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ki-yomii · 1 year

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hit it/forget it | part 01 | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 6.7k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; rough, dom!jk, dirty talk, squirting, creampie, fingering, oral (f receiving), enemies to lovers, orgasm control/denial, drinking, slight college au ig??➥ summary | finally able to unwind for the first time in forever, you go to a friend’s party. only somewhere along the way you find yourself in bed with someone you swore you’d never sleep with. it’s too bad he’s not in any hurry to let you hit it, and forget it. ➥ notes | i’m v new to this fandom, and it has started to consume me lol ✌️🥲 ❤️ series masterlist | masterlist | inbox | AO3 ❤️

... Shit, what time is it?

Beams of sunlight pour in through the crooked blinds, stretching across the cluttered floor to flood the rumpled bed with golden light.

It’s so bright it hurts, your eyes watering with the effort it takes to open them as you roll onto your back with a quiet hiss.

Sore and still buzzed, it takes you several minutes to process your unfamiliar surroundings. Your mouth is stale and arid, the unpleasant taste of dehydration heavy on your tongue.

Needle sharp pain lances through your skull, and it’s hard to think let alone focus when it feels like someone’s shoving an icepick through your brain every time you so much as breathe wrong.

So much for a relaxing night hanging out with the guys, you think bitterly, pinching the bridge of your nose. There goes my last day off.

Spent curled up in bed fighting back nausea instead of out enjoying the last little bit of freedom your PTO offered.

If only the rest of the night had gone as well as the beginning...

Most of the group were camped around a game of beer pong when you arrived, already blitzed off their faces from pre-gaming while a few randos loitered around.

You didn’t pay them too much mind, more focused on catching up with your boys. It had been forever and a day since you’d talked to them, let alone seen them in person.

For a blissful moment it was just like old times; the floor sticky with spilled beer, wrestling matches followed by good-natured ribbing, and rowdy trash talk.

It reminded you so much of the shitty college parties they’d throw, you almost cried from the nostalgia alone.

The happiest you’d been in weeks.

Now you had adult bills and an adult life. Your schedules didn’t align like this very often. Getting to catch up and hang out with everyone again was a precious gift, one you didn’t realize how much you needed until you sunk back into the oversized couch, and took what felt like your first breath in months.

Your head was swimming, your heart bursting for fondness - only to choke on your tongue not even five minutes later when the front door slammed open to a round of hyped up chants, “JK, JK, JK!”

All the tranquility evaporated as Jeon Jungkook - the bane of your existence - waltzed over the threshold without a care in the world.

Meanwhile your heart was in your throat as he stood there in all his stupidly attractive glory while the rest of the gang surged forth. They swarmed him with friendly slaps on the back, a 12 pack of beer in one hand, and a bottle of tequila in the other.

He wasn’t supposed to be here - they said... He was supposed to be out of town for the weekend. If you’d have known -- fuck.

You wouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have come. And now you were stuck with him for however long it took you to sober up.

God, you hated him.

Not that you knew why, really.

There was just something about him that got under your skin. Maybe it was the cocky way he held himself, his confidence sometimes bordering on arrogance.

Or maybe it was the constant teasing. (You refused to admit it might be because of how attractive you found him, and how angry that made you.)

Whatever the case, ever since he met you all those years ago, Jungkook’s made it his life’s mission to be as insufferable as possible. Always waiting in the wings with a flirty comment and that self-satisfied smirk of his.

Dealing with him was like dealing with an overgrown - competitive - toddler. It got exhausting after a while.

Far easier to avoid him altogether, even though that mentality came at the expense of your friendships.

You stopped going to events if you knew he’d be there, ducking out of get togethers last minute if you so much as caught a glimpse of his car. Eventually, your absence became accepted - expected even - which further fueled your inherent dislike of him.

As if all the reasons you don’t like him weren’t enough, you were tipsy, and that was always a recipe for disaster. Without your inhibitions halting your tongue, you had no qualms about calling him out on all his petty bullshit.

The particulars are too fuzzy to remember, but you’d been avoiding him by hiding out in the kitchen when he decided to come bother you.

One thing led to another, and he must have said something insulting enough because the next thing you knew, you’d crowded him against the counter.

He smirked while you snarled with distaste, a shot in one hand with the other balled in the open collar of his fancy button up. You thought about how nice it would be to smack that look off his face, and thoughtlessly agreed to a one v one drink off - winner takes all - just to one up him.

Damnit.

You should have left as soon as his ass showed up. And you should never have agreed to his stupid little competition in the first place. You know better than to fall prey to his schemes... yet here you are, so joke’s on you.

This has to be some kind of divine punishment.

All you wanted was to knock him down a peg (or ten). Then his stupidly handsome face, and low, mocking voice egged you on past your limits. Now, you’re in someone else’s bed, naked and sticky, nursing a hangover from hell.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

God, you hope it’s not Jin.

Any of the others aren’t much better, but he’s your bro at heart, and there are some things you can’t ever come back from. If only last night wasn’t a hazy, distant fever dream pockmarked with fitful moments of clarity...

Memories curl through your mind like tendrils of smoke, opaque and sinister. The harder you grasp at them, the more confusing they become; coalescing into a tangled blur of swollen lips, and naked, sweat-slick skin.

Salty-sweet bursting across your tongue as the burning stretch of a fat cock sinks deep, a whiskey rough voice groaning low and heavy in your ear, “Fuck, you’ve always been such a little cock tease, haven’t you, baby? Mm, yeah, just like that. Knew you always wanted me, wanted this. Hhng, shit, I’ve wanted to do this for-fuckin-ever, princess…”

Goddamn Jeon Jungkook, and whatever horse he rode in on.

Of course, you’d get laid after a dry spell, and the only thing you have to show for it is the tender ache of your thighs, the tacky sensation of dried cum clinging to the swollen lips of your pussy, and the vaguest daydream of toe-curling pleasure.

At least the sheets are soft, the mattress plush, the bedspread muted, dark colours; altogether masculine but chic.

The fluffy pillows are to die for, something like expensive cologne threaded through the fabric; citrusy and bright with notes of mellow sweetness that fill your lungs, and cloud your senses with every deep inhale.

A familiar thread in an otherwise unfamiliar bed.

Whoever it is certainly has impeccable taste... which doesn’t help narrow down your list of suspects, at all. They’re all stupidly fashionable in everything they do, meanwhile you feel like a half-decent hobgoblin half the time.

You can’t decide what’s worse: the fact you slept with someone who’s a friend of yours - not many people outside of the core group came last night - or that you can’t remember who it is.

No lie, the temptation to slip out before they wake is hard to resist. But it’ll only delay the inevitable, and you honestly don’t want to do that to someone you care about.

It’s better to face the situation head-on, no matter how much you’re dreading it.

Over and done, quick and easy like a Band-Aid.

The conversation’s going to be awkward as hell but it was a drunken mistake. You’re adults and in a few years’ time, who knows, maybe you’ll be able to look back and laugh. No reason to let it ruin years of hard-earned friendship.

“Aah,” you groan mid-stretch, “...what a fucking mess.”

“Look who’s finally awake.”

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

The world screeches to an almighty halt, crashing and burning as all the breath in your lungs catches in your chest. Your heavy eyes pop open so fast you see stars, a field of grey sheets filling your line of sight.

A wave of disbelief threatens to drown you, hysteria following in the aftermath as your mind stutters to a stop.

Stomach turning, your heart slams into your ribs so hard you’re convinced you’ll break a bone. The thought of sleeping with a friend is bad enough, but the truth? So much worse. You wish the bed would swallow you whole.

Why, you lament, why him?

That low, sleep rough tone dripping with arrogance.

It raises your hackles, sets your teeth on edge until you shake with the urge to punt his ass across the room. Never in a million years would you expect to hear that voice beside you in bed.

You wish with everything there is that it’s just a hallucination - but there’s no mistaking who that voice belongs to.

The knowledge sits bitterly in the back of your throat.

“This is a nightmare.”

No fucking way you’re turning around.

You inch to the edge of the mattress, grateful for the distance. The very idea of touching him repulses, repels.

You’re already too aware of how the bed dips beneath his weight, the shared space warmed by the sleep soft heat radiating from his skin.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jungkook scoffs. “Keep telling yourself that, baby.”

A hot palm, rough with callouses, grabs your shoulder. The steel grip tugs you close, unyielding as it guides you onto your back.

As soon as you glimpse the sunlight caught in the tangled briar of his hair, your eyes slam shut.

If you can’t see him, you can pretend he’s not there and if he’s not there, well then you won’t have to face your colossal mistake.

It might be petty and childish but all things considered, you think you’re allowed to be. Waking up next to Jeon Jungkook is earth-shattering. And altogether mortifying when you consider all the thoughts you had before you knew you fucked him.

Of all the people…

He’s made passes for years, and you always blew them off. Now? You groan. They’re never going to let you live this down. You take back every kind thought. This asshole doesn’t deserve your praise.

Before you tell him where to shove it, fingertips skim the jut of your cheekbone. The action effectively shuts you up, your brain stuttering to a resounding halt. Soft and light like butterfly kisses, they trace over the sweep of your flickering eyelashes.

It’s a ticklish reminder that you’re not alone.

You jerk away.

The click he makes with his teeth does N-O-T make you throb. Neither does his persistence, the effort to force you into acknowledging his presence redoubled. He’s stubborn, and altogether not unlike a boy pulling pigtails.

The comparison unbidden and unwelcome, you bat him away with a sharp, “Quit it.”

His voice is far too smug for your liking when he says, “Why don’t you try to make me.”

“Oh, my god.”

This asshole…

Your fingers claw into the sheets instead of his chest, nails cutting into your palms as rage lurks just beneath the surface of your skin. Your breath shoves from your lungs fast and hard. It’s a struggle to reign in the urge to pummel him bloody.

Meanwhile, Jungkook redirects his attention, his hand dipping down to dance over the front of your throat. A rough thumb maps the curve of your jaw, a shiver rolling through your body at the touch.

His low chuckle is the only warning you get before he’s leaning over, the shift in position causing the hard, compact muscles of his torso to brush your side. The fission of awareness that follows in its wake crackles down your spine, steals your breath.

Senses fixated on the sensual glide of skin on skin while pulses of arousal kindle to life behind your navel. Slick gushes from between your folds, wetting the insides of your thighs. Heart in your throat, you steady your voice long enough to say, “Seriously, just leave me alone so I can wallow in peace.”

Warm breath tickles the side of your face, the cool metal of Jungkook’s lip piercing brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs the syllables of your name. “Come on,” he says, “I dare you.”

The hell, is he being serious right now? What does he think this is?

“What are you,” you ask. “Five?”

“Would you stop being so dramatic?”

The first hint of genuine annoyance threads through the words growled against your cheek. His tone low, a warning buried in its depths. Fire and smoke, grit and gravel. You hate how you clench at the sound. Hate how confused he’s making you.

Why is he acting like this is a normal occurrence? You expect him to lord it over you, not act so...playful?

The uncertainty rankles, and your shoulders hike up around your ears. If he thinks he can jerk you around like this, he better step up and out because you’re out of fucks to give.

This is humiliating enough, and you’re not about to relinquish what’s left of your pride.

“Do you ever stop talking,” you continue, ignoring the pulse between your thighs, the crack in your voice, “Or do you like the sound of your own voice that much?”

Your heart pounds in the ensuing silence, Jungkook all but ignoring you as he sinks his nose into your hair. The pleased rumble that vibrates from his chest into yours follows a deep inhale.

“Mm, you smell,” his lips tickle the side of your neck, “really good.”

A whimper works its way up your throat, your teeth barely catching it in time. Fissions of sensation shoot down to your stomach, hot and shivery.

“Shut up. Just stop - stop talking.”

It’s not what you mean to say - you have full intentions of cussing him out, reaching out to touch smack him - but by then, it’s too late. He’s already on the move, a mocking chuckle falling from his lips.

The sound shoots through you, stokes your rage and desire in equal measure until you’re shaking.

He tugs at the plush, tender flesh of your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “Y’know,” he muses, “I wouldn’t keep doing that if I were you. You might not like what happens.”

Surrounded as you are, it’s getting harder to think.

To breathe.

To be.

Sweat and sex cling to Jungkook, the scent filling your lungs with ash and burning through your bloodstream until he’s all that remains. Surrounding, smothering, swallowing you whole. “Look at me.”

Shit, he’s close - too close.

There’s a scant amount of space between your bodies, pressed stem to stern. Your tits crush against the hard plane of his chest, nipples stiffening with every drag of his skin, every shift of his body against yours.

His half-hard cock digs into the softness of your abdomen, wet and sticky as it drools into the dip of your belly button which shouldn’t get you as hot as it does. This is so not good.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “No, I won’t.”

I can’t.

This is unacceptable.

Fucking him once is bad enough, the only saving grace is that you barely remember the taste of his lips, the weight of his body pressing into yours, the stretch of him filling you to the brim.

If you give in now, even if it’s only an inch…

Well, he’ll take a mile and you don’t have an excuse for why you’ll let him. You’re already struggling with the urge to succumb, to inch closer. There’s no telling what’ll happen if you actually look into those burning eyes of his.

