbeat enough to bounce and wiggle for him.

The pole is cold as usual, allowing your nipples to perk enough to where, now, because he is closer to you than he had ever been, he can see them. You definitely see him watching too, still with that same bored expression despite the money he lends out just to experience it. You continue your routine, spreading your cheeks, pressing your tits together, making eye contact with him, smirking, and licking your lips.

Jay mouths the lyrics to the songs sometimes, but his eyes never leave you even when he dips his head for a drink. His eyes are less sharp now compared to before, being replaced with a hazy kind of look as he drags his gaze up and down your mostly-exposed body.

Noting that you’ve never seen his face shift before out in the main area, you believe that you are experiencing Jay actually reacting to a woman now. No longer looking uninterested but tipping as if he had cum in his pants during each dance. You feel entirely desired by him, and you kind of like it.

“I think you’re the most handsome client I’ve ever danced for.” You say in a soft voice, slowly backing away from the pole as the song changes. After all, you always sweet talk clients when it’s a one on one like this, though usually you’re lying. You actually mean it this time. “Do you know the rules?”

Jay nods as his legs spread a bit when you walk towards him. He knows you’re taking your time because he did pay for the entire night.

“No touching.” You whisper as the bass picks up on the speakers. It’s lap-dance time at the moment, and like always, you recite the most important rule.

He nods again, eyes glued to you as you turn around in front of him and begin to ghost your ass over his lap.

Watching you, he is well aware of the rules and perfectly comfortable with them. He would never violate a woman regardless of how sexy he finds her. He can buy her time, but he knows he can’t buy her intimacy on any level higher than he already has.

You dance against him for what feels like an hour, but only three songs come and go. Jay is stoic beneath you but you can see his facade break every now and then. He will shake his head to himself sometimes, or flutter his eyes closed when your tits are less than an inch from his face.

Usually, he is great at composing himself in this kind of situation. He knew when he became a regular here that having you would be impossible but that didn’t stop him from showing up. He knows it’s your job, and you act this way with everyone, so he can’t just break composure and show you just how fucking badly he wants you. Truly, he can’t embarrass himself by being so obvious.

“I imagine you’re struggling, Jay–” You break him out of his thoughts by calling him out instantly, turning and now spreading your legs across his lap to sit on him. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, mostly because you know he’s going to tip you big time. “Don’t you want to touch?”

He stutters out a laugh, and maybe believing he was one of the shy clients isn’t entirely untrue.

“It’s against the rules.” He deadpans, keeping his hands at his sides and glancing away from you, trying not to imagine the fact that he’s got the prettiest stripper in the club grinding against his cock right now. Though you’re not entirely grinding against it, he can feel a soft sort of friction every few seconds as you dance on top of him.

“Do you want to break the rules?” You tilt your head, knowing that you’re already touching him by wrapping your arms around him and kind of like, being incredibly attracted to him. You’d probably let him break more than a few rules if he wants it, not just for the tips either.

When he looks up to make eye contact with you, you nod at him and he follows, nodding himself.

“If you break a rule and touch me, you will have to pay me a hefty fine not to tell on you.” You laugh cheekily, batting your lashes and bouting your lips at him.

He could pay your rent for the next several months if he wanted to just for fucking fun? Like hell you’d report him for touching you when you’re struggling yourself not to touch him more.

“How much?” He instantly says, smirking as if you could name any price. For him though, hearing you suddenly offer some sort of deal in order to let him touch you has his mind doing flips.

Rules, rules, fucking rules.

Fuck the rules, he can afford to break them.

You’re a little taken aback by his playing along. You were mostly joking, but the suggestion is still there if he’s the type to... y’know, wanna fool around with a stripper.

“Half a mil.” You joke again, pulling back from his lap to slap against his arm, knowing the price is too high but flirting anyway. “Touch me and you lose”

You didn’t expect him to nod back at you.

“Five hundred thousand.” He confirms, keeping his hands at his sides. “Go on then, try and win your money.”

You’re fucking floored. Half a million is really on the line right now? There’s no fucking way he thinks he can lose. No way would a man really put that much on the line just to see if you can seduce them into breaking a rule that you’d allow him to break for free.

The game is on now though, it seems, as you do everything in your power to tease the ever-loving fuck out of the rich man in front of you. You ruffle his hair, you ghost your lips over his and everywhere else, you dance against him, on him, around him. You spread your legs out for him, slapping your own clothed pussy, you tease your nipples at him as if you’d pull your breasts out.

You can see him start to falter about two hours into the game. You had whispered into his ear and noted how he leaned into it. When you walked around the couch so that you could stand in front of him again, you saw how painfully hard he had become. Lowering yourself to your knees in front of him as if you would be in a position to swallow his cock whole, you look up at him innocently. “Is that for me?”

Jay groans, nodding shortly. He’s definitely breaking, and he’s starting to not care.

“I’ve never wanted to fuck you more than I do now–” He admits when he drops his hand from his hair and looks at you with a crooked smile.

You smile at him, that half a mil is yours.

“Oh yeah?” You run your hands up and down his thighs. “You’ve wanted to fuck me before?”

Jay nods, watching how dangerously close your hands get to his cock, lending a twitch and hoping you notice it.

“You’ll lose if you touch me though–” You’re cut off by him, seething out words in a deeper voice.

“You act like I didn’t intend to lose.” He says, leaning forward and pinching your chin between his fingers, lifting your head to look at him.

When he lifts your chin, he pulls your face a bit closer, shifting your body in a way that allows him to slot a leg between yours from the floor. He stares at you, almost like he knows that even after giving you the prize money, he’d still be the one to win.

“D-did you?” You say, a bit intimidated by him and his rough hand holding your face, he forces you to look at him.

“I did.” He says in a matter-of-fact tone. “You’ve never moved your body like this on stage, was I wrong to think you’d let me fuck you?”

You shake your head, sticking your tongue out a bit to lick the tip of his thumb, unintentionally rubbing your pussy against his shin.

“But I don’t fuck clients.” You try to argue for the sake of it, despite Jay definitely being a client you want to fuck.

“Oh yeah?” He says, turning your face to the side and skewing his neck to see your ass. “Is that why you’re practically fucking my leg right now?”

You bashfully shake your head out of his grip, halting your hips and pulling back from how close his face is to yours. “No?” He laughs, leaning back and crossing his arms as he looks down at you.

“I mean…“ You go back on your own word. “You already touched me and–” You shrug. ”I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t wet right now.”

Jay’s cock instantly twitches against his pants as he smirks at you with a confident nod.

“Stand up then.” He says, nodding his head more as if to motion you to do as he says. His legs spread as you rise to your feet and he instantly adjusts himself when he goes to stand up in front of you too.

Fuck, he’s taller than you and the way he looks down at you feels so much more intimating than before. You are entirely silent when he towers over you and you flinch a bit when his arm wraps around your waist.

You’re a little shocked by how rough he is when he moves you around, twisting you to where you’re facing the couch and being shoved down against it. “This is what you wanted, right?” He seethes out as you hear his belt being unbuckled.

Almost in a whine, you whisper out a ‘yes’. He’s floored by the sound of it, because it almost sounds like a fucking plead. Lucky me, he thinks.

After all, he’s watched you for months moving your body like you need a cock to fill it. Not just dancing like the other girls, you would fuck the stage for him and his money. And now? Oh, you’re gonna get fucked.

Jay doesn’t hesitate after hearing you, the money he’s lost in the bet is so far in the back of his mind because to be fair, he would have paid far more just to look at you. The only reason he’s pulling his cock out right now is because you fucking want it.

The bet was to not touch you. It appears you’d be pleased with both his cock and his money.

Not because it’s your job either, quite frankly, he knows it isn’t your job to fuck clients. He feels special, and he knows he damn well should be special.

You were seeing stars from the moment he touched your face, but this? God, this is more than you could have imagined. Such a fit, attractive man throwing his money at you and slipping your panties to the side just to see what no one else in this club sees. You wonder if his mouth is watering, if his hands are trembling, if his cock is twitching.

Jay slips a finger into you with ease and without warning, just to test and see if you really do want him to fuck you into the next dimension, and thankfully, you’re more wet than he could have imagined.

“Goddamn, baby, you want it?” He asks, confirming for himself that this is all for him.

You nod your face against the couch, arching in a way that props your ass up a little higher for him.

“Good good.” He says, fucking his finger into you a bit more before taking another step forward and resting his cock between your cheeks for a moment.

“Letting your clients fuck you?” His hand wraps around your middle and pulls you up and against, grunting into your ear. “You always do this?”

You couldn’t even answer when you feel him press his cock down and between your legs. So fucking thick.

“Go on, look.” He demands against your ear, holding you still against him with his arm as he slides between your folds. You look down to see the head of his cock peeking from between your legs and the image alone had you feeling gagged.

When you moan out at the image, you hear him chuckle against your ear and then you feel him pull his hips back, angling himself perfectly so that he can slide his cock into you.

In one long, languid thrust, you feel the entirety of him. You can hear his sigh against you, and feel his hand tighten around your middle when he bottoms out.

His cock is so thick, pulsing inside of you and weeping out thick pre-cum, only offering more to the wet you drench him in.

“Ah, listen to that–” He says, releasing your middle and slamming his hips back and forward just a few times to let the sound of how wet you are echo under the music. “So wet for the money, hm?” He continues, now pressing you into the cushions of the couch, knowing you’ll soon be biting against the fabric.

You hum against the cushions, rolling your eyes back at the delicious feeling of him paired with his voice.

“Or is it for me?” He asks now, voice coming out in a low rumble as he slams his hips into you repeatedly with deep pushes and sharp drags.

You nod again, almost frantically as you lift yourself to grip onto the back of the couch, and when you turn your head to look behind you, Jay is almost glaring at you with that same devilish smirk on his face.

Almost as if, even if he’s losing all that money, he’s fucking winning right now.

You watch his neck tense when he throws his head back with a drawn-out moan shortly after, and he doesn’t stop. He snaps his hips so quickly, and fucks into you so hard that all you can do is let out small whimpers each time the head of his cock hits a soft spot inside of you.

And when he doubles over you, using his other hand to stretch your panties impossibly far to the side, lying his head against your shoulder, you can tell he’s losing his composure too.

He’s so cocky, but goddamn is it nice to feel a man like this lose composure because of your pussy.

His hips stutter in and out of you and his breathing is heavy, fingers gripping both of your ass cheeks and spreading them every few seconds only to release them and watch them bounce together before slapping hard against the flesh.

“Can’t believe you’re spread out for me right now,” He moans out as he reaches his hand up and swipes his hair out of his face, and then his hips snap back into you sharply. Almost pointed.

“Knew you would be too, I saw the way you looked at me baby– you wanted it too.” He breathes out with each thrust, as if he knew he would have you under him someday, you don’t argue. If you had met Jay on the street and he hit on you, you’d be far too easy for him to capture.

“Don’t ever let another man do this for you–” He moans out now, amazed by how tight your cunt is around him.

Truly, and not even trying to be rude, he genuinely didn’t think you’d feel this fucking strangled against his cock. It’s perfect. He wants to lay claim so fucking bad, and so, he fucks harder, quicker.

“Don’t ever let another man pay for this pussy.”

You nod with a strangled moan, struggling to keep your grip on the couch with his weight on you when he leans forward, pressing his chest to your back.

“I’ll stop showing up.” He threatens. “Wouldn’t want that now, would we?” He continues to talk, hunched over you, fucking you just right while gripping both of your tips in that slutty bra you’re wearing.

And before you can even answer in a whimper, a cry, or a moan, you feel his cock pulse inside of you. Seemingly fucking you until he’s empty only because you feel it happen. He releases himself inside of you, cumming spurts of thick white ropes against your quivering walls.

Right then, he grabs you by the hair, pulling you back and against him and holding you so tightly in place. All you can do is sit still for him, cockwarming him through his orgasm as you try to speak.

“You wouldn’t be able to stay away anyway–” You try to be snide through the pleasure of feeling his cum bubble out of you. “Look at how fast you came.”

He snarls first at your comment, only to chuckle as he orgasm comes to an end. Truly the sounds he made to your comment were so fucking erotic, you almost can’t imagine ever letting another man do this anyway. For some reason, having Jay act all possessive over you is much less offensive anyway, compared to the other men who would probably try this with you.

You don’t see it as him assuming you’re a woman who would allow just any man to have sex with her for money, anyway. You think he knew he’d be able to pull it off. Though, if that weren’t the case, it wouldn’t be any of his fucking business anyway.

If anything, you decide that he gets possessive when his cock is fucking, and you feel kinda glad that you were the one he picked.

Not kinda. Actually, you’re fucking over the moon over it.

The fact that the man cumming inside of you is the man all of the girls want to dance for makes you feel like you’re the prettiest woman in the world. His money is attractive, but god, the way he fucks is somehow more enticing. You wouldn’t mind doing it again, and again, and again.

And when he finishes and pulls out of you, all he does is slide your panties back to their rightful place and gives your pussy a little tap, as if to comfort you into keeping his cum inside of you for safe keeping.

And yeah, he knows you didn't cum but to be fair, as much as he would have loved giving you an orgasm, your pussy felt too good for him to stop. Perhaps you’ll call for him to return the favor? Who knows? (God, he hopes you do.)

By the time he’s sat back on the couch, allowing you to lounge against him as you catch your breath, he’s already pulling out his wallet.

“I don’t carry cash.” He says, pulling out a card. “At least not half a million worth, so, just take this.”

He hopes you take note of what he’s doing. After all, the club has an ATM, he could always just make a couple of transactions for this.

You look at him wide-eyed, seeing the black card he holds out to you. He's actually paying you? You didn’t think he’d really give you half a million, seeing as how much you enjoyed that? Being paid for sex isn’t actually something you do.

Then again, he’s paying for breaking the rules, not for fucking you.

“You’re just going to give me your card?” You laugh, raising a brow in confusion. “I could go way over the limit?”

“You wouldn’t.” He shrugs first, and laughs second. “You won’t.”

Taking the card into your hand, it feels much heavier than any credit card you’ve ever held.

“No, really. You can’t just give me your card.” You laugh, tossing it back at him.

“Says who?” He looks at you seriously this time. “If I don’t see you again, I’ll just report you for fraud.”

He’s being fucking serious? Genuinely?

“Jay–” You try to scold him, but he doesn't let you.

“Just take the damn card.” He demands, standing to his feet and ruffling his hair with a breath. “Don’t embarrass me more by not taking it.”

“Embarrass you?” You ask, looking at the card and the way he just leaves it lying against the couch.

Almost as if, if you don’t take it, someone else will.

“Listen, I don’t normally do this.” He trails off, feeling the post-nut guilt. “The least I can do is hold up my end of the deal.”

“This is your credit card.” You still try to argue with him, turning to watch him walk towards the door.

“Don’t use it then. Just give it back to me when I see you again.”

You watch him reach for the doorknob.

“Saturday?” You ask.

“Saturday.”

And then he’s gone, and you’re five hundred thousand dollars richer, somehow.

#enhypen smut #park jongseong smut #jongseong smut #jay smut #park jay smut #jay park smut #enha smut

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dearharriet · 2 months

Text

Sunday-Side-Up; James Potter 🍳

summary: you’re worried on the morning after a hookup with your friend, james

word count: 2.3K

warnings: pg-13 smut, sexually implicit content, fem!r, beefy/gym!james, pre-relationship, getting together, hurt/comfort(ish), fluff

note: this is technically an addition to sunday, another gym!james fic that I wrote, but u can read it as a standalone if u wish! u can find the request here

An egg simmers and pops in the buttery pan on the stove, mirroring your calamitous heart. It’s all you can look at. A rogue explosion of butter lands on the skin of your hand, but you hardly even flinch, just staring and staring at the pristine yolk in its sea of bubbling white.

