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perfectlyvalid49 · 2 months

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On being Jewish, and traumatized (It’s been 5 months and I want to talk):

Judaism is a joyous religion. So much of our daily practice is to focus us on the things that are good. I know that there’s a joke that all our holidays can be summed up as “they tried to kill us. We survived – let’s eat!”, and you might think that holidays focused on attempts at killing us might be somber, but they’re really not. Most are celebrated in the sense of, “we’re still here, let’s have a party!” When I think about practicing Judaism, the things I think about make me happy.

But I think a lot of non-Jews don’t necessarily see Judaism the same way. I think in part it’s because we do like to kvetch, but I think a lot of it is because from the outside it’s harder to see the joy, and very easy to see the long history of suffering that has been enacted on the Jewish people. From the inside, it’s very much, “we’re still here, let’s party” and from the outside it’s, “how many times have they tried to kill you? Why are you celebrating? They tried to KILL YOU!”

And I want to start with that because a lot of the rest of this is going to be negative. And I don’t want people to read it and wonder why I still want to be Jewish. I want to be Jewish because it makes me happy. My problem isn’t with being Jewish, it’s with how Jews are treated.

What I really wanted to write about is being Jewish and the trauma that’s involved with that right now.

First, I want to talk about Israeli Jews. I can’t say much here because I’m not Israeli, nor do I have any close friends or family that are Israeli. But if I’m going to be talking about the trauma Jews are experiencing right now, I can’t not mention the fact that Israeli Jews (and Israelis that aren’t Jewish as well, but that’s not my focus here) are dealing with massive amounts of it right now. It’s a tiny country – virtually everyone has a friend or family member that was killed or kidnapped, or knows someone who does. Thousands of rockets have been fired at Israel in the last few months – think about the fact that the Iron Dome exists and why it needs to. Terror attacks are ongoing; I feel like there’s been at least one every week since October. Thousands of people are displaced from their homes, either because of the rocket fire, or because their homes and communities were physically destroyed in the largest pogrom in recent history – the deadliest single day for Jews since the Holocaust ended. If that’s not trauma inducing, I don’t know what is.

And there is, of course, the generational trauma. And I think Jewish generational trauma is interesting because it’s so layered. Because it’s not just the result of one trauma passed down through the generations. Every 50-100 years, antisemitism intensifies, and so very frequently the people experiencing a traumatic event were already suffering from the generational trauma that their grandparents or great grandparents lived through. And those elders were holding the generational trauma from the time before that. And so on.

And because it happens so regularly, there’s always someone in the community that remembers the last time. We are never allowed the luxury of imagining that we are safe. We know what happened before, and we know that it happened again and again and again. And so we know that it only makes sense to assume it will happen in the future. The trauma response is valid. I live in America because my great grandparents lived in Russia and they knew when it was time to get the hell out in the 1900s. And the reason they knew that is because their grandparents remembered the results of the blood libels in the 1850s. How can we heal when the scar tissue keeps us safe?

I look around now and wonder if we’ll need to run. We have a plan. I repeat, my family has a plan for what to do if we need to flee the country due to religious persecution. How can that possibly be normal? And yet, all the Jewish families I know have similar plans. It is normal if you’re Jewish. Every once in a while I see someone who isn’t Jewish talk about making plans to leave because they’re LGBTQ or some other minority and the question always seems to be, “should I make a plan?” It astounds me every time. The Jewish answer is that you need to have a plan and the only question is, “when should I act?” Sometimes our Jewish friends discuss it at play dates. Where will you go? What are the triggers to leave? No one wants to go any earlier then they have to. Everyone knows what the price of holding off too long might be.

I want to keep my children safe. When do I induct them into the club? When do I let my sweet, innocent kids know that some people will hate them for being Jewish? When do I teach them the skills my parents and grandparents taught me? How to pass as white, how to pass as Christian, knowing when to keep your mouth shut about what you believe. When do I tell them about the Holocaust and teach them the game “would this person hide me?” How hard do I have to work to remind them that while you want to believe that a person would hide you, statistically, most people you know would not have? Who is this more traumatic for? Them, to learn that there is hatred in the world and it is directed at them, or me, to have to drive some of the innocence out of my own children’s eyes in order to make sure they are prepared to meet the reality of the world?

And the reality of the world is that it is FULL of antisemitism. There’s a lot of…I guess I’d call it mild antisemitism that’s always present that you just kinda learn to ignore. It’s the sort of stuff that non-Jews might not even recognize as antisemitic until you explain it to them, just little micro-aggressions that you do your best to ignore because you know that the people doing it don’t necessarily mean it, it’s just the culture we live in. It can still hurt though. I like to compare it to a bruise: you can mostly ignore it, but every once in a while something (more blatant antisemitism) will put a bit to much pressure on it and you remember that you were already hurting this whole time.

On top of the background antisemitism, there’s more intense stuff. And usually the most intense, mask off antisemitism comes from the right. This makes sense, in that a lot of right politics are essentially about hating the “other” and what are Jews if not Western civilizations oldest type of “other”? On the one hand, I’ve always been fortunate enough to live in relatively liberal areas so this sort of antisemitism has felt far away and impersonal – they hate everybody, and I’m just part of everybody. On the other hand, until recently I’ve always considered this the most dangerous source of antisemitism. This is the antisemitism that leads to hate crimes, that leads to synagogue shootings. This is the reason why my synagogue is built so that there is a long driveway before you can even see the building, and that driveway is filled with police on the high holidays. This is the reason why my husband and I were scared to hang a mezuzah in our first apartment (and second, and third). For a long time, this was the antisemitism that made me afraid.

But the left has a problem with antisemitism too. And it has always been there. Where the right hates the “other”, the left hates the “privileged/elite/oppressors.” It’s the exact same thing, just dressed up with different words. They all mean “other” and “other” means “Jew.” It hurts more coming from the left though. A lot of Jewish philosophy leans left. A lot of Jews lean left. So when the left decides to hate us, it isn’t a random stranger, it’s a friend, and it feels like a betrayal.

One of the people I follow works for Yad Vashem, and a few weeks ago she mentioned a video they have with testimonies from people who came to Israel after Kristallnacht, with an unofficial title of “The blow came from within.” The idea is that to non-German Jews, the Holocaust was something done by strangers. It was still terrible, but it is easier to bear the hate of a stranger – it’s not personal. But to German Jews, the Holocaust was a betrayal. It wasn’t done by strangers, it was done by coworkers, and neighbors and people they thought were friends. It was done by people who knew them, and still looked at them and said, “less than human.” And because of this sense of betrayal, German survivors, or Germans who managed to get out before they got rounded up, had a very different experience than other Holocaust victims.

And I feel like a lot of left leaning Jews are having a similar experience now. People that we’ve marched with or organized with, or even just mutuals that we’ve thought of as friends are now going on about how Jews are evil. They repeat antisemitic talking points from the Nazis and from the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, and when we point out that those ideas have only led to Jewish death in the past they don’t care. And if someone you thought of as a friend thinks of you this way, what do you think a stranger might think? Might do?

The Jews are fucking terrified. I’ve seen a post going around that basically wonders if this was what it was like for our ancestors – when things got bad enough to see what was coming but before it was too late to run? And we can see what’s coming. History tells us that they way people are talking and acting only leads to one place. I’m a millennial – when I was a kid the grandparents at my synagogue made sure the kids knew – this is what it looked like before, this is what you need to watch out for, this is when you need to run. I wonder where to run to. It feels like nowhere is safe.

I feel like I’ve been lucky in all this. I don’t live in Israel. I have family and acquaintances who do, but no one I’m particularly close to. Everyone I know in real life has either been sane or at least silent about all of this (the internet has been significantly worse, but when it comes to hate, the internet is always worse). I live in a relatively liberal area – there’s always been antisemitism around anyway, but it’s mostly just been swastikas on flyers, or people advocating for BDS, not anything that’s made me actually worry for my safety. But in the last 5 months there have been bomb threats at my synagogue, and just last week a kid got beat up for being Jewish at our local high school. He doesn’t want to report it. He’s worried it will make it worse.

I bought a Magen David to wear in November. At the time it seemed like the best way to fight antisemitism was to be visibly Jewish, to show that we’re just normal people like everyone else. Plus, I figured that if me being Jewish was going to be a problem for someone, then I would make it a problem right away and not waste time. I’ve worn it almost constantly since, but the one time I took it off was when I burnt my finger in December and had to go to urgent care. I didn’t think about it too much when I did it, but I thought about it for a long time after – I didn’t feel good about having made that choice.

The conclusion I came to is that the training that my elders had been so careful to instill in me kicked in. I was hurt, and scared, and the voice inside my head that sounds like my grandmother said, “don’t give them a reason to be bad to you. Fight when you’re well, but for now – survive.” It still felt cowardly, but it was also a connection to my ancestors who heeded the same voice well enough to survive. And it enrages me that that voice has been necessary in the past. And it enrages me that things are bad enough now that my instinct is that I need to hide who I am to receive appropriate medical care.

I wish I had some sort of final thought to tie this all together other than, “this sucks and I hate it,” but I really don’t. I could call for people to examine their antisemitic biases, but I’m not foolish enough to think that this will reach the people who need to do so. I could wish for a future where everything I’ve talked about here exists only in history books, and the Jewish experience is no longer tied to feeling this pain, but that’s basically wishing for the moshiach, and I’m not going to hold my breath.

I guess I’ll end it with the thought that through all of this hate and pain and fear, we’re still here. And we’re still joyful as well. As much as so many people have tried over literally THOUSANDS of years to eradicate us, I’m still here, I’m still Jewish, and being Jewish still makes me happy.

Am Yisrael Chai.

#antisemitism #judaism #venting #jumblr #long post #I'm not kidding it's like 2300 words #and it's a rambling mess #but i needed to vent #so help me god #if you show up in the notes and are being antisemitic I WILL find you and I WILL bite you

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softlyspector · 1 year

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Offer

Summary: Din is absolutely sure that you know that he’s courting you. He wants to makes the offer formally anyways.

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!Reader

Word Count: ~3.9k

Warnings: pining, absolute FOOLS in love, bit of grumpy x sunshine, Din thinking he's being so obvious while not showing a single emotion, self doubt and insecurity (Din), lil angst, probably incorrect lore, fluff, Mando'a (translations at the end)

A/N: This is the prequel to Significant! It's not necessary to read Significant first, though I do, of course, recommend it. You can read them in either order, or one and not the other. I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!

Din examines the blade closely, shifting it one way and then another.

The gleaming metal catches the light of the sun, reflecting back into the visor. He waits for a moment, until the clouds drifting through the sky obscure the rays again and he can more easily see the symbols engraved along the edge of it.

“So?” The man across from him asks. “Obviously it’s no beskar,” he says, eyeing Din when he glances up. “But good enough, I hope?”

“Beskar is not used for weapons,” he says. “Only for protection.” When the man bows his head in acknowledgement, Din slides the necessary credits across the table. “And the sheath?”

The credits are collected in gnarled hands before the smith slides the leather sheath across the table. It’s soft and well oiled. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mando,” he says, sitting back in his chair as Din stands. “I hope your, ah, partner, enjoys it.”

Din glances down at the blade and then back at the man. “It will be sufficient.”

He hopes so, at least.

The man is correct that it isn’t beskar, and so not as good of a gift as he could have hoped. But you are precariously and curiously weapon deficient for a person who’d spent years traveling the galaxy alone before joining him on the Crest.

Probably because you’re disarmingly charming. You can talk your way out of practically anything.

Din sticks the blade into its holster and then tucks it against his back, the cloak falling forward to conceal it. “Thank you.”

“Good luck,” his contact says, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands against his stomach.

The sun emerges from behind the clouds again as he searches the market for you and the child. It’s not a particularly dangerous planet, but you have a knack for trouble, not that you don’t also have a particular way of wriggling out of it.

He sighs when he rounds a corner and finds you chatting with two people at a stall selling food. You’re focused on the woman in front of you, actively listening even as your hand sneaks food to the little green hand that pops out of the woven bag at your hip every few seconds.

Din approaches and stops a few paces away, leaning against the corner of a wall and folding his hands in front of him to wait until you’re done.

He’s content enough to indulge you in this, to wait until you’re done chatting. Though, as he’s come to realize recently, he’s content to indulge you in most things. He sometimes feels guilty that you’re often trapped with only him and the child in the Crest for days on end when you so clearly enjoy talking with people. You’re outgoing and talkative to his stoic and reserved.

Your eyes flick to him, the grin on your face tugging a bit wider before you glance back to the people next to you. Though he would have waited there for you all day if that was what you required, he’ll be glad to have you back by his side.

As Din watches you say your goodbyes to your temporary friends, that word flits through his mind again.

Riduur.

Dangerous, hope laden.

He tramps the thought down as he always does, buries the possessive twinge that the word works through his heart.

You wave and turn away to approach him, your hand pushing back the blanket you’d layered over the top of the bag on your hip. To keep the sun off the baby, and keep prying eyes away from him.

Long green ears poke up above the rim of the bag, suspicious chewing sounds echoing from within.

“Find what you need?” You ask as Grogu finally pokes his head out, cooing up at him. Din settles a hand on the kid’s head for a moment before nodding at you.

You tip your head to the side. “Well, I think we’re all done. The baby might be hungry-,”

Grogu burps then, before he makes a sound that Din supposes must be a giggle. “I saw you feeding him,” he shares.

You huff, “Well, he’s always hungry. Besides, that was just a snack.”

Din doesn’t respond. A smile tugs at his mouth as you pass another neon blue cracker down to the little waiting hand from the sleeve of them inside the shopping bag on your shoulder. He waits until the cracker has been taken from your fingers before subtly offering his arm to you as you begin your trek back to the ship.

As always, a peel of anxiety settles in the pit of his gut as he waits for you to take it. And, as always, you take it without hesitation.

Your hand settles firm and warm in the crook of his elbow. You tighten your grip and lean into him and he’s left to wonder if it's conscious on your part, if you might be as drawn to him as he is to you.

Either way, your weight is comfortable against him, your hand warm. The scent of you drifts up to him, your soap mixed with market scents, ash from cookfires, sun warmed leather, the breath of this humid world’s sweet air.

There’s a curious hope that’s beginning to take shape in his chest. One that feels wrong almost, in its intensity.

This is not something he could have ever hoped for, should have ever hoped for.

And yet -

First, the kid.

Then you, tempering his initial meeting with Peli on Tatooine, protecting the child in his stead. He remembers Peli’s assurance when you accepted his offer to travel with him, of your penchant for job hopping. Never stays anywhere more than a couple months, had been her exact words, only been here a couple weeks. He had been assured that you’d be off on another adventure, with another person, on another world, within weeks.

And, at the time, he hadn’t needed anything more than that. Temporary help.

But years have passed, and you’re still by his side.

Or, rather, he’s still by your side. If you decided to suddenly remove yourself from the Crest, he’s not sure what he’d do. He’s not sure how they’d fill the hole you would leave behind.

You wouldn’t though. You are a part of the tiny clan he calls home.

It’s unthinkable, the prospect, the notion, of you leaving him, them.

What he intends to do next, then, is harder.

Offering you the blade is only the first step of many. It’s an overdue one. He should have presented you with a weapon of your own long ago. He should have given you a courting gift long ago. Before he kissed you, shared a bed with you, let your fingers trace over the planes of his face, even if your eyes remained firmly shut.

“So what did you need so urgently to pick up?” You ask as you emerge from the market and take a turn out of the center of the small town, still feeding pieces of the crackers to the child with your free hand.

The world is a lush one, verdant with green undergrowth and prone to bouts of driving rain and humidity. The sun is still working its way through the sky as you cross out of the village and into the surrounding forest.

“I never said it was urgent,” Din replies dryly, steadying you when you nearly trip over an exposed root.

You smile and squeeze his elbow in thanks. “And that did not answer my question.”