Of course, he doesn’t accept your refusal.

You never expected him to.

“I said look at me.” The thumb that was gently stroking along your face hooks around your jaw, digging into the soft spot on the underside. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You grit your teeth, channel the rising lust into rage. Anything to put some much-needed distance between you before you do something you’ll regret. Like, sleep with him a second time while stone-cold sober.

“Just fuck off, Jeon. This is embarrassing enough, you don’t need to rub it in. You won, okay? Congratulations.”

You refuse to let him have his cake and eat it too. Damned if he gets to hold this over your head. That drinking competition was all his idea, anyway. The victory blooming in your chest is short-lived, thoroughly blown to pieces.

He doesn’t respond verbally.

Fast as lightning, the hand on your jaw disappears only to reappear between your thighs to shove your legs open. He doesn’t waste time, runs his knuckles along the length of your slit without hesitation.

Teasing, testing, humming in approval at what he finds.

The sudden rough touch has you jumping, gasping, eyes snapping open, fixating on his blown pupils. The grin tugging at the corners of his mouth is more a snarl, downright predatory. The metal of his lip ring glints in the light, his teeth bared while he spears you with a hooded, hungry stare.

“That’s it, show me those pretty eyes of yours.”

Breathless, your hips twitch and you clench at the praise, liquid fire pooling low in your belly.

Traitor.

“Jeon - Jungkook, knock it off.”

But you know he’s not going to stop. The ravenous look in his eyes says everything his mouth doesn’t.

“See,” he says conversationally, pausing long enough to thrust two fingers deep into you without warning. Pain sparks, flickers down your spine only to melt into a warm flush of pleasure as he twists his wrist. “That mouth of yours says one thing, but this pussy’s soaked. What am I supposed to think about that, huh?”

“I-”

Any response you have breaks off into a wounded moan, your brows furrowing as he flicks the tip of his finger against your g-spot.

“S-Shit!”

“Hm, what was that?”

A sharp smack stings across your wrist when you reach down to pull his hand away.

“Jeon - I - please…”

“Come on, use your words like a good little slut.”

“I - I can’t - shit!”

It’s impossible to think, let alone form sentences when the heel of his palm grinds against your swollen clit like that. Thick fingers curl deep, stroke, stretch until you mewl.

Every skilled thrust drives you higher, wrings pleasure from you so expertly you’ve half a mind to be pissed. Now you can see why all those girls were tripping over themselves to get with him back in college. As much as it pains you to admit it, he’s got game.

But even then, it shouldn’t be this easy to get you going.

To get your thighs clamping around his flexing forearm while uncontrollable shudders wrack your frame, finger fucked stupid by the sworn enemy.

“Hah.”

If you weren’t half out of your mind, you’d be more offended by the condescending smirk. All you do is half-heartedly smack his side, his free hand darting up to cover yours and keep it pressed against his skin.

You clench down with a whine at the feel of rippling muscle, the sight of his tatted fingers resting over your hand so delicately.

“Looks like I’m doing something right. Fuck, can you hear that, baby?” His movements slow to a crawl, the thrust of his fingers languid and deep. “Listen to how wet your tight little pussy is for me.”

Warmth creeps up your neck and sinks into the apples of your cheeks. It’s as mortifying as it is a turn on, the sloppy sounds of your needy cunt echoing back at you. Sticky arousal coats your puffy folds, every slick, squelching slide heard over stilted moans.

Without a doubt, you’re making a mess of his sheets. Judging by the husky growl of his voice, anything less wouldn’t satisfy him. “Gotta make up your mind, baby.”

He couldn’t sound any more indifferent, but the rough thrust of his fingers, the burning heat smouldering in the depths of his eyes says he’s anything but unaffected.

You whine, writhe, arch your hips to grind down on the hand working between your thighs.

It’s no use.

You get him right where you want him, only for him to flash a devilish grin and pull away. The desperation to get off builds and builds and builds until you’re half mad with it.

This asshole’s gotten you to the edge of cumming several times, only to watch with sick delight as he yanks you back, dangling you over the edge without letting you fall. You don’t even want to think about what this is doing for his already over-inflated sense of ego.

“You’ve been sending me all kinds of mixed signals for years.” He nips the tip of your nose, spreading his fingers wide open where they’re buried inside of you just to hear you squeal. “So what’s it gonna be?”

He’s playing dirty, and he knows it. It’s infuriating that smug looks so good on him. Are you really going to do this?

Ghosting his lips over yours in the barest of kisses, he whispers, slow and purposeful, “All you gotta do is say it. Be a good girl for me, and say: ‘Jungkook, please fuck me.’”

... Yes, yes, you are. But you’re never, ever going to admit that you want him.

Not when there’s nothing you can blame the impatient rise of your hips on, the grind against his palm, the unwavering eye contact that pins you in place. As unbelievable as this is, it all comes down to how horny you are and how good he looks above you.

You admit that he’s an asshole, but jesus, he’s attractive.

Jungkook chuckles, rolls his eyes. “So you’re gonna keep being a brat.”

He doesn’t look put out in the least. In fact, he’s downright feral with the anticipation of breaking you down and fucking you back together.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you begging for my cock one way or another.”

The you wish dissolves into thin air, all your focus narrowing on the flex and shift of muscle as he crawls down the length of your body. Shouldering his way between your thighs, he settles on his belly and rubs his hands along your hips.

Flinching at the first touch of his broad palms, you watch with rapt attention as his strong fingers inch closer and closer to your heat.

Every touch, every slide of skin calculated. Precise. Intent on getting your blood pumping and your pussy throbbing until you’re squirming against the sheets.

That ferocious stare, glittering like onyx in the light, tracks every movement, every twitch; catalogues what strokes get you mewling, what drag of fingers has you shuddering, shivering until you’re a downright mess.

Longtime lovers never paid half as much attention to what got you going, and a one-off mistake is doing a better job than all of them combined. Shit, he hasn’t even really done anything yet.

Jungkook’s as focused between your thighs as he is during training, a singular intent that’s intense and overwhelming. Frankly, it’s unnerving being so seen by someone you’ve considered an enemy for the longest time.

When did he start paying so much attention to you - and how did you miss it?

“Just…” you say, voice a quiet thing that sits in the space between your bodies, “Just get on with it already.”

He doesn’t need any more prompting. Jungkook uses his fingers to spread open your sticky folds. Cool air dances across your core, teasing at your swollen clit as every bit of your pussy is exposed to him.

There’s no hiding the embarrassing amount of slick wetting your thighs or how you pulse and twitch in desire.

He hums in approval at what he sees, your thighs trembling around his shoulders. “Thanks for the meal,” he says, brushing his thumb across the hood of your clit before he ducks down with his tongue out.

The firm, full contact lick has supernovas bursting behind your eyelids. He groans at the taste of you, grinds his face deeper into the apex of your thighs. The sound rumbles through your sensitive flesh, your thighs clenching around his ears.

A sigh escapes your throat, and you rest a hand on the top of his head.

Oh yes, a much better use for that mouth of his.

Your fingers delve into the thickness of his hair, inky black wrapped around your knuckles. For a moment you lose yourself in the sensation, senses so high. Every swipe of his tongue, every roll of cool metal along your heated slit as his lips pull at your folds sets you aflame.

The peace doesn’t last, overtaken by the smouldering antagonism that simmers beneath every one of your interactions. A ticking time bomb set to go off at the slightest provocation.

His face between your thighs inspires a dizzying mix of disgust and desire, that he’s even in this position pisses you off beyond belief.

In retaliation for every wrong he’s ever done (the specifics hazy when he sucks on your clit hard enough to curl your toes, the barest hint of teeth), you yank on his hair with as much strength as you’re able to muster.

His neck wrenches back, and he winces. You luxuriate in the petty revenge of it all as spite blooms warm in your chest. Serves him right. Though you gotta hand it to him, he sure knows how to use his tongue.

“You bitch,” Jungkook groans, smothering the vibrations in your slick folds. You keen, bow your back so far you’re afraid you’ll slip a disc. “That hurt.”

For all his complaining, he doesn’t stop.

Quite the opposite.

He dips his head, so you tug at the roots harder while his hands wrap around your thighs, pinning your hips to the bed while his tongue flicks and teases, licks and fucks you open slowly.

The messy sounds of your cunt as Jungkook eats you out to within an inch of your life broken by soft sighs, moans of pleasure, and the occasional masculine grunt. Previous partners have gone down on you before but never seemed to care for it.

Jungkook on the other hand? He’s loving it, eating you out with single-minded ferocity, seeking his own relief by rutting against the bed.

It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen; the wild briar of his hair in utter disarray, sweat slick strands falling over his forehead while he buries his face in you, the muscles of his back bunching and releasing with every slow rock of his hips, his quiet, muffled moans of satisfaction, the ripple of tattoos as he pets at your flank.

He’s not shy - not that you expected him to be in this regard. You’ve heard all the stories about his prowess in bed from classmates and strangers alike.

All his movements are rough and desperate, wet and messy. The careful, slow teasing from before disappearing within the blink of an eye as he becomes consumed with a frantic desire to feel you cum on his face.

It’s not surprising that you don’t last long, orgasming embarrassingly fast, stuffed full of his tongue and fingers.

“Jungkook,” you choke out his name, a broken sound that fades into open-mouthed silence.

The ball of heat in your belly bursts, rushes over you like a tidal wave. You shake apart, pussy clenching so hard your womb aches as a gush of fluid dribbles out of you, soaking the lower half of your body and the bed.

Stars dance in the darkness behind your lids. You’re strung out and weak, incapable of movement, of thought, of anything besides the actual possibility that your bones dissolved when you came.

“Shit, that’s hot.”

Jungkook shifts.

Your lashes flutter. Breathing is difficult. You can’t feel your hands, the tips of your fingers tingling.

He kneels at the foot of the bed, cum soaking the lower half of his face. His lips red and swollen, his eyes hooded, dark and lusting. Pupils blown so wide the iris is nothing more than a thin ring of brown.

His cock juts from his body in a proud line, curved towards his belly. Smears of pre-cum glitter along the valley of his abs, and you have the strangest urge to lick him clean.

Seeing him look so debauched shouldn’t be as hot as it is, and you want to kick your own ass for thinking about Jungkook like this.

Fucking him is one thing, actively appreciating him something else.

But no matter how hard you try to ignore it, the sight of him kneeling and lusting is a sucker punch to the gut. Breathless and yearning, you’re at war with yourself, contemplating round three when he opens mouth.

Again.

“Not so high and mighty now, are you?”

The jut of his chest, the arrogance in his gaze ruins everything. Anyone halfway decent with their tongue who knows what a clit is can get a woman off. Jungkook’s nothing special - contrary to all those co-ed’s.

Just another run-of-the-mill asshole who thinks he’s a god. You’re reminded of this now that you’re not cum-dumb, brain dribbling out your ears. And just when you forgot why you dislike him.

“You know what, Jeon?”

If you could move, you’d shove him off the bed and get out of dodge. As it is, you’re in no such position; knees weak, thighs shaky as phantom waves of pleasure shoot from the crown of your head down to the tips of your toes.

You settle for a nasty scowl. Half as satisfying, but getting your point across all the same. “I’m still not fucking impressed.”

His expression drops into a bitchy sneer.

You want to smack him, wipe that look off his face with your palm. It would be like all your birthdays rolled into one.

“The fuck you mean?” Jungkook asks, brimming with gruff impatience. Good. Arrogant prick. “I made you squirt.”

Ignoring the pounding of your heart, you scoff and dismiss his words, no matter how true they ring. He doesn’t need to know you’ve NEVER done that before. “So? Even I can do that, you’re no better than my vibrator.”

The muscles in his jaw clench, bunching and releasing as his stormy gaze sears you to the bone. For the first time since he started this little - whatever it is - he seems genuinely pissed, shoulders tense and mouth a thin line.

You swoon, the empty ache inside of you pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

“I’ll fucking show you who’s better.”

“Sure you will,” you simper with a nasty grin, tone dripping with sarcasm.

As soon as you prop yourself up on an elbow with full intentions of hopping out of bed, a set of large hands stops you in your tracks. Panic shoots through you, and any residual anger you harbored fizzles away.

He can’t expect you to — oh, but of course, he does.

“No, not like this,” you say while you squirm, attempting to roll onto your belly. “I can’t.”

Fucking face to face is too intimate.

“Mm, no, I don’t think so, baby,” he croons, tone a mocking lilt as he cages you beneath him. “I wanna see your pretty little face when you cream all over my cock.”

Any response gets lost in a weak moan when he rubs himself against your slick folds, the fat head catching on the hood of your abused clit. You whimper, a sharp spike of arousal slicing through you, almost painful when it follows so swiftly on the tail end of your last orgasm.

You try one last time, voice reedy and thin when you say, “Jeon, please, I can’t - fuck.”

The tip slides into you without preamble, just far enough to feel it but not deep enough to get you off. The smug bastard thrusts gently, your tender, swollen walls suckling his cockhead, trying to pull him deeper.

Pure torture.

Mind wiped clean, embarrassment and protests all but forgotten, all your focus narrows down on how to get him inside you as soon as possible.