Back in your room, harbored by your stuffed animals and rumpled sheets, is your good friend, James. Though you aren’t sure if you could call him as such anymore, considering the less-than-friendly activities you’d partaken in the night before.

How had you let yourself cave like that?

Outside, the sun is calmly rising, paying no mind to your frivolous human thoughts. It scores over the trees surrounding your apartment and lands sharp and warm on your cheeks. You ignore it as best you can, putting all the early energy you have into protecting the little sun you’re cooking.

Your attraction for James was never much of a secret, nor was his for you, but you always assumed there was nothing to be done about it. He’s one of your best friends and most coveted confidants, and losing him includes losing the other two of him, too. It was a silent agreement, you thought.

Until last night, of course, when he’d finally broken and asked to kiss you over a box of takeout.

“I really can’t stand to be alone with you and sit on opposite sides of the couch and pretend that that’s normal,” said James, one hand fisted over his knee. “I feel I’ve gone mad, a bit, trying to dance around this.”

You’d have liked to say you found that a little bit dramatic, but you felt the same way. Being with James was like walking on eggshells, sometimes. Even though you felt quite at home with him, there were still boundaries to maintain. You constantly had to double back, to reel yourself in before you said something too flirty or touched him longer than was necessary. It was exhausting and disappointing. You were tired of being disappointed.

So upon your permission, James had followed you to your room, and he hadn’t held back.

You can’t say you regret it, but you’re certainly worrying. There’s reasons you had boundaries in place, reasons that both you and James resisted the magnetism that pulls you together, and they’re all in the wind now.

If you lost James, lost your friendship…

Carried away with emotions, you push at your fried egg too hard, shaking the buoyant yolk out of its membrane.

“No,” you whine, gripping the offending spatula in your hand. It’s all you can do to watch the yolk seep over the crispy whites surrounding it, spilling onto the hot pan with a sizzle.

“What’s a’matter?”

Your eyes whip over to the kitchen entryway, finding James in a sick state of undress, a pair of boxers low on his hips and glasses crooked where they perch on his nose. Like he’d gotten up to find you before getting dressed, hardly remembering he’d need glasses to do so.

You tell yourself you’re projecting, returning your greedy gaze to the sad situation on the stove. James’ broad chest and muscled thighs creep into the back of your mind for safekeeping anyway.

He comes up behind you, peering easily over your shoulder to gauge what the problem is.

“I broke the yolk,” you tell him, as if it’s not obvious.

James grunts darkly, as if to agree that this is a very grave occurrence. Still, his voice is as comforting as it is gravelly when he responds.

“Well, flip that one and it can be mine. I don’t like sunny-side.”

Turning to glance up at him, you frown. “I thought you did?” You could swear you’ve seen him eat his eggs that way before.

Lips pursing in a shy almost-smile, James relents. “Well, yes, I do. But not strictly. I’ll eat whatever—‘specially if you make it.”

You turn your frown back to the pan, saying nothing. James takes the moment of silence to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling your back flush against his bare chest. The sleep shirt you’d thrown on feels thinner than the broken yolk membrane, letting all of James’ warmth strike you right in the heart. It’s almost too much for you to handle.

Correction, it is too much for you to handle.

Reaching down, you peel James’ hands off of your torso, wincing the whole way through. He backs off, easily taking the hint, but when you glance his way he looks befuddled.

“Um.” James averts his gaze to the floor, clearly knocked down by your rejection. “Have I misread something?”

“No, I’m sorry, I—“

You sigh, realizing this discussion needs more attention than you currently have to spare. In quick movements, you flick the stove burner off and move the pan to one that’s not hot, and then you turn your full effect on James.

Standing in front of you, undressed and muscled and reproachful, James looks embarrassed beyond measure.

“It’s nothing you did, James, I just—I’m not sure last night should’ve happened, is all.”

Picking at your lips worriedly, you await his response, but it’s nothing like you expect. You thought he’d turn sly or charming, convince you that it was worthwhile. James’ eyes blow wide and concerned instead.

“You didn’t want to?” The dread in his voice is thick, knocking you back with the sheer force of it. You almost reach out to comfort him, but think better of it.

“James, of course I did, yes. I wanted to.”

James’ broad shoulders relax from their anxious hunch, but his guarded posture still remains.

“What, then? You didn’t enjoy it?”

You huff. “No, James. Will you stop putting words into my mouth? Of course I enjoyed it, it was—“

You pause, trying to describe exactly how it was, but then shake the entire thought off, realizing you’re getting sidelined. James looks hesitantly amused at your clear flush, the short reminiscing enough to fluster you.

“It doesn’t matter,” you assert. “We can’t do it again.”

“We can’t?” James asks, but it sounds more like a challenge.

“No, we can’t. It’d be irresponsible. There’s a reason we held off on this, and you know it.”

“I know why I held off,” says James, and he’s stepping closer, to your dismay. “Why did you, sweetness?”

Your heart lodges in your throat, set off by his name calling and proximity. Bum pressing back against the counter, you suspect the only way to ward James off now is with a long, pointy stick, threateningly waved back and forth.

“Because,” you start, mouth dry, “it would ruin our friendship.”

A laugh booms forth from James’ throat, making you dizzy. You can’t help but watch his chest shake with it, his boxer elastic slipping ever-so-slightly lower, revealing more coarse hair and golden skin.

“Well,” James says, calling your attention back to his face, “I should hope so. I don’t want to be your friend, love. I thought I made that clear last night.”

You open your mouth and then shut it again. This time, you don’t redirect your thoughts as they amble back to the way James touched you last night, to the overwhelming sensation of finally having him, of being had.

James’ hands find purchase on the counter behind you, caging you between his arms, and you’re sure he knows exactly where your mind’s gone.

“Is that what you want, hm?” he asks, voice rasping with pure desire. “To be friends?”

You swallow. James’ heady scent is spilling over you in waves, which you typically have no trouble with, but you're not prepared for your smells to waft off of him, too. One night in your bed and he’s covered in you, head to toe. You can’t deny how much you enjoy the thought.

He’s so fit. It’s all you can think about with his tanned chest in front of your face, his big arms skimming yours. You know James likes the gym, but you never expected him to look like this.

Now that you’ve touched him, it’s like a dam broke inside you for good. It’s all too easy to reach for him, brushing light fingertips over his soft stomach and his v-line, the happy trail that’s bewitched you.

Finally, your hands push up, up, up his chest, over his pecs and shoulders until you’re looking into his expectant gaze. Had he said something?

“No,” you mumble, voice distracted. “No, I don’t want to be friends.” An incredulous laugh escapes you. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” James repeats, grinning like a child with candy.

You run your hands down his front again, intoxicated with the feel of him under your fingers.

“I guess I’m just a little worried about how this will change things,” you tell him, anchoring yourself to his waist. Pulling him closer.

“It doesn’t have to change anything, if we don’t want it to.”

That makes you smile a bit, his talking about the two of you like a pair, a unit. Still, it’s misguided.

“That’s a bit naive, don’t you think? I mean, something’s changed.” You make a point to emphasize the state you’re both in, the proximity.

James grins wickedly. “Well, that’s the good stuff, love. I only meant we don’t have to tell Remus or Sirius, at least until we’re ready. We don’t even have to go on dates, if you don’t want. We can just be like really, really good friends.”

This simultaneously makes you want to laugh and cry. Your expression settles on what is probably pensive, or indistinguishable.

“I’d want to go on dates…,” you mumble, suddenly feeling very bashful.

James’ whole demeanor seems to flip on its head. Before, he was feigning casualty, like he’d be down for anything. Now he’s all business, locked in on you.

“Yeah?” James asks, his voice unbearably tender. His hands abandon the counter for your hips, kneading the soft skin hidden under your sleep shirt.

“Yeah,” you confirm, breathless. “James, I want this to be more than sex.”

Brows furrowing, James levels you with a curious look.

“Is that what this is about? You think I only want to shag you?”

Embarrassed, you start to shrink away from his examining eyes, only to remember he has you cornered. You settle for the alternative and shove your face into the crook of his neck, groaning.

“Don’t tease me about this, James. Not this.”

“Not teasing, lovely, no. I only want to understand.” James' hand takes up in your hair, spinning it around his fingers and releasing it again and again. His voice is a calm wash now, quiet and raspy. “Is that what had you so worried?”

Reluctantly, you nod as best you can without braining yourself on his jaw or yanking your hair in his grip. James clicks his tongue.

“Can I have a look at you?”

His hand encourages your head back carefully, until his hazel eyes have yours pinned under them, like moths under a kitchen glass. Your face fits between his palms, hot-cheeked and sensitive, hoping he’ll say something to make you feel like less of a fool.

“D’you know why I didn’t try to do this before?” James doesn’t let you answer, bulldozing right through with a nervous sort of energy. “It’s ‘cause I knew I didn’t deserve you. I mean—what?”

You can’t stop your laugh. You’re doubled over into James’ shoulder again, laughing like a prick while he’s trying to be vulnerable with you, but honestly, could you blame yourself?

“What are you talking about, ‘not deserving’ me? You’re so bizarre.” You pull back from him, rosy and amused. Despite being made fun of, James seems to be in light spirits, smiling along with you.

“What’s so bizarre about it? You’re gorgeous and funny and good for me and I don’t deserve it.” He shrugs. “Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“I’m good for you, am I?” you repeat oddly, feeling admittedly tingly and giddy from his admission.

“Well, yeah, love. You make me happy.” James’ voice drops a decibel, dangerously sweet and whispered close to your lips. “Even when you’re laughing at me while I tear my chest apart to make you feel better.”

That only makes you laugh again, and this time James presses his smiling mouth over yours.

You soak in his kiss, coaxing his bed-warm body as close to yours as possible until you’re two sides of the same coin. James pushes his hands further up the back of your shirt, relishing in the expanse of bare skin there, and you take his bottom lip between your teeth in response.

Heaving a sound between a laugh and a moan, James takes his bitten mouth down your throat, laving over marks he’d left mere hours before.

You tilt your head, happy to give him more access, only to find your sorry abandoned egg where you’d left it.

“Oh, we forgot about breakfast,” you stress, reaching for the stove with no real purpose. James catches your hand to bring back to your scene together.

“Forget about it,” he mumbles into your skin, “I’ll cook you som’thin later. Right now I want you back in bed.”

You hum, easily agreeing, though you can’t help your other needs, even as James hikes your legs up and around his waist.

“A sunny side egg, please? With jam on toast?”

Laughing into your mouth, James walks you both out of the kitchen blindly.

“Yeah, pretty girl, whatever you want.”

He aims for another kiss, hot and barreling fast around the corner into carnal, but you pull back one more time before he can get carried away.

“And James?”

“Yeah?”

You can’t believe how handsome and strong he is, or that his strength and good looks are quickly becoming yours to enjoy. Splaying a wide hand over his cheek, you make sure he catches the full weight of your next statement, sweetly murmured into his reddened lips.

“You make me happy, too.”

James’ responding smile outshines the rising sun.

thank you for reading! xx

masterlist

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reidsdaisies · 3 months

Note

spencer beggin to nut in u :3333

digital footprint doesn't exist.

(𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖)

༉‧´ˎ˗ paring; spencer reid x fem!reader

༉‧´ˎ˗ content warnings; pretty boy cursing and moaning (🫠), 1 use of ‘y/n’, kinda sub!spence? (its always sub spence), unprotected p in v sex (don’t do this!), spencer begging to nut inside you (🫠 x♾️) but not breeding kink, creampie.

༉‧´ˎ˗ wc; basically 0.6k

༉‧´ˎ˗ a/n; Aine, coming to my rescue for the second time!! right now i’m working on that post-prison spencer and i know everything takes me a while (i’m the #1 procrastinator ☹️) but this one’s gonna take me a little longer too because i really want to make it a longer fic which is something i suck at cuz again i’m the slowest b ever in every aspect of life but i’ve got big plans. ik for sure i’m gonna go back and forth wondering if its good enough but i’m gonna try something new and stick to it

𝐂𝐌 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 || 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Spencer has his head tightly tucked away in your neck, heavily panting as he picks up the pace of his hips moving against yours, his dick thrusting into you. He is so lost in the feeling of it all, that oh-so-familiar and oh-so-intoxicating feeling of your cunt clenching tight around him. Repeatedly, he shamelessly moans your name, pressing sloppy kiss after sloppy kiss to your lips whenever he remembers he can pick his head up.

“Faster Spence, faster,” you moan, patting at his shoulder as you beg him for more, though it is clear that has been his plan all along.

“You’re so wet and- oh god- hot!” his voice cracks somewhere in the middle of his sentence, which just serves to turn you on impossibly more.

“You’re so fucking tight around me.” He bites, almost sounding angry though you know he’s feeling nothing more than pure ecstasy. His words are punctuated with an almost guttural moan from him. One of your hands finds its way up to his hair, tugging his face up that was just buried in the pillow beside your head and forcing him to look at you.

The two of you share a passionate kiss, this one different from the ones leading up to it. This time it’s more needy (if possible), executed with more purpose. He whines into your mouth, almost choking on your tongue as he rushes to pull back.

“I don’t think I can last much longer,” he whimpers against your lips, his face red, the heat from his desire scorching his skin, looking equally as defeated as he sounds, “please, baby, please, let me come inside.”

The furious pace he set of his hips falters slightly.

“Y/n!” He moans your name for the hundredth time tonight. “Please! I’m gonna come,” it’s a miracle such clear words are even able to come out of his mouth. To him it sounds like he’s speaking gibberish. His brain feels nonexistent at this point, he’s letting his body and deep carnal need for you take over him.

“Please, inside, lemme do it inside,” His voice sounds so broken, he’s so broken. His thrusts are noticeably sloppier, his breathing ten times heavier and more prominent in your ear as he’s fucking you at a pace you didn’t previously think him capable of.

Realizing he doesn’t have the strength to keep looking at you anymore, he just gives up, letting his head fall back to where it was a minute ago, planted in the soft, cloud-like feeling pillow beside your head.

“Then do it,” you moan, encouraging him to do just let go, fill you up. It doesn’t take a second after you give him the ok that he’s spasming, his mouth fallen open against your shoulder in a silent scream, as he fills you with his warmth.

Your orgasm is a blissful blur, the feeling of his cum being fucked back into you mixed with his thumb rubbing circles on your clit, albeit a bit shakily, sending you over the edge.

“Holy shit,” is all you manage to breathe out as your strained voice slowly starts to come back to you.

“Holy shit.” He repeats you in a softer, even more weak voice.

“Maybe we should forego the condoms more often.” You joke, barely even conscious at this point.

He whimpers just at the thought of it, using that 1 measly ounce of strength he has left to nod and peck you on the lips.

“I’d like that, a lot.”

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girasollake · 4 months

Note

Hi! Can I request a smut imagine with prompt 48 and trope 8 with Theodore Nott.

She’s a slytherin too and a badass bitch who everybody wants to be or date

Thank youuu!