Din doesn’t answer immediately, instead watching the curve of your cheek, the way the sunlight catches in the feathering of your lashes.

Din is always glad of the helmet. It provides safety. It lets him uphold his creed. But he’s none more grateful for it than recently. It allows him to watch you without fear of being caught, with the knowledge that you can’t see the way you make him blush and smile.

“No,” he agrees.

You roll your eyes at him, nudging your shoulder into his. “Cryptic,” you hum, your voice amused.

When the ship comes into view, you release his arm and pull ahead of him. He automatically lowers the ship's ramp with the vambrace. You disappear inside the ship where he can hear you cooing to the child, banging around the hull as you settle in again and sort out whatever purchases you had made.

It’s an oddly domestic moment, considering everything about your circumstances together. He has no doubt you’re indulging Grogu in something else.

The dagger he means to give you weighs heavily against his spine, along with the pressure of the task he needs to complete, the offer he needs to make to you, officially.

His relationship with you is a strange one. It’s one that seems to have started at the end and gone backwards, one that circles itself and eats its own tail.

There are times he can’t imagine you not knowing that he intends you as his, and that he hopes that you feel the same. Like when he lies with you in the dark, helmet discarded somewhere near his feet, your careful hands tracing features you’ve never once asked to see.

Seeing your face with his naked eyes for the first time, your features for the first time not distorted by the visor, had nearly upended everything inside him. How trustingly you’d tipped your head into his hands, waiting patiently for him to tell you what to do, or make a move.

He could tell you felt no urge to open your eyes, no urge to take something from him he could never give you, not without making serious and lasting vows.

Riduurok. Marriage. More literally: a love bond.

Din longs to tell you to open your eyes in those moments, to let you see him as clearly as he sees you. Without any barriers.

He shouldn’t have been able to see you like that, shouldn’t have been able to kiss you, shouldn’t have been able to touch you, sleep with you in his arms.

He’s been lax, bending rules to the point of near breaking.

Which is both dishonorable and unfair to you. You’re worth more than broken rules and fumblings in the dark.

Still, he has to do something properly. And this is the thing he will do correctly, as is your right. As is his duty to you.

It’s what you deserve. A proper offer, proper courting. Not whatever he’s been playing at so far.

You are not Mandalorian, and you should also be afforded the chance to learn of his culture. To make a complete decision about him. Though he’s been teaching you some Mando’a phrases, you should see it all. Traditions and language and myths. To understand what you would be a part of.

You and Grogu both, if he’s honest with himself.

All he can do is lie everything at your feet and hope that he’s not found wanting.

Something seizes in his heart, because you could reject it. You could easily reject the formality of it, tell him it had never been that serious to begin with.

Din follows you into the Crest to find you patiently listening to the unintelligible chatter of the child. Wide brown eyes shift from you to him, tiny arms lifting. You smile and laugh, fidgeting with Grogu’s collar as Din shifts to lift him into his arms.

He should give you the blade now, make promises to prove himself to you as an ally and partner, as worthy of you, capable of protecting you and the clan. But you’re already turning away, chattering about a bolt of cloth you’d seen in the market that you want to go back for before you have to leave the planet.

“You should eat,” you remind him lightly, like he would forget if you didn’t tell him. Which, he supposes, is sometimes true. He forgets there’s more than ration packs to eat. “I’m going to shower.” You point to your bag, “Food for you.”

“Yes,” he agrees. Then hastily says, “Wait.” He steps forward and snags your wrist in his hand before you can go any further.

He shifts Grogu to the cradle of his other arm, nerves running up the inside of his skin. Cold sweat prickles at the back of his neck.

You turn and lift a questioning brow. Whatever he meant to say sticks in his throat and he can’t find the words to say what he needs to.

A smile plays around your lips. “You okay?”

His hand is still on your wrist and he hastily releases you. “Yes.”

“Okay,” you laugh. “So, what is it?”

Din swallows, unsure if he’s going about this the right way. He knows what he should do, but he’d never seen it done before. There were few couples among the covert, and there had been periods without any couples at all.

He’s never had to do it before, never had to declare himself quite like this. “Nothing, cyare. It can wait.”

You tilt your head. He can tell you’re amused.

Instead of teasing him, you lean forward and tug at the lip of his helm. “Cyare,” you coo back at him before releasing him and turning into the fresher.

There’s heat in his cheeks when the door slides closed.

“Mesh’la,” he hears you sing to yourself from within.

“It’s not really the same, is it?”

Din is only pretending to look at the stars that are scattered in the darkened sky above the Razor Crest. The faintest rays of sunlight can still be seen on the horizon. The sun never quite sets on this world, perpetually lit with just the barest brushes of light. Purple spills into midnight blue, the sun a smear of tangerine and honey.

He’s watching you from the corner of his eye. You’re lounging in the co-pilot’s chair, one hand braced on Grogu’s floating pod.

“You can’t see the stars properly with that light,” you grouse. “I always miss sleeping in hyperspace anyway.”

Din still doesn’t answer, watching the line of your throat, the shape of your curled legs, the shine of your eyes in the relative darkness. It's an imitation of the routine you have in hyperspace, watching the stars until you fall asleep, or until you’re ready to go to bed.

Your gaze shifts from the sky to him, your eyes abruptly meeting his. “Are you alright?” When he just tilts his head at you, you roll your eyes. “You’re quieter than usual. Which means you’ve been very, very silent all day. Since we got back from the market.”

“I enjoy listening to you,” he hedges.

“Is that so? What was I just talking about?”

“The stars,” he answers easily, not really entirely sure that’s true.

Your gaze narrows. “An easy guess.”

He chuckles lowly. “Then you should have picked a more difficult question, cyare.”

Your mouth pulls up into a smile. “So, what’s wrong?”

The worry that’s been gnawing a slow hole through his stomach all day beats back to life. It clenches his lungs in a tight fist that doesn’t compute.

Of all the things to give him pause. Of all the things to frighten him.

It had to be this.

This thing he has no experience of, no knowledge of, no one that he could have watched when he was younger to at least imitate.

His mind slides past the covert, all the way back to his mother and father. He remembers the gentle moments between them, the easy love, even in hard times, that should have lasted for decades.

That's how he feels with you. Like everything is easy.

Din swallows the image down, courage returning to him.

“Cyar’ika,” he answers, turning to face you directly. “I have something I’d like to give you.”

You perk up at that, straightening in your seat. “Oh? Is that what you were being mysterious about earlier?”

You’re smiling, the words a joke.

Din just nods, too nervous to attempt teasing you back, though it doesn’t show. He’s as still and silent as he always is. Instead he holds out a hand.

You readily stand, placing yourself between his legs, your fingers still on his.

He stares up at you, admiring the way those last dregs of light you complained of wash your skin in a low orange and pink haze. He must look at you for too long, because you suddenly jut out an impatient hip and fist your free hand on your waist, cocking an eyebrow at him.

Despite himself, he huffs out a laugh.

Din takes a steadying breath and reaches behind himself for the sheathed weapon at his back from beneath his cloak.

When he presents it to you, there isn’t a single word he can think to say. All those crashing thoughts of proving himself, of making vows to you someday and everyday in between, falls away, and he’s left adrift with nothing but the blade in his gloved hand.

He really isn’t even sure if he should say something. He’s not sure if it's normally done.

He looks from your face, down to the knife and back again.

A small frown has embedded itself on your face. You release his hand and reach out for it with both. Din hands it over carefully, watching you closely.

You pull the blade from the sheath slowly, eyes roving over the dark metal, the polished handle. You align your fingers over the grip before your lips part softly, brow scrunching. Din opens his mouth, but you shake your head, peering at the lettering along the side of the blade.

The language and script is foreign to you, he knows, etched in Mando’a.

“It’s beautiful, but I can’t accept this.” His heart plummets, the air around him seeming thicker than before, hard to breathe. It all seems like a terrible miscalculation all of a sudden. His fear had been that you might reject it, but a much worse worry swims to the front of his mind.

You could leave. If it offends you.

“Din, this must have cost so much - you have so many weapons I can borrow. I’m not a fighter. I don’t even carry-,” you break off and shake your head again. “It’s too much.”

Some of the tension in his chest releases.

Din covers your hand, stopping the motion of you sliding the dagger back into the leather. His shoulders loosen by a fraction more, his heart not galloping quite so hard. “Please accept this.” A note of desperation slips into his voice, which he makes no effort to clear away.

“I’m not a fighter, Din,” you repeat as your mouth pulls into a small smile. “It’s too much. It’s better with you, really.”

He frowns at you, tilting his head. “That is not the point, cyare.” Din cups his hand around yours and guides it to the grip of the knife. “The point is that it’s yours. That I am offering it to you.”

There are other things he should say to you, other promises he should make, he knows that, but he can’t bring himself to speak them. “It is yours,” he repeats. “As you are owed”

You tilt your head and consider the blade again, pulling it slowly from the holster. “Owed,” you echo, a thread of confusion still laced in your voice, a question mark perched on the tip of your tongue. “But it is beautiful,” you say again, more confidently this time, turning it in your grip.

He relaxes a little more when you seem to understand its meaning.

“But the cost-,”

He almost scoffs. He’s offering you his heart and you are worried about the cost.

“It’s nothing. The smith owed me a favor,” Din says, watching as the smile on your face grows into something genuine.

Unlike yourself, almost shyly, you ask, “It’s really mine?”

He gives a simple nod of his head. “You’re proficient with knives,” he attempts to explain his choice. In a perfect world, he would have gifted you something cast from beskar. A piece of armor. But, the world wouldn’t be perfect then, you would be a very different person if you were one to wear armor as he does.

“I had a good teacher,” you tease. “Thank you. You…didn’t have to go through all this though.” You peer at him from beneath your lashes.

Din doesn’t answer, a smile easing onto his own face. He feels lighter, now. “What is this?” You point to the letters engraved on the blade. “I’ve never seen this script before.”

“Take a guess, cyare.”

You blink at him. “It’s not Mando’a is it?” You ask excitedly.

“It is.”

“Well,” you say impatiently, lifting the metal closer to your face. “What does it say?”

He huffs a small laugh at your demanding tone.

“Kar'taylir darasuum,” he says, taking your hand to lower the blade a fraction, pointing to each word as he speaks it. “To hold in the heart.”

To hold in the heart forever, he should say. He should tell you that its literal equivalent in Basic is essentially to love.

He doesn’t, his coward’s heart in this thing alone rising up again.

You blink at him, a strange expression pulling over your features before you seem to shake the thought away.

“Say it again,” you request.

He repeats the words slowly, and you sound them out after him. You smile widely when he says, “Your accent is good.”

“Thank you, Din,” you say, finally sliding the blade back into its sheath. His eyes flash up to yours when you press your free hand to the slide of his helmet. He doesn't blink, can't even draw a breath as you tilt his head up and bring your forehead to his in a gentle tap.

You rest like that for a moment, eyes fluttering closed, before you abruptly pull away.

He's done so much with you, seen more of you than he should have, but nothing rivals that moment, the kiss of your forehead to his.

“We should probably take the little one to bed, don’t you think?” You straighten and drop your hand. “I won’t sleep up here tonight,” you point to the sun.

Din stands, presses a hand to your back. He’s more than happy to follow you down into the dark hull. Once the baby is settled and you’re pressed together, he removes his helmet and kisses you, first your closed eyelids, a thank you for something he isn’t sure he deserves.

He wonders for just a moment, when you grin against his mouth, if you understand what just happened.

But he pushes the thought away.

There’s no way such a gift could be interpreted any other way.

This is the beginning of him doing something right. He’ll teach you more Mando’a, he’ll share the myths held sacred by his people, he’ll remove his armor before you.

He would lie all at your feet and hope that it might be enough.

One day, he might actually be able to call you what he has trouble reminding himself you aren’t already.

Riduur.

You’re molded to him in the dark, and the promise is more than enough for now.

There's no way you don't know what it all means.

Thank you for reading! Please let me know your thoughts!

Translations:

Riduur - spouse, partner, wife, husband

Cyare - beloved

Cyar'ika - darling, sweetheart

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #significant verse

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starglitterz · 7 months

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♡ SPICY. // PART ONE

❝ ‘cause i’m too spicy for your heart, ring the fire alarm! ❞ // attractive things the genshin men do

✧ feat ; al-haitham, ayato, childe, cyno, diluc, heizou, kaeya, thoma, wriothesley, xiao x gn!reader

✧ warning(s) ; fluff, suggestive, implied kamisato!reader for thoma’s, reader is shorter than ayato for his part, modern au for wriothesley, traveller!reader for xiao’s

✧ a/n ; yeah yeah i’m a slut we all know that already let’s move on 🙄 /lh i was brainrotting sm LOL i hope u guys enjoy!

part one︱info︱part two

please reblog + leave comments ! it helps a lot w motivation <3

✦ “are you listening?” AL-HAITHAM’s voice cuts through your messy thoughts and you scramble for your pen to scribble some nonsense and at least pretend you were concentrating. your eyes are glued to the paper in front of you, too embarrassed to meet his gaze after what you were daydreaming about him. without warning, he uses his index finger to tilt your chin up to face him with a curt “pay attention.” his green irises bore into yours, scanning them as if to discover why you haven’t been focusing and the intensity of his gaze makes heat rise to your cheeks. his actions clearly result in the opposite of the desired effect though, because it’s made you ten million times more distracted, too busy thinking about your tutor doing things that certainly aren’t academic.

✦ there’s definitely something in the way that AYATO leans down to hear you better. it’s a simple gesture, but when he bends down to listen to what you’re saying, it proves that he’s putting in the effort to continue the conversation and is genuinely interested in your chatter. or even if it’s something like leaning against the door frame, a reminder of how idiotically tall he is, it always gets your heart beating quicker and you lose your train of thought. but maybe he isn’t as clueless as you think he is, because the smirk playing about his lips as he admires your flustered expression while you stumble over your words definitely says otherwise.

✦ sometimes when you see CHILDE’s idiotic smirk, it takes everything in you not to punch it off his face. however, when he’s in the heat of battle, the way his lips curl just so as he lifts an eyebrow at his opponent daringly, almost as if he’s asking them “you really think you can defeat me?” you’d rather punch him with your lips. the sheer confidence he exudes as he fights, the casual manner with which he switches his bow to his hydro polearm, the easy grin dancing about his mouth – it’s incredibly attractive.

✦ it shouldn’t be a big deal, but whenever CYNO wraps his arms around your waist from behind to pull you into his embrace, you swear your heartbeat accelerates to the speed of light. he’ll rest his chin on your shoulder too, and if he’s feeling mischievous (which is practically all the time), he’ll tilt his head ever so slightly so he’s at the perfect angle to press fleeting kisses against your neck. you can almost feel his smile against your skin as you shiver from the sensation of his warm lips.

✦ DILUC is not one for grand public displays of affection. you don’t mind, you’re fine with it, but one day another patron at the angel’s share keeps flirting with you, and suddenly you feel the winery owner beside you, one arm snaking around your waist almost possessively. “it’s nice to meet you,” he murmurs to the other man in a tone icy enough to freeze over hell. his fingers tap a steady rhythm against your hips and you feel like his touch is branding you through the layers of fabric. it evidently gets the message across because the poor customer leaves immediately with his tail between his legs, and all DILUC does is squeeze your waist lightly and press a soft kiss on your forehead as a hint of a smug smile curves his lips.