“Something wrong, baby?” he asks. “Got something to say? You’re squeezing down so hard. Want me deeper, don’t you? What a needy little slut you are for me.”

“Shit, Jeon, come on.” You pant, biting down on a whine. “Just put it in already.”

“Whatever you say.”

He keeps it slow, languidly works his cock deeper into you, inch by agonizing inch. Your muscles flutter, milk his thick shaft. It takes forever and a day before he bottoms out.

And then your eyes roll into the back of your head, hands flying up to anchor your nails into the meat of his shoulders.

He’s right there, cockhead snug against your crevice. Every ridge, every throb; it stokes the embers of your desire higher and higher, stretched so wide around him you ache; he’s the biggest you’ve had. You’ve never felt so stuffed full of cock before, it’s almost scary how good it is.

The taut skin of his belly grinds against your clit when he gets as deep as possible, pelvis flush with yours. “F-Fuck, Jeon.”

Above you, he shoots a cocky albeit weak grin.

You can’t decide if you want to slap him or have him fuck you into the mattress. Probably a bit of both. He boils your blood, but you’ve never been more aroused in your life.

Fucking hell.

“See, what’d I say? I’ll have you screaming my name in no time.”

You groan, breathing deep and slow. “Are you always such a prick?”

He hasn’t moved, but you’re on the edge, and far from ready for this to be over. The asshole hasn’t delivered. You haven’t been fucked raw, and you’re not leaving this bed until he gives it up. Now if only he could shut his mouth long enough to get the show on the road.

“Bitch.” He rolls his eyes, his broad palms firm on your hips while he shifts until your thighs rest over his. “Ready?”

You snort, shoot a comment about his dick not being that special and more than ready to tack on another scathing retort when he decides he’s had enough of your lip, pulling back and snapping his hips forward in one smooth movement.

It punches the air from your lungs.

Your mouth drops open in a near-silent gasp when the head nudges the spongy tissue of your g-spot. The sudden flood of warmth spreads out to all your limbs, pussy throbbing around him.

Your voice is shaky, spread thin, “A-Ah!”

Jungkook isn’t faring any better.

Hot palms tremble against your skin, the furrow to his brow pulling at his piercing, his mouth slack and glossy. His abdominal muscles tense with every stutter of his hips, flexing and resisting the urge to plow into you at max speed.

“Shit, baby, I forgot how tight and soft you are.”

Incapable of speech, reduced to mindless rutting. His broken moan shatters something between the two of you, and then it’s nothing but bruising kisses, sharp keens, rough hands, and frantic fucking.

He slams into you so hard the bed rattles against the wall, punctuating his filthy murmur of, “Perfect fucking fit, just like I knew you’d be.”

You appreciate his rippling muscles with your hands, caressing the firm lines of his body as you do your best to keep pace. Every other thrust has his cock slamming into your g-spot, your toes curling in the sheets.

It’s too much and not enough.

“Jungkook, I’m - I’m,” you sound wrecked, unable to even finish your sentence. “Please.”

“Yeah, that’s it, baby,” he growls, voice full of gravel and hips never missing a beat, “I got you. Now do it, cum, wanna feel you squirt on my cock.”

A fingertip finds your clit.

Rubs once, twice, three times, and then you see galaxies.

Crying out, you clutch him close as the bubbling pool of heat overflows, crashes into you like a tsunami. Helpless against the rushing tide. Your body spasms, your cunt gushing around Jungkook’s pistoning cock.

The slick slap of your skin almost as obscene as his groan, low and lewd, when you clench and clamp down on his shaft. “That’s it, that’s my good girl.”

Boneless and panting, you sink back into the pillows and stare up at Jungkook with glassy eyes. The early afternoon light highlights the lines of his body, the curves of his muscles, the splashes of color etched into his skin. Tremors wrack your body as you lay there while he chases after his own pleasure.

“Shit, I’m gonna — fffu-ck!”

One last thrust buries him to the hilt, his cum flooding, filling you to the brim. Face slack with pleasure, his head drops into the cradle of your shoulder. He pets your sides with gentle hands, his breath puffing across the sensitive skin of your neck while his body twitches with aftershocks.

The both of you are weak, fucked out.

You lay under him for a long time, silent except for your shuddering breaths. Your bodies coming down from unimaginable heights. When your arms aren’t so useless anymore, you push at his chest and grunt.

“Get off.”

A flood of cum follows his swift exit, thick seed dribbling down your folds and pooling on the sheets beneath your ass. Your eyes flutter at the sensation, a primal sort of appreciation curling through your belly.

Well, that’s new. And something you refuse to unpack now.

Flopping down beside you, Jungkook stretches, his expression far too self-satisfied for your liking. “For being such a bitch, you’re a good lay.”

Leave it to him and his goddamn mouth to ruin the afterglow.

You shoot him a sour look, dragging yourself to your feet.

There’s a moment where you almost fall, wobbly and off-kilter, before you regain your balance. You clean yourself gingerly with a towel hanging half out of the hamper.

Sore, tender, and vindictively pleased to see the white streak of his cum stain the dark terrycloth.

The asshole laughs at your disgruntled look, lounging on the bed like a lazy jungle cat. His thick arms cross behind his head and he watches you with dark eyes as you bend to get your panties.

Try as you might, you can’t help sneaking peeks at his barred chest. The smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth tells you he’s noticed the covert looks. You scowl. The smug bastard.

“Don’t be like that, baby. We had a great time.”

Scoffing, you refuse to dignify that with a response, and tug your shirt over your head.

“Wanna know what I think?”

“Not really, but I’m sure that won’t stop you.”

He ignores your sarcasm and continues, nonplussed, “I think you’ve never cum so hard in your life. I think you’re gagging for another ride.”

You pick something up off the floor, chuck it at his head and pivot on your heel. Anger pulses, white-hot and only partially satisfied by the pained groan from behind you as the object makes contact.

“What the hell was that for?”

“You know what that was for. God, are you always such a fucking dickhead?”

“I think you like it,” he says. “I think you like me - I think you’ve always liked me.”

You ignore the burn of your cheeks, and scoff.

The man’s ego is big enough without you adding fuel to the fire. He doesn’t need to know that was the best sex you’ve ever had. That you came so hard your toes curled, and your hands went numb.

“In your dreams, Jeon.”

Keeping your back to him, you’re about to put on your pants when an iron grip shackles itself around your wrist. You tug, testing the hold. He’s unyielding, spearing you with an intense, depthless look.

“...Jeon?”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You blink, swallow and flounder for a response. “Um, I - home?”

He frowns, and tugs you back towards the bed with a huffy sneer, “Get back in bed.”

Wait, what.

You blink, and blink again at the blush stealing its way across his face, the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks a soft pink, his eyes resolutely avoiding yours. Can’t help asking, “...What?”

“S-Shut up!”

“I didn’t even-”

“Just come back to bed.”

Still in disbelief of what’s happening, you let Jungkook rearrange you to his liking. You find yourself tucked into the curve of his chest, your nose pressed against his collarbone with his buried in your hair. His lips rest against your forehead, dropping the faintest of kisses to your brow.

“...We’ll talk when you wake up.”

You can’t tell if you’re curious or horrified, but for now, getting a few more hours of sleep sounds like an excellent idea. And, you suppose, it could be worse.

Shacking up with Jungkook isn’t all that bad, so long as he keeps his mouth shut.

#jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook #bts jungkook #bts jk #bts fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #bts fanfction #jungkook drabble #jeon jungkook fic #jeongguk fanfic #bts jungkook fanfic

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lola-la-cava · 1 year

Text

If You’ll Have Me

gif not mine !

Timothée Chalamet x Reader

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

The sunlight peeking through the blinds shone. Two bodies on the bed laid, intertwined. Timothée laid with his stomach against the soft mattress. His arm wrapped around Y/N’s waist.

She opened her eyes, waking from her slumber and gazing at the sight she’d grown familiar to and loved. Y/N admired his slightly parted lips and his unruly curls covering the top half of his face. She pushed them upwards only for them to slowly come back down. Y/N giggled at this and tucked it behind his ears.

“Hm? What is it?” he asked with a raspy morning voice that gave her so much butterflies.

It had been a few months since they started going out and he never failed to make her feel all giddy and giggly like a school girl.

“Nothing, don’t worry. Good morning”, she grinned resting her forhead against his. Timothée chuckled at this and pecked her nose.

They laid like that for several minutes, bathing in each other’s presence. Whispers of sweet nothing and light grazes on each other’s bodies are exchanged. The couple cherished moments like these before the day ultimately pulls them apart like it always does.

Only this time it was different. Timothée was leaving for LA again to promote a new project. It would still be a few weeks before they got to do this again.

Y/N continued to long for a time when she could spend time with her boyfriend without getting interrupted by press junkets, reshoots and award shows. They both did, but most of her job kept her tied down here. In New York. All the way across the country from LA.

Until now.

She’d recently resigned to pursue a more free lance job.

She groaned as she pushed herself up to sit up against the headboard. “Oh God, I can’t believe you’re leaving again”.

Timothée sighed as he looked up at her admiring her features. “I know, but it’ll be shorter than the other trips, I promise”

Y/N raises her eyebrow at this.

He sits up, putting his hands up in defeat, “Honest to God! I just have around 15 interviews scheduled. I’ll be done with in 3 days. I have a talk show to do and a fitting for the-“

Timothée continued to talk, but Y/N also commented. “-Hey, don’t worry. Take your-“

“And I have a bunch of open houses to go to”

Her heart drops at the sudden statement.

The room silences. “Open house, huh? When’d you start looking?”

He scratches the back of his neck, “Around 3 months ago?”

She inaudibly scoffed.

The audacity this man had. They’d been dating for months and not a single word of this came out of his mouth. Was he just gonna lead her on? Make her make a drastic decision about their relationship on the brink of him moving to the other side of the country? Y/N didn’t even know anymore.

But of course, she had no right to influence his choice in this. He’d been working toward where he was for years now. And he had nowhere to go but up. Y/N couldn’t help but be proud of him and support him. No matter what he does.

She put on a small smile.

“That’s great, Timmy. Oh, I’m so happy for you”

“Well, nothing’s really sure for now, but yeah fingers crossed.” he smirks optimistically with a blank stare on the comforter.

He zoned out, imagining their life there. He kind of expected her to handle the news with more enthusiasm. Of course, this wasn’t the ideal way he thought to reveal it, letting it accidentally slip out in a vent, but still. Y/N seemed solemn almost sad. Like the way she seemed whenever he’d leave for another trip.

Timothée’s body tensed all of a sudden. He looked at Y/N with a confused expression

“Y/N?” he called out to her, letting his hand rest on top of hers. She hummed earnestly. “You don’t think I’m moving by myself, do you?”

She sat up at his words, her e/c eyes trained on his. “You’re not?”

He started laughing. Loudly. As if he was teasing her for thinking that. Truly he was cackling because it was so appalling to the point that it was funny.

She frowned at this, “What are you laughing at?” He pretends to wipe away tears threatening to come out of the corners of his eyes and pouted. “Aw, did you really think I’d leave without you?”

“God, Timmy! Why’d you have to scare me like that!” The heart that was previously in her stomach soared. Y/N looked into his eyes for a second before she jumped into his lap to give him a bear hug. She remained clinging onto him.

For a few minutes, they stayed like that. Y/N fiddled with the curls in the back of his head as he rubbed her back. His hand all of a sudden rested on her cheek, bringing her gaze to him. “So, how ‘bout it?”

“I’d love to”

He grinned at her words and placed small kisses all over her face.

“If you’ll have me”

“It would be my pleasure, mon ange”

#timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet fic #timothee x reader #timothée chalamet #timothée chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet fanfic #x reader #timothée chalamet imagine #timothee imagine #timothée fanfic #timothée imagine

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zzenoids · 3 days

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OMG HII MASHLE BLOG AND MORE SKDJKDKS umm can I request reader x either orter or rayne coming back from a mission and they turn into a child ( kinda like that one episode where lance and dot became babies hahaja) like maybe kaldo or ryoh drop the reader at their office and they gotta babysit them hehe thank you if you ever take up on this request! ~ ᗢ

> || Orter Mádl x gn!reader

A/N: Hey chat maybe if this gets a lot of likes I’ll do Rayne(after like.. a few requests, trust!!) Sorry that it took so long and it turned out to be shitty lol, uh barely proofreaded, hope y'all enjoy tho

As someone who strives to work a lot, there particularly have always been tasks that mostly have been assigned to you that could be considered odd… There would have been examples now, but it’s sort of the best to specifically forget about it…, which kind of is fairly significant.

Today generally was just like any ordinary day, checking paperwork, sitting on a chair, and remaining in your office for the entire day in a particularly major way. However, this could have been considered the most normal workday you've ever had for the generally entire week. Unfortunately, no.

It was supposed to be a normal day! Till someone knocked at your office door. It slowly creaked itself open, revealing Kaldo, that man who has a weird addiction to honey, walked in. Carrying what almost looked like a baby. Go get your glasses checked. (Do you even wear any?)