✧ theodore nott x fem!reader x jealousy x "you. are. mine."✧

(this request is a part of my writing event, here is the link to the masterlist of the fics i'll be publishing from said event:) )

this took longer than i expected, thank you for your request anon! x

told u guys i’d post smth… surprise!!!!

warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, p in v sex, some swear words, some slight cedric x reader, theo being bitchy ig, fingering, general sex stuff, orgasm denial, ummmmmm yeah i think that’s it

i’ll reread it later to fix mistakes cuz rn it’s 2 am where i live and i’m going to bed bye

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

Your relationship with Theo was complicated. At least in your mind that was the most suitable word for this dynamic, you could never find anything else that would quite describe it. You were friends, that’s for sure, this was the only thing you were certain of. Some days you had found yourself tangled in his bedsheets, his soft fingers caressing your back as you lingered in his scent. But, there were also days when you didn’t speak to him at all, strolling through the halls and seeing him tug a piece of hair behind the ear of some Ravenclaw girl while simultaneously giving her his infamous smile. Even though you also flirted and went on dates with others, something inside your guts sunk down each time you saw him with a girl who was not you. And you could barely handle it. Every time you promised yourself you’ll never sleep with him again or give him your attention, you’d always end up doing the opposite. There was something about him that lured you in, it was toxic, but so divine. So, whenever his lips connected to yours in a hungry kiss, you’d forget about all of the other women he probably does this with. It was just you and him and your only thought during these moments was to stay with him like that forever.

‚-it’s not like it’s that important.’

‚Huh?’ You lifted your head and met Pansy’s annoyed face. ‚Sorry, what were you saying?’

¨What is going on with you lately?´She shook her head and sighed. ´I asked if you have a date for the ball.’ She then added.

‘Oh, well, not really.’ You shrugged.

‘Seriously? Is this about Theo again? I’ve told you multiple times that there is a fucking queue of guys just waiting for you and all you do is always go back to him.’ She huffed. ‘What about Mason? Louise? Henry? They were all head over heels for you, I don’t believe they didn’t ask you at least once.’

‘They did. I just said no.’ You mumbled and avoided her angry gaze.

SShe groaned and took a sip of her butterbeer. ‘I was not going to tell you this, but I see there is no other option.’ Pansy took a deep breath. ‘I heard the boys talking about the ball and Nott wants to take Arisa.’

You swallowed a big gulp in your throat and looked down into your drink. You expected that something like this would happen, you just didn’t think you wouldn’t be prepared to hear it.

‘’M sorry.’ She looked at your numb expression with caring eyes.

‘It’s okay Pans.’ You gave her a soft smile. ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time to move on.’

Even though you tried to not think about him for the next few days, it was unusually hard. He was on your mind non stop, like a song playing on repeat. On top of that, everyone was talking about the upcoming event. While walking through the halls you overheard people gossiping about the pairs, discussing what they are gonna wear and you were also a witness to roughly 7 performances of the boys creatively asking their crushes to go with them.

You walked into the courtyard and took a seat on the nearest free bench. You pulled out your sketchbook in hopes to finally draw something. Truth is, you didn’t remember the last time you practiced your beloved activity, not that you didn’t have time, you just didn’t have any ideas. This time wasn’t different, you looked around and then your gaze rested on the empty page before you. You made a soft line with your pencil and stopped, it was like your hand didn’t want to listen to your mind. You groaned and closed the sketchbook to put it in your bag again. While doing this, you felt a presence in front of you. Looking up, you saw Cedric Diggory, a charming smile plastered on his face.

‘Hi, do you have a moment?’ He asked and you stood up to face him.

‘Of course.’ You smiled.

‘I have a question.’

‘If you want my help with something, then no. I can barely finish my own essays and-‘

‘No, that’s..’ He chuckled. ‘I was wondering if you’d want to go to the ball with me?’

‘Oh..’ You bit your lip softly from the inside. ‘I.. I’ll think about it. Is that okay with you?’

‘Surely, just don’t take too long, darling.’ He sent you a wink and walked out of the courtyard.

Later that night you were studying in your dorm, soft music was playing in your headphones as you scribbled some sigils for one of the classes. Your back was turned to the door, so you didn’t hear that someone came in. It was the feeling of being observed that made you move your head to inspect the room and there he was. Theodore Nott stood next to your door, his arms were crossed and you couldn’t quite read his expression. You grabbed your headphones and took them off.

‘Knocking exists.’ You told him.

‘Not for me.’ He replied sternly.

‘What are you doing here, Theodore?’ You fixed your position on the bed so that you were fully facing him. ‘Don’t you have any other hoes to tend to?’

‘Are you going to the ball with Diggory?’ He avoided your question.

‘Why do you care?’ You stood up.

‘Answer me.’ He took a step closer to you.

‘Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.’

‘For fucks sake, stop being a brat and answer the question.’ He said through gritted teeth.

‘It’s none of your business.’ You replied while stepping closer to him and poking your finger into his chest.

His scent filled up your nose and you felt this forbidden feeling again. Your body was lustful, for him, but you couldn’t let him win again.

He chuckled, ‘See, that’s where you’re wrong.’

You scoffed, ‘Fine. Yes.’ You spat at him. ‘I’m going with Cedric. Is that what you wanted to hear?’

His eyes darkened at the confession, which wasn’t even true. You just wanted to get on his nerves and see what he would do. You didn’t even have time to react before he pinned you to the wall and hovered over you. Your breath hitched and you tried your best to avoid his eyes, because if you looked into them, you’d lose.

‘No, you’re not.’ He stated. ‘You are not going with anyone.’

‘Why? Why the fuck do you care so much?!’ Your eyes were glued to the ceiling.

He gripped your face with one of his hands and forced you to look at him. You closed your eyes.

‘You.’ He whispered and brought his lips closer to yours before breathily adding the rest. ‘Are. Mine.’

The sound of his voice was angelic and it sent a certain feeling down to your core. You tried your best to resist but your eyes fluttered open and met his. You lost.

He grabbed your face and connected your lips in a hungry kiss. You whimpered into his mouth and cursed yourself in your mind. Why was he so addictive? Why couldn’t you quit? He just felt too good to be true. Kissing you in all the right places, his fingers touching where you needed him most, every time you felt him inside of you, it felt like heaven.

He took a few steps back and tried to not break the kiss. He pushed you onto the mattress and with one of his hands he pushed all the books off the bed. He left wet kisses along your jawline and you moaned at the feeling. He discarded both of your shirts and attached his lips to your chest, leaving a couple love bites along the way.

‘I want you to say it.’ He mumbled into your ear.

‘Hm?’ You were brought out of your trance.

‘I want you to admit you’re mine.’

‘But am I?’ He stopped kissing your neck and gripped your throat.

‘Are you?’ He raised his brow and smirked challengingly, knowing you’d fold under him.

You stared deep into his eyes and swallowed harshly because of his grip, before replying, ‘I’m yours.’

‘Good girl.’ He let go of your neck and connected your lips once again.

Soon enough both of you were a sweaty mess, clothes laying somewhere on the wooden floor, soft sounds escaping your lips as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. His breath on your neck and occasional kisses made you feel dizzy, his fingers making you squirm from the pleasure, but it wasn’t enough.

‘I need to feel you.’ You breathed out and Theo didn’t waste a second.

He positioned himself on top of you and slowly entered your aching pussy. You threw your head back and he used that to immediately attach his lips to your neck once again.

‘’S okay, darling. You’re doing so good f’me.’ He whispered to help you relax.

His voice made you let go of the tension in your lower body, finally allowing him to move at a pace so perfect for both of you. He lifted you up and spinned both of you, so that you were on top of him. His thrusts became quicker and stronger, one of his hands was caressing your breasts, while the other rubbed your clit so deliciously. You cried out his name a few times when you were close, but he always stopped just then. He just smirked every time and continued his actions, it turned him on, watching you whine on top of him. He felt he was getting closer to his release, so he sped up again, and this time his hand stayed on your sweet spot. You reached your high with a loud moan and threw your head back, your hand grabbing Theo’s arm. He released inside of you with a loud groan and you used that to push away his hand which was still rubbing circles on your bud, too sensitive for more. You collapsed on top of him and gave him a peck on his collarbone. Theo reached for the blanket and covered the two of you.

‘I lied.’ You mumbled.

‘What?’

‘I’m not going with Cedric.’ You replied softly. ‘I told him I’d think about it and..’

‘Good.’ He interrupted. ‘You’re going with me then.’

‘Am I?’ You looked up at him playfully. ‘I thought you were taking Arisa.’

‘Who?’ He replied and you giggled. ‘She asked me to go. But I refused.’

‘Why? She’s a nice girl.’

‘Maybe. But she isn’t you.’ He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. ‘And I belong solely to you.’

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

@ girasollake 2024

#imagine #x reader #🤍 - girasollake writing event ☾ ⋆*#theo nott x you #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #theo nott #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x fem!reader #theo nott smut #theo nott imagine #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x fem!reader

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iluvpjo · 2 months

Note

HII SO I HAD THIS IDEA SOME TIME AGO AND IT CAME BACK INTO MY HEAD YESTERDAY SO :^

Imagine you play a role in pjo maybe silena or something and ure at the pjo premier with everyone else (ure dating charlie) n you and charlie dissapear for a bit and when you come back everyone is confused and is whispering like 'why is she walking so wierd?' SKSKDKDKFK IM SORRY

Also can i be 🌻 anon??

REMEMBER TO EAT ENOUGH AND STAY HYDRATED !!

𝒲𝒶𝓁𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐹𝓊𝓃𝓃𝓎 𝒲 / 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓁𝒾𝑒 𝐵𝓊𝓈𝒽𝓃𝑒𝓁𝓁

(Walking funny w/ Charlie bushnell)

Synopsis: (read the request basically for a longer version) basically u n charlie hangout n when u come back ur walking funny 😋

Warning(s): NSFW! MDNI, I don’t think um there has to be anymore warnings…

Pairing: Charlie Bushnell x fem reader

Word count: 1,315K

Note: HEHE hi 🌻 anon!!! Welcome n ily, also ur brain is so smart n sexc for this!!!

*also guys just so yk if u can’t tell I write fics differently to how I write THIS kinda stuff beforehand 😭 like I write silly here but not during my fics ^^

Send me a request! Here’s my req rules :)

Come find me on AO3!

There were loud yet hushed noises echoing around the bathroom that shielded the two of you from the rest of your cast mates, hiding you both away so you could get a quick quickie in before joining everyone. Inside the bathroom stall the two of you were on each other, your teeth clashing as your skin slapped against skin. It was hot and it was lewd, and you were sure you’d die of embarrassment if the two of you ever got caught like this.

“C-Charlie, hurry.. we’ve gotta get back to the premier!” You complained through your teeth, pouting your makeup covered lips. You were sure that your stylist would kill you for ruining your makeup and hair, your mascara was slightly smudged in the corners from your eyes watering — you couldn’t help tearing up a little when Charlie would stimulate you like this. Your lipstick was also a mess, and Charlie knew he’d have to wash your kiss marks off of his neck at the sink before leaving the bathroom together.

“I know sweetheart, but you wanted this remember?” He asked in a bit of a condescending tone, his lips curling up into a smirk as he kept standing there in front of you between your legs. “I- I know..” You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest, pouting your lips and furrowing your eyebrows at him like you were upset at him. But he knew you weren’t, he simply chuckled and shook his head at your pouty reaction, scoffing and mumbling that you were very ‘cute’ when you acted like this.

“I’m not cu- ah!~” Your complaints were cut off by Charlie when he thrusted deeper inside of you, pressing harshly against your cervix and making your stomach ache a little “Hold that thought sweet girl. Unless you don’t wanna cum?” Charlie tilted his head at you as he asked that with this smug smile on his face. “Of course I do!-“ He cut you off again “Tut. Tut. Then be quiet for me sweet girl, I don’t want anyone catching us like this..” Charlie chuckled a little to himself as he watched you accept and grumble to yourself a little.

Charlie moved you carefully so that you were in a better position for the both of you, you were bent over and your arms were holding yourself against the wall. Charlie was standing behind you, his hands gripped tightly on your hips as he rocked himself back and forth inside of your tight pussy. You weren’t the best at taking it from behind, the position would always be a little too much for you— but Charlie wanted you to take it today. He knew you’d have a harder time staying quiet but he wanted to challenge you, plus he found it really cute how you were trying your hardest to stay quiet (even if you were failing!)

“C-Charlie..~” You groaned out, your legs trembling underneath you as his cock kept hitting against your fleshy insides. Your wet slick was dripping onto him, covering his large cock as well as dripping down your thighs a little. “Yes, my love?” Charlie asked you with a hushed voice, “f-feels good..” You whined out and bit down on your bottom lip to muffle your moans. “Yeah sweetheart? It feels good does it? Let me help you feel even better..” You didn’t have any time to question what he meant, he lifted your right leg up and started hitting inside of you at a different angle which had you close to seeing stars.

You removed one of your arms from holding onto the wall, having to use it to cover your mouth. Your moans were muffled, but it didn’t mean that they were silent “mfhh!~ ah!~ fuckk’” You cried out as Charlie’s cock ruthlessly pounded into you from behind. “Fuck.. Sweet girl, I’m gonna cum..” Charlie warned you and you just nodded at him, encouraging him to just keep going. Charlie hissed under his breath as he had to keep quiet as well, letting out a soft gutters groan when he began to cum.

His cock twitched before spurting out his hot seed which painted your insides white, a bit of his cum dripping from your cunt. Charlie took a moment as he had a breather before he then slammed back inside of you, he felt a little more sensitive but he had a goal to make you cum as well. You threw your head back in pleasure, squirming against him when the tip of his cock entered you deeper and got pressed to the hilt. You couldn’t control yourself anymore and you began to cum, your eyes teary and your legs shakey as your pussy clenched tightly around him and came.

“Fuck’ C-Charlie I love you!~” You cried out as you came, your orgasm hitting you roughly like a huge wave. “I love you too sweetheart.” Charlie helped you as you began to recover from your orgasm, helping you sit up against his chest. Your legs wanted to give out, shaking and hurting from just standing there but luckily Charlie was holding onto your waist now. “Don’t worry sweet girl, I’ve got ‘ya.” Charlie reassured you as he slowly helped you clean up a little and get dressed, pulling your panties up and pulling your dress back down etc..

“T-That felt really good.. L-Let’s get back to the premier before they realise we’re gone!” You told him and tried to hurry, Charlie paused you for a moment as he had to quickly use the sink to wash off the lipstick marks. As he looked in the mirror cleaning himself he replied to you and said “I think it might be a little too late for that dear.” He spoke “What? No.. it’ll be fine, I don’t think they even noticed!!!” You were lying to yourself and Charlie could see it, but he wouldn’t say anything because he didn’t wanna embarrass you.

(There’s more writing btw)

“Hey, where’s Y/n and Charlie gone? They’ve been gone for a bit now and the premier is about to start!” Leah complained and began to fidget in her seat as she looked around for them, her head turning and trying her best to look behind the rest of the people sitting around hoping to find them each somewhere in the crowd. “It hasn’t been that long, has it?” Walker asked her and squinted his eyes a bit, Leah huffed and pulled her phone out to show him the time.

“Didn’t we get here almost an hour ago?” Walker questioned as he saw the time “Like around five I think. They’ve both been gone almost the entire time we’ve been here!” Aryan joined the conversation as he heard the two of them talking. They were all discussing about where they thought that you and Charlie would be that they didn’t notice when the two of you actually joined them, only turning their heads around to see you two when Dior spoke up.

“Wait— why’s Y/n walking like that?” Dior whispered to herself, blinking in confusion as she watched. Walker and Leah leaned forward to look past Aryan and Dior, Walker letting out a bit of a laugh “Haha! She really is walking weirdly. Why do you think that is?” Walker gossiped to Leah and Aryan “No idea.” Aryan shrugged his shoulders.