✦ being a genius detective and also just being really annoying are certainly not mutually exclusive, as HEIZOU continues to prove every single day. case in point; the way he’s proudly walking around the tenryou commission, the array of wine-coloured bruises you left on his neck last night blatantly out for display. the other inazumans who notice look scandalized, while kujou sara seems dangerously close to bursting a blood vessel. “heizou!” you hiss, pulling him into a secluded corner to scold him, “why didn’t you wear a scarf or something?!” the detective merely gives you his trademark grin and winks playfully, “why should i? it’s a mark of your love, i wouldn’t want to hide it~”

✦ one thing’s for certain whenever you talk to KAEYA – he will give you his undivided attention. you love that about him, but sometimes his piercing gaze is almost distracting, the varied shades of sparkling blue a stark contrast to the matte black leather of his eyepatch and often making you veer wildly off-track to whatever you’re telling him about. it only worsens when you catch his stare sometimes drifting to your lips, but he’ll shake his head as if jolting himself out of a reverie before he continues looking at you and nodding like he’s been paying attention this entire time. and if you call him out on it, he’ll just raise both hands in surrender, “sorry, babe, i can’t help it – you just look so kissable when you’re talking!”

✦ THOMA is an absolute softie, always making your favourite foods and spoiling you as the housekeeper of the kamisato clan. it makes sense that you’ve never realised just how strong he actually is. but then you catch a glimpse of him one evening after a long day’s work, and as he lifts up the edge of his shirt to wipe the glistening sweat off his face you think you could collapse. the gesture exposes his toned abdomen, muscles clenching as he lets out a soft groan, and the only coherent thought running through your mind is; why has he been hiding this the entire time?! maybe it’s time for you to switch the kamisato housekeeper uniform to a crop top…

✦ WRIOTHESLEY is a gentleman who’ll never let you take a cab home alone, especially not after a long night out in the city. but as he’s pulling up to your house, your thoughts are definitely nowhere near appreciating how sweet he is, rather you’re admiring how close his muscled arms are to your face while his hand is on the back of your seat as he turns to check the rear mirror. from the passenger seat, you get the perfect view of his side profile, his chiseled features, the barely visible trace of stubble on his chin, his stormy gray eyes… he’s like the dark male lead of every romance manhwa. and when he catches you looking, he gives you a smile that’s almost teasing, “like what you see, beautiful?”

✦ even though XIAO is the one who’s supposed to teleport to you whenever you call his name, you can’t help but find yourself gravitating towards him whenever he says yours. it must be how he utters it, softly, lovingly, almost reverent in his gentleness as if you’ll shatter before his eyes if he whispers it even a decibel louder. and sure, he calls you by several petnames (butterfly, dove), but the way your name slips past his lips like a prized jewel will always be your favourite. sometimes it feels as if your name is going to be worn out from how often people use it, begging you to help them with miscellaneous tasks and pushing you to exhaustion. but during those late nights at wangshu inn as you rest in his embrace, he whispers your name as if it’s a secret for just the two of you and the stars and you can’t help but think how lucky you must have been to be born with such a pretty name, created for your adeptus lover to murmur with so much affection lacing his tone.

GRR i lowk love this... hope yall do too! don't forget to check out part 2 when it's published as well <3

#✏️ — quill writes !#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #al haitham x reader #ayato x reader #astronetwrk #childe x reader #cyno x reader #diluc x reader #heizou x reader #kaeya x reader #thoma x reader #wriothesley x reader #xiao x reader #kamisato ayato x reader #tartaglia x reader #ajax x reader

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parad-ice-lostandfound · 7 months

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Prompt: You are blissfully unaware of how deep exactly Rook and Vil's affections run for you; of the extents they would go for you, and the boundaries they would cross in your name.

Pairing: Yan!Vil x Reader x Yan!Rook

Genre: Yandere

TW: Yandere Vil and Rook, talk of killing someone, Reader is not Yuu/Prefect.

AN: Rook and Vil ily but why are you both so hard to write for 😭 Like, yall are fun to think for but it was so hard to write down the concept in my mind ysgshskejd. I genuinely don't know if I was able to do them justice, please forgive me if they're a bit ooc in this. This started off as a joke thing because of a friend, but then it turned yandere for some reason that I don't know but we're vibing so it's okay ^^

You groaned as you flopped face first onto the couch in Vil's room, uncaring of the fact that you were still wearing your shoes. Vil glanced at you from the corner of his eyes as he sat at his vanity, narrowing his gaze at your unmoving form.

"(Name), remove your shoes."

" 'm too tired," you grumbled, and Rook chuckled from his place on Vil's bed. "My, my Chevalier de Beauté, how bold of you to reject Roi du Poison's order," he teased you, getting up from the bed to walk over to where you were.

" 'm tired," you whined once again, drawing out a chuckle from both of your boyfriends.

"Still, as Roi du Poison's devoted hunter, I cannot let you get away with such a grave crime," he hummed, his voice light and sweet to your ears. Kneeling on one leg, Rook carefully untied your shoelaces, gently placing your shoes on the floor by the couch. Each movement was smooth and reverent; one would think he was handling a priceless treasure with the way he made sure to not make a single noise as he rid you of your shoes.

He watched in amusement as your only reaction was to sigh and turn your head slightly to look at him. Ever watchful, he immediately zeroed in on the eyebags that you had tried to conceal under layers of makeup. Rook removed the glove from one of his hands, raising it to smooth back your hair into a somewhat presentable state.

"Pray tell, what has you so stressed?" He asked, and you could see Vil sit straighter (if that was even possible since his posture was always impeccable) at his words, no doubt listening to the two of you.

"Its nothing too bad, really. I'm just stuck with uncooperative assholes in Professor Crewel's class-"

"Language," Vill gently chided, but you could make out the concern in his voice. You continued speaking, eventually fully ranting to Rook and Vil about how absolutely bull-headed and uncooperative your group members were, and how you were practically the only one working on the project.

Both the boys stayed quiet as they heard you vent your frustrations out to them. Once you were done, Rook gave you a smile. His eyes held a dangerous light, sharp gaze befitting the hunter he prided himself in being.

"Would you like me to kill them for you?"

You felt a shiver run down your spine at his tone, the familiar smile on his face somehow turning malicious in front of your very eyes. Very slowly, like prey trying to not agitate the predator in their bid to escape, you silently sat up on the couch. Your eyes were trained on his, caution and hesitancy swirling in them (a very pretty mixture, if you asked Rook; what he wouldn't give to see that look of confusion and fear in your eyes more often-)

"No killing, Rook," Vil spoke from his seat in front of the mirror, turning completely to face the two of you. Immediately, Rook turned back into the playful boy you always knew, as he chuckled, "Ah, I jest, of course." He winked at you, and you wondered if your senses had played a trick on you as the heavy atmosphere that had been in the room mere moments ago dissipated instantly.

"Perhaps I could speak to these classmates of yours, hm?"

"O-oh, there's no need for that," you nervously chuckled. "I already informed Professor Crewel about it, and he said he'll give them a fitting punishment," you hurriedly explained. Your fingers fiddled with the cuffs of your blazer, a clear sign of your discomfort at the thought of Rook potentially talking to the people from your group. As irritating as they were, you didn't really want to get them on his (or for that matter, anyone's) bad side, especially with how... weird and quite frankly terrifying Rook had been earlier.

Your nervousness did not go unnoticed, as Vil chuckled, crossing his arms elegantly as he looked at the two of you. "Rook, you've scared them."

Vil stood up from his seat, making his way over to you. Carefully, he lifted your face to make you meet his eyes and smiled. "Rook was only joking, my dear. Don't worry." The gentle touch sent butterflies fluttering through your stomach, and the soft smile complementing his words made your earlier worries go away.

Rook looked at you, a mix of surprise and amusement in his eyes as he took your hand in his own. "Ah, dear Chevalier de Beauté, you need not worry at all," he said as he placed a light kiss on the back of your hand.

"You are precious to me, so I cannot help but wish to take care of anything that may displease you. But, my apologies if I went too far with my joke."

His voice was sincere as he spoke, and you couldn't help but smile at him despite his... slightly concerning words. Rook was a weirdo most of the time. Maybe it was just a well-intended joke that you just overthought about?

You chuckled, missing the way Vil's shoulders seemed to relax and how Rook's smile became a little less forced.

"It's alright Rook."

"You nearly gave us away, Rook."

Vil's voice was uncharacteristically cold as he stared down at the hunter kneeling in front of him. You had gone back to your own dorm room some time ago, saying that you needed to finish one of Professor Trein's assignments, giving the two boys some much needed privacy to have this conversation.

"My sincere apologies Roi du Poison. I did not mean to, but to see their beautiful face contorted in such anger, such frustration... it caught me off guard. I was careless in my wish to take away some of their burden, and I shall accept any punishment you deem acceptable, my fair queen," Rook said, his voice repentant as he stared at the hem of Vil's dorm clothes.

Vil sighed after a long and tense silence. How could he remain cross with his beloved hunter any longer, when he was this remorseful? Besides, Vil had been quick enough to salvage the situation in time, and you were still blissfully unaware of how deep exactly their affections ran for you; of the extents they would go for you, and the boundaries they would cross in your name.

"Get up," he ordered, and the hunter rose to his feet, finally daring to look his queen in the eyes. "Go, and find every little thing there is to find about those useless students. Every. Single. Thing. But do not, touch a hair on their heads. That will be your punishment."

Vil's voice was calm and collected, like a queen delivering a death sentence. Rook bowed reverently.

"As you wish, my dear queen."

#ice writes #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x you #twst vil #twst rook #twst vil x you #twst rook x you #twst vil x you x twst rook #vil x you x rook #yan!rook #yan!vil x you #yan!rook x you #yan!vil #yan!vil x you x yan!rook #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst

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hanyacoded · 8 days

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if i had to choose her or the sun! megumi x reader

repost from old acc! reblogs are appreciated<3

megumi fushiguro x gn!reader

cws; none really, femcoded(?) reader, swearing, reader drinks coffee, megumi whipped for reader, first kiss, small [physical] fight between megumi and yuji for funnies

wc: 1154

writing below the cut

TO SAY THAT megumi fushiguro hates mondays would be an understatement. he doesn't hate them, he fucking despises them. there's nothing he can think of that's even close to likeable about them. the mornings? the worst part of his entire week. the nights? he's so tired he can't even think. and all the time in between? literal ass.

today's even worse. he normally hates waking up to go to class, but even that sounds better than waking up at 5 am to go to yuuji’s stupid sports practice. the fact that yuuji manages the patience or energy for this is astounding.

it's the worst day in his entire life, he thinks. but then he sees you, and suddenly it doesn't feel so bad anymore. you're dressed in layers and layers of fluff and wool, trudging through the soft layer of unshoveled snow on the ground, making a beeline straight for him.

there's a cute little grin on your face as you bounce towards him. your cheeks and nose are flushed, and your pretty, sparkly eyes are trained on one single thing: the steaming cup of coffee that he's cradling in his freezing hands.

“hey!” you yell, using your hands to form a makeshift microphone before you reach him. you plop down beside him, onto the bench.

“what flavour?” you demand, not noticing the way he stiffens, or the way his cheeks turn a even brighter shade of pink, a shade that no amount of cold can ever produce. he shifts uncomfortably as you lean into him suddenly, with no regard to his prsonal space. you take a deep breath, then close your eyes.

“caramel?”

“mm.” he offers it to you quietly, and you happily cuddle into his side as you take a big sip. you always tell him how surprising it is that the two of you, despite having opposite personalities, have the same taste in coffee. the short answer is, you don't. the long answer, however, complicates things wildly. he's never been a fan of sweet things, but you absolutely adore them. and when you'd told him how much you “love, love, love!” (your words, not his) sweet things. and of course, the one day he'd tried out caramel coffee, you'd tasted it too, and decided that you loved it.

“homemade?”

“yeah,” he murmurs. somewhere along the line, he's started making it at home. just for you. he enjoys seeing your little reactions every day when he hands it to you, and it goes without saying that being unable to savour his own coffee in peace is so worth watching you savour yours. he's used to it now anyways, choking down his own black coffee in seconds before setting out with “his” coffee, that's actually always been yours.

you tug at the thick muffler that's hanging half off your neck with one hand.

“wait– lemme–” you pull again, and the coffee almost spills out of the cup. he takes it from your hand gently.

“there, do it now.”

you rip off the muffler gratefully and reach for the cup. but before you can take your coffee back, yuuji jogs over and snatches it up, pouring some into his mouth. megumi grabs it back from him, annoyed.

“stop touching my stuff!”

“why are you always mean to everyone?” groans yuuji, collapsing onto the bench.

“wh’d’ya mean?” you ask, voice muffled by your megumi’s coffee cup. you put it down beside you. “i don't get it, he's never been mean to me!”

“nyeh!” yuuji sticks out his tongue at you. “that's cause he likes yo–”

your eyes widen. you've never seen megumi move this fast before; he lunges at yuuji, hissing “why'd you say that in front of–”

“i’m sorry, it just slipped out!” he gasps, trying to wriggle away–but even though he's stronger than megumi, the angle at which he's being held down is enough to hold him in place. and that's when it finally clicks.

“megumi… you like me?” your eyes are filled with wonder and surprise as you stare down at the pair, unmoving on the ground against a striking backdrop of snow.

yuuji shakes his head vehemently. “no, i was joking, i swear!”

“that's not true!” yells megumi at the same time. but then he sees how you seem to deflate, and your bright eyes dull. fuck it. he twists around to look at you properly. “i mean, it is true, but–”

he sees the way a small smile plays up on your lips. it's the prettiest sight he's ever seen–and distracting enough for yuuji to shove him away and take off running. beinf an s-class track star, he doesn't have to run for long before he's out of view. now it's only you and megumi left.

he's sitting on the floor of the pavilion, in front of the bench, scared to talk to you. you, on the other hand, have never been so bold. you walk over to him, and kneel between his spread out legs. you touch his face.

“hey, megumi.”

“yeah?” his voice is nervous, shaky.

“can i kiss you?”

he nods.

taking a deep breath, you lean forward, pressing your lips tentatively to his. megumi freezes, before pulling you closer to him, hand on your waist. holy shit, your lips are soft. but what if someone sees them? it would be so embarrassing. he pulls away briefly to catch his breath, but you look disappointed, like you wanted more. and then he's effortlessly pulling you up onto his lap, embarrassment be damned. your hands are tangled up in his hair, and he kisses you again, fervently.

“we should,” he gasps, out of breath. “we should really go somewhere more private.”

“oh,” you say, surprised. “we're still in the pavilion.”

he nods, lifting you off of him, then gets up. he pulls you up too, but then his eyes widen as soon as he sees your lips. picking up your muffler, he wraps it securely around your neck and the lower half of your face, so they're no longer visible.

“what's wrong?” you ask, confused.

he shakes his head, cheeks dusted a pretty pink.

“your uh,” he clears his throat. “your lips are swollen, it'll look weird.”

your laughter is infectious, and he's also laughing by the time you get to gojo’s car. when the two of you get in, his chauffeur–because when is gojo not going all out over little things–starts the car, and you immediately cuddle into megumi's side.

“so.”

you ignore him, eyes closed.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

LATER

“wait, so you actually like me?” you ask, peering down at the heart-shaped box of chocolate in your hands. there's a note stuck to it that says, happy valentine's day. you look up at megumi, who's holding a bouquet of flowers and the three stuffed animals you've won from the claw machine at the arcade.

“baby,” he groans. “we've been over this already, we've been together for two damn years!”

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takenbypeter · 4 months

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Chocolate Fixes Everything

Willy Wonka x reader

Words: 1179

Sick fic for Willy Wonka, made this cause I’m sick again and I’ve become sick so often these past few months 🙃

Accepting requests for Willy only right now send me any requests plz I’m on a Wonka high rn

You couldn’t believe it. Your throat was itchy, your nose was sore. You could barely get past fifteen minutes without a horrendous cough flying out from the back of your throat. Your nose was stuffed and if it wasn’t stuffed, it was runny, which is why you kept a box of tissues close by. It wasn’t the fact you were sick that you couldnt believe, it was the fact that you were sick only a mere weeks ago and here you were, ill again. Typically this didn’t happen to you but recently it seemed like your immune system was against you, (maybe it was because of all the chocolate you had eaten recently but who knows).