“Good day, Mx. (L/N). I, the Flame Cane, Kaldo Gehenna, Have come to assign you with a very important ta—“ “Get straight to the point.” You interrupted Kaldo as he spoke. Another task? Why yes, “Alright, I will… So, please take care of ‘little’ Orter.” The Flame cane spoke in what seemed to be a ‘forced formal tone’. You had easily identified that he was trying to make this quick, perhaps he had other activities for the day But wait, what did Kaldo mean by ‘little Orter’? Did he mean Wirth?

“Wirth?” You asked, but you took realization as you fixed your gaze on the baby, it was Orter. Orter fucking Mádl. The Sand Cane. Mr. Grumpyface. The book nerd. It was him! He got turned into a baby??? HOW???

If there’s something to expect in working at the Bureau of Magic, it is that they can assign weird and obscure tasks that could be considered as “vague.” But if it was for protecting the people, then so be it. For the sake of the people… Focusing back on the current events,

“No, Orter.” The man paused before speaking again. “He got turned into a baby because of an individual move he made on a mission… But, ah, look! Isn't he so cute?” Kaldo poked Orter’s cheeks, sure, he may be cute, but Kaldo may have forgotten that Orter could use 10% of his sand magic, therefore he used it to spray sand on the white-haired man’s eyes, temporarily blinding him. It was a funny interaction, you chuckled. But knowing that you had to take this seriously, you nodded. There goes your free time, but it's for a comrade! And that comrade is Orter…. Yikes…. Okay, maybe you’d want this.

“Alright, I'll take him in, you owe me one though, Kaldo—” Before you could continue, the Flame Cane already left in a rush, leaving Orter at your desk. Now it was just you and that baby. Even being in such a small form, he still glares intensely. A question lingers in your head, how do you take care of babies? Is it necessary to treat Orter as one? After all, this effect only looks momentary. No one knows how long. But what you know is that the black-haired child(man) would not want to be treated as a baby. He is physically 23, he can grind you to sand! But now, he is in what can be considered one of the most vulnerable states he has ever been in, if not the most vulnerable. No wonder why Kaldo urged you to babysit him. This was urgent for the sake of the Divine Visionaries. Losing Orter was a monumental risk. How bad can this be?

Really bad.

Time had passed, and both of you were in a staring competition. Though, you guys were well acquainted or even best friends! Or maybe even more than that. Yet this feels awkward. You have no experience with babies. How does one talk to a baby? “Goo goo gaa gaa???” You said to Orter in an attempt to communicate with him. He stared back. Then proceeds to use his magic to throw sand on your eyes. The pain was minimal, at least. He taps at the paperwork you were supposed to finish. You got reminded! But where to place the baby… Surely now, he was tasking you to finish it. HE WAS GLARING.

There was only one choice. Actually, there were plenty but Orter was your friend, of course, you’d want to spend time with him, even as a baby.

Placing baby Orter near you!!! Surely the chair you were sitting on had some space for one more!! So you carried him and placed him near where you sat at. Pat pat, patting Orter’s head felt quite nice. (Orter may feel the same way but refuses to express it.)

“Stay here, alright?” You instructed to Orter wagging your hand… He’s gonna be pissed once he turns back to normal, WAS IT NECESSARY TO TREAT HIM LIKE AN ACTUAL BABY??? Why yes, of course. Did he resist? Not much, he only sat down next to you peacefully, Damm. You're gonna make fun of him after this.

A few hours in(it's been a few minutes, this is just exaggerated.) and you already feel fatigued after working, glancing at Orter thinking he was asleep and perhaps you can slack off, nope. Still awake. This made you consider your strength. Why are you scared of a baby? well, this is Orter you're babysitting, but by the looks of it, Orter is the one babysitting you. “What uh… Are you hungry young one?” You asked and he nodded no in response, instead, he pointed at your paperwork, ordering you to stop focusing on him and to finish it. Of course you had to follow that.

(If this were to ever be in a modern setting, he would be the definition of the boss baby.)

Okay, this time, it had been hours in, and you now feel sincerely tired. Taking a glimpse at the window, it was already afternoon, taking a small check at Orter, yes! He's finally resting!! Staring back, you can see how Orter looked relaxed by simply getting rest, even as a baby, it felt like it was enough. Working at the Bureau of Magic requires a lot of sacrificing of schedule to keep the world at peace. The Sand Cane was dedicated to that. Even the fact that he somewhat turned into a baby. You had always admired his hard work, and now, here he is. Asleep near you as a baby. You’d love to tease him once he turns back. Only if you’d survive the sand attack. That was for him to settle, now it was safe to slack off. You’ve finished the majority of your tasks anyway, so you relax in the chair, leaning in, closing your eyes as you process your thoughts on what happened today. Whatever, just make sure that you wake up earlier than that cranky-ass baby with glasses. You refuse to get sand in your eyes again.

An hour or two had passed, ah yes, the Excellency(you) had awakened from their slumber. (exaggerated again… lol..) But something felt so odd, that caused you to open your eyes, just to reveal that a coat was draped around you, whose coat was this… Looking to your side, Orter was gone. KALDO WAS GONNA KILL YOU.

“I'm right here,” Orter called, which caused you to look in front of the desk, it was him. Sitting across the desk, yours specifically. What should concern you more? The fact that he wasn't wearing his coat and gave it to you, or the fact that he was reviewing the paperwork you did earlier??

“Oh, uhm. Sorry, I suppose this is yours—” You were about to return his jacket, it felt morally wrong to take it, because…. It's not yours?

“No, keep it for now.” Oh? Orter even insisted that felt odd, yet appreciated by you. It looked like an invite that he was letting you tease him. He looked back at your work and nodded in approval, that was good. At least you weren't gonna pull out your soul out of your body this time. “You have surprisingly done well.” Well, obviously! It’s about time that someone notices your efforts. Who wouldn’t want to compliment you? (Probably Orter.)

Both exchanged gazes with one another, Orter’s grasp on your paper softened, eventually placing it back down on your table. He looks up at you, with a gaze that looks like he’s expecting you to speak. “Ah, uhm, yeah. I worked hard for those!! Haha…” You exclaimed, trying to lighten up the mood, but was met with even more awkwardness. As much as you hate to admit, it was hard to pick up a proper conversation with him. Always so stoic, so subtle… Yet so handsome? What’s there to dislike… Well, probably the fact that you assumed that he was oblivious.

Orter stares at his watch before looking back at you, “Meet me after work, I’ll treat you for a drink. As my compensation.” He said, of course, the person you are, you tried your best to remain a stoic face. One thing about Orter was, he was straightforward. You nodded, “Quite demanding, aren't we? Fine, I shall accept, but you must tell me the reason why you’re doing this—” poof. Orter was gone already? This was the second time that someone left while you were talking. However, you were left with a feeling of bewilderment. He technically asked you out.

Outside your office, Orter remained still. What is this that he felt? Love— was it? He was a man who could mask his emotions well, but his ears were red. He hid it well. Not to mention, he planned to purposely leave his jacket to you, so that you were forced to go to meet up with him. You looked nice in his coat. Enough for Orter to let out a small smile as he visualized the scene again. “Nice,” he muttered.

“My, my, I wonder why Orter is suddenly smiling out of L/N’s office.” A man called out, it was Kaldo. Orter frowned once again and glared at the Flame cane. “You saw nothing.” The Sand cane spoke out in an authoritative tone before leaving. In the end, this was all Kaldo’s planning, to force Orter to take the shield(which turned him into a baby) and for you to take care of him. He knew that Orter was too inexperienced and lacking in romance. He needs honey to celebrate, yippee.

But, it’s a date, right?

#zzenoids #orter madl x reader #mashle x reader #mashle #orter madl #soreythatidied

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autisticlancemcclain · 4 months

Text

“Pass me the — thing.”

“The thing.”

“Yes. The one.”

Hunk’s amusement is evident. “Here’s the thing about capital-T Things, Pidge Podge.”

She makes a face. Ugh, not him too. The annoying nicknames Lance comes up with always seem to end up in other people’s vocabularies. It’s the worst. (They don’t even make sense, either. Her name comes from Pascha, her Hebrew name, because she was tiny even when she was a baby. And Matt is ridiculous. But Lance’s names come from nowhere!)

(…She supposes she’ll allow it, though. Occasionally. Because she’s the best ever, basically, and endlessly benevolent.)

“Things in concept are referential,” Hunk continues, snickering to himself as he dodged her blind kick. “Ergo, you need to reference them. Specifically. Outside of your own brain.”

She makes a noise of frustration, tilting her head in the direction of the scrap pile on Hunk’s work table. “The thing! Shiny! With the— blegh!” She is Focused right now, alright. There are Processes happening in her brain. Words are secondary.

“I’m just going to ignore you now.”

“No! The thing! The thing that looks like a dreidel!”

“There we go,” he says emphatically. She scowls at him. He grins brightly. She holds her glare for a whopping three seconds, which is frankly record-breaking, so. Point to her. “That’s a referential Thing.”

He scoops up the piece and tosses it at her. She catches it without looking (which is wicked cool and something she will subtly mention next time she watches Allura drop something) and sets it on the table top beside her, finishing up a tricky solder. Leaning back to admire her handiwork, which is, indeed, quite handy, her gaze keeps getting pulled to the little part.

“You know, it really does look like a dreidel.” She picks it up by the stem, flicking the little acorn-shaped object and watching it spin. It works like one, too.

Hunk hums. After a few moments, curious at the air newly lacking the sounds of her tinkering, he looks over at her. He purses his lips thoughtfully.

“…What day is it on Earth, do you think?”

Pidge shrugs. “We left in late May. Been a few months, at least.”

“Lance has a watch.”

“Course he does. ‘Cause he’s a big ol’ nerd geek loser.”

Hunk snorts. “Indeed.”

At the same time, without either of them having to say a word, they scramble to their feet, abandoning their projects and rushing out the workroom door.

“Pool?” Hunk asks.

“Nah, training room. He was in the pool this morning.”

Neither of them is particularly fast, but after months of Shiro’s training they can handle their own. They don’t, sprint, per se, because that would be embarrassing and Lance would be all dorky and pleased about it (can’t have that), but they…hustle. Hustle would be the right word. There’s some hastiness about, some purpose to their step.

As they run past the kitchen and finally turn down the corridor to get to the training room, a door opens on the left and someone walks out. Hunk grabs the back of Pidge’s sweater (totally not Keith’s grey hoodie that she stole) to keep her from crashing straight into them.

“Hey, Lance,” Hunk says, smiling brightly. “We were just looking for you!”

Lance, predictably, gets all dorky and pleased about it.

“Well, Lancey-Lance is at your service,” he preens, brushing fake dust off his shoulders. “Of course I am happy to offer my services to such —”

“Why’d you come outta Keith’s room?” Pidge interrupts, squinting.

She’s pretty sure that’s Keith’s room, anyway. The door on the left has a dent on it from when Lance tripped and brained himself on it in their first week of space.

Curiously — oh so curiously — Lance turns a violent shade of red and cringes with his whole entire body.

“Whaaat,” he says, voice cracking so many times she actually winces in reflective sympathy. He laughs nervously. “That’s not — I’m not — Keith isn’t —”

He opens his mouth, then closes it, then coughs, then doesn’t bother. Pidge can actually feel the heat pouring off of him, which is so humiliating that she almost decides to be merciful.

“Is Keith also in there?” she says instead, because fuck that.

Lance looks at the floor like he’s considering swan diving onto it. “What did you guys need me for again?” he asks, loudly.

Hunk, too soft from years of close proximity to Lance, takes pity. “We need your watch, dude. What day is it on Earth?”

Lance’s dark eyes go a bit sad, like they always do when someone mentions the E-word. But it’s gone before Pidge can so much as register it, really, and then he’s glancing down at his dork ass bright blue Moana watch and saying, “One twenty-six on December 7th.”

Pidge cheers. Hunk grins.

“Clear your schedule!” Pidge shouts, pumping her fists. “Hanukkah starts in a few hours!”

———

“An…oil…feast?”

“Yeah!” Pidge says enthusiastically. Allura leans forward, intrigued — she loves stories from Earth. Anything from Earth fascinates her, really. “Thousands of years ago, Jews — my people culturally and religiously — had just freed themselves from the cruel rule of a kingdom that resided over them. They wanted to purify the Temple — that’s where practicing Jews go to pray — so they were burning holy oil. But there was only one bottle of sacred oil, which was upsetting, since that would only burn for one night. But miraculously, the oil kept burning for eight nights!”

Allura gasps. “But how?”

Pidge shrugs. “Religious Jews believe it was a miracle from God, who is our holy deity. Whether or not you’re religious though, Hanukkah is celebrated at the end of every year to commemorate Jewish resilience and hope. The oil is our physical way of celebrating, ‘cause it burned for eight days exactly — as long as it takes to make more oil.”

“And so we get to celebrate by eating delicious fried food,” Lance adds, fist-pumping. He grins at Pidge’s raised eyebrows. “My sister-in-law is Jewish, so my neice and nephew are too. We celebrate Hanukkah every year and it rocks.”

Pidge can feel her smile lighting up her body. There are bigger celebrations, and more religiously important ones, but Hanukkah is so much fun. She hasn’t celebrated in too long — it came and went last year before she even noticed, too wrapped up in finding her brother. And the year before that, her and Mom couldn’t…not without Dad and Matt. They couldn’t celebrate with just the two of them, they spent most evenings in their own rooms.