“Sorry we were gone guys! I uh— we got held up.” You excused yourself and sat down beside Dior, Dior looked over at you and was about to say something until she noticed your flushed face and messed up hair. She shut her mouth, turning away and gigging a little to herself, she knew exactly why you were walking weirdly now. Aryan heard her laughing and looked over at you too to figure out what was going on, and he sorta got a bit of an idea too but wasn’t quite sure.

#luke castellan smut #luke castellan x reader smut #percy jackson smut #percy jackson x reader smut #percy jackson #charlie bushnell #charlie bushnell x reader smut #charlie bushnell x you #charlie bushnell x reader #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #charlie bushnell smut #smut #requested #pjo smut #percy jackson x reader #🌷 anon

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enhafilthandfiction · 1 year

Note

Can u do making out with jungwon headcanons 🤭

₊˚ʚ Making out with Jungwon✧˚

A/n : Hello Anonnie! Thankyou so much for requesting! In my previous post I have written a whole fic of making out with Jungwon, so if you'd like to, you can check it out!

Warnings : Making out (obvi), grinding, neck kissing, hickeys, love bites, slight swearing, ass groping, mentions of touching him over his pants and him getting a boner

Word count : 552 words

Masterlist - Tips

Poor baby would become addicted to your lips, esp when they lingered on his for a little longer.

Even when you pull away for breath, he's definitely the type to chase after your lips in a needy manner.

He's even the type to make it very intense and be quite tense himself

"Wonnie calm down baby, there's no need to rush"

But he would just be very excited and giddy almost, loving the feeling of your lips on his.

He would always close his eyes, focusing on the feeling

When he wants more of you, he would either lick your lips or gently bite down on your lower lip, making you yelp in surprise.

When you lips part, he wastes no time sliding his tongue in your mouth, tasting you and exploring your mouth.

And the second his tongue meets yours there's no going back oml

He feels aroused by the feeling and starts squirming around, his hips twitching

When your hands snake to the back of his head to pull him closer, he almost loses it.

He starts kissing you like it the last time he's ever going to be kissing you.

Then you pull away, making him whine at the loss of warmth on his lips

But then he whines because you lips are on his neck, sucking on his sweet spots and kissing softly, almost in a teasing manner.

He feels himself get harder at the sensation, and when you point it out, he feels his cheeks go red, too shy about it.

But that's until you start marking him up, he feels your teeth gently nip at his skin and suddenly his shyness is out the window

He bucks his hips up, desperate for any sort of friction

He tilts his head back, giving you more surface area as he whimpers out you name

"Y/nn please, I need more"

He's such a needy baby I swear

His warm hands find your waist, sneakily sliding under your sweater and rubbing your sides.

But when that doesn't work, he's not afraid to find your backside, groping your ass

Does this while kissing too, just to rile you up

Maybe if he's feeling a little more confident, grabs your hand and places it on his growing bulge

"Feel how hard I am for you baby?"

Moans out when you slightly squeeze him through his pants "Fuuuuck, Y/n, need you"

You smirk at his adorable state; messy hair, puffy lips, red marks decorating his neck and collars, hips twitching and his hardness prominent in his pants.

You lean in for another long kiss, this time grinding your hips on him, giving him some relief.

"Mm t-thankyou y/n" he tries to say between kisses. But unfortunately you still leave him hanging

"Jungwonnie you're so adorable, but I gotta go, I'm gonna be late" you say, leaving him pouting for you to come back

Poor baby >:(

He ends up dealing with his boner in the shower, thinking of you

When he's done and looks at the mirror- notices the hickeys and love bites and immediately his cheeks turn crimson red

He blushes, remembering of what you two did, how your lips felt on his and on his neck and how much he loves kissing you

He feels cool having to hide hickeys 😎

Thanks a lot for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!

Inbox is always open for new requests!! (I need some)

Lyyyy <333

If you enjoyed this post, you can help support my blog by tipping me here! Anything is highly appreciated!

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bonkhrnyjail · 1 month

Text

sweet plum | chapter six

masterlist | pinterest | spotify playlist

pairing: pedro pascal x fem!reader (plus size)

summary: the last of us wrap party is tonight, and the tension between you and pedro can no longer be ignored…

rating: mature (will become explicit in future chapters)

warnings: alcohol consumption, mild sexual content

a/n: THANK U GUYS FOR THE LOVE ON CHAPTER FIVE omg. i’m kicking myself for not posting this fic on tumblr sooner! pls enjoy chapter six and feel free to not analyze what our lovely reader’s actions might say about me as an author or my relationship to conflict <3 love y’all.

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You’ve been avoiding Pedro like the fucking plague.

Sixty missed calls. Even twenty texts, and off the top of your head you can't remember the last time he actually texted you. The calls became less frequent as the weeks passed, but he still tries at least once every day. You silence them every time.

The day you kissed him, he tried to call you ten times in a row, unbeknownst to you. You had thrown your phone across the living room the second you made it through the door and laid completely catatonic on your bed until your roommate got home.

“Babe, you’ll never guess who I saw last night— Are you good?” she inquired nonchalantly as she entered your room to find you face down in your mound of stuffed animals.

Droplets began to prickle the corners of your eyes as you let out a muffled groan in response. Your mouth wasn’t capable of words, the fat, dry lump in your throat stubborn and unyielding, forcing you to clench your teeth around nothing. A hand landed softly on your shoulder.

“Woah, hey,” she started to rub your arm up and down as a full body sob rippled through you. "Talk to me."

You looked up at her, tears rolling fast and hot down the apples of your cheeks, and threw yourself into her chest.

“I- I- I did something st-stupid,” you managed between sobs.

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” she tried to reassure you gently, smoothing down your hair. “Unless you accidentally shaved some of Pedro’s hair off or something. I’m sure he’d forgive you anyways, though.”

You tried to form words against the sobs clawing their way out of your chest.

“Bad, Abby. Like, r-really bad.”

“Well shit. What’s the damage?” she spoke somewhat brashly, which was nothing new when it came to her attempts at being gentle. “Do I have to kill somebody? ‘Cause I will, I've been playing a lot of first person shooter, I can handle it.”

Laughter overtook your cries, although whatever sounds were coming from your throat were a horrifying mixture of both. Abby chuckled at the sound. You continued like that for a while, laughing and crying and laughing again, until the tears finally stopped.

“Can you tell me what happened?” she blurted as a soberness enveloped her tone. “I’m sure I can come up with a solution. You know I’m crafty.”

“Do you know how to erase memories?” you mumbled as you sat up straight. “That’s the only solution I can think of.”

“No… but I own a bat. Blunt force trauma is a pretty surefire solution.”

“Jesus… not to Pedro.”

“Did you, like, shit yourself or something?” she blundered, immediately biting down on her lip after the words left her mouth. “Sorry, no, this is serious. Serious time.”

You let out a gargantuan sigh as you stared fervently into your lap.

“... I kissed him.”

“You WHAT?” she grabbed your shoulders and shook you aggressively. “YOU WHAT?!”

“I—”

“WHAT? HOW? WHEN?” she shrieked, piercing the hell out of your eardrums.

“I kissed him, on the lips, on the doorstep.”

“ON THE DOORSTEP?!” she flailed her arms, slapping your shoulders in the process. “AND I MISSED IT?!”

“You’re hurting me.”

“WAS IT GOOD? IS HE A GOOD KISSER?”

“Can we use our inside voices?”

“FUCK— ok, sorry,” she mellowed, blowing air through raspberried lips. “Why are you so upset? I thought you wanted this to happen!”

“I... I did. And didn’t. It’s complicated,” you babbled through your frustration. “I just… kissed him. I didn’t think, or ask, and I can’t take it back.”

“Well, did he kiss you back?”

“Uh… I...” you muttered hesitantly. "I think so."

Abby sprung from your bed, squealing and dancing as her fists punched awkwardly into the air. The sight alone made you cackle.

“OK- so, what happened after that? Did he confess his love to you?”

“Jesus christ… no, that’s not what happened,” you groaned. “I sorta... ran away.”

“You WHAT?!”

“Oh god, please don’t kill me,” you whined. “I didn’t know what to do, I only realized what I had done after I had done it and I fuckin' panicked. He tried to grab my hand but I ran inside as fast as I could.”

“Dude, you have got to be kidding me,” her tone went flat, eyes laced with disappointment. “Where's your phone?”

“I don’t know, I threw it across the living room when I got up here. I was kinda freaking out.”

Abby immediately jumped off of the bed and started toward the door to your room, despite your insistent pleas to leave it be. She came storming back inside moments later.

“10 missed calls. 10 MISSED CALLS,” she pointed aggressively to your lock screen displaying the missed notifications. “Look, he even texted you.”

You snatched the phone out of her hand, shoving it under your pillow. “I can’t… I can’t right now.”

“If he didn’t want this, he wouldn’t call you that many times, and he definitely wouldn't have kissed you back," she trailed off for a moment, some sort of realization sparking behind her eyes. "Wait, did he get you those flowers on the kitchen counter?”

“I- yes. Just because I helped him out today last minute.”

“No, not because you helped him out last minute. Flowers from a man mean one of three things. Number one, congrats. Number two, condolences. And number three, please have sex with me.”

“Jesus,” you giggled. “And what does it mean if he brought me a coffee too?”

“Your usual?”

“...Yes.”

“Please have sex with me and be my wife forever and ever.”

You rolled your eyes and flopped back into your pillows, covering your face with your hands and groaning. Abby sat with you for a while, but eventually gave up, knowing damn well that you're to stubborn and you'd make your own decisions regarding the whole situation. She knew she never stood a chance to change your mind anyways.

The days passed, slowly at first, but eventually you found your way back to a steady rhythm. You went to work, saw your friends, read a lot, and spent practically zero time on your phone. Impressive how avoidance managed to cure your social media addiction.

You'd pushed it out of your head that you’d have to see Pedro in a few weeks. Then the weeks turned to a week, then to a few days, then to a day.

You woke up this morning and it all came crashing down.

The wrap party is tonight. Then the premiere tomorrow. Everyone is going. You couldn’t get away with skipping it if you tried. Bella would probably storm into your apartment and drag you out by the hair.

You haven’t even told Bella about the kiss.

You end up lying in bed for hours, watching video after video on Youtube to silence your racing thoughts. You had set an alarm on your phone earlier to remind you when to start getting ready, and it frightens the hell out of you, jolting you from a groggy haze of half-sleep. You curse under your breath and roll lazily onto your feet, your blankets crumpling to a pathetic-looking pile on the floor.

You power up your speaker and choose some music, an upbeat and catchy playlist to try and redirect your energy. The upside in all of this is that you can get all dolled up. It gives you an excuse for extensive self-pampering and wearing outfits that mostly collect dust in your closet.

An everything shower is an understatement of what you have planned. You have your products lined up, various scrubs, masks, body washes, etc, and a fresh razor sitting right beside them. You crank the faucet on, just a hair below the boiling point, and step into the tub.

The steam coats your lungs as you inhale deep, the sudden sensation of the water colliding with your skin sending a stark chill down your body. As you close your eyes, leaning your head back and letting your hair fall into the steady stream, your focus slips to a corner of your mind, the pesky corner that you've tried desperately to keep locked away. Because once the thoughts start, it’s damn near impossible to wrangle them back in.

The fantasy is vivid. You can almost feel Pedro’s hands in your hair, massaging shampoo slowly and intentionally from behind you. He’s close, his bare body pressed to your back, his skin hot and pulsing against yours. He leans you back to rinse the product from your hair, pressing a small kiss to your forehead as he squeezes your shoulder softly.

“Mmmm,” he hums, trailing languid, open-mouth kisses across your cheek and down your neck. “My sweet plum.”

A faint voice in the back of your mind is shouting wildly, trying to stop the scene from playing out in your head, but it's not enough to break through the noise.

He runs his hands down the front of your body, gently tracing your curves and valleys, finger-painting your skin with adoration. Your head falls back into him as his kisses grow deeper, longer, more desperate, him hardening against you as his gentle caresses turn to needy grasps.

“Let me… please,” you whisper into his ear, snaking your hand behind you and running your palm against the underside of his shaft. His body presses harder into yours as he lets out a soft grunt of approval directly in your ear, the vibration of it surging straight to your core.

A jolt of cold water shocks your body, tearing you from your fantasy. You come to and find yourself leaning against the wall of the shower, your ass having knocked the knob to the coldest setting.

“Christ,” you mutter under your breath, cranking the control back to where it was and reaching for your overpriced shampoo bottle.

You go through the motions of the rest of your shower, losing yourself in the music and singing along as you always do. Shower concerts have been your most recent replacement for the therapy that you can't quite afford.

You paint your toes, your leg hoisted up precariously on the counter and torso bent over to reach as your fuzzy robe dangles from your hips. You choose an eggplant purple, matching the accents in your dress. The press-ons that you found are a damn-near perfect match to this color, with a swirling design decorating the tips of the almond shape.

The dress is more of a dainty feminine than you typically go for. You generally gravitate towards sultry colors and styles, but the cut of this dress instantly drew your attention. A plunging neckline with miniscule gold buttons decorating the front. Beneath the bust, a sheer panel with corset boning outlines the waist, and the remainder of the skirt flows heavily, the hem sitting perfectly at your ankles. It reminds you of a Free People style dress, but in your size. Hallelujah.

With a feel-good playlist booming through your speaker, your makeup goes on quick and easy. A thick, black wing smoked out with a deep purple and a subtle, black cherry sheer lip. Everything else you keep fairly light and natural, letting the boldness of the eye do the talking.

You pull your hair up into a bun, making sure the dress is the center of attention. You leave a few, short pieces out and curl them, creating the sense of a haphazard version of a Victorian era updo. After donning some simple gold jewelry and your Mary Janes, the outfit is complete. You throw on an oversized brown blazer just to keep you warm, but you’ll likely take it off the moment you get to the party.

Your uber arrives moments later, somehow exactly as you descend the stairs outside your building. Your driver, an older man named Mario, gets out and shakes your hand as he introduces himself and his very nice BMW named Maria.

You've never met anyone quite this aggressively Italian.

The good-natured man even asks if you'd like to pick the music for the ride. You choose something that you hope the both of you will like: ABBA.

“This was popular when I was your age!” he gushes, the gravel and rasp in his voice more audible than the actual pitch.

“ABBA is absolutely timeless,” you chime, adding a few more songs to the queue.

You chat the whole ride there, his jovial presence somehow working away some of the knots of anxiety in your stomach. He asks all about your work, thankfully steering clear of who you work with, and even prodding you for styling tips for his “thick and unruly” curls.

He pulls up to the entrance, stopping near a hoard of your coworkers from the crew crowded amongst the steps to the double doors. You exchange goodbyes with Mario and slide out of the car into the brisk air, your blazer draped over your shoulders and doing a very ineffective job of retaining any of your body heat. You hear a shriek of joy emerge from the blob of people in front of you, followed by your name in the same cadence. Most of the heads you can see turn to face you, arms reaching out for hugs and smiles as far as you can see.

You’re going to make this a good night. No matter what.

. . . . .

It’s significantly warmer inside the venue, so you decided to drop your jacket at the coat check. It’s much more crowded than you expected, but then again, everyone was invited. Some of your friends from makeup even made the trip from New York to be here. Since you’ve never been to one of these before, jokes keep getting thrown around along the lines of “Baby’s first wrap party!" and you losing your wrap party virginity. The group dynamics from the days on set settle right back into a rhythm, your place as the baby of the group still yours for the taking. You don’t mind the coddling, as it seems to help keep your mind off of the inevitable.