While many of your friends had got the message of your sickness it seems like Willy wasn’t one of them.

“You wouldn’t believe the idea that just popped into my head!” Wonka shouted as he practically tossed your door open, your eyes shot wide as you suddenly became fully alert at the abrupt activity.

Willy on the other hand walked right past your bed which was positioned on the opposite side of the door, with his mind clearly focused on whatever his new idea was.

“Noodle and I were discussing and she had just reminded me of—“ his words were cut off and his upbeat pacing came to a halt when he finally realized you were still in bed.

His expressions seemed to relay curious, then sadness as his facial lines deepened. Without missing a beat he pulled up the wooden chair nearby. “What happened? You look horrible.”

A knowing smile tugged at your lips while you pulled your blanket further to your chin, “gee thanks, that’s just what everyone wants to hear when they’re sick.”

“You’re sick!? No that can’t be, I remember you being sick only two weeks ago.”

You nod acknowledging the fact while his face shifts into surprised? Or maybe excitement…? Stunned? It seemed like all of the above.

“Well you’re in luck,” he exclaimed scooting himself back towards the desk across the room, setting up his small briefcase factory on the table, “because I have something that’ll make you feel right as rain,” he stops tinkering with his case for a brief moment to shoot you a mischevious look, “chocolate rain.”

You rolled your eyes while he turned right around whipping a concoction together.

“Willy, I love your enthusiasm but chocolate can’t just make everything feel better.”

“Says who? Who says?”

“Medical doctors that’s who!”

“Oh doctors schmoctors,” he waves the concern off.

“Chocolate does fix everything. And this isn’t just regular old chocolate.”

Attention grabbed, you watch peculiarly as he pushes buttons and pours things in different areas of his case.

“Last time you got sick you felt awful for practically a week and a half, and I started making this since then,” his briefcase makes whirring noises as it gets to work mixing the ingredients. “Now let me ask you, what do you typically take when you have a sore throat?”

“A spoonful of honey with lemon?” You ask, unsure if that was the answer he was looking for, I mean many people do a variety of things once sick, but you took a shot in the dark anyway.

“Absolutely. But that feeling only lasts for a short time. But with this candy I designed, it lasts far, far longer.”

The machine stops and out pops a single candy, shaped simple and evenly square, as green as a lime. And with that candy in hand he returns back to you across the room.

“This is a Choc-well, because as soon as you eat it you’ll feel well,” you gave him an odd look, “the name hasn’t been hashed out yet.”

He motions for you to open your hand and he drops the small piece in your palm, to which you look at suspiciously. “It’s chocolate?”

“Yes. The outer layer is a milk chocolate, while the inside is a honey like substance from the Beezle-midge. And then inside that, is a tiniest drop of twang from a lime.”

“Beezle-midge?”

“It’s a small type of insect that usually travels in groups, except when separated and given the right incentive it secretes honey.”

You winced grossed out by the fact, “ew.”

“It’s good, trust me. Now try it.”

With one final motivating look from the boy you took the chocolate and popped it in your mouth.

“If you want it to really work suck on the chocolate, don’t chew,” he instructed just as you were about to take the first bite. But you did as told enjoying the chocolate. Little by little the chocolate layer disappeared into your mouth as the honey started to make its way to the front and Willy watched on as you ate the delicacy.

After a few moments of honey came the tiniest twang of flavor just as he said and just like that the candy was gone.

“So, how does it feel?” He asks and for a moment you’re not sure what he’s asking for.

“How does your throat feel?”

You oh-ed before closing your mouth in thought. The taste was on its way out but your throat felt much better, it no longer hurt from soreness and you didn’t feel any itchiness no or scratchiness.

“It feels…normal! Like it doesn’t even hurt. That’s amazing! How does that happen?”

“The honey from the Beezle-midge as it’s going down puts a small coat along your throat which lasts practically a whole day.”

“That’s splendid Willy, truly astounding!” You praise sitting up in bed. True you still had your other symptoms but at least you didn’t have to worry about your throat or coughing for now. Willy displayed a bashful smile at the compliments that he took to heart.

“Why didn’t you give this to me last time?” You asked curious as to why he just let you suffer, surely it couldn’t be just cause he forgot.

“Well actually…” he tilts his head back and forth before continuing, “you being sick last time is kind of the inspiration for it.”

This was not a new thing, Willy used many different people and experiences as inspiration, but he suddenly felt so shyly in telling you about yourself being his inspiration. Why? Was it because he didn’t know how you were going to react? He knew you would react well of course, you always did when it came to his creations.

“You made this…” you pointed to air essentially now that the chocolate was gone, “because of me?”

He nodded modestly, “last time you got sick, you missed out on a lot, and we missed you a lot in the factory.”

You grinned a toothy grin, “aww that’s sweet, and this chocolate is so cool!”

At your exclaim he felt relief, “good, I’m glad it’s working.”

That made you pause, “glad it’s working? What does that mean? You haven’t tested it before?” You asked worried.

“That’s not what I meant, geez. You do that one time,” he mumbled as he went back to his small briefcase factory.

#willy wonka x reader #wonka x reader #willy wonka fanfic #wonka fanfic #willy wonka fanfiction #wonka fanfiction #wonka 2023

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fayeriess · 6 months

Text

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ ON A PILLOW OF

GRASS AND DANDELIONS ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

astarion ancunin x fem!reader

summary: you and astarion take much-needed time to yourselves in a field kissed by the sun. blueberries are the fruit of the occassion, as messy and sticky as they were. sometimes though, messy is a good thing.

warnings: 18+, smut, oral, ejaculation, deep-throating (??), a bit of nipple play if you squint hard enough, astarion's very vocal ( i don't make the rules ), astarion licks fruit juice off reader's chest, slight worshipping, not proof-read

a/n: wrote this at two am with a foggy mind and rusty smut skills. but alas, here's a small gift of an idea that refused to leave me. now, i can rest easily, bless.

The sun - a ball of fire in the abyss of the sky - is the brightest star. It burns the surface of your skin in vibrant rays of light, warming you from the inside; and setting you aflame. It wasn’t a foreign feeling, just one you learned to appreciate in the years you’ve been on this plane, a hug without drastic intentions, a heated embrace. Aside from the fruit in your hand; cobalt in color, soft-skinned, ripe, and dripping sour juices. It pools on the surface of your tongue alongside sugary essence once the sharp ridges of teeth puncture through; mixing in with warm spit, tricking down the chin and onto the expanse of your chest, loose, low-cut blouse leaving little to the imagination.

The feeling you get from it is almost erotic, you think, as your lover laps at stray sweetness making its way to the base of your neck, right under the spot he adored so very much. The wet muscle of his tongue skims across your collarbone, his long, cold fingers hovering above your hip, the other keeping himself steady, hand sinking into the softness of the sheet below. His touches give off a certain urgency although his actions show otherwise. Astarion wants to take his time with you; albeit having seemingly all the time in existence to do so.

A sigh escapes your lips involuntarily, airy as the hairs on your arms raise every millisecond that his body inches closer to yours, craving skin-to-skin through the thin layers of fabric. It causes you to straighten your spine, almost as if you were a stick wedged in damp soil, letting it mold further into you, keeping your soul in place. Every single bone within you was practically screaming. They didn’t mind being constricted like this, a small jumble of voices bouncing back and forth.

It made you chuckle, a sound that had him humming against your skin in curiosity. “What’s so funny, my love?”

Smiling, you lock your irises onto a cluster of stray curls above you, hand moving to twist around them - an action that makes him visibly shiver.

“I’m supposed to be feeding you.”

With a raise of his head, you could see just how big his pupils had dilated, ruby eyes just a shade or two darker than usual. His low-lidded gaze traveled down toward the valley of your chest, a purple tint left in streaks adorning your collarbone; evidence of his affection. “Are you not already?”

You roll your eyes, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth as you shuffle about next to him on your side, propping your chin on the palm of your hand, elbow digging into the ground beneath the white linen of the sheet. “No, you’re far too busy being a tease.”

At your words, he chuckled, face dropping to the left side of your neck with such swiftness that you raised your hips further into his at the feeling of plump lips on your pulse point. Although you couldn’t see him anymore, the way his fingers squeezed at your clothed hip told you everything you needed to know.

“If you wanted me to bite you, all you had to do was ask.”

A breathy sigh left your lips, nails moving from his silver curls down to his back, his tunic wrinkling under your touch, preventing him from escaping. Hot white heat pooled in your lower stomach; a longing to have him touch you in your most intimate of places - desperately. Desire envelops you whole, just like the sparkle of the sun.

“Please Astarion….”

Shivering at the coolness of his lips against your neck, your face grew hot in sudden embarrassment. The organ that was your heart hammered erratically in your sternum as he sucked on your flesh, setting your skin ablaze in a way where it was somewhat painful… a delectable pinch as his fangs pierced the skin.

Astarion was no stranger to drinking your lifeblood, and the act itself wasn’t a rare occurrence. He enjoyed it - no, he craved it as if it were the finest, most expensive brand of wine he had ever tasted in all his years. It satiated his thirst.

His cheeks hallowed as he sucked once - twice more before pulling away, thumbing at the corner of his lip before parting his lips, tucking his bloody thumb into the heat of his mouth. “Delicious…”

Astarion was sure that his body had started to relax as your blood flowed through his veins, sloshing around in the confines of his belly as if he were a drunkard.

The ridges of your front teeth sunk into the pillowed flesh of your bottom lip, and you watched cautiously as he toyed with the edges of his tunic, lifting it to his naval. Slight hesitation embedded itself in his hands before he flexed them a bit, ridding himself of the fabric completely. Despite having been bare in front of you countless times - even if not fully on display, he found himself growing somewhat small under your fixated look, opting to stand and plop himself in a bed of grass a couple of feet away.

He extended his arms outward, blades of deep green tickling his knuckles, creating an itch that he refused to scratch. Filling his mouth with fresh air, his chest rose before deflating, the hairs in his nose burning. “Sometimes, I forget how to breathe.”

Lashes fan against his skin as he closes his eyes, his undead lungs trying to find a comfortable rhythm, steady. You can’t help but admire him from your place, eyebrows unfurrowing from their constant state of distress.

The light had moved in his direction, clouds changing their position to make way as it shone down on his figure, drawn to him like magnets to metal. It casts shadows on his face, carving out every gentle dip of his abs, the flexing of his biceps as he raises a hand in front of his face, blocking his vision from the viciousness of it all. Instead of irritation filling his undead heart, it was a foreign sense of calamity. A feeling that he held dear for as long as it lingered.

“This feels nice.”

His ears perk at the sound of your feet crunching grass, alongside the periodic chirping of birds perched on enormous tree branches above. A gust of wind weaved through tendrils of curls, seeping into his scalp, metaphorically dousing him in cold water. For a second, he indulged in the thought of bathing in a nearby lake wherever camp was set up for the night, taking his time to let it take over every inch of his body.

A clench of his stomach muscles sends his eyes shooting open, neck craning to stare down at your hand traveling down the ‘v’ of his naval, tracing patterns on the way. Your unexpected compliment was nothing but a whisper in the wind that made the tips of his ears grow as red as his eyes.

“You’re beautiful.” Leaning down between his wide legs, your sticky lips graced his icy skin, sending a jolt of heat through him, a gasp caught in his throat as you painstakingly peppered his abdomen in an abundance of kisses.

Astarion was by no means ashamed when it came to eliciting pretty noises in response to your touch; need apparent in the way his head fell back, cushioned by grass and a halo of dandelions, his adams apple bobbing as your fingers hooked in the waistband of his pants.

“Let me worship you Astarion. You deserve to be tasted.”

He propped himself on an elbow, staring down at you with an expression that could only be described as that of some sort of challenge at your request, his unoccupied hand stretching out to grip your chin loosely in his hands, fingers tapping on the fullness of your cheeks. “Needy little thing.”

The low tone of his voice caused you to rub your thighs together, trying to soothe the developing ache between them, a feeling you knew wouldn’t go away unless he helped you - until he conjured every single facet of his love and adoration for you to the tips of his fingers. “Who am I to refuse my love’s desires?”

Loosening his grip on your face, he allowed you to tug at the fabric of his pants, lifting his hips slightly as you shed them off of him completely, fingers dancing up his thighs, eyes greedily taking in his cock that lay hard before you, slightly curved and sensitive. His tip glistened with wetness that formed a waterfall of saliva in your mouth to coat him with.

It practically begged for attention, some sort of relief that you were more than willing to give by darting out your tongue, bobbing your head down his length, and taking him down your throat as far as you could.

Through spit-covered teeth, Astarion hissed lightly as you palmed him gently, the extra layers of skin doing little to help him catch his breath. It stretched at every tug of your hand, at every bob of your head as you took him further in your mouth, cheeks hollow and mouth wet, shining under mustard yellow hues from the surrounding landscape of the hidden field.

He was fucking perfect lying beneath you like this, devoid of any sharp remarks, and scandalous comments - just a blubbering mess. A man formed by all things precious, and a subtle sort of stunning.

“Gods, just like that, pet.” He bucked his hips upward, hitting the back of your throat so violently that you gagged, an encouraging hum causing his cock to throb in the expanse of your warm mouth.

He could stay here forever, your lips closed around him, cheeks stained with tears, fingers from your other hand tracing figure eights on his pubic bone to occupy yourself further with pleasing him. Even with a brain filled with endless fog, the pale elf couldn’t recount the last time you had sucked him as if your entire existence depended solely on his pleasure.

Hell, he wasn’t complaining at all. The noises escaping his esophagus were more than enough proof, and you were more than happy to make it known.

You swirled your tongue around his tip, gathering the taste of him, pubic hairs tickling your nostrils as the tip of your nose made contact with the base of his shaft. His lower stomach couldn’t help but clench tightly, only contracting when your lips widened, jaw slacking as you quickened your pace.

White heat coiled in his stomach, a sensation so euphoric to him that his back arched slightly, brows furrowing, a chorus of broken, muffled cries leaving his parted lips. He released his seed, spurting his arousal down your throat, something you swallowed without hesitation as you pulled away from him.

Finding the strength to open his eyes, Astarion narrowed them at the white puff of clouds painting the sky above through vibrant leaves, a tingle vibrating throughout his body as you straddled his hips, rocking against him gently as he peaked at you. “Isn’t there something else you crave?”

The flesh of your mouth meets his pointed ear and his spine grows rigid, then he shudders in anticipation, in desire. His hands are under your blouse before you can utter anything else, following the dip of your lower back as you press yourself against him.

“I want to be inside of you.”

There it was.

The seven words you’ve been wanting to hear ever since he took your hand and whisked you away into the horizon, a basket full of berries that currently sat discarded somewhere around the crumpled blanket, rotting away in the heat.

“I’d rip this off of you if you’d let me.” He whispered, thumbing at your shirt, hair tousled and out of its usual format of precise placement.

He looked like heaven. He tasted like heaven. He felt like heaven.

It was a mantra that you repeated in your head as he discarded the shirt that covered the swell of your breasts, nipples perking when he pinched them between his fingers, taking one of them in his mouth almost immediately after as if he were still famished.

Fidgeting with the ends of your long skirt, you bunched the fabric up your thighs, fingers disappearing under the material to move your soaked underwear to the side, throbbing with need. “You know I would if the circumstances were different.”

Ah, yes, the fact that you two were fucking like rabbits out in the open. A thrill that never ceased to make your heart beat quickly no matter how many times you both found yourselves in this position.

“Yet you’re letting me take you in broad daylight.”

It was hard not to smile at that.

After all, he did have a point.

tags: @tallymonster, @astariongf, @scandalcus

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion imagine #astarion x you #astarion bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion fluff #astarion smut #astarion x tav

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loquaciousferret · 1 year

Text

Heat Waves

Gif: @serenaxpedro

Summary: A heatwave and a broken air conditioning unit in the office leads to tensions running high between you and your partner, Javier Peña. What lengths will you consider going to, seeking relief?