Shiro’s steady hand comes to rest on her shoulder, squeezing gently. She glances up to find him smiling sadly at her, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

“We’ll light a candle for each of them,” he murmurs into her hair. “Colleen, too.”

“Is that what’s done?” Coran inquires softly. “Candles lit, in remembrance?”

Pidge hums, leaning back into Shiro. He holds steady, hand staying fast on her shoulder. Keith flashes her one of his quick smiles, small and comforting.

“Yeah. Eight candles, in something called a menorah. One for each night, one for each intention.” She meets Coran’s eyes first, then Allura’s, her own expression determined. “We’ll light a candle for Altea, too.”

“I would like that,” whispers Allura, swallowing.

“I can make the menorah,” Hunk offers, “if you and Lance want to help. Lance has a good eye for design.”

Pidge takes a couple more moments in Shiro’s embrace, soaking up some of his strength. No one interrupts her. Once she feels like she can stand straight again, like her family is tucked neatly where they usually are in the centre of her heart rather than spilling out all over the place, she stands, patting Shiro’s hand as it falls away, and steps towards her friends.

“Yes, let’s do. We’ll need a few things, actually, to get ready. Keith, you think you can paint the right symbols on the dreidel if I describe them to you?”

He nods. “Yep. I’ll draw ‘em out first, it shouldn’t take long. I think I’ve seen them before, anyway.”

“Cool. Allura, Coran, you wanna put up some decorations? Lance can help you out.”

All three enthusiastically agree, rushing off to make do.

“Shiro —” She falters. “Uh, dude, maybe steer clear of the kitchen. Wanna help with the menorah since Lance is on decorations? Then Hunk’ll have more time to cook.”

Shiro pouts, as he always does when he’s teased about his cursed kitchen tendencies, but the twitch of his smile gives him away.

“I guess,” he laments. “I’m sure I could fry latkes without burning the castle down.”

Keith, Pidge, and Hunk shudder in unison.

“Yeah, right,” Keith says. “You remember when you set a pot of water on fire, Hazard Boy? Because I do.”

———

For people who have no idea what they’re doing, the decorations end up looking really nice.

Everything does, actually. By the time Lance’s watch hits six — the time they have all collectively decided will be sundown based on absolutely nothing — everything is prepped and ready to go. Keith got the characters down after a couple tries, and the dreidel looks like any other one Pidge has used before. Lance had, from what Pidge picked up from Allura’s grumbling, channeled his inner festivity dictator to ensure all decorations were as lovely as possible with their limited materials. Of course the menorah Hunk and Pidge created looks beautifully intricate, one of the more gorgeous things Pidge has ever seen even with all the wonky mismatched candles.

“Okay,” Hunk says, clapping his hands together. “If you guys want to set up the table, Lance and I will be finished plating the food shortly. I dunno about you guys, but I’ve been smelling fried food for a couple hours now, and I need to eat.”

“Please,” Pidge groans, because she’s been smelling it too and boy is Hunk ever a head chef.

Everyone rushes to get the table set as quickly as possible. Pidge makes sure to put Lance’s favourite cup (that he has a hissy fit if anyone else so much as looks at, even though it is practically identical to ever other cup except one tiny chip one the bottom that he loves for some reason) next to the chair closest to the door, where Keith always sits, because she has not forgotten the Earlier Incident. If all goes well then something embarrassing will happen for her to witness, which is all she can ask for, really.

“Can someone who is not Allura come help me bring food over?” Hunk calls from the kitchen as Pidge places the last fork. “No offense, Princess, but I watched you and Lance walk into the same door this morning and I’d rather our hard work not end up splatted and inedible on the floor.”

“Offense taken,” says Allura darkly, and Lance’ whining echoes all the way to where they’re standing.

Keith meets Pidge’s eye and snickers.

“I got it, Hunk,” he calls, jogging over to them.

“Absolutely not!” Lance screeches. “There is no way I will allow Mullet to be entrusted with something I am not allowed to —”

He cuts himself off with a loud shriek. Whether Keith finally pinched him quiet or Lance is just shrieking for drama’s sake Pidge will never know, but moments later the red paladin is striding out of the kitchen, heaping bowl in one hand, batting Lance away with the other.

“If you drop that I’ll kill you both,” Hunk promises, setting the heaping plate he’s holding down on the table.

Thankfully, nothing gets dropped (although does it ever come close). Everyone is accounted for and seated and nothing has gone to waste, and Pidge’s stomach is growling.

“Got a little bit of everything,” Hunk says. “Classic latkes, kugel, and sufganiyot. And you mentioned the zippoli and arancini your Nonna used to make, Pidge, so I made some of that too. And Lance made lots of masitas and plátanos.”

“Hope that’s okay,” Lance says, face kind of scrunched. “I know it’s not traditional, but we had it on Hanukkah, and I thought —”

Pidge grins at him. “Looks great, man.”

Everyone takes turns passing food around and loading up their plate. Pidge takes four zippoli. She regrets nothing. She has had none in several years and this looks perfect.

Before anyone starts, all eyes turn to Pidge, so she squeezes her eyes shut and remembers her mother’s blessing: “Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha’olam shehakol niyah bidvaro.” She opens her eyes again. “Dig in, everybody.”

No one needs to be told twice. For a while the castle is even shockingly silent, everyone too busy shoving their faces. Keith chokes on latke. Shiro laughs at him until the red on his face is from more than a lack of oxygen.

“I love human food,” gushes Allura, inhaling more plátanos. “You guys got to eat like this every day?”

“Unless you lived with someone who regular fucks up ramen noodles,” Keith says pointedly, dodging Shiro’s under-the-table-kick.

“I think Numbers Two and Three might just be talented in the kitchen,” Coran responds. Both Hunk and Lance beam at the praise.

After dinner — and lordy it does not take long to polish it off — they clear the plates away, tidying up the table, as Pidge sets out the menorah. She carefully sets out the candles they have gathered, arranging and re-arranging the order. When she’s satisfied, she picks up the smallest candle, thin green stripes running up its sides, and places it in the space at the far right. She picks up the shamash — choosing the thickest and tallest one — and accepts the lighter Keith offers her. Once it is flaming, she holds it outwards, and begins to softly recite the blessings she memorized so long ago:

“Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tsivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah. Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, she-asah nisim laavoteinu v’imoteinu bayamim hahaeim baz’man hazeh. Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, shehecheyanu v'kiy'manu v'higiyanu laz'man hazeh.”

She says the words slowly, carefully, allowing herself to feel the shape of them on her tongue. They are familiar. They are heavy. They get caught in her throat, tangled, and stay there until tears begin to trickle down her cheeks, softening the way out. Her voice shakes, but she feels her own strength spreading through her like the heat of the shamesh candle.

“Make it home to me, Matt,” she whispers, as she lights the first candle.

———

“Okay, there is no fucking way.”

Pidge cackles at Keith’s indignant protest, accepting Lance’s sharp high-five and dragging in the entire pot of tokens again.

The two of them are absolutely fucking killing it. Their token piles are high. Keith has had to begrudgingly ask Lance for a loan no less than six times. Everyone else is dangerously low, except for Coran, who’s doing alright.

Pidge thinks this is righteous. As the two youngest, she and Lance should be winning by birthright, basically.

“Suck it, Kogane,” she says gleefully. She flicks a token at him. “Take some charity.”

Keith scowls at her, but takes the token because he is too broke not to. It is greatly amusing.

Ha! Loser.

The game shouldn’t last as long as it does, but somehow it keeps going for hours. Pidge suspects Shiro has several dozen tokens up his sleeve and is cheating. Allura may also be using alchemy to make more tokens appear. Either way, Pidge and Lance’s hordes are steadily increasing, and the menorah has long since been blown out, and the food has settled in everyone’s stomach, and Pidge’s head keeps drooping.

“Think it’s just you and me, Pidge-Podge,” Lance says softly. Someone tucks her hair behind her ear, she’s not sure who. Her eyes might be closed. “What say you we call it a tie, huh?”

“There’s no tie in dreidel,” she argues. “We gotta finish.”

“I’m thinking we play again tomorrow,” Coran suggests. “I’m sure when you’re fully awake you can destroy Number Four much more efficiently.”

“Hey,” says Number Four in question, indignantly.

Pidge manages a smile. Keith sticks his tongue out back at her, and the next thing she knows there are arms around her waist and she’s airborne. She buries her face in a strong shoulder and pretends, secretly, it’s her father, even though she knows it’s not.

“Say goodnight, dork,” whispers Shiro. He pauses, adjusting slightly. “Oof.”

“You’re getting old,” says Keith gleefully.

“Respect your elders,” hisses Lance, accompanied by a swift punch to Keith’s shoulder.

“Ow!” Keith complains, but interestingly he only pouts at Lance instead of maiming him. “It’s Shiro! He’s not even an elder, he’s six! You —”

“Goodnight, Pidge,” say Hunk and Allura, loudly.

Pidge smiles. Her voice is half-buried in Shiro’s shirt. “Night.”

She doesn’t remember the walk to her room, but she feels it when she’s laid down, when blankets are fluffed over her and a kiss is pressed to her forehead.

“Sleep well, Katie,” whispers a voice, and the cool metal of the fingers brushing her hair are soothing. “Love you, kiddo. Happy Hanukkah.”

She falls asleep the the click of her door closing and a warmth burning hot in her heart.

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silentwillowwhisperer · 8 months

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Crush

Almost everyone in the fandom seems to agree that Lance made up the rivalry because of his repressed emotions towards Keith. Because he's a disaster and Keith's a disaster and their emotions are a disaster.

I feel like Keith would have some kind of sorting system in his head where he categorizes people by their importance and threat level. Shiro, for example, would be given an importance of 5/10 (that's really high) and a threat level of 3.5. (that's pretty low, Shiro may look scary, but Keith learns really fast that he's just a pile of emotional mush trapped in a disproportionally body.)

All of the students at the Garrison are automatically categorized as -3/10 in both importance and threat level, except Griffin who gets a -300/10 for importance and 8/10 for threat level. (he's evil and is absolutely asking to be punched anytime he opens his mouth, except adults will favor anyone over Keith so Griffin can get away with crap while Keith has to deal with his temper, hence the high threat level.)

So, Lance would automatically be place really low, and once you're placed low, it takes a whole lot to get Keith to notice you. He doesn't do it on purpose, even the categories are automatic and he barely thinks about it, also he's face blind and really honestly hates the Garrison and has only stayed this long because Adam is nice and a good cook (and Shiro is kinda ok too).

At most, maybe Keith would go, 'hey that dude's kinda cute,' at some point while people watching, but he thinks that fairly often and would forget the face in seconds. (He's not picky, okay?)

Like, compared to Keith, Lance's obliviousness is NOTHING. All it would take for him to realize the dumb crush is for Hunk to go, 'Lance, bud, I love you, but please for the love of garlic knots, stop your aggressive flirting with Keith.' And Lance would get all red and sputter out, 'What??? No! Keith? Ew? What no! He's so hot-headed and stubborn and can't talk to people to save his life, and sure objectively his eyes are kinda pretty and he seems to have some messed up-half dead sense of humor in in him and, oh. oh. OH.' And that would be that. (Pidge would pop her head into the room and pass a $10 bill to Hunk. (Where did the money come from? What are they gonna use it for in space?? No one knows.))

Keith would be some sort of repressed demiromantic or maybe he just doesn't give enough of a crap about people or maybe he gives too much of a crap and all of his feelings are too muddled up for him to identify the crush. Whatever it is, he does not get it till Shiro grips him by the shoulders and yells it in his face.

And then Keith can't look at Lance without his whole face turning red.

He's a mess.

They're both huge stupid messes.

And the team is sick of them.

(Keith moves Lance's threat level up to 38/10)

#vld #voltron legendary defender #voltron #keith kogane #lance mcclain #klance #keith vld #vld keith #lance vld #crushes and puppy love #tawny post

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honey-minded-hivemind · 2 months

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❄Fallen Snow🩸 AU... Part One:

(WARNING: Depictions and mentions of abuse, neglect, physical harm, self-harm, depictions and mentions of wounds and blood, self-harm ideation/actions, and Reader at one point is thought to be dead/almost dies. Viewers discretion is advised...) (Side note: Wolverine and Sabretooth are brothers, and their relationship is platonic, and Kurt, Kitty, Fred, Lance, and Todd join the X-Men/Brotherhood after the X-Men/Brotherhood lose Reader and have changed)

• They weren't always the way they are now. There had been a time when they were hopeful, happy, cheerful... Or maybe it was obvliousness, their subconscious the only part of them to understand that something was wrong.

• You can't remember much of anything past the age of five, but you remember some parts of your childhood. It was spent with a mutant group, ones who had taken in or had others like yourself, who were honed to be soldiers. To be unstoppable weapons. You thought they were good for the longest time. Too long, to be honest. You weren't smart back then the way you were now. You didn't understand jokes or sarcasm or much beyond facts in a book. You didn't really understand that the others, the kids and the adults, didn't like you. That they thought you were annoying. Useless. Simple. Someone not worth the effort. Someone unworthy of being with them. Someone unlovable.