There’s a slurry of waiters dipping and dodging amongst clusters of bodies, hors d'oeuvres and drinks displayed gorgeously on shiny golden platters. Someone’s arm is dragging you towards the open bar across the dance floor, where a herd has already begun to form. A slew of voices and faces pass you by as you travel swiftly through the crowd, and you’re unable to make out anything distinct amongst the clamor.

Until you hear his voice.

That familiar boom of laughter, crisp and thunderous, crystal clear amongst the hundreds of noises up against it. You immediately whip your head around to locate the source, forgetting your hand is in the grips of your friend and nearly snapping her limb off in the process. She lunges forward into you, nearly knocking your hors d’oeuvres plate from your hand and garnering the attention of several people surrounding you.

You somehow stumble back to balance and a very attentive waiter quickly swipes the mostly finished plate from your hands. The swiftness of everything is making you dizzy, sounds and sights swirling in the warm glow of the gorgeous chandelier decorating the space above you. With every turn of your head, the crowd in front of you shifts to blurry outlines of colors and shapes, like ink bleeding from the hard lines where people should begin and end.

Suddenly you feel arms wrapping around your waist and squeezing your organs to a pulp.

“Who-” you look down to see two small hands with black painted nails. “Is that my Bellie?”

A head pops into your peripheral with a wide, toothy smile. You let out a little shriek as your arms envelop them and squeeze, lifting them off the ground a bit with the sheer force of it.

“I missed you so much—'' you pause, taking in their presence once more. “Look at you! You look amazing!”

“I look amazing?” They toy gently with the skirt of your dress. “You look amazing!”

You embrace once more, the excitement of seeing them in person completely overriding your ability to control the gleeful noises escaping your body. They pull away, your hands still gripping each other’s elbows.

“Have you seen P? I know he’s already here,” they pull their phone out of their back pocket, his location pulled up on Find My Friends.

“Oh, uh… I— I haven’t yet,” you hear your voice quickly morph into a downbeat tone against your will.

“Uh oh,” they blurt. “Why is your face doing that? Did something happen?”

“I- uh…” you stumble over a sad attempt at words, muttering unintelligible syllables. “Well—”

Your train of thought comes to a screeching halt as he appears through a sliver in the crowd.

And, god, he looks handsome as ever. A nice, nice white suit clings ever so perfectly to his muscular, statuesque frame. The collar is folded neatly against his strong, thick neck, a few subtle veins protruding softly from his caramel skin. His dimples are on full display as he throws his head back with laughter, the little heart-shaped patch in his beard perfectly prominent.

Bella follows your gaze until they see him. They call out his name and wave him down on their tiptoes. He immediately clocks the voice, and you watch as the small smile on his face spreads to a wide grin. He excuses himself from his current conversation and starts towards your direction.

Your stomach drops. You quickly survey around you to find that there is no clear escape, there are clusters of people surrounding you on each side and no pockets that you could gracefully slip into to weave your way through the crowd. For better or worse, you’re trapped.

He quickly scoops Bella into a bear hug, his arms enveloping their small frame in it's entirety. He spins them around, their feet dangling, hovering just above the floor. You stand there, frozen, little bunches of your dress clumped up in your tight, fidgeting fists. The fabric rolls between your thumb and forefinger, a haphazard attempt at soothing the anxiety surging through your veins.

It takes him a minute to acknowledge your presence, and with every second that passes, your urge to bolt revs in your belly.

Once his gaze meets yours, a soft, forgiving smile paints across his lips. You force the corners of your mouth upwards, attempting to create what hopefully appears like an expression of joy. Hopefully.

“Hi.”

It comes out more like a sigh when he says it, like it’s been pounding at his chest, just waiting to be released. His hand lays flat on his abdomen as he taps his pointer finger repeatedly. The muscles in his neck flex, creating movement in the collar of his shirt.

He’s nervous. You know him well enough to know that, and you know you’re likely not hiding your true state very well either. He knows you just as well.

You try to respond. The air you've been holding prisoner in your lungs tumbles out, catching in your throat. A feeble, "H-hi," is all you can manage.

“You look…” his eyes wander your body, your face, your hair, his lips parted ever so slightly. “You look lovely.”

The statement reverberates in your mind until you hear a distant call of your name. A quick turn of your head finds your favorite hairstylist waving you down.

“I—” you swallow and start over. “Thank you. Thanks. I—, sorry, I gotta—” you motion toward your destination with your thumb before decidedly turning and slipping through the crowd, a copious amount of polite little statements slipping off your tongue in order to get out of sight and away from him.

. . . . .

“So… what the fuck was that?” Bella states gruffly, sitting opposite of you at a small high top table, tucked away in a quieter room off of the main ballroom. “That was, like, painful.”

You let out a small groan, knowing you’d have to tell them at some point, but dissenting the fact that the time for that confession seems to be right this very second.

“I kinda… I fucked things up between us.”

“I doubt that,” they say reassuringly.

“No, seriously, I—” you stop yourself mid-sentence to catch your breath. “I kissed him, Bel.”

They let out a satisfied chuckle.

“Well thank god. It’s about goddamn time.”

“No, no you don’t understand,” you babble. “I kissed him without thinking, realized what I did, and ran.”

“Ohhhh my g—” they blow a raspberry. “Ok. Well. When was this?”

“Like… a month ago?”

“A month?!”

“I haven’t spoken to him since.”

“Jesus christ… I’m assuming he’s tried to call you, yes?”

“Pretty much every single day since it happened,” your words come out more sigh than pitch.

Bella rubs their temples, an incomprehensible expression on their face.

“Gosh, it feels like mom and dad are fighting.”

That makes you snort laugh, to your own surprise.

“Well clearly he’s not angry at you. And you can’t avoid him forever,” they reason, their bluntness somehow comforting, unraveling the little knot sitting in your gut. “I wish you two would just put all your cards on the table. Worst comes to worst, things don’t work out.”

“I just really don’t want to lose him, Bellie,” you mumble into your drink.

“You will if you don’t talk to him,” they quip right back, eyes stern and decided.

You know they’re right. As much as you don’t want to admit it, you know.

“I’ll talk to him. Tomorrow. Tonight is supposed to be fun.”

“Fair enough. Now, come dance with me.” they hop to their feet and extend a hand.

You take it with a smile, and within a mere second they’re whisking you towards the dance floor.

. . . . .

You’ve had 3 drinks. Three strong drinks. On a stomach with only a few bite sized hors d'oeuvres to soak up the copious amount of gin in your system.

And it’s helping, sure. Helping you forget momentarily that Pedro is probably within 100 feet of you at any given moment. Helping your breath move in and out the way it’s supposed to, without catching on threads of worry webbed inside your lungs. Helping to loosen the knots that riddled your body when you got here.

But it’s also making you dizzy.

Dizzy enough that you’re not quite sure when you end and others begin. It’s all lights and laughter and limbs, filling your senses to the brim. The corners of your vision have a little haze to them, a haze that’s starting to grow inward.

You stumble your way out of the hoard, searching for the nearest corner to tuck yourself away in for a moment. A friend hollers after you, asking if you’re alright.

“I’m good! Just got the spins,” you reassure her. “I’ll be back.”

A little awning reveals itself to you in a narrow sightline through the crowd. You follow the slender gap without a second thought. Once you reach the end, you find a dimly lit hallway with an emergency exit sign illuminating a sturdy black door. You steady yourself on a railing and lean your weight into the wall, your head bowed slightly and shoulders rounded.

The pattern on the carpet sways in your vision as you let yourself hang for a moment, releasing tension from your upper body and pushing your feet firmly into the floor as some attempt at grounding. After a moment, you decide to take your shoes off in hopes it will inspire your body to feel more “at one with gravity”.

The sound of booming bass still accosts your ears, but more muffled now, and the sound waves flow through you, perfectly in time with the beating of your heart. It isn’t until your name is spoken the third time that you really hear it.

Your eyes shoot up to find Pedro, a worried, scrunched brow on his face and a bottle of water in his hand.

“Oh- um…” you stammer. You continue to fight for the right words, any words, until he cuts you off.

“Drink this,” he twists the cap and gently places the bottle into your right hand. “I haven’t seen you take a sip of water the entire night. No wonder you’re dizzy.”

A moment of confusion clouds you, but you quickly remember that you shouted over the blaring music for all to hear of your current state. Your voice can be quite head-turning with a lack of inhibition. You obey his word and take a swig from the bottle, the crisp, cold water relentless against your sensitive teeth. The temperature is a visceral opposite to the flush of your face, causing you to furrow your brow slightly as it travels down your esophagus.

He lets out a chuckle as he scans your expression.

“Cold?”

You produce an affirmative grumble and try to pass the bottle to him, but he gently pushes it back towards your chest.

“Have some more.”

Your eyes flutter under the softness of his gaze. You try to gulp down the dry seed in you throat.

“Pedro, I—”

“We don’t have to talk about it right now.”

“Bella told me I have to talk to you,” you admit, your chin tucked and stare driving into the carpet, whispering in a way that sounded more like you were reminding yourself than telling him.

It makes him laugh, releasing that sweet, boisterous sound and it's accompanying smile you missed so dearly.

“Taking orders from Bellie now, eh?”

“They can be a bit militant when push comes to shove, to be honest,” a puff of air passes through your nose as a smirk tugs at your lips, your eyes glued to the floor. "'Specially if I'm being an idiot."

You take a few more sips of water and Pedro shifts to stand beside you, kicking his foot up with his back flat against the wall. Neither of you speak, only the sounds of your breath filling the space between you.

You both inhale at the same time, as though you are both about to speak.

“F—sorry, y-you go,” you gulp, though your mouth is bone dry.

He lets his exhale escape through puckered lips, and you watch as his hiked up chest deflates. His hand sits flat against the first button of his suit jacket as he thumbs at the lapel.

“I’ve spent the past month in agony, you know.”

You gaze up at his face, his eyes fixed on the glint in his freshly-shined shoes. He rolls his bottom lip through his teeth nervously, the hue of the skin shifting from an off-white to a bitten pink as it’s released from the grip.

“Missing you…” he spoke softly. “Wanting to talk to you…”

Guilt spreads like a wildfire, scalding your throat.

“Pedro, I— I am so s—”

“Wanting nothing more than to kiss you again.”

The words kick the air from your lungs, your lips parting to make way as the muscles in your jaw give out entirely. He turns to face your visage, and you find his painted with an expression of pure yearning. His eyes have a sparkle to them, but not of joy. It’s more like a heat, a burning that seems almost painful to endure. The thick, inescapable tension wraps itself hermetically around your neck.

“I— You didn’t even give me a chance to kiss you back.”

Before you can even process the words, the clinking of glasses sounds in the distance. Through the muffled shouting you hear a strained attempt at organizing a drunken group photo.

“We should probably…” you floppily gesture towards the ballroom, the alcohol seemingly turning your bones a bit soft and pliable. “Can we talk about this after the party? I'd like to be a little more sober if I can help it.”

“Right, uh—” he adjusts his tie slightly, insecurely clearing his throat. “After the party. I can do that.”

“I promise,” you assure, though you’re acutely aware that he has very little reason to trust you, considering you avoided him for almost a month straight. You reach for his hand, the one that’s still fidgeting with his jacket, hopeful your touch will convey your sincerity in a way that your words can’t.

He smiles, somewhat forcibly. and offers his arm.

“Shall we?”

You make your way back to the crowd, observing with a small chuckle as a few people with phones in hand attempt to herd people left and right, trying to create some semblance of a formation. The two of you slip into the hoard easily, gliding right into a perfect little cranny to the left of the pointed cameras.

Pedro slides his arm around your waist as you pose, and you’re certain he can feel your raging pulse thumping through every vessel beneath your skin.

“Ok, now a funny one!” says one of the photographers.

You turn to each other, smiling and searching for an idea. Drunken and foolish, you take his arm and pretend to bite it.

He lets out a hearty laugh before leaning into the “scene”, his face mocking an expression of terror. You have to stifle your giggles with an open mouth, which results in a strange, almost strangled sound escaping you. It only encourages his laughter, which encourages yours, and droplets form at the crest of your eyes as you wait for the signal to drop the pose.

“Got it!” someone blurts across the ballroom.

“Sorry about that,” you guide his arm back to his side, giving it a gentle pat into place. “These hors d'oeuvres just made me hungrier.”

You laugh at your own joke, snorting on the inhale, and you look up to see his smile, wide and gleaming, the bounciest part of his cheeks sporting a salmon-pink hue.

A distant voice calls for Pedro, hollering something about an actors-only picture, and he turns his head to find the source. You grab his hand before he starts towards them.

“Call me, ok? After the party,” you gently squeeze at his wrist. “I promise I’ll answer this time.”

He nods, his sickly sweet smile punctuated with picture-perfect dimples. He turns his back to you and weaves his way through the crowd.

. . . . .

You finally made your way out of the coat check line after a grueling twenty minutes of needing to pee but not wanting to give up your spot in line. You’re standing outside the entrance now, the brisk air nipping at your bare ankles. You idly pull out your phone to find two text notifications from Pedro.

The first is an address, with a unit number. Los Angeles. You recognize the street name.

The second message reads:

I just got home. Buzz me when u get here. :)

You almost start to skim through the unread messages he’d sent you since that night, but you’re quickly derailed by another buzz.

Pedro Pascal sent you $100. Description: for your ride.

You laugh out loud, amused by his overestimation of the price, but nevertheless stunned by his unfailing thoughtfulness. You start towards the stairs, your nerves burning and buzzing, entirely uncertain and out of control of what the evening holds.

. . . . .

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #plus size reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #the last of us #pedrohub

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thot-writes · 8 months

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i just posted art of my werewolf tav & astarion so y’know what?? take this fic to go along w it. what would astarion/the gang do if u were a lil werewolf (i did not mean for it to get this long lol)

your vampire not-quite-boyfriend + the gang find out you’re a cheeky little pup (act i post-grove);

Lycanthropy wasn’t something you were born into like some. No, like most others bearing the curse you were infected with it. The transformation process was an excruciating, torturous one that is still branded into your very bones.

The bloodlust festers in you, day and night, like a splinter that’s burrowed too deep for you to dig out. It calls for you to rip, tear, dominate— kill. But you can suppress it. Mostly. You refuse to be one of the many werewolves that is controlled only by their base instincts.

But every full moon the beast blood takes you completely, and you have no choice but to transform. You never remember the night after you’ve turned back. Only brief snippets of red, pain, and fur.

Despite not tracking the stars, you can normally tell when a full moon’s coming because your body begins to ache, preparing itself to split open to birth the savage wolf that slumbers within. Usually you’d start your preparations to restrain yourself, to limit the carnage as much as possible.

But these aren’t usual times.

Three weeks ago you were captured from your home by mind flayers and infected with a tadpole, your entire world turned inside out with stranger things happening every day.

You now travel with a Sharran, a githyanki, two ticking time-bombs, a warlock, and a vampire.

One of their spawn, at least. It’s a good thing that in Faerûn, vampires and lycanthropes tend to be neutral towards each other — unlike what the romance novels would have you believe. Otherwise it’d make the regular sex you’re having with Astarion quite awkward.

You’d think that knowing all the sordid details about your travelling companions would bid you to confess your lycanthropy, but you could never find a way to bring it up.

Or, more accurately, you could bring it up you just didn’t want to. Not necessarily out of trauma, just convenience on your part. Confessing lycanthropy normally comes with questions, and the way you were turned is… kind of embarrassing, so you’re never keen to retell it.