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, no minors etc etc . fingering, unprotected sex, semi-public sex (in an office), maybe more, just please don’t read if you can be sensitive to any kinds of sexual content

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: credit to @tightjeansjavi for the prompt, this was delightful to write hehe

You check the wall thermometer again. The needle is creeping just above 30°. You groan loudly.

For a building full of people whose work visas list them as being employed in “Janitorial Services”, the US Embassy in Medellin had a shockingly poor maintenance and janitorial department.

The air conditioning had broken yesterday, towards the end of the work day. It was bearable because it was already beginning to cool down into the evening, but today, in the mid-day sun, in a July heatwave, it had been too much for most of your colleagues to bear.

Anyone who was able to work from home had scurried off with boxes of files to catch up on paperwork in their air conditioned apartments.

But you and Javi couldn’t move the entire wall of the office where you were mapping out trade routes, connections, linking suspects together and desperately trying to find a pattern that would let you understand where exactly the evidence was that you so desperately needed.

You had probably consumed your body-weight in water. You had already shed as many layers as possible. You had even removed your tights. All that was left was a tight skirt and a blouse that was sticking to your skin all over. Plastered to your lower back, your chest. Nothing was cooling you down.

“Are you evening listening to me?” Javi sighs.

Your gaze snaps up to him, he is watching you with an expression that is more defeated than irritated.

“I’m sorry Jav, can’t think straight. This fucking heat’s making me crazy.” You say sincerely.

“Yeah, you can say that again.” He responds sympathetically.

He wipes sweat from his brow.

“Just… take a break. G’nna go outside to smoke, hopefully catch a breeze.” He mutters.

As he leaves the room, a disturbing thought crosses your mind. The shirt clinging to his broad shoulders and his back muscles flexing as he reaches for the door handle makes you question… Is Javi attractive? Well, obviously, he is, to every other woman in Colombia. But is Javi attractive to you? Not up until now, his personality thoroughly put you off. But the way he looked from behind, even with those patches of sweat staining his shirt… or, maybe, especially with those patches of sweat…

“What the fuck.” You mutter.

This heat really is making you insane. You physically shake your head to try and rid yourself of the thought. Javier fucking Peña. Yeah right.

You return your focus to the document he was attempting to discuss with you before. It was a transcript of an intercepted communication, between two parties who you couldn’t understand a reasonable explanation for them now working together. The whole thing sent your head into a spin trying to piece it together.

You knew you were on the edge of a breakthrough. You could feel it. Javi knew it too, and you were both pushing each other to your limits. He was an excellent partner. His job was the only thing he cared about. That might be the only thing you and Javi had in common. As different as the two of you were, the job was where you found mutual respect, and that was all that mattered.

Heat creeped up your chest and around the back of your neck. It was practically choking, consuming every single sense and causing a layer of impenetrable fog to settle in your mind. Being off your game at a critical point in your investigation was less than optimal.

Javi entered again and you analysed his features. If the heat was affecting him as much as it was you, he was doing a good job at not showing it.

“How are you coping with this? I feel like I’m about to be swallowed by the sun.” You groan exaggeratedly.

“Grew up in Texas.” He shrugs.

“Really?” You say, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes.” He says, meeting your eyes. “Is that surprising?”

“Yeah. I thought Southerners were gentlemen."

“Maybe I am.” He responds, holding a bottle of water to his forehead.

You scoff and then clear your throat. “Anyway, I’m reading this again. I can’t help but think this is a code name for some kind of object or thing, not a person. If it was a person they would have come up before now. There are only so many people that run in these circles, I just don’t think we could have missed someone this important.”

He tilts his head from side to side, considering your suggestion. As he does so, the tendons in his neck protrude and you see how his tanned skin sparkles as it glistens with sweat.

Finally, he responds, “Maybe. But for what? These guys aren’t geniuses. Think we can work out the code?”

“I don’t know.” You say. “Not any further forward on that part.”

You fan yourself with some scrap paper you have folded and concertinaed carefully. You throw your head back in your seat and sigh deeply.

When you sit back up and open your eyes again, you think you find Peña’s gaze trained on your chest, but he quickly looks away.

You feel yourself equally irritated and intrigued by his staring. You had never noticed him look at you like this before.

“Everything OK, Jav?” You say, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah- Yeah. I’m good. Just- Yeah.” His eyes linger on yours for a moment and he runs his hand across his forehead, wiping away beads of sweat.

You both continue to work, but you feel his eyes continually flicking back to you, telling you he is not focussed either.

You feel as though the tension continues to build as you both try and work, and you want to tell yourself it’s not just because of the heat. But you are worried this is one-sided. Even if that would mean you were the only woman in Colombia Javi wasn’t interested in sleeping with.

As the day goes on, painfully slowly, you find yourself more and more distracted by his presence and frustrated with your lack of progress in your investigation.

You curse loudly.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his gaze intense.

“I’m just… I’m so frustrated, Peña. I don’t know what to do about it.” You sigh.

“I’m sure I know how I could help you deal with it.” He says, with a glint in his eye.

You scowl at him. Now that had to have been intentional flirting.

“I feel like no matter what we do we are always running in circles chasing our own tails. How do they always stay one step ahead of us. Like you said, these guys aren’t geniuses.”

“Hey.” He says, his expression stern. “Don’t talk like that. We’ll get ‘em.”

“Every day that goes on we are losing more. I feel like I’ve already given all of myself and more to this investigation.”

He had closed the distance between you, and placed his hand over yours where you fiddled with your pen on the desk. The touch burned.

“Let me take your mind off it.” He says, something unfamiliar behind his eyes.

You ignore him, and slide the memo on your desk over towards him. “Can you assign someone else to the stakeout tomorrow. We have to be in for the meeting with-“

He cuts you off, grumbling, “You always use work talk to distract guys hitting on you?”

“Hitting on m- Jesus, Peña. The heat makin’ you fuckin’ stupid?” You shoot back.

“Maybe.” He shrugs. But he doesn’t step away from you.

“You believe in shitting where you eat?” You continue.

“Not usually. But I can see how frustrated you are. I’d be a bad partner to let you suffer like this.” He smirked.

You raise an eyebrow at him. You know the answer to your question but you want to hear him say it. “What are you suggesting?”

He leans in closer, “I’m suggesting I help you forget work a while, let me relieve some of your tension. Maybe it’ll force a breakthrough.”

“Yeah right.” You say. You turn to face him, looking for any sign in his dark eyes that he isn’t being serious in his proposition. Any sign of hesitation or doubt. Any sign that it is all some joke. But you don’t find it.

His moustache tickles as he whispers in your ear. His hot breath sends shivers down your spine. “You know you want it. Let me help you.”

You want to say no, but your body betrays you as you find yourself being acted on by what seems like a magnetic force, drawing you closer to him.

You manage to produce one more protest, but it comes out weak, as though you are trying to convince yourself for a reason to say no. “That would be unprofessional.”

“Who’s gonna report us?” He taunts. “You?”

You find yourself shaking your head in response to his question, and he pounces on you, connecting his lips to yours in a desperate kiss.

An oppressive heat continues to suffocate your body, but this one isn’t from the conditions in the office, this is a fire that is coming from within, a burning flame stoked by the attraction and desire that has come over the two of you.

You give in to the feeling of him as his hands roam all over you, unbuttoning your blouse hastily and discarding it. A mixture of excitement and guilt nags at you. This is your partner. This is wrong. And not just any partner, it’s Javier Peña. He has screwed at least half the women in Medellin. This is not how you should be behaving.

But at the same time, you can’t deny the intense chemistry between you in this moment. The way your desperation and hunger perfectly matches his. The way he whispers dirty words in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

His cock is already straining against his tight jeans, and you reach a hand up to palm him through the denim.

He sighs at the feeling and puts his hands on your waist, pulling you up and guiding you to sit on the desk. A strong hand parts your thighs and creeps upwards, pressing against the thin fabric of your panties. You moan into his mouth, and then blush, embarrassed by the affect his touches are having on you so quickly.

He continues to rub gently against the fabric and you reach towards him to release his belt buckle. You fumble with it and he pushes your hands away impatiently and takes it off himself, unzipping his jeans and taking out his erect cock.

He strokes himself a few times and you watch, transfixed, your breathing shallow.

He stops and gathers the hem of your skirt, pushing it up to your hips to release your thighs. He spreads you wide and pushes your underwear to the side, not bothering to remove it as he plunges two fingers inside you.

You gasp and he starts off with an already quick pace, hammering in and out of you and curling them inside you to reach the most pleasurable spots. It doesn’t take long until your legs are shaking, your hands gripping the edge of the desk to steady yourself. You were already sweating from the heat but now you feel as though you are melting, struggling to catch your breath and releasing desperate whines of pleasure.

His thumb reaches up to rub your clit and you moan, “Javii-”

“You like that, huh?”

He attaches his lips to your neck, sucking lightly before moving down to the valley between your collarbones, licking up beads of salty sweat that have gathered there. He moans into your skin and the sound goes right through you, you twitch and start to feel an orgasm rising inside you.

“You gonna come for me before I even fuck you, huh?” He taunts, “More desperate than I thought.”

You ignore his cocky commentary and focus on the feeling of his hands on you. You can’t deny he is skilled and knows exactly the right pace and rhythm to bring you your release quickly.

The pressure on your clit increases and he rubs faster circles around it. Tension builds in your stomach.

“Don’t stop.” You gasp out.

His other hand has reached back to stroke his cock roughly, and he lets out small sounds of pleasure into your ear. You didn’t expect him to be this vocal but it turns you on.

Your pleasure is reaching its peak and he senses it too, toying with your clit unrelentingly as you writhe on the desk beneath him, the cool surface doing nothing to calm the heat inside you. Your legs tense up as your orgasm washes over you, you lose your stability and fall backwards atop the papers and documents strewn across the desk. Your back arches and his movements don’t slow down, unashamed cries of pleasure streaming from you as you ride out your orgasm.

He shifts slightly and there isn’t a moment of rest until he removes his fingers and replaces them with his hard cock. He plunges deep inside you on the first thrust, the hairs at the base of his cock rubbing against your clit, almost driving you to overstimulation with your orgasm barely subsided.

He sets a punishing pace with his haps, snapping against you hard and fast, your cunt greedily clenching and tightening around him every single time he buries himself inside you.

“Feel so good. Don’t know why I waited this long.” He mutters.

You whine, unable to form a coherent response. One of his hands is squeezing at your chest and the other is gripping your hip, pulling you down on him harder to intensify the force of every single thrust.

He is everything you thought he would be, hungry and passionate and clearly practiced in the art of both giving and taking pleasure.

Your sounds echo around the room. Neither of you worry about this, knowing the office was nearly empty. Even then, your desire for him clouds your mind so far to the extent that you don’t think you would mind being caught anyway. It was worth the risk.

He takes both of your legs and manoeuvres you, bending them and lifting them up so they lazily rest against his shoulders. Thank god for yoga, you think.

The new position tightens you up and somehow allows him even deeper access. You moan shamelessly and he grunts with every single thrust. His pace is unrelenting and you feel him becoming more and more forceful with each one, chasing his climax.

“Can I come inside you?” He asks through gritted teeth.

You are unable to form words, you nod, your mouth hanging open but no sounds come out other than strangled gasps.

“Fuckkk.” He grunts, turned on even more at the prospect of filling you up and it sends him over the edge.

He spills into you, your name thrown in amongst the curses he mutters as he comes. He keeps a tight hold of you as he steadies his breathing.

Moments after he releases inside you, you feel the relief he had been promising. You close your eyes and let out a deep, contented sigh.

And then, suddenly, they fly open again.

“Move!” You almost yell, pushing his chest away from you.

“Move. I’ve got it.” He pulls himself away from you and you leap up, pulling your skirt back down. You grab a pen and begin scribbling frantic notes over the transcript.

“I’ve got it.” You repeat.

“Worked even better than I imagined.” He teased, smirking as he buttoned his jeans and re-fastened his belt before coming to join you and see the revelation you had come to.

“Good to know.” He adds, “Nice tactic for the future.”

You roll your eyes at him and thrust the paper towards him with satisfaction. He might be right, it might have been the sex that did the trick, but you would never admit it.

More Javier Peña oneshots:

Over and Done With | Partners | All Work, No Play | Little Games

#javier pena smut #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fanfic #javier pena x reader #javier pena x f!reader #narcos smut #narcos fanfiction #agent pena #javier pena #narcos fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction

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oniku-niku · 6 months

Text

Inked } Suna Rintarou

Tattooed!Suna Rintarou x f!Reader Summary} Sometimes Suna gets inspirations for tattoo designs, and you just happen to be the most supportive girlfriend. Word count} 2.5k Warnings} NSFW!! This is straight up SMUT bro. PLEASE MOVE PAST IF YOU'RE UNDERAGED!! Swearing, thigh riding(brief), praise, teasing, so much teasing, SoftDom!Suna, cockwarming, clit spanking (like 3 times), pet names (doll, princess, baby), read at your own volition(Tell me if I miss anything)

Sometimes going out in public with your boyfriend, Suna, is tough. In every sense of the word because people tend to double take when they look at you, and then him, or vice versa. Both of his arms are covered in ink, the intricate details of the designs weave together to create art that continues under his shirt.

People take time to look at his arms and trail down to where his hands are holding onto yours. It’s like he’s holding a blank canvas. Not a single speck of ink can be seen on you and it throws them off completely. Those looks don’t faze you anymore after three years of dating.

It’s your decision to not get any tattoos. Not because there’s any reason preventing you, but it just isn’t a thought that crosses your mind. Suna more than respects your decisions because he loves you too much to push you to do something so permanent, and he thinks it’s kind of funny when people gawk. There are the occasional assholes who boldly ask intrusive questions but one sharp glare shuts them up. You’re his pretty little girlfriend whether or not you have any tattoos. Besides, he’d rather the marks he left on you are hidden in places only he knows.

“Is this one gonna tickle, Rin?” You ask him as he places his hoodie neatly on the couch cushion. A small chuckle leaves him when he looks up at you. You’re seated over his lap, thighs on both sides of his, settling yourself comfortably as his hands snake from your waist down to cup your ass. If you weren’t close before, you are now with the way he squeezes and pulls you closer.

“Oh, it definitely will, princess. Try not to squirm, ‘kay?” He whispers close to your lips, giving it a fleeting peck before his hands move up to pull at the hem of your tank top, taking it off and settling it on the hoodie. Your tits are inches from his face and he swears he can live like this forever.

“No bra?” He places a peck on his favorite beauty mark on the valley of your chest, his fingers ghosting the sides of your mounds, eliciting a soft sigh from you. You shake your head with a cheeky smile.

“We don’t have anywhere to be today so I didn’t bother.” A pierced eyebrow quirks up at your answer, his lips pulling into a smirk.

“Does that mean this is the last thing I’m pulling off later?” He slips a thumb under the hem of your pajama shorts, not reaching in far enough to where you want him. Before you can voice your complaints, that hand grips your thigh and he grinds his hip up as a warning. The movement had your core dragging against his member, only two layers away, and you immediately fell quiet, opting to twirl a piece of his hair behind his head instead.

As much as Suna would love to give you that kind of attention, he knew you both can wait.

“Sit still.” You watch him pick up a black water soluble marker and uncap it with his teeth, as his other hand was filled with your ass.

This was one of your guys’ lazy days activities. Just because you don’t have any official ink on you doesn’t mean you’re opposed to him practicing on you. It started when he was absentmindedly doodling on some napkins at his parlor.

It was a slow day and the next appointment wouldn’t be until later. As he picked up the phone to answer a customer, his other hand continued to idle, not realizing that your bare thigh was what his pen was idling on. You could’ve told him but he was so focused that you didn’t want to break the process as he talked to the caller. By the time it ended, he was proudly looking at the piece before he looked at you to ask for an opinion but then immediately started to apologize once he realized. Needless to say, you told him you didn’t mind, in fact you welcomed it whenever he gets inspiration. Since then, his sketchbooks were seldom used.