• When training, you tried your best, but you weren't naturally aggressive in the way they said you should be. That for a feral mutant, you weren't much of one. You tried to be quick, tried to be kind, tried to go along with what they told you to do, who they wanted you to be. But you just... weren't that. You weren't ruthless, weren't violent, you cried when you killed a moth by accident, what was to be expected? But you still, somehow, did well enough to be allowed to stay. To not disappear. Or maybe they just couldn't be bothered to do anything about you, one way or the other.

• The kids thought you were weird. You looked weird, acted weird, talked weird. They thought you weren't bright. They certainly made jokes at your expense, you knew that, you simply couldn't understand the jokes and sarcasm they used. It hurt. It hurt, bad enough that you grew quieter, more sullen and downtrodden. You weren't as happy or talkative as you once were...

• It came to a head when you caught the ire, the hatred, of your two "mentors"... Two of the three adults ferals, the ones you heard whispers of late at night, talking about how you might be related to them, perhaps a clone... You weren't sure what you did, just that when they found you that day, you were dragged off into a lone room, given no explanation or warning. Their faces were filled with a blind rage, a freezing wrath, and the next thing you know you're being yelled at. Loud, furious roars, a tight, bruising grip on your arm, and no way out... And suddenly-

• SLASH!

• A searing pain filled your senses, and you're crying, trying to hold a hand to the wounds on your face, hoping to stop the pain, the hurt, the redredredred- They order you to stop crying, to stop wailing, or they'll give you a reason to. And so you cover your mouth as best you can, sucking in sharp breath after sharp breath, blinded by the blood dripping down your face. It stains the floor, once clean, a filthy, ugly crimson, garnet-colored ichor growing into a small puddle. They huff, but go to leave, only telling you to clean yourself up. And then they're gone, and you're on your own, and nothing is right anymore.

• Over the next two weeks, you keep your head down and stay out of everyone's way. No more talking than needed, no direct eye contact, and no being around anyone for longer than you're required. You weren't blind to it anymore, were you? That you weren't safe. That you weren't cared about. That you were alone. And with that realization, you grew to dread being near them, near the other kids and the adults and anyone else who was around. But... you had the beginnings of an idea. One that could end your suffering... It would be risky, but... At this point, you'd rather risk the threat of death than stay another day.

• It's at night when you make your move. It's quiet, dark, chilly. You aren't dressed for the weather, and you aren't prepared for whatever is out there. All you have are the clothes on your back and the boots on your feet. You make it mostly all the way, out of the compound, facility, whatever they called the place yo- they, lived in. There's snow out, thick sheets coating the ground and flakes of it dancing down from the sky. It's beautiful... You wished you could have enjoyed it, but there wasn't time to do so. You made your way from the field towards the woods, the icy dirt crunching beneath your feet...

• "Wh-? Reader, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

• And then you're running, as swift and fleet as you can, as far away as you can run. Your feet carry you through the frosty woods, stirring up small bits of snow as you race by, the wind howling around you as you flee for your life. Sometimes your feet nearly slide out from under you, having stepped onto an ice patch, but you quickly right yourself and go faster, forcing yourself to keep going no matter what you hear or how much it scares you...

• Until you eventually reach a seething, ice-studded rocky outcropping. The beginnings of a river spill over a ledge, crashing into a foaming, roaring current, twisting away into the wintery night. You're stuck. And then the worst possible thing happens- they find you.

• "Reader. Get back here. NOW."

• You take a step back, pulling your hands closer to your chest. The noise is almost unbearable, being so close to the raging water so close to you. They only take a step closer, an angry, annoyed look on their faces... "Get over here. NOW. Or you're going to be in even worse trouble." A whine hums in your throat, a pathetic sound. You take another step back, and feel a subtle shift in the rock beneath you. "That's it, I SAID-!"

• CRACK!

• The ground beneath you breaks, sending you tumbling down into the rocks and water below with only a scream as your last words. And soon, all you know is the icy touch of water filling your lungs and the sting of rocks on your skin...

• You weren't sure how you initially woke up... You weren't sure you were even alive... But with a weak, gurgling gasp, you cough up the water sitting in your lungs, gagging into the dirt as you try to hold yourself up. When you eventually finish with one last rasping breath, you crack open your eyes, looking around you. You're by the river, lying in the dirt and rocks and silt of its shore, which is surrounded by endless snow-capped trees and endless sky. And somehow... You feel a small pang of hope. You made it, after all. You weren't dead. You were... free. Of course... now you had to actually get to where people were. Find food. Maybe drink some of the water from the river...

• You weren't quite sure how long you had stayed in the wilderness, scrounging up small, half-starved animals and barely surviving the few times you tried to take on larger prey. Having your cheek ripped open by an antler and having a bear bite through your arm weren't fun experiences, but you had learned that while you could hunt some prey, the larger, more filling prey wasn't what you could go after. You'd learned plenty of things from your time alone in the wild, but your loneliness still grew. It was always festering under the surface. You were glad once you stumbled into a small town, dragging yourself through an alley to spy on the normal going-ons of humans. You hadn't really seen or met a human since before you were five, and you only had the hatred of the X-Men/Brotherhood to explain them. Which led to your decision to scout the woods around the sleepy town, to find a way to read them before you met anyone. And what a thing you found: A small, dusty yet cozy abandoned cabin, just right for you to move into.

• And so that was how your first year was spent, foraging bones and rocks from the forest and hunting animals, selling their pelts or even the whole bit of prey to make a living. You came up with a small story for any townsfolk who asked about you, saying you had an ill family parent to take care of and a relative who visited from time to time to make sure your schooling got done (it was all a lie. You had to say something, and saying you were a mutant child who escaped a dangerous group of bigger, meaner mutants was a no-go). They more or less bought it. They didn't press for any information after that besides occasionally asking if the fake family members were okay. All in all, you had been doing... alright...

• You didn't reveal anything beneath the surface of your skin. You didn't talk about your nightmares, of being back with them, of being hurt, of being laughed at, of being killed- You didn't mention how you got hurt when you hunted, how you sometimes used your own claws to do the hurting for you, slicing them through your skin until blood ran like water- You couldn't bring yourself to deal with your panic attacks, your paranoia and inner turmoil, the fact it hurt to think-

• Yet it didn't last more than three years...

• You weren't sure how they found you. You weren't sure if it was an accident, or if they knew you were alive the entire time, or if someone tipped them off. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter, because they'd stumbled on the little town and had found you within a few days. Seeing them for the first time in so long... You only felt a rising, bubbling feeling of blind fear. It didn't matter if their faces went all weird and soft, or that they tried to get near you, you didn't care- You ran, you bolted, running deep into the woods and not looking back for a second. It didn't matter what you left behind! You had to move, you had to run, you had to fleefleeflee-!

• It shouldn't have surprised you when something thunked into the earth next to you, thin and sharp and leaving an odd smell behind. It shouldn't have surprised you when your old mentors managed to find you, their eyes dark with something that wasn't hate or malice... But you didn't think it would be any better. You know a few of the others, older now than when you last saw them, are close by. You keep your claws out, your face set into a fearful snarl, ready to flee or bite or scram at a moment's notice.

• "Oh, cub... What did we do ta ya?" You do your best to keep an eye on both of them, which proves difficult. They're on either side of the small clearing, each watching you with sharp, unwavering eyes. It doesn't help that when you try to move further away, as far as you can from them, they only move towards that side, keeping themselves in your way of escaping. Their scents are off, something dark and deep and somber, not their old usual fury and annoyance. Their claws aren't out, either... It's strange, for people who want you dead... (Right? They want you dead, to kill you, right?) "Shhh... Cub... I know a lot has happened... I know yer scared, an' yer hurtin', an' I know it's our fault. I know nothin' we do er say can make up fer it... But... please... please give us a chance ta help ya. Please... all we want is ta help ya. All we want is ta give ya what we should've from the beginnin'..." Your eyes dart between them fearfully, a soft whine building in your throat. This is worse than your nightmares. This is your nightmares come to take you back. And you can't have that.

• You try to dart out of the clearing, trying to dodge past the hands that go to grab you-

• But large, warm hands grab the back of your shirt, tugging you back into an iron grip. "Cub, calm down, please! We promise ya we aren't gonna hurt ya! Yer safe, yer okay, yer not gonna be hurt-" You don't pay it any heed, kicking and scratching and biting at what you can, doing everything in your power to break free from the arms keeping you captive. It does nothing. All that happens is the arms tightening and a flurry of panicked words filling the air. "Kid, cub-! Just, calm down fer one minute! We can talk this out-! Please, ya gotta stop fightin' us, ya gotta stop fightin' me! I know yer scared, I know, just, please-!" It doesn't matter what either man says, as all it earns from you is a fearful scream as you struggle harder. The scents around you are rife with sorrow, salty and cold and damp like earth after rain. You hear a wounded noise come from them, but you don't stop your attempt to escape the hold on you. A long, hurt sigh whooshes out, followed by the hold on you pinning you further.

• "I'm so sorry, cub... But we can't let ya keep goin' on like this. Yer hurtin' yerself. And we just can't let that happen."

• And just like that... something presses into your flesh, a sharp sting, which is gone just as quick. A hiss escapes you, your hands suddenly clawing so you can feel at where you were stung. "Shhh... don't worry, cub... It's justa small sedative... It won't hurt ya, all it's gonna do is make ya all sleepy an' tired..." Your eyes widen, then with a small shriek you try to tug yourself away. You can already feel the drug seeping in, a buzz at your skin and thoughts. The more you struggle, the more your thoughts cloud up, earning more movement from you as you do your best to snap out of it. Something akin to a sob breaks loose from you as your tugs and scratching grows weaker, the drug nestling into your system and numbing your limbs. Your mind keeps growing more muddled, thick and soft and syrupy... A hiccup pushes past your lips, being met by a hand patting lightly at your hair. It's weight feels good, the warmth sending you deeper into your tired state. When you try to speak, the words leave you, turning into a sleepy mumble, your body slumping into the hold around you. Everything feels quiet... barely there... So soft... So calm... Hardly any thought stays inside you as your breaths soften, the fear and fight leaving you as you stumble into unconsciousness...

• "Good cub... Just go ta sleep... We'll help ya feel better, that's it..."

• They're careful, one of them holdin' their kid while the other alerts the others, letting them know they have Reader with them and that they had to use a sedative to calm 'em down. It feels so surreal, seein' their once bright kid so... tired. So scared. So hurt. Bein' near 'em, even tha other teens, scared them enough that they were runnin' inta freezin' weather, all ta stay away from 'em. But... They can't let 'em go. Not again. The last time they let 'em go, they thought they died (maybe they actually did, and only came back due to their small healing factor...). They hurt them, they terrified them, they were tha reason they were afraid, the reason they were hurtin'. And now the kid was hurting themself. Was causing themself pain, with no one ta stop them er help them er let 'em know they'd be alright. They'd be d*mned if they let it continue. They'd be worse than dead if they left 'em ta wilt away on their own, ta slip off inta the blinding snow once more... They might have ta keep them calm, make it so they're relaxed enough so they can help them... But they'll do anything, just ta keep them alive. Ta make them feel loved. Ta be their family. And this time, they're gonna do it right...

#honeycomb thoughts #platonic yandere marvel #yandere platonic marvel #platonic yandere xmen #yandere x-men #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #platonic yandere marvel x reader #platonic yandere xmen evolution #platonic yandere xmen evolution au #❄Fallen Snow🩸 AU #platonic yandere sabretooth #platonic yandere victor creed #platonic yandere wolverine #platonic yandere logan howlett #creed!reader

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singsweetmelodies · 2 months

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Piarles Winter Fic Exchange 2023/24 - The Final Round-Up

AO3 Collection Link

After three months of build-up and two weeks of spectacular fic reveals, the Piarles Winter Fic Exchange 2023/24 has finally drawn to its close 💙 Today, it is my honour and pleasure to share with you the results of all of our efforts: an astounding 478 616 words written over the course of twenty-eight brand-new Piarles fics. 🎉

We want to start by saying a MASSIVE thank you to all our incredible creators. You are all so wonderful and so so talented - it has been a delight and a privilege to spend the last few months with you. To laugh with you and to create with you and to share the Piarles joy with you. You are all phenomenal, and we feel so lucky that you chose to spend this time with us. ❤️

I also want to take this opportunity to say a personal thank you to my amazing mod team: @boxboxbrioche, @welightitup, @duquesademiel, @wolfiemcwolferson and @river-ocean. Moderating this exchange with you has been a slightly crazy rollercoaster ride, but I couldn't have asked for better people by my side throughout it. Thank you all, for everything!!

Below the cut we have the final round-up of all our 2023/24 Piarles Winter Fic Exchange gift fics. You are in for a real treat - enjoy!!! And don't forget to show the authors some love in the form of kudos, comments, bookmarks and tumblr reblogs 💘

Thank you all so much again.