But tonight, the moon will tell everyone for you. if you don’t get out in time.

The whole day your blood hammered in your flesh, your head splitting apart in a horrific headache and your bones feeling as if they could break and reshape at any moment. You lied to your companions, insisted you must’ve just drank too much last night at camp, and they bought it. Kind of. You hope.

You retired early for the day and whilst the others lounge about the camp you’re near biting your fingers off in uneasy anticipation of what’s to come. You need an excuse— any excuse to get the fuck out of here before the moon fully rises. You think you have an hour at most before you’re no longer you.

“My, but you’ve been looking ill all day, [Name]. I don’t recall you drinking that much last night.”

You almost jump out of your skin. Your heightened senses of smell and hearing usually help in preventing unpleasant surprises, but not today, not when you’re so on-edge. It was Astarion’s lilted voice that called from behind you. A sweet tune you’re all-too-happy to hear, in regular circumstances.

He gazes at you with that hard-to-read gleam in his eyes. The kind of gleam where you’re not sure if it’s because he knows something, is hiding something, or wants to tease you. You manage a shaky smile in response.

“You weren’t with me the whole night, Astarion. We slept separately,” you attempt.

“That night anyway,” he adds with a pretty little grin on his lips. You notice his gaze flickering over your body. “So you’re saying after I drank from you, you… what? Went back to your tent for some late-night binge drinking? Not that I’m surprised, you seem the type, but even still. Your hangover looks particularly… aggressive.”

You throw your hands up in an exaggerated shrug. “What, are you gonna throw an intervention for me? Gonna beat me up? Write me a letter about how much my drinking affects you?”

He chuckles. “Oh please, as if I care that much. I’m just saying that you seem a little sicker than alcohol would leave you.” He gasps, then presses a hand to his face. “What if you were poisoned? By someone in this very camp? How scandalous! My money’s on the gith.”

“If I was poisoned my money’s on you bitch.”

A grin. He always seems to smile so much in your presence. You wonder how much is real. You wonder if you’re overthinking it, or if you smile just as much as he does.

You’re ripped away from your thoughts as a terrible pain grips you. It takes all your strength not to double over right there— you’ve already drawn too much scrutiny, you don’t want more. You squeeze your eyes shut and hold your trembling hands still as the curse makes itself known. The pain you experience in transforming is what you’d imagine childbirth to be — if you gave birth to a baby out of every pore. You’ve only had this curse a scant few years, how have people managed to live entire lives with it?

Astarion notices your struggle. He tilts his head and looks on. “You really do seem like you’ve been poisoned. Or at least I hope that’s all it is. If you’re sick then I’m afraid you’ll be sleeping alone for a while longer yet, pup. I don’t want… whatever that is.”

You grit your teeth to prevent a cry. “I’m fi—iine!” you grunt. The pain lapses for a moment, this is your chance to leave. “I just— I have—uhh— really bad diarrhoea!”

“What?”

You make a show of holding your stomach and slouching. “Oh man it’s soooo bad right now, I’m probably gonna be shitting up a storm in the forest all night!”

“Gods above, please… spare me the details. Just go.” Astarion waves you off and grimaces at the mental image you’ve conjured for him.

“Okay, I better go have violent diarrhoea everywhere in the forest now— don’t follow me! Don’t look for me! Don’t let anyone look for me! I gotta go, goodnight! Don’t look for me!”

You give him no time to answer as you sprint into the wilderness. Your heart is hammering and your pulse quickening. You feel you only have a few more minutes until…

A scream escapes you before you can stop it, your skin is starting to bulge and split, revealing [colour] fur beneath it. No— not now, you’re still too close to camp— just hold on a little longer.

You gather all the strength you have, which is more than usual with the wolf so near, and run.

You’re deep in the wild now. Your screams are more frequent, your body produces sickening crunching sounds as the wolf starts its escape. You collapse to the forest floor, writhing in abject agony as your body tears itself apart. Transforming like this only ever takes a few minutes, but it always feels so infinitely long.

Soon your cries morph into a pained howl, and the birthing process is complete. Your mind has now been banished to the darkest recesses of you, and in its place is a beast.

It’s a blur each time you’re turned like this. When it’s of your own volition the process is simpler, quicker— though no less painful. You can maintain control if you focus hard enough. But the forced transformations are a different experience entirely. There is no control, only hunger. Only fangs, claws, and a deep, insatiable yearning for prey.

Astarion did as you asked. He didn’t search for you, not even when he heard that first scream. The thought of walking in on you… projectile excreting was enough of a deterrent to stay his curiosity.

But hours have passed since then. He couldn’t hear you, there was only quiet. When Gale asked where you were, he simply said you had taken ill. But now Astarion was the only one left awake, and there was still no sign of you.

You had been acting off all day. He didn’t believe it was simply a hangover, he’d seen many in his lifetime but they never caused anyone to disappear into the woods. As far as he knew.

But then… what was this odd subtle tightness settling in his chest? The thought that maybe something had happened to you, and you were no longer safe?

Could it possibly be that he was… worried about you?

He shakes his head. No, of course not. You’re nothing more than a target, a meat shield for if and when things go wrong. He didn’t have any feelings towards you, and certainly not enough to worry.

Astarion stays awake. Not for you, of course— perish the thought— he just wanted to get more reading done. Obviously.

Another hour passes.

Then one more.

Still nothing.

He’s coursing with anxious energy now and gets to his feet. What if you’d been turned into a mindflayer? What would that mean for the rest of them? Because of course it was his own well-being he was concerned for— definitely not yours!

He goes to the tent nearest to him, Lae’zel’s, and shakes her awake.

She grunts and sits up. “Chk, what is it Astarion? Why have you disturbed me?”

“[Name] still hasn’t returned, and dawn’s almost here,” he answers. His voice is a little shaky, but it’s probably because he’s a bit cold. “We should try to find them.”

Lae’zel nods curtly and begins to rise. She slings her sword over her back and says to Astarion, “Wake the others. If [Name] has become ghaik, we will need to put them down.”

A knot forms in his stomach as he turns to rouse the others. He finds himself hoping you haven’t been transformed— then quickly catches himself and buries the feeling.

He wakes them and explains the situation, and the group splits off into pairs to search for you; Wyll and Karlach, Shadowheart and Gale, Lae’zel and Astarion.

One would think someone with your supposed illness would be leaving… traces. But there’s nothing. It was almost like you’d just vanished— until Karlach had found your clothes. There was no blood on them, no damage, no filth (at least no more than usual).

The search continues.

Dawn isn’t far. Just a little longer.

As Astarion and Lae’zel scout together, he catches a whiff of blood in the distance. Animal blood, certainly. But it seems like… a lot. He notifies Lae’zel and they follow the scent, only to come across a mauled boar carcass. It’s practically been reduced to a puddle with how much carnage was heaved upon it, and what’s more…

There’s massive paw prints in the dirt. Soaked in the blood of the boar. Could this creature have hunted you? Is that why you never returned?

They alert the others and follow the tracks, along the way finding great claw marks in the trunks of the trees, various piles of viscera from unfortunate beasts, and small patches of fur. Fur the exact same colour as your hair…

The tracks lead to a small clearing in the forest, and in the middle of said clearing is… you.

Well, not you-you, but the hunkering direwolf-humanoid you turned into.

You’re crouched down, curled into a ball as your mind rends itself in twain. As dawn approaches, so too do your senses begin to return, but the wolf is not ready to relinquish control — it never is. The two of you battle for dominance in a silent struggle, ignorant to the group surrounding you from the trees.

Your werewolf self is a grotesque, fearsome thing, even as you’re lurching in pain. Your fur is an exact match of your natural hair colour, as are your eyes, even though in this form they’re clouded in rage and hunger. If you were stood upright, they’d see how you reached just over nine feet tall, how your hands and paws were lined with razor-sharp claws. Even as pathetic as you are in your current state, you’re still no creature to be trifled with.

Shadowheart steels herself as Lae’zel raises her sword high, prepared to strike you while you’re distracted.

“Abomination,” she spits, venom heavy on her tongue. “Lurk in these woods no longer, you die by my hand.”

She brings the blade down in a wide crescent motion, and you barely move out of the way in time. She’s managed to cut you, but you’re lucky to have missed the brunt of the attack.

You leap away from Lae’zel only to move into Karlach’s range of attack. She strikes you with her battleaxe and you roar as it slices into the skin of your back. Your wound quickly heals, and you spin around to swing a clawed hand in her direction. Your fist meets her side, and she’s flung feet away.

The group— your group— begins their surprisingly well-orchestrated assault, and it becomes clear that, as strong as you are, you cannot hold out for long. Not against all of them. Probably not even against half of them.

But the gods sometimes grant small mercies. The sun finally breaks, the Dawnlord’s radiance has weakened the wolf’s chokehold on you, and you stumble backwards. Your body begins to rapidly decay and break apart, and the others step back and watch the spectacle cautiously.

In less than a minute, the vicious wolf you were has become naught but gore, and underneath is your naked body, soaked in blood.

“What the fuck— [Name]?! I’m not seeing things am I? Tell me I’m not seeing things!” Karlach exclaims, suddenly overcome with guilt at having tried to kill you.

Gale watches in resignation as you limp, holding your beaten and broken body. “You’re not. That’s our [Name], alright. A lycanthrope... What a shock.” Because of course the group can’t have one normal person, can it?

Astarion is simultaneously the most and least surprised at this revelation. “So you’re telling me this entire time I’ve been sleeping with a werewolf? Ugh, there’s a joke about giving a dog a bone in there somewhere, but I’m too tired to think of it.”

You collapse, exhaustion claiming your mind after a long, blood-filled night.

When you awake a couple hours later, you find you’re tucked in your bedroll, wounds tended to and dressed once again. How did you get here, you wonder? You leave your tent to find your friends waiting around in a circle by the long-dead fire.

Astarion’s the first to notice you. “Ah, darling, you’re finally awake! I don’t suppose you’d be up for a little chat, would you? I believe we’re owed an explanation.”

You freeze. An explanation for what? Did they find you and take you back here? Do they know what you are?

You don’t have to wait long for an answer.

“After everything we’ve been through, travelling together these last few weeks, I’d have thought we developed enough trust between us. But apparently not.” Gale pauses, then looks you in the eyes. “Why did you hide what you are from us?”

“This fuckin’ world is so fucked up,” you say, folding your arms and scrunching your face. “We got two people with bombs in their chests and a guy who drinks blood but because I turn into a rabid dog once a month I’m the bad guy, really?”

“We’re not saying you’re a bad guy, we’re wondering why you didn’t trust us!” Karlach protests. “We’re supposed to be friends aren’t we?”

You frown a little and slump your shoulders. “We are friends. But we’re already dealing with sooo much bullshit I just thought it’d be better if I dealt with it myself, y’know. I mean it’s not like you can help me with it anyway, cures are hard to find and lycanthropy isn’t as bad as tadpoles and orbs and devils.”

“I’m fine with your condition [Name], so long as you don’t transform in front of me, that is,” Shadowheart chimes. “But aside from that… that wolf form seemed quite formidable. Perhaps we can make use of it, now that we know.”

Astarion claps his hands excitedly. “Oh yes! I’d love to see that! Werewolves can be quite vicious you know, always good fun to see the hounds on a hunt.”

Shadowheart turns to him. “You’re not mad that your lover’s a werewolf, Astarion? I’d have thought you’d be more upset, as a vampire and all.”

He rests a hand on his hip and half heartedly inspects his nails. “Oh please, werewolves and vampires are just as likely to be allies as they are to be enemies. Cazador has had so many wolf pets over the years, I suppose it was only a matter of time until I got my own.”

“You’ve got it ass-backwards Astarion, if anything you’re my pet vampire,” you tease.

“How dare you! Here I thought puppies were supposed to be cute and obedient,” he cries in mock offence.

“Says the one who gets on all fours for a dog—”

Gale clears his throat loudly and claps his hands. “Ahem! Alright, now that that’s settled, I hope there won’t be anymore surprise revelations about the members of our group. Gods know we have more than enough of them to last a lifetime. Shall we get on? We have a long day ahead.”

It’s of a great relief to you that they didn’t ask too many questions, though you somehow suspect you’ll be telling them the humiliating story of your infection someday soon. In such a short time, you’ve grown fond of your new friends, and even fonder for a certain vampire…

And you’re sure you have a long, long road ahead of you yet.

#my posts #reader insert #baldurs gate iii #baldurs gate 3 x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldurs gate iii fanfic #astarion x mc #astarion x you #one shot #baldurs gate iii oneshot #gender neutral reader #werewolf x vampire #vampire x werewolf #METAL AGAINST METAL #can u guys tell how much i love bg3 and these lil goofballs?

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weirdagnes · 22 days

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Since i can’t pour energy into writing a whole fic/drawing stuff yet, I’m gonna dump some headcanons I have on Mishuggy.

(Long post ahead)

Shanks only bathes in the sea so its smell became his trademark scent. Buggy loves the seawater scent on him. He can never bathe in the sea anymore, so it brings him comfort when he cuddles with Shanks bc it’s the closest he can get to being in contact with the sea without feeling weak. Every time they meet, Shanks makes sure to bathe in the sea first before meeting Buggy so cuddle time will last longer.

One of Mihawk’s stims is running his hand through Buggy’s hair.

Mihawk is a night person, Shanks is an insomniac, Buggy is a morning person. Mihawk often joins Shanks when he can’t sleep, some wine and talking. Sometimes they’d be quiet and admire a sleeping Buggy.

Buggy’s voice gets low and rough often when his social battery is drained or he’s not in his stage persona (which is a very rare occurrence). Mihawk finds this incredibly attractive.

Shanks absolutely adores Buggy’s voice cracks.

Shanks is the best kisser, Mihawk is the most awkward/timid, Buggy has the most kissable lips (Shanks loves it when his lipstick leaves stains) but because of his nose, he’s the most awkward to kiss (if you’re not a professional Buggy-kisser like Shanks!)

Mihawk may not prefer lips-to-lips kissing, but he does love kissing other parts of the body like the hands, the shoulder, etc.

Buggy’s lowkey attentive to Mihawk’s infodumps on different kinds of blades, its uses and history. He’s fond of blades as well but more on short blades like daggers and machetes. He loses his mind seeing how cool Mihawk’s cross pendant knife is, and couldn’t resist showing off to him the hidden knives and explosives in his body (Mihawk wonders how he has not killed himself yet by accident).

Mihawk kinda cringes on Buggy’s habit of licking knives. He asks how has he not cut his tongue yet, Buggy is like “Hawky are u fr” then he chops off his tongue and Mihawk is horrified but quickly felt stupid remembering Buggy had devil fruit powers.

Buggy loves cherries and other sweet fruits. Hates pineapple way before he ate the Chop Chop fruit, and his distaste for it increased after eating it.

Shanks likes fish and Mihawk likes vegetable dishes (borderline vegan at this point).

Buggy loves warm colors (reds, oranges, yellows, gold). It just so happens that Mihawk and Shanks are associated with red and yellow.

Even though Mihawk and Buggy are complete opposites of a spectrum, they surprisingly get along well in terms of hobby. They both like to read, for one. Mihawk will mention a book in one of his infodumps and Buggy will be like “Oh yeah I love that one chapter where…” They both like art as well; Mihawk drew and painted in his free time when he was living in the castle, preferring still objects, dead sceneries, and chiaroscuro lightings.