The tip of the marker touches the top of your sternum and his work begins. The first time he practiced with you topless, you were a blushing mess. Your hands constantly wanted to cover your breasts but he reassured you by giving occasional kisses, some teasing when you shift. Your comfort is his number one priority and he wouldn’t do anything you weren’t okay with. Which is how you’re sitting here with him dragging the marker lower and lower until it reaches above your belly button.

Seeing Suna so focused always gets you flustered because he carefully places his hands where they need to be to stabilize your skin. He leans closer whenever he puts in small details and you get a whiff of his cologne.

“Arms up.” He instructs and you waste no time lifting and holding them behind your head. He slightly tilts his torso to view your left side, bringing the marker to continue his work. You tense when he presses a little harder, and that small movement tells him that it tickles. He chuckles before giving you a squeeze to say “My bad”. The angle allows you to admire the works that are on his arm. You’ve seen them so many times that it’s practically a clear image in your head but you never get tired of it. The way his muscles flex when it moves, it’s almost mesmerizing.

When he’s finished with your left, he moves over to your right, making sure to pepper kisses across your chest on his way. When he sees you tapping your foot on the edge of the couch, he knows you’re getting antsy holding your arms up for so long. He gives your thigh two pats when he’s finished and you lower your arms to drape over his shoulders once again, fingers threading through his hair.

“Thatagirl..” he breathes out before capping the marker and pulling you down by the back of your neck to slot his lips against yours. You take this chance to grind your hip against his once again as he holds your head still. Your breath is heated, mind getting foggy just from him kissing you. Your hands tug at his roots and he let out a groan. Thinking you had the upper hand, your tongue tries slipping past his lips.

The hand that wasn’t holding your head moves to smack against your ass before firmly gripping it to ease the burn. The simple movement makes you moan and he shoves his tongue in your mouth to remind you who’s really in charge. Keeping his tongue playing with yours, he sits straighter up on the couch, basically making you arch your back to keep from falling. Your perky nipples brush against the fabric of his black t-shirt and you grind yourself onto him again just to feel more of him.

If Suna focuses enough, he can faintly feel you clenching through your shorts and it only gets him harder. His hands slide down to move your hips against him, making sure you feel every inch he has for you. The small mewls coming from you only encourage him further and his hands are roaming all over you like he can’t get enough.

“Off.” He wants your shorts gone, and though he hides it well, he’s just as impatient as you. Inked hands tug at his shirt to pull it over his head as you quickly slide from his lap to kick off your shorts. His smirk returns when he spots the damp patch where your bare core was before you’re back over his thighs.

“Impatient, hmm?” His hands busy themselves cupping your ass cheeks again, fingers running over your folds just to tease you before going to hold your waist. His lips are back on you, trailing from your cheeks down to your neck where he takes his time finding that spot that has you whining for him.

“Rin…please..” You moan when he thrusts up against your core and you can feel your arousal soaking into his pants.

“So cute…” He just can’t help but tease, you make the sweetest little sounds and it’s all for him. His hand goes to unzip and pull his pants down just enough for his member to spring free. It leans towards his stomach even while hard, precum wetting the tip making you gush further on his thigh. Just when you’re able to hold the base does he grip your chin and pull you closer.

“Turn around, baby.” It’s almost too easy to tell you what to do when you’re drunk off of him. You’re spinning to turn your back to his chest, hands obediently spreading yourself for him. He can’t help but bring his thumb to stroke your folds, bringing the arousal from your clenching hole to your clit, eliciting another moan from you as you move closer to where you want.

He takes hold of his member and slaps the tip against your clit, watching the way you drip onto him before dragging himself to where he needs to be. Your knees buckle when his head slips in, moaning out, “Ahh..Rintarou..” When he’s an inch or two inside, he takes hold of your waist to ease you back down, nicely fitting himself all the way in.

It nearly knocks the wind out of you every time no matter how many times you do it. You can feel him pulsing deep inside as he stills. Your hands go to hold his thighs to have some grip before you’re moving to bounce.

But Suna being Suna, he holds your hips in place, leaning towards your ear.

“I just had another idea.” You hear him uncapping the marker again and your heart sinks, pussy clenching onto him at the thought of waiting.

“Can you keep me warm, doll?” Yeah, he loves it when you’re needy for him, but it’s also extremely satisfying to tease you in this state too. You groan out a “Fine.” waiting for him to resume drawing.

He actually has no motive to draw anymore. Just seeing the pout on your face makes him want to pound into you further but he has to hold out, just to test how long he can wait.

You lean forward a little, and that action has him sinking a little deeper, making this almost impossible but you’re his good girl. He almost lets out a groan but bites it back. The marker touches your back again and you clench with every move, forgetting for a moment that he can feel it every single time. His restraint is a thread being pulled.

“...Rin…” Just when your patience is slipping, you feel the way the marker moves against your back. The same strokes, over and over again and you sit up a little.

“Fuck, Rin are you just doodling hearts?” Your question makes him abandon the marker, tossing it onto the coffee table before he’s taking hold of your throat, thrusting up to finally feel your walls. The thread finally snaps.

“Sorry, princess. Here, let me make it up to you,” he growls, taking hold of your thighs and pulling it to rest over his. He leans into the back rest, taking you to lay on his chest as he’s bringing his hips up.

His thighs prevent your legs from closing as he’s pistoling his hips faster into you. Your moans ring louder when you feel his fingers on your neglected clit. He traces circles over your bundle as you drip down his shaft.

“Such a good girl, huh?” He groans. “Bein’ so well behaved when I was drawin’ on you.” He plants kisses onto your neck, his hips not faltering when your hands grip onto his.

“Oh-fuck, keep doin’ that, baby.” He rasps when you clench at his praise, driving into you further.

“Shit, hah-can ya hear yourself?” He knows his question won’t be answered when your eyes are rolling to the back of your head and whines are coming from your throat. But, he shoves two fingers into your mouth, effectively shutting you up so the room can hear the wet noises the two are making.

He should’ve known you’d wail past his fingers, sucking on them as if they were his dick. God, you’re so perfect. His other hand rubs faster against your clit when you’re clenching gets harder and harder.

“Ya close, baby?” His question is answered by a moan and our hips moving on their own to chase your high. Your grip on his hands gets tighter and he knows it’s any second now.

“Make a mess f’me, princess.” He growls into your ear and lets your hips do the work. You’re bringing yourself nearer to the edge and with Suna sending three harsh claps to your clit, you let go.

He holds you as you’re shaking from your high. Giving you a few seconds to come down, but as stated before, he’s impatient.

“R-Rin, wait-ahh-I’m not-” You’re whining as he’s thrusting up again, thighs not letting you close your legs as he’s drilling deeper. A few more pushes and he stills himself, hands gripping onto you as he’s filling you. The warmth spreads inside you as he gives a final thrust, holding onto you to calm down.

“Fuck.” You turn back to kiss him and he’s gently returning it. The two of you sit there for a while, needing to breathe and you’re looking down to admire the drawings he did earlier.

“I like these ones..” You point to the valley of your chest to show him and he looks over your shoulder.

“That one reminded me of you actually.” He mumbles against your skin, fingers tracing the details he did.

“Maybe one of these days I’ll ask you to do it permanently.”

“Anything for my girl.” His lips press kisses onto your clavicle, giving it a gentle suck. Your light chirp response was enough to get him going again.

“Rin.” You slowly feel him hardening inside you again, turning to look at him just to see him smirking back.

“Gotta clean my girl up right? Start the shower, I’ll be right in.” He slaps your butt once more and you’re eager to race to the bathroom, making sure none of his seed drips down your legs on the way. He’s taking his time discarding his pants to follow you.

Suna Rintarou is covered in tattoos of his and your own choosing, and you’re his pretty little girlfriend who has yet to get one. He’s too whipped and in love with you to care whether or not you have any. Sure, he’d sometimes imagine what kind of ink would suit you, but when he’s greeted with the sight of you all bare, he finds you sexy nonetheless and in those moments, he just feels like he’s the luckiest man in the world.

A/N: Congratulations on making it through this messy one shot. I literally have not written s-m-u-t in so long this felt illegal. But something happened and I was outside of my body watching my write this because tattooed Sunarin was on my brain. Anyway I'm sort of back? I hope to write more in the future.

[Blog Master List]

#haikyuu #suna rintarou #suna x reader #haikyuu x reader #suna one shot #suna rintarou smut #haikyuu smut #suna rintarou x reader #suna smut

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holllandtrash · 1 year

Text

6 to 1 | lando norris (part 3)

paring: lando norris x leclerc!reader part 3 in the 6 to 1 series (read part 2 here)

so you agree to go on a date with lando, much to charles' dismay and even though you made it a rule not to date drivers, part of you knows that the second the night comes to an end, you'll be wondering why you ever made that rule in the first place

word count: 5.7k tags: subtle mention of death, established friendships, minor social media au aspects, this is mostly fluff

Ignoring social media was easy. You could just silence your phone.

Ignoring your brother was impossible, seeing as he practically forced himself into your hotel room after leaving the circuit.

A lot of the drivers were going out and partying, Charles should have joined them. Instead, he was pacing back and forth at the end of your bed as you finished touching up your make up.

“I lost a bet, Charles, stop making a big deal out of it,” you didn’t want him to overreact about you going out with Lando, but it was too late.

Charles was standing only a few feet away when Lando approached you at the end of the race, but he couldn’t ask you about it until you were all back at the hotel. Needless to say, when you dumbed it down and said you lost a bet which resulted in you going out with Lando, Charles wasn’t too happy.

“So you like him?” Charles questioned, catching your glare in the reflection.

“As a person, yes.” You applied a layer of lip gloss and blotted it on a tissue before continuing, “Do I want to marry him and have his babies? No, Charles, I don’t. I lost a bet. It’s one date and you’re the only person making a big deal out of it.”

That wasn’t true. Most of F1 twitter was making a big deal out of it. Lando might have asked you quietly if you were free tonight, but apparently there were some professional lip readers out there who managed to piece together what he asked you when the videos of him leaning in had surfaced.

You stood up from the chair and nudged Charles out of the way so you could grab a zip-up hoodie resting on the edge of the bed. Lando didn’t tell you what you were doing tonight, but you assumed it would be casual.

“So where are you guys going?”

“No idea.”

“Do you even want to go out with him?”

You pulled the zipper up halfway and turned to Charles, trying to understand why he was so against the idea of you going out with one of his friends. You both knew he was a good guy and it wasn’t as though you made it clear you were actually interested in Lando nor have you ever come out and hinted towards a relationship with him. It was just two friends going out.

This date was going to be a casual, a one time thing. It wouldn’t happen again, but no matter how many times you repeated that to Charles, he still had his concerns.

“Lando and I are friends. This is no different than me hanging out with Carlos.”

“But you don’t usually hang out with Carlos and if you do, it’s because I’m with him.”

“You need to cool it with the whole overprotective brother thing. It's very early-2000's-romcom."

There was a knock on the hotel room door and both you and Charles turned your head.

You held up a finger towards him seeing as he was closest, “Don’t you dare.”

Of course he didn’t listen to you. Charles bolted towards the door and you swore at him as you caught up, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him back. Charles pressed his hand to your forehead, pushing you out of the way and you had no choice but to dig your heel into the back of his knee so he dropped to the ground.

Charles still tried to reach for the handle and you forced your way in between him and the door, keeping him at an arm's length by pressing against his shoulder and when you had a free second, you finally answered it.

“Hey,” you were breathless. And not because Lando looked, dare you say, adorable in his typical Quadrant shirt and rosy cheeks and also not because he was holding a bouquet of daisies this time instead of a single flower. But because as soon as you swung the door open, Charles had stood up and pushed you out of the way, practically knocking you into the wall.

Lando had no idea what he was getting himself into. He took a step backwards and watched as the door closed slowly. He could have sworn he saw you about to take a swing at Charles, but no sound followed except for you yelling at your brother to fuck off and him yelling something back at you in Italian.

The door opened again, but this time it was Charles instead of you who was standing there.

He was also breathless. He eyed Lando up, eyebrows pinched together in an attempt to be intimidating, “Where are you taking her?”

“Joyride, probably, in a stolen vehicle,” Lando answered without any hesitation. “And then we might get matching tattoos, but that depends on how long it takes for us to rob a bank first.”

With literally all of the strength you had, you side-checked Charles, sending him stumbling away from the door. You smiled at Lando and quickly ran your fingers through your hair, knowing that none of it was in place anymore.

“Hi,” you said again, less out of breath this time. “Bank robbery?”

“Yeah I figured committing a felony in a foreign country is probably on your bucket list.”

A laugh passed through your lips, “You know me so well.”

Charles gripped the side of the door and pulled it all the way open, “I don’t approve of this.”

“We’re not actually doing anything illegal,” Lando clarified with a chuckle of his own. When it was evident that Charles wasn’t finding this amusing, Lando’s smile dropped and he cleared his throat.

You were expecting him to apologise, or to tell Charles what he actually had in mind, but with the most serious expression he could force his features into, Lando plucked one of the daisies from the bouquet and handed it to Charles.

“Don’t wait up, mate.”

Lando grabbed your hand before Charles could get another word out, pulling you into the hallway. You glanced over your shoulder just in time to see the door shut on your brother's face.

You felt so childish. Lando’s hand in yours as you ran towards the elevator, both of you knowing that this date probably wasn’t the best idea but neither of you caring enough to say something to stop it. There was an incredibly high chance that Lando would be recognized wherever you went, and if you were spotted with him, which you would be, twitter would be all over it.

But you didn’t let yourself think about that as you stepped into the elevator. Lando let go of your hand and pressed the button to head down to the lobby. As he leaned back against the wall, he finally handed you the daisies.

“What am I supposed to do with these?” You asked, carefully grabbing the steps.

Lando shrugged, “I did my part.”

“Your part?” You asked. “What does that mean?”

Lando let his head fall back against the elevator wall as he laughed, “I said I’d get you a bouquet and I did! I don’t care what you do with them.”

You should have expected that sort of answer from Lando.

“Where are we headed anyway?” You asked next. “What did you plan?”

The doors opened with a quiet ding. Lando grabbed your hand again. You noticed that each time he reached for you, you grew more and more comforted by his touch. It was a slow progress, but it was something.

But Lando wasn’t going to give away what he had in mind for this evening adventure. He stayed quiet, lips sealed and turned upwards into a smirk as he led you towards the front doors of the hotel.

Parked out front was a luxury, black Audi. You didn’t have to ask if Lando rented it for the night, that question was answered when the valet handed the key to him. He grabbed the handle of the passenger door and pulled it open for you, taking the flowers momentarily as you buckled your seat belt.

Before he could shut the door, you looked up at him and asked again, “Come on Norris, where are we going?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Not in the slightest.”

With another laugh, Lando shut the door, leaving you as clueless as you were before. You watched as he spoke to the valet for a moment before getting into the driver's seat. Lando took a quick look at his surroundings and then he sped off into the streets of Montreal.

“You don’t like red velvet?” Lando asked as he took a bite of a cupcake he had just purchased from a pop up vendor. Some cream cheese icing stuck to his upper lip and you stifled your laughter behind your hand as you shook your head.

“No, it’s not my favourite,” you said, grabbing a napkin before leaving the stand. You handed it to Lando and his quick eyebrow twitch doubled as a thank you as he wiped his face.

He swallowed the bite before moving onto his next question, “Does pineapple belong on pizza?”

“Absolutely not,” you shook your head again. “And what the hell are these questions?”

Lando quickly scarfed down half of the cupcake, stepping closer to you when a couple of kids went running past in the opposite direction. He’d been asking you the most absurd questions ever since he parked the car, ranging from childhood related ones to favourites and dislikes. It was giving you whiplash, and he also wasn’t letting you ask any.