Love and kisses,

Katie, Briony, Tia, Sol, Logan & River ❤️💙

you and me were raised in the same part of town by @wolfiemcwolferson | rated M | 11.6k words | tumblr post here

A story of two best friends told through the years in the setting of Charles' childhood treehouse.

damage, destruction by @pinkierre | rated T | 6.7k words | tumblr post here

Pierre Gasly doesn’t win the 2016 GP2 title, and thus he stays in the category for another year with Prema. He’s joined for the 2017 F2 season by his long time best friend and fresh GP3 champion Charles Leclerc. What starts as a dream come true, quickly turns into a nightmare. Fast forward 8 years later and they’re teammates again. At Ferrari F1 team. However this time, they hate each other. How will they cope?

Chasing What’s on the Other Side by @espithewarlock | rated E | 15.8k words | tumblr post here

A Mafia AU where Pierre is immediately obsessed with Charles, the newly-introduced romantic partner of his biggest rival, Carlos. He begins dangerously pursuing Charles, they fall into bed together, and his obsession only gets more real the more he learns about Charles’ history. Meanwhile, Pierre is also trying to keep his business running and figure out exactly what his rivals are plotting. There’s something simmering, and he does not like having a target on his back.

model behaviour by @your-littlesecret | rated T | 8k words

Charles isn't sure what he should be doing here - he is not proud to admit he completely zoned out as Camille was explaining - but the gorgeous guy is just standing there and Charles says fuck it and walks to him, extending a hand. "Hi" "Hello. I am Pierre." His smile is almost blinding and Charles feels like he's never seen someone as beautiful in his whole life - which is very fitting, considering he is a model.

change my mind by @chaesonghwas | rated M | 31.8k words | tumblr post here

When Lance drags him to a Drama Club meeting, Pierre doesn't expect to stay for long, but he meets Charles, brother to one of his fraternity's new pledges, and he decide to give it a chance. After all, Charles seems interested in him too - what could go wrong?

Stop the World I Wanna Get Off With You by @crimsonicarus | rated T | 2k words

It was easy with Charles, talking, spending time, being silent. It felt natural, like breathing. Laughing at his awful jokes came from his mouth effortlessly, like another mother tongue.

five january seconds by @fenesacha | rated E | 8.9k words

Charles' phone is on the counter between them, and Pierre reaches out to tap the screen, waking the device up. He spares one second to look at Charles’ new background, a photo of the two of them in their Christmas jumpers, before he glances at the date. There, not changing no matter how many times he blinks: Tuesday, 2 January. What the fuck.

falling Inn love (five years later) by @gaslybottoms | rated T | 17.5k words

“American style holiday inn,” Lando reads from the description, squinting at the small font on the screen. “Family owned and run for the last three generations, the All Pine Inn is located deep in the heart of the South Downs, with picturesque views over the rolling hills of the local area. A step back from city life, the local village is a peaceful respite away from the busy day to day. See Charles, it seems perfect." OR Charles takes a trip to the country for the Christmas holidays, and rekindles an old almost romance along the way.

All The Pebbles Along The Way by @shankyspork | rated M | 17k words

Centering around friendship and grief, this fic takes the slow road through life and its meaningful moments, hoping to bring you to the conclusion that belonging is something innate.

all I ever wanted by @golden-fairylights | Not Rated | 8.4k words

When Charles received the email that Prince Pierre would attend his vernissage, he didn't know that by the end of the night, he would have found his soulmate.

Anything you can do, I can do better by @whatdidwejustdo | rated T | 2k words

In which Pierre and Charles are insufferably competitive mechanics for rival F1 teams (Red Bull vs Ferrari) and their friends (Carlos, Alex, and Yuki) suffer. Endless snark, friendship, and references to decades of F1 lore. Or: "Well.” Pierre’s eyes were sharp and blue. "Have you ever re-assembled Max Verstappen's car in twenty minutes when it was supposed to take forty, and watched him put together a hot lap in the dying seconds of Q2 to make it into Q3 and take pole?"

let's be what we are by @hourcat | rated E | 46.1k words | tumblr post here

Some weekends go better than others, and the only time Charles sees his best friend is at the post-race afterparties that the bigger teams throw. They’ll clink bottles of gross tasting beer and chat with one of the other drivers relegated off to the side this season, and it feels like they’re the karting kids again. Some weekends, though, Pierre is draped along Charles’ back, all but welded together after an early spin-out ended his day, and Pierre will give him what he needs—what they need. (or: pierre, charles, and the consequences of a lifetime of touch.)

Can I just be in my head with you? by @chipsandnuggets | rated T | 7k words

"Pierrot,” he mumbles without thinking, while he separates for a moment from Pierre, but still keeps some closeness. “Can I have you? At least in my head? Can I have you like this, every time I want, in my head?” 5 times Pierre and Charles desire something plus one they finally do something about it.

Le Cheval Cabré by @moonlight0starlighte | rated G | 24.3k words

Charles, a tortured Michelin star chef, returns home for his father’s passing and discovers the family restaurant has been left to him. Though his grief feels stifling at times, Pierre, his oldest friend, is the light that guides him through it all.

Job 37:6 by @mysticalbreadcollective | rated E | 8.3k words

Maybe he can pass it off as a drunken hookup. A one-time thing. They can both forget it ever happened and move on. Pierre doesn’t need to remember Charles whining and panting beneath him. He can bury it down with the piece of his heart that Charles owns always.

take my hand (put yours over my heart) by @duquesademiel | rated T | 37.7k words | tumblr post here

Pierre Gasly has been declared Public Enemy Number One after breaking Charles’ best friend’s heart. Which, honestly, makes working in their charity work together just a little bit too awkward. A Christmas box, a lot of charity work, football matches and flower crowns might change Pierre’s status in Charles’ books - with a little dash of fake dating, of course.

hearts in the byline by @ilspredestinato | rated M | 25.6k words | tumblr post here

“You know,” Frédéric’s hands are crossed in front of him, fingertips tightening after every pause, “there is only one thing that brings stability to a Kingdom without it being a marriage.” Charles draws in a sharp breath—he knows, nodding almost imperceptibly once Frédéric falls into a hesitant silence. A courtship.

The Defenders by @justahappycloud | rated G | 30k words | tumblr post here

You showed me colours I can't see with anyone else by @radiocheck | rated E | 9.5k words | tumblr post here

Metropolis, a city for all kinds of people: good people, bad people, and people with special abilities. Pierre, alias Blue Arrow, considers himself a special person. With the ability to fly like a bird and bend the toughest of materials at his will, he has decided to use these gifts to protect the city he loves. But what happens when a new threat arises that could destroy everything he'd ever loved? To prevent this, Pierre joins a group of other three heroes and an unlikely ally so that they can maybe, hopefully, save Metropolis from the claws of this new powerful villain.

“I really thought you didn’t like me, you know,” Pierre muses. “You were always so… defensive.” Charles smiles thoughtfully. There are small dimples in his cheeks and his hair falls softly over his forehead as he glances down at the table before replying. “It was never that. I think I was afraid I would like you too much, if I let myself.” In which Pierre falls for his roommate's best friend, Lando is never where he's supposed to be, and Charles is a dream in technicolour.

show me who made you walk all the way here by @yukierres | rated M | 36.5k words | tumblr post here

Pierre is being blackmailed by a former lover into coming out, but risks losing his seat at Ferrari if he does. Charles is a prince who is forbidden from coming out until he has a long-term partner. The solution seems so obvious. Pretending shouldn't be that hard, right? Right?

still waking every morning (but it's not with you) by @river-ocean | rated T | 6.5k words

Charles loves being an actor. It’s what he has always felt was born to do. But he hates that it means that he has to spend so many days of the year away from the people he loves the most. He hates that even though he technically lives with his boyfriend, he is still in a de facto long-distance relationship most of the time.

anything, everything by @leclercenjoyer | rated E | 5.8k words | tumblr post here

Pierre and Charles go on a ski trip together, and things don't exactly go as planned. (Or do they?)

They Will Never Know by @effervescentdragon | rated M | 35.3k words | tumblr post here

Most stories are about blood. This story is not an exception. Charles disappeared. As for Pierre, well. Pierre had a very big secret.

Point Non Plus by @boxboxbrioche | rated E | 22.7k words | tumblr post here

brought to Point Non Plus idiom, commonly used in the Regency era 1. to be brought to a situation with no other options. 2. to baffle or confuse someone to the point that they have nothing to say. or: with his reputation in ruins and his options limited, Charles receives an offer from Lord Pierre Gasly that he simply cannot refuse.

like a heart made of dynamite by @vicsy | rated E | 31k words

Maybe all these years they were coming towards each other like a car crash in slow motion. Charles just had to wait for the brakes to fail.

and i long for you to appear by @singsweetmelodies / 17.5k | rated T | tumblr post here

When now-famous actor Pierre Gasly gets himself into a bit of PR trouble, it's up to his childhood best friend to step in and save the day. Thankfully, Charles is an expert public relations manager... the only question is if he'll be able to stop his feelings getting in the way when he finally sees Pierre again after all these years.

hold me in this wild, wild world by @fenesacha & @gaslybottoms | rated T | 2k words

Cross-country skiing isn't Pierre's forte. While he managed to stay upright during their earlier outing, it's done little to shake off his aversion to the sport that Charles seems to love so much - or, rather, his aversion to winter as a whole.

#piarles winter fic exchange 2023/24 #piarles winter fic exchange #pwfe 2023/24 #piarles fic #10 x 16 #❤️❤️❤️❤️ thank you SO much for another amazing winter fic exchange!!!!#see you all next year? 👀❤️

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vicsy · 10 months

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in the light of recent breakdown (Fernando taking photos of Lance like they're married), here's a tiny ficlet, ~ 970 words that I wrote in a spiral ✨

It's always more endearing than annoying.

Lance almost knocks the phone out of his hand. Fernando barely avoids it, laughing openly, bumping his shoulder against Lance's, his face all scrunched up, feigning faux irritation. He still breaks out in a smile, no heat behind his eyes, and Fernando makes sure not to have this touch linger. Too many people around, he can't help it.

But he opens his camera roll, following further into the air-conditioned hospitality, Lance just ahead of him and on the screen of his phone, a fresh batch of oblique photos he'd never post; Fernando caught his profile and the back of his neck.

He tries not to think that the bite mark there faded already.

Lance would give him grief later, after they get through practice and share some dinner, perhaps when they finally pass the threshold of the hotel room that doesn't really belong to just one of them. There is something about Lance and being photographed that Fernando doesn't get but he stares at the screen and–

It reminds him of two days ago, eight am always too early for Lance to function, so he shoved back at the phone in Fernando's hand, whining and turning the photo blurry, but Lance still gave him that lopsided smile, all sleepy, with pillow creases across his face. They slept in despite obligations, despite Fernando remaining fully awake and simply breathing in time with Lance, content and warm, the race week yet to begin, and no bothersome cameras around.

And then it reminds Fernando of a photo he took the weekend after Chloe's wedding, in the private comfort of just the two of them, dining at the secluded restaurant overlooking the shore. Lance sitting in front of him, a plate of half-finished duck pappardelle forgotten in favor of leveling him with an impish look, fondness written brazenly all over his face where a sunbeam kisses his cheek. In the soft, orange light of the Italian sunset, Fernando let his heart crack open and feel.

There's even a bigger secret than the ones Red Bull has, a folder locked under an insane password on Fernando's phone, the prized collection of moments that spark a fire under his skin and in his memory when Lance is too far away but on the screen, they're joined together, even if the lighting is wrong and the angle askew. Supple skin under Fernando's palm, pearly-white droplets on Lance's stomach, an angry red mark on his asscheek; bruises on his pale neck and Lance's kiss-swollen lips; him staring up tearily with those big, brown eyes, so nicely from his knees and his lips wrapped snugly around Fernando's cock.

All that, in the palm of his hand.

But if Fernando scrolls up to the beginning, a lonely photo of them together under the stale, fluorescent lights of the Aston Martin meeting room, Mike standing in the middle, unsmiling. It just reminds him of what he's no longer missing; that unadulterated gratification replaced the hollowness that followed him around since Ferrari and the day the title slipped through his fingers. That Fernando is no longer racing against time, trying to outrun something but rather racing ahead, bolder than ever, and the rearview only blinds him.

Something gave way inside of him. Fernando should blame Lance entirely for it but–

He's got one photo saved, one that Jimmy sent him the day after Monaco, saying he might like it. Sometimes Fernando loses it on the myriad of screenshots, pictures of flowers and views and family; of Lance, no matter how much he protests, when they don't have to pretend or hide. And it's Lance, in that sole photo, watching him lift a trophy on the podium, his hand splayed over his chest, pressed firmly to where his heart beats, an awestricken expression painted on the side of his face that Fernando can see.

Lance probably has no idea the photo exists. Fernando keeps it secret in the fragility of a bubble they created. He'll claw and tear for it never to burst, holding himself back from what he longs for in the secrecy of his own mind. Loss is a petrifying thing and Fernando knows it close, like an old friend. So he holds on to the photos for they are his, his, and like Lance once whispered into a feverish kiss, I'm yours, yours.