Other than performance art (acting and acrobatics), Buggy is into cartography and drawing landscapes with oil pastels, but he often does maps more. When he does draw landscapes, the subject are often places where he has strong fondness/feelings of (his circus tent, Loguetown, the sea, etc). He uses small paper mediums and tucks them away. He only got to try painting when Mihawk offered. They had fun and created abstract - Buggy splashes paint spotaneously and generously, Mihawk feels the waste of paint but eventually lets loose (Buggy’s encouragement) and tried stroking the paintbrush like he wields his sword (when the canvas was slashed, they considered it a finished artwork).

Buggy and Mihawk also likes shiny things. Buggy loves treasure-finding more as an activity sure, but opening a chest full of shiny gems and trinkets is also what makes it enjoyable. He’s fond of jeweled earrings and rings but would rather keep them in a chest than wear them daily. Mihawk’s fondness for shiny things began with blades, but it also extended to shining gold colors. He’s not fond of gold for wealth purposes, he just likes shiny things.

Mihawk hates swimming whereas Shanks and Buggy love it (Buggy loves it more, but can’t do it anymore after eating his devil fruit). Mihawk hates getting wet for a long period of time + swimming is a strenuous activity, but he only learns it bc it’s a necessity for survival esp he travels by sea (and also bc there was one time where he almost drowned and its one of his most embarrassing memories. He was glad he travelled alone bc he’ll die of embarrassment forever if anyone lived to see that)

Shanks is a generous gift-giver. He isn’t materialistic himself, but the moment either Buggy or Mihawk express a passing comment about a rare wine he wanted to try someday or a map he wants to get his hands on - you got it. Shanks WILL find a way.

Whenever they go out together, Mihawk cringes at their fashion tastes. Shanks is more of a “this shirt is 10yrs old but hey its still usable” kind of guy. Buggy wears the most eyestrain clown outfits ever that will make you wonder “how did i end up with this guy”. In Shanks and Buggy’s head, they think Mihawk is an edgelord with his dark outfits on every occasion. Despite all this though, they find each other handsome.

#the headcanons just piled up over time qwq #one piece #buggy the clown #op buggy #dracule mihawk #op mihawk #red haired shanks #op shanks #mishuggy #shanks x buggy x mihawk #mihawk x shanks #shanks x buggy #mihawk x buggy #shuggy #mishanks #bughawk #headcanons #long post

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ominous-auburn-orbs · 5 months

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Gay people real?!?

Can i get a burger extra cheese

Or if you dont have that

A kingleader fic about Caine just,,, wearing kingers robe (assuming he has more than one) and kinger catching him red-handed ——> fluff ensues

I have shart block so i’ll prolly draw it too (if it’s okay wit u tho)

Thamk you 🫶

I do not have a burger, no, but I do have some gays.

Anyone making art about anything I write ever makes me the world's happiest guy so if you wanna draw it then fuck yeah draw it

Caine quietly opened the door to Kinger's room. He knew the chess piece was in his smaller, separate fortress near the stage, so he decided to use this opportunity to his advantage.

Moving further in, Caine scanned the room for anything resembling a closet, but found only the large pillow fort that took up near the entire room. Maybe it was in there, along with likely everything Kinger owned. He really could've just had a room made of pillows in the first place, all he had to do was ask...

Pushing some of the pillows aside, Caine went inside and found a lot more than what he expected to. The place was larger than what it had looked like and had an abundance of furniture and decorations. It was rather nice. He couldn't help but run his hands along most of it, lingering on the bed specifically for probably longer than what would be considered normal.

Remembering why he was there to begin with, he floated over to the closet and pulled open the doors. Inside were about five identical purple robes. Perfect.

It was at this point where he hesitated. Would this be wrong? He was in a relationship with Kinger at this point, and he wasn't doing anything inherently weird. He just wanted to try on one of the robes, then he'd put it right back.

He pulled one of the robes off of its hanger. Caine examined it as he held it in his hands. It was soft. He opened the robe and placed it on his shoulders, feeling himself being weighed down by it. From where he was floating, the bottom of it brushed against the floor.

As he pulled it closer to himself, he felt a pleasant warmth rise in his face. The robe felt comforting and nice. It felt like Kinger. So absorbed was Caine in the robe's feel and the thoughts of Kinger it provoked, he didn't hear the door creak open further nor the shuffling of pillows being moved aside.

"Caine, what are you doing?" The ringmaster startled, both of them yelling in surprise. His blush worsened exponentially. He had forgotten to close the door, and now he had to face the consequences.

"W-well, uh, you see, I've always wanted to- to try on one of your robes. They've always looked-" His eyes wandered along the robe Kinger wore now, "felt, so soft."

"Couldn't you have just spawned one in instead of trying to sneak in here?"

"I suppose, but..." He faltered, attempting to find the words that would make his feelings make sense. "It just isn't the same! That would just be another robe, these are your robes, y-you wore them, they, um, smell like... you."

"...Caine, you don't have a nose." Kinger was touched by the sentiment regardless, despite how little sense it made.

"I know I don't, let me be romantic!" The chess piece chuckled, putting a hand on Caine's face which he immediately leaned into.

"Alright, then. You know you really could've just asked for one of my robes, I would've given it to you. You look cute in it anyway." Kinger caressed the ringmaster's gums, his voice lowering somewhat. "I like seeing you in my clothes."

He felt Caine's face start to burn up against his palm along with hearing a quiet dial-up sound. "A-ah- I didn't know you'd- uh-"

Kinger pressed his face to Caine's teeth and smiled. "You don't need to be so sneaky with this. Feel free to steal from me whenever you want."

Caine took his word for it, which resulted in multiple morning greetings starting with the ringmaster being weighed further down to the ground by a large purple robe. Jax would snicker and nudge Kinger, but the chess piece would never be listening, his eyes trained solely on the main thing that made his digital life worth living.

#caine x kinger #royalteeth #kinger x caine #kingleader #they're both so gay god damn

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hanasnx · 11 months

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OH ALSO I have loads of ideas to just throw in your inbox so feel free to ignore them or whatever BUT……… remember the fic idea I made about infidelity kink being married to a king but ur fuckin anakin who is ur body guard 🤭🤭🤭 maybe… maybe u could pls maybe write sum to do with that or maybe not ok BYE SORRY

here are my thoughts on it melding my style with your fic and the extra details u gave me in the dms

as i said, since it’s an idea that’s been explored by you, i don’t feel like i get to take full creative license on it which means i can’t really make a one shot or something with it but i appreciate you giving me a little scenario to work with! i’ll give you some headcanons even if my inspo on this idea are scarce

since you two can’t be see together outside of professionalism, sneaking out would be a constant occupation. you meet at a fountain in the middle of the night. you swap stories about your planet’s culture and his wartime regimen. there’s a coastline near your residence, and you venture off to walk alongside the shore hand in hand. he tells you about how he can’t stand to see the king touch you. and you tell him how you can’t stand when the king touches you because it’s simply not anakin.

you hike up the length of your garments and hold your shoes in the same grasp, letting the sand meld between your toes. there’s a tropical forest and a secret clearing within it, that you and anakin lay blankets down so you can lounge.

you play him some instrument of your heritage, he relays the poetry that he writes about you in his brain out of the things he observes during the day. how you are like his sun, warming him until he burns up with desire. your soft plucking falters, chest tightening from his words.

when anakin can’t take it anymore, his thought process becomes all-or-nothing. there’s no use running away from him for any longer, and if you choose your king, anakin will not stand by while you do it. so he invites himself into your chambers. and wakes you up with his metal hand cupping your mouth. when your eyes adjust, he places a single finger over his cushioned lips and you relax for the most part.

he offers no explanation when he kneels at your bedside, wanders his hands underneath the covers, captures your lips. when you gently push him off, he leans into your ear. “him… or me.”

suddenly things are a lot clearer, and you find yourself allowing anakin to have his way with you. until he’s pulled you from the furs to bend you over the edge.

“hush,” he coos in the quietest whisper, tickling your ear as his substantial length is making a mess of your insides, “wouldn’t want to wake your husband up, would we?”

though you’re sure he doesn’t mean that.

#jellydodger #bodyguard!anakin #queen!reader #thanks for the msg!!#au!anakin skywalker #anakin #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker imagine #x gn!reader

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biblio-smia · 3 months

Note

800 is crazy i’m so happy 4 u <3 would you mind doing tara carpenter w a fem reader for the quote “i never thought i’d feel this kind of happiness.”? i just think it’d make a sweet fic and i don’t think anyone’s ever explored this aspect tara’s future in this manner and i need to see her use the quote in a fic before i collapse

thank you!! this was so so fun to write i love tara sm thank u for this request | part of v’s 800 follower celebration!

some days, it takes tara longer to remember. sometimes, it's easier to forget. occasionally, she is haunted by old memories: while she sleeps, when she is alone, at large get-togethers.

this morning, tara's body is tensed. there are goosebumps on her arms despite the not-too-hot, not-too-cold temperature of the room, a chill present that seems to only surround her. she forces herself to relax, presses her cold palms to her face. it gets harder to calm her mind when she realizes the spot next to her is empty.

she's up in an instant, paranoia she's fought against for years threatening to enter extremes.

tara is freezing but she wastes no time reaching for a sweater, settling for the little bit of warmth that her arms crossed over her chest bring. her footsteps are quick as she makes her way into the hallway, the living room, the kitchen. she stops, just a few steps away from you, her brain waking up and catching up to reality.

tara isn't as discreet as she thinks. you turn, feeling a pair of eyes on you, your attention pulled from whatever is cooking in front of you.

"hey!" you say, a little bit of a whine in your voice. "i was going to bring you breakfast."

tara only watches as you walk over, leaning into the feeling of your warm hands on her arms.

"you're freezing," you mumble, wrapping your arms around tara's small frame. she puts her head against your shoulder and sighs, though she doesn't stay there for long; she moves to look at you, a small smile growing on her face as she stares. you're pretty, still wearing a pajama set she'd gifted you.

tara looks just as pretty, hair loose and messy from the tossing and turning she does in her sleep. you lean in to kiss her and tara laughs as she dodges.

"i haven't brushed my teeth yet!"

"then go!" you laugh, grabbing tara's arms before letting her go. "and put on a sweater."

"can i borrow yours?" tara asks with a grin.

you sigh playfully, pressing a kiss to tara's forehead. "fine."

you send tara off and turn to finish breakfast. you'd created quite the spread: cutting strawberries into hearts, making all of tara's favorite breakfast foods, arranging it beautifully.

tara has left the bedroom door cracked open, making it easy for you to slip in without struggling with your occupied hands. you find her in bed, comforter pulled up past her waist, one of your most-stolen sweaters peeking over.

tara lights up when you walk in, moving layers of blankets off of her to create a stable surface for the tray of food you've brought in.

tara waits for you to settle in next to her, moving the tray to sit between the both of you, before indulging. she hands you her praise easily, sending you a look between every bite that shows you how much she loves it.

she feeds you, too, because who is she if not a big ball of cliches?

you steady the last strawberry at tara's lips and she invites the piece of fruit in, her lips catching the tips of your fingers as she bites down.

"you almost bit my fingers off!" you exclaim, though you don't retract them until tara's finished her strawberry.

"i did not," tara grins, turning towards you. "it's not my fault you made everything so good."

your face warms at her compliment and tara moves the now-empty dishes onto the nightstand. that'll be a problem for later. right now, her most pressing concern is getting into your arms as soon as possible.

she's incredibly warm now, though she credits you more than the comforter. you hand her the remote and she scrolls for something to watch, knowing she won't really be paying attention.

tara settles on a show the two of you have seen dozens of times, turning her attention immediately to you. she twists to her side and throws an arm over you, staring at you noticeably enough to pull your eyes away from the television.

you look at tara a little expectantly, your eyes giving her a look only she's familiar with, one trying to gauge if something's wrong. she doesn't mind your concern - instead, she smiles, knowing that right now, there truly is nothing wrong.

but unfortunately, tara is not telepathic, and that quiet question is clear in your eyes.

"nothing's wrong," she assures, her voice quieting into a mumble. "i just... i never thought i'd feel this kind of happiness."

your mouth quirks up. tara isn't usually sappy - your cooking must've been really good. but you pull her even closer, hoping you can show her even an ounce of the love she's brought to you.

"cheesy," you grin, pressing open-mouthed kisses to tara's face - you can't stop smiling.

tara laughs, especially as your kisses turn into exaggerated muahs!

"you deserve it, by the way," you say softly, pausing momentarily. "you deserve all of it and more."

tara quiets. she stares at you, considers what you've said, and then she's the one with her lips all over you.

"i mean it," you manage to say between kisses.

"i know," tara replies, holding your face in her hands. "just can't believe you're real."

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x female reader #scream x reader #scream #jenna ortega #v + tara #v writes #v's 800 follower celebration

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subskz · 4 months

Note

hi ms. rin!! long time no see ☺️

i was always reading your works & all your amazing posts but i realize today it was a long time since i sent an ask >< i hope you’re doing great!

i wanted to ask if you’re still writing the childhood friends to lovers with lee know? ever since butterfly bandage i was craving to read another longfic from you cause you write so beautifully :< & with minho being my bias i think i’ll die if you make a story for him..! not to pressure you of course 💕

-🧸

hello hello omg it really has been a while!! it’s so nice to see you again my dear i hope you’ve been doing well and taking care since we last spoke ♡

you’re too kind thank u so much for your lovely words!! it’s so sweet that u even remember i was writing that lino fic i’m really glad you’re looking forward to it 😭 it’s still very much a wip so i’m not exactly sure when it’ll be out, but i work on it all the time! here’s a few lil sneak peeks just for u hehe

also please note that a lot of this is subject to change since i’m still working on it 😽 these snippets are still a bit barebones

ᓚᘏᗢ — snippet 1

You stared at the crumpled nest; abandoned, with what was left of it quickly being carried away by the wind. Straw by straw. You felt like crying.

Don’t be so sensitive. You told yourself. It's just a stupid bird.

“Wow,” a familiar voice, soft and brusque and not sounding very wowed at all, came from behind you. “That’s amazing, isn’t it?”

You lifted your head, whipping around to find its source. Not that you really needed to, anyway. You knew that voice better than your own, by now.

“Huh?”

“They were just babies, but they already flew away.” Minho crouched down next to you to examine the remains of the fallen nest. His small fingers brushed over it, so delicately that the grass barely shifted under his touch. “Like they know exactly where they’re supposed to go.”

You rested your hands on your knees, unconvinced, refusing to look at him. Your eyes were stinging. You didn’t want him to think you were dramatic. You didn’t want him to make fun of you. He’d put just as much care into looking after them, if not more. He’d stayed with them even longer than you had. How could he be so accepting of it?

“Birds are so cool,” he continued. A gentle breeze ruffled your hair, like it was summoned by his airy lilt. “They can go wherever they want.”

“Why do they have to go?” you muttered.

“Cause the world’s so big, dummy,” he said it like common knowledge, like he’d consulted the birds himself. “And they’re so small. So they gotta start seeing it early before they die.”

You puffed out a half-hearted laugh.

“You’re like a bird,” you decided.

“Mm?”

“You do what you wanna and go where you wanna.”

“I can’t be a bird,” Minho sniffed. “They fly too high. I'm more like a cat, ‘cause no matter where they go, they always know how to find their way home.”

“Like Soonie,” you said.

“Like Soonie,” he agreed. “Remember when he was gone for three days? But then he showed up again like nothing happened?”

“You cried a lot,” you giggled.

Minho huffed, looking away. “I knew he’d come back.”

It had been one of the only times you’d ever seen him cry in your four years of friendship. He might’ve completely denied crying altogether if the subject were anything other than his beloved cat. His little brother.