“I’m just trying to get to know you better,” Lando answered casually. “I feel like everyone knows me, or knows a lot about me which is fine, it’s the life I signed up for but I don’t know anything about you.”

“That’s not true,” you argued. “You know my favourite desert.”

“And that you like daisies.”

He finished the rest of the cupcake and you took the wrapper from him, tossing it in the nearby trash can. When you turned back around, you spotted a few strangers watching you, or more specifically, watching Lando.

“Go take a picture with them,” you encouraged.

“I’m out with you,” he said quietly, purposely avoiding the eager eyes of the motorsport fans. “I don’t want to be rude.”

You rolled your eyes, this might have been the first time you rolled your eyes since he knocked on the door. “Lando, it’s not rude. If I didn’t want to be interrupted, I wouldn’t have gone out in public with an F1 driver.”

You could see how conflicted he was. He really did want to spend time with you. He’d been signing autographs all weekend.

But he was still a world famous driver when he stepped off the track. You pushed on his shoulder, subtly moving him in the direction of the fans before he could argue with you.

You watched as his face instantly lit up, mirroring the young fans, as they exchanged a few words and he signed the back of their shirts. Lando glanced your way and you offered him a smile, but he wasn’t done with this impromptu meet and greet. A few other people recognised him, and then a few more, and then a few more.

After almost ten minutes passed, you found a bench to wait on. You could still see Lando and the circle of fans that had grown around him and you made sure he could still see you. He’d look over his shoulder every few seconds, just to make sure you hadn’t grown tired of hanging around.

But Lando didn’t know it was impossible for you to become bored of this. You got a lot of joy out of watching him interact with the people who looked up to him, admired him. It put a smile on your face each time someone new asked for a selfie or for him to sign something.

It was obvious that Lando had a huge heart. Not only did he care about his friends and family, but he cared about every single person that ever approached him. He tried to make their experience special, even if it was a five second conversation.

When Lando pointed towards you, you watched as a few girls wearing Ferrari shirts recognised you instantly. You smiled of course, but you were planning on staying seated. You weren’t the Formula 1 driver, that title belonged to your brother and the boy you were on a date with.

You were always the proud sister of Charles Leclerc, but that same fulfilling feeling started to sink in as you watched Lando.

When Lando finished up a few minutes later, he approached you with his arm outstretched for you to slide your hand into his.

“You ready to call it a night?”

You and Lando had been out for a few hours already, time raced by. Much like the evening he came to your flat unexpectedly, conversation flowed naturally, Lando didn’t allow there to be a lull with all of his questions anyway.

You didn’t want this night to end, but you both had early flights and this date wasn’t supposed to take your entire evening away. You could admit you had fun, but you were okay with calling it here.

You grabbed his hand and he helped you up. Lando waved once more at the group of fans as he led the two of you out of the market.

He cleaned his neck to look down at you, “I’m s-”

“Don’t even think about apologising,” you were quick to cut him off, already knowing that the next word out of his mouth was going to be sorry.

“But I am,” Lando said. “I was with the fans for a while.”

“So?” You raised your eyebrows. “Lando I love that there are people out here who love you, who recognise you in Canada for christ sakes. I can hang out with you whenever. For these fans, those five seconds they just had with you might be the only five seconds they ever get. I’m not going to take away any time from them nor should you feel bad, ever.”

You arrived at the parked car and you reached for the handle, but Lando stopped you before you could do anything just by tightening his grip on your hand the tiniest bit. He brushed his thumb over yours and as you met his gaze, you couldn’t get a read on him. You had no idea what sort of thoughts were going through his head.

And then he smiled, the kind of smile that would make his cheeks hurt if he held it for too long.

“Thank you,” he practically whispered those words. It made you wonder what sort of people he hung out with that made him feel guilty for giving his attention to fans.

“You don’t need to thank me, Lando,” you assured him. “I grew up in this lifestyle too, remember?”

You couldn’t count all of the times you were out with your family and Charles and Arthur were stopped by adoring fans. Over time, it just became a normal occurrence and you never let it bother you.

Lando opened the door for you and waited until your seatbelt was on before shutting it. When he slid into the driver's seat, he didn’t turn the car on right away. Like seconds prior, he just turned his head to look at you, his eyes darting all over your face.

His mouth parted just enough for his tongue to poke through as he licked his lower lip, “If I wasn’t such a gentleman, I’d kiss you right now.”

His comment wasn’t supposed to make you laugh, but it did anyway. You pulled your fingers through your hair. “Oh, you’re a gentleman? Really?”

Lando rolled his eyes at your rebuttal, “You hurt me, you know? You crush my ego. A lot.”

You nudged his arm, “Just drive the car.”

The hotel wasn’t too far away, and you were lucky enough that silence with Lando was comfortable, not awkward. For a while, the only sound came from the quiet radio station, playing French songs that Lando kept asking you to translate on the drive to the market, and the faint hum from the air conditioning.

And then Lando turned the radio off completely, keeping his eyes on the road, “Can I ask you something?”

You snorted, “You’ve been playing twenty questions all night, you’re really asking for permission now?”

Lando laughed as well, taking a second to glance your way. Your answer was equivalent to a ‘go ahead,’ so he went for it. Unintentionally causing this night to take a turn.

“Have you ever dated anyone?”

You didn’t even need to think about it, “No.”

“Why not?”

Lando stopped at an intersection. The red light from above beaming down on half of his face. You could hear the crosswalk countdown through the glass and laughter coming from a group of people crossing the street, but the second you looked at Lando, all of that became background noise.

“It’s hard to let my guard down around people,” you admitted. “When Charles and Arthur started working their way up in motorsport, a lot of people wanted to get close to me just to get close to them. Girls wants to date them. Guys wanted to be their best friends. No one saw me for me. I always- I still am, I guess- the sister of the Leclerc drivers.”

The light turned green and the engine came to life again, but Lando reaching across the centre console to rest his hand on your leg only encouraged you to keep opening up to him.

“Growing up, it was hard to figure out someone's true intentions,” you noticed Lando’s jaw clenched for a moment, like he could understand what you meant by that. He could. “I’m still young, but I like to think I have a better idea now than I did back then. And honestly, it’s for the best. Why allow myself to get heartbroken by someone who doesn’t actually care about me?”

If only you knew what Lando was thinking.

I care about you, he wanted to say. God he wanted to scream it.

But he couldn’t. He knew that this date was a one time thing. He knew your intentions, you wanted to remain friends. You didn’t date drivers.

Why didn’t you date drivers?

You slept with Pierre, but you never actually had feelings for him. Or any driver for that matter, from what he could recall.

“Can you explain something to me, then?” Lando asked, again taking a second to look at you. He hated that he was driving right now, he wanted to give you all of his attention. He didn’t want you to have to share it with the road. “Why don’t you date drivers, Y/N? Or, athletes in a similar field? You grew up in this lifestyle so wouldn’t it be easier to be in a relationship with someone who you don’t have to worry is trying to get something out of you?”

His question was innocent enough. It wasn’t as though he was trying to convince you to date him, or even give him a real chance, it was a genuine thought that he had. He was only trying to get to know you better.

But he had no idea the can of worms he just opened.

Lando saw the sliver of a painful smile stretch across your lips as you looked down, fiddling with the ring on your thumb. He didn’t know you to be nervous, you were never nervous. Not even when Pierre made you uncomfortable, not when strangers approached you. You were always confident. Maybe a little apprehensive, but never nervous.

“Lando I’ve seen people I’ve grown up with have their lives destroyed because of motorsport.”

The heavy exhale you let out almost broke him. He thought about pulling over just so he could take your hand in his as you spoke, but he kept his eyes on the road, letting you work through whatever was sitting on your shoulders.

“Friends,” you said quietly. “Family.”

Jules Bianchi wasn’t just Charles’ godfather.

“Being the sister of racing drivers, I’ve accepted reality as it is,” you scratched the side of your face, feeling a sense of uneasiness travelling all throughout your body. “I know how dangerous the sport is, I know what my brothers have signed up for and I know the risks they face every time they get in the car. It’s not easy to think about, but I’ve accepted it. They want to drive the fastest cars in the world and I’m going to stand behind them and support them no matter what.”

Another breath. Lando sensed what was to follow.

“But…” you paused, needing a second to shake your head, needing a second to ignore the flashes of all the incidents coming to the forefront of your mind. “Every time there’s an accident, I can’t breathe. For ten seconds, twenty, thirty, however long it takes until they get out of the car or confirm that they’re okay over the radio, my world stops. I’m lucky, you know, my world hasn’t stopped all that much recently, Arthur and Charles have had some really good races, but the risk is still there and I have to brace myself for that silence over the radio every time something goes wrong. That’s what breaks me. Thinking that maybe I won’t get a response this time.”

You still hadn’t answered Lando’s question. He knew that everything you said, while important, was only the lead up to what he really wanted to know.

“Now imagine I was dating you,” you shifted in your seat but Lando kept his hand on your thigh, refusing to let go. “Imagine we were together and for whatever reason, you collided with Charles.”

If Lando was being honest with himself, that was never a thought that crossed his mind. Of course he knew all about the risks when he got into the car, and of course he thought about being with you, but he never looked at those situations from the same perspective.

“That's twice my world stops. Twice as much silence I have to brace myself for,” you explained, your voice breaking while doing so. “And if something did happen, that’s twice as much pain. Twice as much heartbreak. Twice as difficult to find a reason to get out of bed in the morning.”

You were crying now. Not much, you took pride in yourself for being emotionally strong, but there were still a few tears that slipped as you thought about all of the dangers that could come from Formula 1. You raised your hand to wipe them away and Lando was quick to interlock his fingers with yours before you could go back to fiddling with your ring.

Lando was nearing the hotel now and he didn’t know what to say. There was nothing he could say, nothing that would help, nothing that would assure you that scenario would ever happen because that was simply a promise he couldn’t make.

The lights of the hotel growing closer had you wiping your eyes again, just to make sure they wouldn’t be puffy as you stepped out of the car. The last thing you needed was to run into someone you knew and for them to question what the hell happened with Lando that left you in tears.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, finally turning to face Lando. He parked in front of the doors, but held a finger up to the valet, indicating that they still needed another minute before getting out.

“This isn’t something you need to apologise for, Y/N,” Lando told you, sounding sincere and defeated at the same time. His eyes met yours and you could see the weight that was originally on your shoulders was now being transferred to his.

“But we had such a fun night,” you said through a soft chuckle. “And then I just dumped that lot on you and-” you shrugged, “I’m sorry, I don’t want you to think I don’t like you. I do. I just will never allow myself to be vulnerable with you, or any driver for that matter.”

You did like Lando. As a friend, definitely. Possibly, probably, more if his occupation didn’t involve driving up to 300 km/h.

But he was in the same dangerous field as Charles which meant you had to be safe because they couldn’t be.

“Hey,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “If it means anything, this was probably one of the best dates I’ve ever been on.”

That did make Lando smile, but it was followed with an eye roll, “It’s probably the only date you’ve ever been on.”

“And now the bar is set incredibly high.”

Lando didn’t want to let go of your hand.

You also didn’t want to let go.

The second you stepped out of the vehicle, the date was over. He’d go back to working his way up your ranking and he wouldn’t be able to use the podium ultimatum again, it was a one time deal. You’d have no reason to keep seeing him outside of the races and you knew that simply because you wanted to just wasn’t strong enough.

You and Lando weren’t supposed to be anything more than what you were now.

So you let go of his hand and reached for the handle of the door to push it open. Lando took an extra second to let that entire conversation sink in before he followed you, making sure to grab the daisies that had been left in the back seat. They were a little wilted, but they were still yours. He wouldn’t let you forget them.

You walked side by side to the elevator, thanking him quietly when he handed over the bouquet. When the steel doors opened, you both stepped in and it would have been perfectly okay if you stood in opposite corners.

Instead, you leaned against the back of the elevator and dropped your head to his shoulder, staring down at the white and yellow flowers wrapped in brown paper. Lando dropped his head too, to rest on top of yours.

An unspoken agreement that this was coming to an end. This date, this night, this moment.

But that didn’t sit right with Lando.

“What if…”

You lifted your head, once again trying to piece together what he was thinking as the numbers on the screen slowly started to ascend.

“What if we pretend for two minutes that I’m not a driver?”

It took all of you not to roll your eyes because you could see that it was a genuine question. Your mouth curved up into a gentle smile and you so badly wanted to go along with that idea.

But those two minutes would be enough for you to forget every promise you’ve ever made to yourself. Two minutes with Lando, acting as though he wasn’t a Formula 1 driver, would lead into four and then eventually ten and then an hour and the next thing you knew, you’d be in McLaren garage, holding your breath for him, not just for Charles anymore.

“No,” you whispered. “I can’t.”

Lando nodded. It was worth a shot.

Two minutes would be enough to destroy you.

The elevator doors opened on your level and Lando held his arm out, letting you take the first few steps. As you walked quietly down the hallway, you glanced up at him, wondering how much this night would affect your friendship moving forward.

You handed Lando the flowers so you could take a second to find your room key, but before you could unlock the door, Lando took hold of your hand and forced you to give him your attention one last time.

“For the record, this was probably one of the best dates I’ve been on as well.”

A blush crept up to your cheeks. No matter what, you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling like an idiot.

You desperately wanted this night to end on a good note, you wanted him to know that you still cared about him, that you were still friends, that you still liked him even after you basically rejected all of his advances, serious or not.

So you playfully pushed on his arm, “You didn’t even bring up my driver ranking once.”

Lando hit his forehead, “Damn it, I knew I was forgetting something.”

And you rolled your eyes, because you always did when something stupid passed through his lips. Lando laughed at that reaction as he handed the flowers back to you.

“Have I passed Mr. Canadian yet?”

You thought about it for a second before eventually leading into a slow nod, “Yeah, I’d say you did. Your up to fourth.”

“LN4,” he grinned. “That’s me, baby.”

God you hated how much his smile affected you. You hated that the muscles in your face went into auto drive and smiled back because of how contagious it was. And you fucking hated that you liked being the reason for that stupid grin.

You almost regretted saying no to his two-minute proposal in the elevator, but again, two minutes had the power to destroy you. That was too long, you couldn’t risk it. That was enough time for him to kiss you and trail his lips down your neck to find the spot you couldn’t resist. You’d be opening up the door and dragging him in before those 120 seconds were up.

But…

You inhaled a sharp breath, “Thirty seconds.”

Lando’s eyebrows pinched together, “What?”

“Thirty seconds,” you repeated, a bit quieter, contemplating if this was a good idea. It probably wasn’t. “I can’t give you two minutes, but we can pretend for thirty seconds that you’re not a driver.”

You knew Lando had good reaction time, but you didn’t expect his hands to cup your cheeks that quickly. The flowers fell from your grasp as Lando pulled your face to his, tilting your chin upwards so he could crash his lips against yours before you could take back anything you said.

If it was possible for someone to take all of the air out of your lungs from a single kiss, Lando was doing it and you didn’t even care because the feeling of his mouth on yours was more intoxicating and inviting than oxygen, or the lack of, ever could be. His tongue slid past your lips. You could taste the red velvet cupcake he had earlier and all of a sudden it was your new favourite dessert.

You gripped onto the front of his shirt, pulling him close as his fingers slid towards the back of your neck and twisted through your hair. Both of you doing everything you could to memorise this moment before it was gone. You wanted to still feel the ghost of his lips on yours when these thirty seconds were up, you wanted to regret putting a timer on it and simultaneously regret letting yourself do this.

Lando kissed you like he had been waiting all night to do this, maybe he had. Maybe this was something he wanted to do since the second he parked his car after finishing third in the Grand Prix.

And then he pulled away.

His nose brushed against yours and it took all of your strength to not reconnect your lips. It didn’t help that he teased you by brushing them right over yours. He was breathing in each of your exhales and in return you were doing the same.

There was no way that was thirty seconds. You weren’t counting, clearly too preoccupied with his tongue roaming around your mouth, but you knew damn well that wasn’t anywhere near thirty seconds.

Lando must have noticed your confusion, you weren’t doing a good job at hiding it. His usually cheeky grin was replaced with a smirk instead.

“You didn’t think I’d use all thirty seconds now, did you?” He asked. “I’ve got to ration that…make it last.”

You shook your head slowly in disbelief. Leave it to Lando to find a loophole. You thought this was how the night would end, you were certain this would be the only time you’d ever kiss him, that you’d ever allow yourself to be vulnerable with him.

“You’re such a little shit.”

“I know,” Lando agreed, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

He tilted your head forwards, just enough to press one last kiss to your forehead before he dropped his arms to his side. He bent down to pick up the flowers and handed them to you, all with a very obvious arrogance to him. He was proud of himself, of his cunning little plan.

He had another ten, maybe twelve, seconds with you, to pretend that he wasn’t a driver and he wasn’t going to rush through them.

“I think I hate you, a little,” you finally said as you pressed your key card to the lock. The light turned green and you turned the handle, giving Lando one last look. “Yeah. Definitely hate you a little bit.”

Lando didn’t buy it, of course he didn’t. You wanted to kiss him as much as he wanted to kiss you.

“No you don’t,” Lando slowly started to back up towards the elevator. “I think you love me, actually.”

“No.”

“You could.”

“Nope.”

He shrugged, “I think, maybe-”

“Goodnight, Lando.” you finally said. Giving him one more of your signature eye rolls before stepping into your hotel room. You leaned against the back of the door after it shut and let the daisies fall to the ground. All you could do was let out the heaviest breath your lungs could muster.

You didn’t want to admit it, you wouldn’t even let yourself think about it for more than a second, but deep down you knew Lando was onto something before you cut him off.

If you stopped creating barriers for yourself, if you let yourself be vulnerable for more than thirty seconds, maybe, just maybe, Lando might actually be someone you could fall in love with.

And now, for an entirely new reason, one not backed by fear or panic but because of a British driver with hazel eyes and a smile that had you forgetting how to breathe, your world stopped.

part 4 here

masterlist here taglist: @moneymasnn @thotd-f1 @masonspulisic @mcmuppet @f1-futurewag-16-3-4-63 @alilstressyandlotdepressy @themisric @happydazzz123 @moonxblossom @norrisleclercf1

#lando norris #lando norris au #lando norris instagram edit #lando norris social media au #lando norris fic #f1 requests #f1 #f1 fic #formula 1 #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #holllandtrash

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lustfulslxt · 24 days

Note

MORE STEPBRO CHRIS IM BEGGING YOU PLEASE. 🙏🙏

i have so so so many requests for stepbro chris, so until i can write out a fic, here’s this 💋

—

it’s been an excruciatingly long day. a long day of teasing, subliminal touches, risky advances, lustful stares, and naughty words spoken. to say the least, you’ve been absolutely feral.

your stepbrother, chris, has been attempting to keep you at bay all day. you’ve been trying your hardest to get him to cave and give you what you know you both want.

from wearing a skimpy little outfit and bending over in front of him, showcasing your pretty panties, to full on palming him through his jeans at the dinner table.

the second your hand makes contact with the slight bulge in his pants, he stiffens and the fork he’s holding slips from his hand, clashing into the plate with a loud clink.

the two of your parents turn their heads toward him, brows furrowed. “you okay?”

“mhm.” chris nods, “just tryna take my time.”

his response being good enough for them, they resume their conversation with one another. chris turns to look at you with a glare on his face. you only innocently smile at him.

your hand tightens around his growing member, applying the perfect amount of pressure. he deeply inhales through his nose and clenches his jaw, keeping his eyes on you with a harsh stare.

you’ve made it abundantly clear that you need him. his cock has been throbbing since your first advance, and he can only hold out for so long.

which leads you to where you’re at now.

bent over the sofa, your face pressed into the back cushion, mascara bleeding onto the leather as chris digs you out.

the material of the couch is cool against your taut nipples, increasingly warming up with the heat you’re exerting. your skin is soon sticking to the black textile from the thin layer of sweat you’re producing.

your top has been long discarded and your skirt is bunched up at your waist with your panties looped around one of your ankles. the cool breeze coming in through the open window dances softly on your skin, providing a pleasant balance to the warmth emitting from chris along your backside.

your parents had left to get a few more things they needed to finish dessert, and as soon as they were out the door, chris had you against the sofa.

“such a fucking whore. so desperate for some cock, you’re willing to touch me in front of our parents.” he grunts from behind you, his thrusts fast and hard.

you can’t even form a single word, your mouth dropped open as pleasured moans fall from it. one of his hands is pressed against the side of your head, holding you against the cushion. his opposite hand holding his shirt up to prevent it from being saturated by your arousal.

“dirty little slut.” he grits, “can’t even keep her mouth shut. practically begging to be caught.”

his pace grows with each sentence, his cock now repeatedly digging into your sweet spot, making your eyes roll back into your head. he huffs and bends down, ripping the panties from your ankle. he balls them up and stuffs them in your mouth to keep you quiet.

clocking his words, you turn your head to face the opposite way from the window.

he smirks, “what, you scared to look out the window? scared they’ll pull in the driveway and see me plowing your brains out?”

your brows furrow in pleasure, your body and mind being overcome with bliss. he always knows exactly what to say, exactly what to do to have you coming undone on his cock. you can’t help but clench around him.

your panties become soaked with the remnants of your arousal and the continuous drool that pools from your mouth — ultimately doing nothing to contain the noise escaping from your lips.

chris falls against your back, pressing messy kisses to your neck. his breath is erratic, small moans slipping from his mouth. his cock throbs inside your pussy, soon to reach the edge.

“chrisssss.” you cry out as his strokes hit deeper.

“take it. you wanted it so bad, fucking take it.” he groans, pulling you back by your waist to meet his thrusts.

euphoria floods through your body, and you squeeze your eyes shut as your legs tremble. as soon as his tongue grazes the sweet spot on your neck, you’re left practically convulsing beneath him as you cum.

squelching noises fill the air as you drench his dick, and it’s music to his ears. knowing how good he makes you feel, on top of how good you feel clenching around him has his hips sputtering. lewd groans emit from his lips as hot spurts of cum spray over your inner walls.

just as he begins to slow, the sound of brakes squealing has you both scurrying to get dressed and pretend nothing has happened.

“you guys ready for dessert?”

chris licked his lips and smirked, “thanks, but i already had it.”

—

taglist : @luv4kozume @worldlxvlys @flowerxbunnie @sturniolowhore @creamoncreamoncream2 @lvrsparadise @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @tillies33ssss @chrissfavwh3re @its-jennarose @sophssturn @defnotayonna @ksskianshd @d0wnbad4chris @braindead4l @avasturn @knowingnothingnoel @luverboychris @remussbitch @stunza @rootbeerworshiper @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @strnlsblog @keira324 @domaniquessidehoe @mattslolita @junnniiieee07 @pepsienthusiasts @gamermattsgf @cupidsword @iloveneilperry @leprechaunbirthdaygirl @luul223 @matt444nixi @sturniololol @evieolo @dlyansworld

#chris sturniolo blurb #lustfulslxt #joss speaks #sturniolo triplets #sturniolos #the sturniolos #chris sturniolo #imagine #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo smut #step bro chris #step siblings #christopher sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader

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yanderenightmare · 1 year

Text

BNHA ! THIRST

Midoriya Izuku "Deku" x darling

synopsis: soft and gentle noncon

TW: NSFW, yandere, dubcon/noncon, light bondage, massive size difference, chubby cock doesn't fit

There’s nowhere to hide from him – not lately, at least – as he’s grown tired of playing hide and seek with you to the point of keeping you locked in your room, kept in your place by a ball and chain with a fuzzy cuff around your ankle – given just enough leeway to allow you to use the conjoined bathroom when you need it.

Mostly you just lay on the bed – counting the hours, falling in and out of sleep – disgusted with how you’re practically just waiting for him to come home only to be his little stress ball. And when he does, he’s already laying his heavy body over yours with massive bruise-knuckled hands rubbing your every curve with a strength that’s always just a bit too needy.

Pent-up and worn-out after work, he’s too horny to be denied what he’s been thinking about all day. Sagging his much larger shape against yours where you lie like a little mouse caught in a mouse trap – only dressed in flimsy little undergarments – your naked skin feels so good as he drapes you in big beefy arms, tugging you close while molding his crotch against your ass.

“I’ve missed you, Baby~” He groans tiredly, nuzzling his scruffy chin into the nook of your neck along with a list of wet kisses – his face still smeared in grime and smog he sloppily hadn’t the will to wash off before stumbling home.

Lately, he looks to have run himself into the ground – torn and frayed at the edges and just barely hanging on by a thin thread. Nomming on you lazily with lips and tongue – his tattered and dirty hero suit is left in a heap on the floor so his battered sweaty body, naked muscles with scars and fresh wounds, can comfort itself tight against you without a layer separating you from him.

“You feel me, hm- Baby? This is what you do to me….” He rumbles, voice rusty and weary – spooning you with hips scooping against your rear, fitting the big bump in his boxers into the firm plushness of your soft and welcoming butt.

Granting himself some sweet relief with worn hands kept locked tight around you – hugging you close. One working your flimsy bralette off your shoulders before copping your tit, wantonly squeezing into the fat with another heavy groan against your neck as his thick fingers twiddle your nipple until you whine and push back against him – his other hand snakes over the soft flesh of your tummy and belly button, in between your thighs to touch the even softer thing kept there.

“Spread your legs for me, Baby~”

He doesn’t really let you listen – doesn’t give you any choice but to obey with how his blackwhip wraps around the swell of your thighs – lifting it for you with ease and spreading you wide for him before you’re even able to whine out a single little protest to stop it.

“Be my good girl~ Let me feel~”

He props himself up enough to bend over your shoulder – tongue laving at your cheek with lips placing dull but heavy kisses to the corner of your mouth as he moans out sweet and needy nothings.

His hot fat hand gropes the sweet little thing over the thin lace of your panties, warming you up before leisurely scooping it to the side – making way for his burly middle digit to split your pretty pussy-lips apart so he can rub over your clit with the cruel gritty fissures of his fingerprint.

He kneads it tight until you’re wet and swollen – his other hand making sure your titties are all pretty and perky – before it’s too much and not enough for his heavy cock to burden anymore – desperately dry-humping you from behind.

Nipping on your earlobe, his voice gains strength in the shroud of his arousal, becoming something caught between a growl and a whisper. “Can you give Daddy's cock some love- kiss it good luck while I get you wet and ready to take me?”

And you know better than to think his question is a request for permission rather than a slight warning – as he sits up against the pillows on the backboard, pulling your smaller shape sideways with your head resting sweetly on his lap – your ear against his navel, hearing the hungry echo in his gut.

Kneeling at a perfect angle – positioned just right for him to still be able to reach over your pretty ass so he can keep fucking your sweet squelching hole on thick fingers until you’re loose enough to soak his eagerly fat shaft.

Meanwhile, he needs your mouth – grabbing your skull, he gathers your hair into a neat ponytail and waits for you to unwrap him from his boxers.

And though the thought makes you swallow thickly, you’ve been taught better than to deny him – knowing more cruel toys are only a simple hand-reach away, stocked full within the drawer of the bedside table – ready to force you to down on your knees in more uncomfortable ways than simply complying on your own. So, with fear sweetening your movement, you stroke his thighs sweetly and pull him out – welcomed by the thick musk of sweat and something fuller – all in all, something you can taste before even putting it near your mouth.

“Open up, Baby~ come on~” He encourages, curling two digits inside your wet cunt while prodding your tiny butthole with the gravelly pad of his thumb – waiting for you to drop your jaw wide open and swallow him down deep. “Oh~ good girl~” He hisses, letting his head fall back against the pillows as you pocket the bulging beast in your cheek. “Such a hot little mouth~ so sweet for me~”

He starts bouncing your head on him, and you try and keep from gagging – with hands bracing yourself against the hefty muscles of his thighs, trying to keep steady as he burrows down your throat as far as he can reach.

You’re only ever able to take him halfway – and though frustrated by it, he shows you mercy by allowing you to lick and kiss instead – with one of your hands jerking the shaft and another fondling his heavy ballsack.

“That’s a good little baby~ Taking all of Daddy’s rough day away~ Kissing it all better for me~”

He lets go of your ponytail once sure you’re not going to fight him, starting to pet your head as you listen and abide by all the rules he’s taught you about how he wants you to use your tongue – suckling on all his thick veins and the mushroomed tip of cockhead, kissing it sweetly with wet lips and a little moan to show your enjoyment.

“Daddy’s been thinking about you every single second since this morning, Baby- about what a sweet little girl you are~ Been wanting to reward this tight pussy with cock and cum all day….”

He sets you up on his lap shortly after – both thighs lifted and kept spread in each of his hands as you rest your back and head against his chest with a thick layer of spit and precum coating your lips – both of you watching his slicked chubby cock searchingly bob against your cunt and belly – steaming, wet, and visibly excited, with white seeping from its slit in thick beading pearls.

“You ready, Baby- ready to take me inside this sweet little pussy?”

Your toes curl in the air, dreading it with fear – knowing you’re never any ready for his size – though feeling the pressure of his words blowing hot against your ear where he rests his alongside yours – cheek to cheek with his lips brushing the corner of your mouth.

“Come on, Baby~ help Daddy fuck his little girl….” He licks your face and spreads you a little wider, gesturing for you to line his weeping monstrosity up with your drooling hole.

Thinking him cruel to force you into consenting, you listen and obey either way – spreading your pussylips with two shivering fingers whilst grabbing his member with the other, placing the tip perfectly at your entrance – helping him kiss and split through the tightness even as the sting makes you flinch and wince.

Like before, you can only take him about halfway before cowering – shrinking in on yourself – pussy clenching so hard to keep him and his mass out before it can tear you apart.

You cry and shake your head. “Puh- please- Izu-ah- wait-” Begging him silly – eyes shutting as you bite your lip, feeling him ignore you – nudging in further with only a pitiful kiss of mercy to spare, placed quick and chastely on your cheek.

“Oh- you can take it- come on, Baby~” He coddles in whispers against the tears dripping down your face. “Just a little more now- just a bit more~”

He lets his blackwhips take over, keeping your thighs raised and spread for him – while his hands get busy – one rubbing your nipple as he continues cooing at you with the other rubbing your clit as he sinks himself deeper and deeper inside your constricting cunt.

“Relax for me, Baby~ be good and let Daddy in~”

And soon he’s got himself bottomed-out to the hilt with his cock making a big beautiful belly bulge on your poor little inside as you squeeze him tight like a vice – exactly how he’s been aching to feel all day – married deep inside you, inch by last inch until he’s inside your very depth.

“There you go, baby~ Feels so good, hmm? All of Daddy inside you? Squeezing me so sweet and tight~”

Your body goes tense and numb – afraid to move – lying lax against his chest, panting out spit-sticky moans as he curls deep against your tummy, making you feel it all the way up to your throat in a choke taking your breath and words away.

The blackwhips detangle from bruising your thighs as you give in, and he pushes the two of you over on your knees. Laying you down against the mattress – your pretty face riddled with dew and heat – smushed and blubbering against the cool sheets your tiny hands begin fisting as he slides in and out of your narrow hole with both his arms holding your hips steady to receive him.

He smiles, watching your thighs quake and your spine arch each time he presses neat and deeply against your cervix with the promise of stuffing you full and good – still softly cooing at you to lie there and take it well until he’s bred you good like what a sweet little babygirl like you need.

tip-jar: Kofi

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