“So you’ll always come back, too? Like Soonie?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “I'm gonna be here ‘til I'm at least 100, or else someone will take our spot under the maple tree.”

ᓚᘏᗢ — snippet 2

Minho’s hand reached for yours. It was shaking.

“If you're scared, I can stay with you,” he offered. You could tell he was trying to sound casual, but there was an undeniable tremor there. Not breezy, not carefree; thick and heavy with apprehension. It weighed down your conscience. “It’ll be embarrassing if you’re the only one in class left behind, right?”

You remembered how he’d reacted when you traveled up to the mountains last summer, how he’d turned away from the window when the car drove along the edge of the road, with nothing but a flimsy, rusting metal barrier standing between you and several thousand foot fall. You remembered how much trouble he’d had walking straight when you first arrived at the campsite, strangely quiet, muttering to himself about how high up it was. It was too high, the air was too thin, the world was too far away.

Those were the issues, of course. The issue certainly wasn’t that he was terrified out of his mind. A cat stuck in a tree, longing to accept help without sacrificing his pride. Unsure whether to hiss at whoever came near, or leap into their arms. He’d grabbed your hand the exact same way, back then.

“Okay,” you replied.

He perked up, features flashing with a hopefulness that was almost enough to break your facade.

“Hm?”

It would’ve been so easy in that moment, to tease him. To call him out, gain the upper hand on him for once in six years. But looking at those eyes—round and bright and gleaming under his glasses with an innocence that effectively wiped away every annoying thing he’d ever done from your memory, you just couldn’t bring yourself to.

“Let’s skip the rollercoaster,” you said plainly. “I’m scared.”

You weren’t, strangely enough. You wondered if Minho knew that. Of the two of you, he was undoubtedly the risk taker. His mind was too capricious to not explore every possibility there was, to not absorb everything the world had to offer until he found himself in it. It was almost exhilarating for you, to be the adventurous one, for a change. To be the one who didn’t hold yourself back.

You wanted to be bold. You wanted to be fearless. You wanted to impress him.

But more than any of that, you wanted to stay with him. You didn’t want him to sit alone on the amusement park bench, watching his classmates have fun without him as he fumbled with the wrapping of a snack he couldn’t eat, because the anxiety had made his stomach hurt.

“Seriously,” his grin was weak, but as he laced your fingers together properly, you could feel the quiver in his hand begin to calm. “What would you do without me?”

You simply grunted, allowing him to tug you along to the bench. You didn’t want to think about it. It was playful, not really seeking a response, but that didn’t stop his question from lingering in the back of your mind. Like a part of you knew that, sooner or later, you’d have no choice but to find the answer.

#ask #🧸 anon #💌

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highvern · 5 months

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omg hey saw that your reqs are open hehe if ure free or if ure thinking abt taking a break from your wips would u consider writing something abt jeonghan x monster!reader from the recent one you wrote :0 of course you don't have to write a whole fic abt it but i'd like to know how they ended up together! i'm so curious ... and also i think i'm just a little insane abt that fic . well. hehe.

I too am a little insane over that fic tbh it was so fun to write!

So basically when monster!reader left the lake she essentially becomes human. Naiads/sirens aren't really known for their complex emotions in mythology lol so most of what she's experienced sans loneliness has been heavily muted because she was immortal and had been in that lake for who knows how long. did y'all watch aquamarine and how she's kinda childish about emotions? think that

But she knows she's drawn to Jeonghan, she has the insatiable urge to be around him all the time, and that's the reason she left her lake because he couldn't stay there forever but she could join him in his world.

More under the cut! this ended up so much longer than I thought but slay.

Jeonghan would show her everything, and she is wide eyed the entire time because all of this existed and she didn't know about it? It makes her feel a little ashamed for believing humans were nothing more than playthings for so long. But I digress.

He takes her to the bookshop he likes to frequent, discovers she can't read obviously (not that she cares), and promises to teach her if she wants. It's fall so the fruit orchards on the outskirts of the village are full of autumn fruit that he picks for her, watching her intently as she tries them with enthusiasm. Jeonghan even takes her through the woods, walking the secluded trails he knows like the back of his hand as she watches the animals scurry in the underbrush with wonder.

And all of these positive feelings she associates with him. Even on days where she can hear the lake screaming for her to comeback, she remembers all the things she missed that Jeonghan has shared with her. And so she stays.

Winter is horrible in her opinion. Cold and dry, she feels like her skin is going to peel off from the heat of the fire she remains in front of all day, attempting to read the books Jeonghan's collected over the years. In the lake, she'd lay down at the bottom, slumbering as the ice crystalized the surface of her home this time of year. And then, when warmer days came, she'd rise to play again. But her now human body won't let her do that anymore. So she has to suffer the biting air.

It's refreshing.

One night, wind is howling and snow is piling against the glass of the windows and she just can't keep herself warm enough under the layers of wool to find rest. So she does what she always does when she runs into a problem in this strange new world. She goes to Jeonghan.

He's shocked to see her in nothing but her nightgown at the foot of his bed, half of her face illuminated in candle light. Jeonghan's seen her in far more compromising states of dress but she always looks so beautiful it makes it hard to breath. And when she complains of the cold, he offers to let her share his bed. Respectfully.

She isn't sure how that'll help but she agrees since Jeonghan hasn't led her astray yet, diving under his blankets to be shocked by the pleasant toastiness underneath. She sighs as her shivering body slowly heats up, eyes slipping shut drowsily as Jeonghan lays a few inches away, watching her.

They wake up the next morning, tangled in one another's arms. Her cheek against his chest, legs wrapped around his to soak in the early morning. After that, she comes to his bed every night under the guise of staying warm.

And then spring comes around and she practically burst from her excitement. She'll get to see the flowers and all the new life emerge as the world wakes up. The town has acclimated to her presence now, unaware of who or what she was before this life, but hypnotized by her sweet smiles and childish laughter all the same. Each morning she practically runs to the town square to look for the garland Jeonghan mentioned, pouting when it's nowhere to be seen as she goes about her errands.

"It's still too cold." Jeonghan explains, snickering at her scowl when she accuses him of lying.

So she waits. And she waits. And she never knew time could feel like this, slow in a painful way. Time had been her friend before but now she resents him.

Then one morning, Jeonghan is acting odd. Not the odd paleness he has when he falls ill or the strange quietness when he argues with his father. But a new sort of oddness she has yet to witness. He keeps glancing at a cabinet in the kitchen over her head as they eat breakfast. When she turns to look herself, his face stretches and his eyes round; like the fish in her lake.

He isn't working in the mill today so they're meant to go explore now that the ground is soft and the sun is closer. Even the wind has turned his sharp claws into gentle hands this morning.

Just as they're about to step outside to leave, Jeonghan pulls her back by her wrist.

"I got you a gift" He whispers.

Her head tips to the side, "A gift?"

Instead of answering, he crosses back to the cabinet. There's a strange rope coiled on one of the shelves, pink and red and white. And when he aproaches her with it, spreading the length from arm to arm to display it properly, she realizes he wasn't lying about the flowers.

"It's beautiful!" She exhales, enamored by the tight twine of blossoming buds. Even in her new form, she loves beautiful things.

She gentle caresses the velvety petals, completely hypnotized.

"I made it for you." He glows in that way that he does so often under her gaze. The way most people do under her approving stare but she thinks his red cheeks are the prettiest.

Together, they hang the garland over the front door. It's meant to welcome a prosperous spring and good luck for the year. Jeonghan doesn't mention it's also a tradition for newly betrothed couples to signify their devotion to one another.

Passing through the town, she examines each new decoration eagerly, Jeonghan smiling behind her as he watches.

"Look at this one!" she squeals, a braid of three lines, crisscrossing yellow, white, and lilac.

She's ecstatic the world isn't gray anymore, bursts of color dripping from every surface possible. Even the sky has returned to a cheery blue, dimpled with gossamer clouds sporadically.

And in her excitement, she does what she's seen the humans do when they celebrate. When taverns are rowdy with drunk patrons, or when a couple gets married in the small chapel at the center of town. When the women welcome their husbands back from long journeys.

She throws her arms around Jeonghan's neck and kisses him.

After he swallows the initial shock, he kisses her back.

#yoon jeonghan #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan fluff #svt jeonghan #svt fanfic #svt x reader #jeonghan #jeonghan smut #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan angst #🫡 highvern

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amakumos · 1 year

Text

kiss and cry — yang jungwon. (teaser)

kiss and cry is out now! read here.

synopsis. At the age of 22, Yang Jungwon wants to retire. The ice, which was what he considered his second home, does not seem as welcoming as it used to be. Figure skating is no longer fun - the sport that he devoted his entire childhood to seems more of a chore, rather than a passion. He claims that this season will be his last as a competitive figure skater - that is, until he meets you, who somehow makes him fall in love with the ice (and you) again.

genre. fluff, angst, friends to lovers, figure skating au.

pairing. figure skater! jungwon x figure skater fem! reader

warnings. swearing, mentions of injury and unhealthy training habits, jungwon is 22, reader is 21. set during the 2025/2026 figure skating season. (please pretend a walk in the skies by joe hisaishi is long enough to fit the criteria of the length of a short program)

word count. est. 20k+ (teaser is 1.3k words)

author’s note. haven’t written in a while, so i guess here’s my comeback to blr ^_^ thought i’d release a winter / icy (?) themed fic for the season! this fic is scheduled to be released around 26th ~ 27th, so keep an eye peeled if u happen to be interested hehe

You feel nothing but excitement when you enter the Taereung International Skating Rink, and you hear the sound of blades across ice that brings a smile to your lips. You see Irene, standing rinkside with her arms crossed, and skating on the rink, is Yang Jungwon.

Yang Jungwon’s made quite a name for himself in the last few years. 6th at the 2022 Olympics, a great finish for someone who was only 18 at the time. He also just won Worlds, and was a five-time national champion.

Yang Jungwon is an incredible skater. His movements on the ice are as fluid and soft as water, but when he jumps, he’s incredibly powerful, like a rocket taking off. You’ve seen many people say that Jungwon’s one of the few ‘complete skaters’ — those who can combine artistry with jumping seem to be extremely rare nowadays.

He’s one of those skaters that can get you mesmerised the second he steps onto the ice, and when he finishes his program, loud applause resounds throughout the arena, with tons of people throwing cat plushies onto the ice.

Jungwon is incredibly talented. Thinking about the fact that you two are going to be training mates brings a smile to your face — all the conversations you’ve had with Jungwon went quite well. You remember his pleasant voice and his kind smile, the one where his eyes crinkle into crescents and could make anyone swoon.

You make your way over to Irene, who turns her head and greets you with a kind smile when she sees you. “(Name)!” she beams, wrapping you in a hug. “Nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Irene!” you say, and she smiles at you. “I’m excited to be working with you.” she tells you, and her words just fill you up with joy.

“Thank you so much,” you beam. “I’m excited to be coached by you.” A smile graces Irene’s lips at your words. “Jungwon’s on the ice right now, with Taemin. He’s just learning the last part of his choreography for his short program for next season.” she tells you, and you nod.

“Jiwon’s gone for lunch break, and Eunchae and Jongseob should be somewhere around here… you can go meet with them and say hi later.”

“Sounds good.”

“Irene!” Taemin, the choreographer, calls out to her. “Jungwon’s got this. He’ll absolutely kill it.”

You notice how Irene and Taemin’s smiles seem wider than Jungwon’s when Taemin says that. The smile plastered on Jungwon’s lips barely reaches his eyes.

“Why don’t you go lace up your skates? You and Jungwon can share the rink.” Irene suggests to you, and you nod. You find a seat, pulling out your skates from your skate bag as you take your regular sports shoes off, slipping into your skating boots. You tie the laces incredibly quickly — after all, you have been doing this for years.

You take off your skate guards, leaving them on the bench as you skate onto the rink, skating laps to warm yourself up as you put your gloves on.

Somewhere along the way, you find yourself accompanied by Jungwon, who catches up to you. “Hey,” he says. “Heard that Irene’s coaching you now.”

“Yeah,” you beam. “We’ll be training mates from now on, huh?” you say, and Jungwon nods. “Saw you practicing your short program for next season… you’ve started quite early. Howl’s Moving Castle soundtrack?”

“Mhm,” Jungwon says. “I like to get started earlier, so I’m more familiar with it when it’s time to compete. Do you have any ideas for the music you might skate to?”

“Oh, I’ve got no idea. My friend told me to skate to Bolero, though.” you say, and you see Jungwon grimace at your words. You let out a loud laugh that makes Jungwon chuckle. “Bolero? Really?” he asks.

“Riki knows nothing about figure skating, but I think he goes on Twitter to find what music people hate seeing skaters skate to the most… Bolero is definitely one of them, which is probably why he recommended it to me.” you laugh. “Once he even asked me if I could do a ‘triple double camel spin axel’. Like what in the world is that?”

Your words make Jungwon burst into laughter, and you think it’s one of the prettiest sounds you’ve ever heard.

“A triple double camel spin axel? Your friend might just have invented a new jump.” he quips, and you nod. “You ready for the Olympics next year?” he asks you, and you shake your head.

“Who says I’ll make it?”

“Of course you’ll make it. Your skating’s great.” Jungwon says, and you thank him. “You’ll definitely make it. To next year and the one after. You’ll probably make it to the one in 2034 too.”

“Hah, that’s funny. But no, I won’t be making it to the 2030 or the 2034 one. It’s probably nice to think about, though.” Jungwon replies.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “What? Why? I mean... maybe 2034 is a bit of a stretch, but surely the 2030 one.”

“I’m retiring after this season.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets at his words. Yang Jungwon was going to retire? At the age of 22? Was he joking?

You almost can’t believe it.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t like skating anymore.” he hums, and he says it so casually. “It’s more of a chore now, rather than something I love. I guess I fell out of love with the ice.”

You can somewhat understand how he feels. You had burnout too, but you never got to the point where you wanted to quit. You just wanted to take a break, to refresh your mind and to take care of your health and body.

But Jungwon sounds like he’s determined to quit. As if nothing will get him to change his mind.

“What would it take for you to fall back in love with it?” you ask.

Jungwon shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t think anything would be able to change my mind at this point. Skating is just so incredibly… draining. I want to enjoy it as much as I used to, but I just don’t think I can continue competing.”

He sounds like he’s truly given up hope on finding love for the sport again, and it makes your heart ache. Yang Jungwon is undoubtedly one of the best figure skaters you’ve ever seen, and to see him possibly end his career because he just simply ran out of love for the sport saddens you.

And for some reason, you want to try and get him to fall back in love with the ice again.

So with a sudden burst of confidence and determination, you decide to ask him: “Are you free any time next week?”

Jungwon looks at you, puzzled. “Yes?”

“I’m going to try and get you to fall back in love with the ice.”

“(Name), I’ve made up my mind—”

“That’s fine. I just want you to enjoy skating again. No competition, just having fun. You know, I was in the audience the day you won the Grand Prix final two years ago. You looked so, so, incredibly happy — I want you to feel the same feeling you felt when you were skating on that ice.”

Jungwon looks at you hesitantly. “You’d do that for me?”

You nod. “We can get to know each other better too. What do you say?”

Jungwon pauses for a moment to think.

“Sure.”

You beam at him. “Cool. I’ll give you my number after practice and we can make arrangements.”

Jungwon nods, and you two end your conversation there, focusing on training instead.

As you land a clean triple salchow-triple toeloop on the ice, you add a new goal to your bucket list.

Get Yang Jungwon to fall in love with figure skating again.

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