And his hands, they are still heavy with a burden that never seizes but, still, Fernando squeezes the steering wheel and finds the strength to drag himself over the finish line high enough to have his arms strain under a weight of a trophy; turns on the camera of his phone to show what he can't put into words, to hold dearly in his hands the snapshots of someone who found a key to the lock Fernando believed to be destroyed with rust.

There is victory and joy, other things he can't bring himself to name but Lance's name is written all over them. Other times there's anger and resentment, old and wretched like a house that burned down, and Fernando balls his hands into fists when abhorrence seeps through him as if from a broken vase but–

A tentative touch to his knuckles, then to his shoulder; a peace offering in a form of a smile, a pliant body, a flutter of moans and hushed whispers. And all seems to dissipate.

This is when Fernando remembers.

He used to think it was the entire world that had to fit in the palm of his hand, so he could carry it around in his pocket, be a perpetual winner, a loner with means to an end but it always gets lonely at the top. Fernando has no use for it all anymore.

Now that he holds Lance in his arms instead.

#genuinely sorry for this but i had this idea about Nando collecting photos of Lance #and it turned into this because #I am forever sappy and I KNOW they are deranged for each other #there is so much hidden underneath #it's about giving yourself away and letting yourself trust #it's in the little things that help you realize stuff #even if you are a 41 year old war criminal #strollonso #alonstroll #lancenando #fernando/lance #vicsy writes #fernando alonso #lance stroll #f1 rpf

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jounosnumberoneslut · 1 year

Text

Just wanted to make me jealous?

Jouno Saigiku x Reader NSFW

Sorry for the grammatical mistakes and word repetitions, english isn't my native language!

This is my first fanfiction, hope you'll enjoy ♡

Pairings... Jouno Saigiku x fem!reader

Contains... celebration party, alcohol, party killer Jouno, dance with Tecchou, smut!, oral (fem!receiving), dom!Jouno, begging, tummy bulge, dirty talk, hair pulling, masochist reader, choking

AFAB reader

You’ve joined to the Hunting Dogs one month ago, finished your first mission succesfully with Jouno and Tecchou that’s why the team thought, this must be celebrated with a party.

You was in your apartment at the HQ, getting ready for the night while listened your favourite music. It was a hot summer day so you picked a short black skirt with a black cami top as your outfit. You choose a black leather choker for accessory. Luckily the dresscode is not the hunting dog uniform this time. While putting on your eyeliner and dark red lipstick fantasied about what will wear the others.

You haven’t seen them in casual clothes except Tecchou. You had to bring up to his apartment a letter from Fukuchi at late night, he opened the door wearing only a grey boxer, probably you woke him up. Your cheeks turned red when you stared his muscles and abs instead of his eyes. He didn’t notice your reaction because he was sleepy.

You checked yourself in the mirror last time, sprayed yourself with parfume and headed to the office what was the party’s spot.

You walked next to the building where your office was, you already heard the loud music from inside. You opened the door and what you saw. Fukuchi singed into his bottle of beer:

- I’ve been searching for a man, all across Japan, just to find, to find my samurai! – while pointing with his other hand toward Tecchou who danced with his sword.

In the corner at the table Jouno with his head down covering his ears, said:

- Finally Y/n! Do something with these two! They are giving me headache!

- What’s wrong Jouno? – Fukuchi laughed.

- The loud music pain in my ass, I don’t need your false voice too! Anyway Y/n has arrived she is the reason why we are here. – Jouno answered with his head on the table.

Tecchou threw away his sword, opened his arms and hugged you tightly. He wears a dark grey shorts decorated with a lance on it, and a black singlet so you can see his well muscled arms. And feel them around you... On the top of his head was a lighting party glasses. You hugged him back.

- Wow Tecchou how much did you drink already?

- aonly one glass of whiskeycola with BBQ sauce. – Jouno answered to my question instead of Tecchou who looked devestating to him. You thought he should be drink more to acting like this.

- What do you want to drink Y/n? – Fukuchi asked you and turned lower the music.

- I would whsikeycola too but without BBQ thank you...

Your boss poured it for you while the rest of hunting dogs has arrived. Teruko wears a small glittered dark pink dress and Tachihara? He almost lost in his elegant suit, he’s a kid.

- I told, you will come to the party 10 years younger than you really – Teruko laughed on him.

- Don’t mess with me Teruko! I will be drunk very quickly with this body!

You chuckled on his situation. You was happy they gathered because of you, and of course they like to have fun too. Except Jouno who still sitting in the corner of the office. To be honest, you liked him from the beginning. He is smart and mysterious, you heard from the others he likes or just liked to torture people. Quiet, calm and serious, but it’s funny to see him arguing with Tecchou. He is blind, but sometimes he is better in fight thanks to his hightened senses what stimulated your mind. You walked toward to him.

- Can I sit down? – you asked. He wears an elegant peach xolored shirt and a dark brown pants.

- Of course you can. Besides I want to congratulation to you, for your first succed mission. – he kindly smiled to you.

- Thank you. What do you drink Jouno? – you asked and wanted to clink with him for the celebration.

- Coffee. My senses dulling under the effects of alcohol. Incidintally I handle with the booze well, just difficult to sense anything around me then. – he explained.

- Oh, I see. So you won’t clink with me? – you looked at him dissapointed – Just a glass of something? – Teruko appeared on his side with a bottle of whiskey and a glass, started to pour the alcohol in it.

- I hope this meets your needs Sir – she said and gave to him the glass of whsikey.

- What do you want? – the white haired man asked her suspiciously – You never act like this.

- I just never saw you drink. I’m curious how will it affect you. Maybe will you dance? – her eyes are sparkled as if it were her greatest desire.

- I won’t dance. I lose my sense of space because of the loud music...

- Then, we will dance instead of you! Come Y/n!

You felt bad about him. He doesn’t look like who likes to dance or being drunk. Just imagined yourself in his place. Your heartbeat changed, he could feel it.

- Don’t worry about me. I’m having a great time, go dance with the others, I won’t leave. – how he said his last word clinked his glass to yours. – Cheers darling!

And he drank what was in your glass like you did.

You went to the others, drank more and more. Danced together with the adult Tachihara after Teruko changed his real age back. You felt yourself a little fuzzy, knew your place, just was a little bit feisty. You had a long slim fitting dance with Tecchou who was behind you caresses your hips and gave soft kisses to your neck. You played with his locks. Jouno noticed your little play and walked toward to you.

- I think I’m going home. This was a great party but enough for me. Good night! – he said without emotions and went to the door. You separated from Tecchou and went after him.

- Wait Jouno! I wanted to go too, wait for me please, just say goodbye to everyone.

- I’ll wait outside. Hurry.

You went back to Tecchou, gave a kiss on to his cheek. He was kinda cute, didn’t wanted to do anything what you don’t want, just flirted like you with him. You said goodnight to everyone and left them, they turned up the music louder and continued to dance.

Jouno waited for you at the side of the building.

- You didn’t look like who want to leave.

- But I am. This was enough for me too. I doesn’t want to be too drunk before I do something stupid. Anyway, if you are the reason of the party, and can't pay attention for everyone that’s not fun. So, would you like to come home with me?

He was suprised what you said, couldn’t find the words, just nodded.

You entered in your apartment, took off your shoes and walked into your kitchen.

- Do you want to drink something? – you asked.

- Water please. – he said. You opened your fridge and took of a bottle of water and a sake. You him the water.

- One shot of sake? – you asked.

- I’m in.

You poured sake for the two of you. Jouno raised his glass to you.

- Thank you for the invitation. It’s very kind from you. – he drank a little bit of his booze – I’d bet Tecchou will stand here tonight. Or you in his bed. – you chuckled on this.

- No no no. I don’t want anything from Tecchou. I mean, I like him so much, he’s very cute and kind. His body is wow, his hair... I enjoyed his approach but...

- But? – Jouno cut you off, drank his sake down to the last drop and moved closer to you . – You like him, so what’s the problem?

He felt your fastened heartbeat. You was confused, couldn’t find the words, didn’t know the right answer. But you knew.

- I just don’t want him like that. – you answered a little bit more tetchier. He stepped more closer, you were within reach neither from each other now.

- Then who do you want like „that”? – another step forward you.

- No one. – you asked quickly.

- This is a despicable lie you’re telling dear. – he smiled devilishly, placed one of his hand under your chin, made you look at him. You flinched of his touch and nearness.

- You can’t lie to me do you know? When we were on that mission, I took you cover, you acted like now. You was flustered because of my touch... When I took of my cape and spread it on you because you were cold. You checked my build. – he chuckled – I offered to take off my top and give it to you, ensure that you warm up faster. I felt how your heartbeat changed. You were embarrassed by the thought of my half naked body. And tonight’s special production from you and Tecchou? Just wanted to make me jealous. You don’t want anything from him... but from me? I’m standing here in your apartment not him, this isn’t an accident. Tell me if I’m wrong dear.

His smile is cocky, your lips are inches from his. You can’t say a single word. You are blusted. Your face is full red now, lost in your thoughts. Impossible to hide your feels before him. He didn’t hesitate to catch your lips. His mouth is soft, you can taste the sake on it. He played with yours then entered in. Wasn’t rough, but passionate how his tounge explored your mouth. He breaking off the kiss.

- This is what you wanted right? – he asked, you could feel his breath on your skin.

Your answer was to jumped on him, wrapped your legs around his waist. He held you under your tiny skirt, felt his big hands on your butt. You were in each others mouth, he carried you to your couch, lied you down. He crawled onto you, smoothed your hair away from your face, softly bit your cheek and whispered in your ear:

- You are already wet aren’t you? I smell it, may I taste it?

He turned you more and more, didn’t want to believe, Jouno Saigiku leaned over you. He placed small kisses to your skin while climbing down to your wet spot. One of his hand wandered up to squizze your breast, massaged it. You let out a quiet moan. He rolled up your skirt, kissed your skin around your pantie. Put his nose into your clothed pussy, smelled in it’s fragrance. He licked the fabric and then, like a predator who tasted the blood, with a sudden movement ripped off your pantie. He kissed in your juicy pussy rough, panted into it. He licked it from above to below. Jouno eated you out like no one ever. You runned your fingers through his white locks while moaned his name quietly, what he heard perfectly.

- You are so tasty. – whispered into your burning core.

Then he started to circling around your clit with the tip of his tongue.

- Ahh Jouno! – you moaned his name throwing back your head down from the couch.

- Cum in my mouth dear.

He spread your pussylips and sucked your clit softly, then rougher and rougher. You grabbed his hair, pushed his face more into it, screamed his name while your thighs acted on their own, squizzed his head. You came in his mouth, how he ordered.

- Good girl, how obdient. – he leaned up close to your face and gave you a passionate kiss. You could taste yourself, his face soaked from your juice - Now please tell me, where can I find your bedroom? – he placed your hand to his crotch – you have another mission here.

- First door after the kitchen... – you said shakily.

Jouno picked you up easily, carried you to your bedroom and lied you down to the soft bed. You sat up, so he could take off your top and unbrace your bra with one hand, then stopped on your neck, tightened a bit. Gave you a long kiss but now you can’t order to you. You started to unbutton his shirt and unzip his pants. He chuckled in your mouth on your movements, got up on his knees and took of his shirt and pants. You finally could see his muscles, abs and his erection under his boxer.

- Do you like the view? – he asked.

- So much... – while you answered his question crawled onto him, making him lay down to his back.

Now you are on him. Placed small kisses from his neck, through his collarbone, chest and abs until you reached down to his hard member. He flinched slightly at all your kisses, his skin is sensitive too. You pulled down his boxer to free his aching cock. It is long and thin, with few vessel. You saw the precum bubbling out from his it. First licked his balls, went up through his lenght, then tasted his fluid. He let out a sigh and brushed your hair with his fingers. You took off your skirt, crawled over him and positioned yourself above his dick. Grabbed it gently and placed to your entrance, sat down slowly to his lenght. You moaned, waited for this feeling since you met this man above you.

- You are so tight baby, feels so good to my cock.

You slowly moved up and down on his hard member, he reached your boobs, massaged them and played with your nipples. You moaned, loved the touch of his hands. Bounced harder on him, placed your hands to his chest and abs, tried to find the balance. Your right hand moved up to his neck squizzed it while moaned his name. Suddenly he grabbed your throat tightly and pushed back into the bad, changed the roles.

- You... can’t... do that. – whispered in your ears.

A teardrop rolled down on your face, he licked it down and smiled devilishly to you.

- Are you crying already? I didn’t even touch you... You won’t able to walk tomorrow...

- Hahaha – you laughed – I like pain silly boy. I enjoy it better thank you think – smirked and licked his lower lip.

- Really? Do you know that my hobby is torturing people? I think we’re gonna get along.

He didn’t hesitate, pushed his cock balls deep in your wet pussy. You screamed but smiled at the same time. He still choked you when your hands came behind his back and hugged him tightly. Your sweaty bodies sticked together, you felt his muscular chest on your tits. He pumped deep in you then suddenly stopped. Jouno placed his hand on your tummy and pressed it down. He wanted to feel his hard cock from outside of you. You touched it yourself, he is so long, it bulging out from your lower tummy. You smiled to each other like two sick pervert and he continued moving faster and faster. He hit your G-spot, you fel another orgasm coming and clawed through his bare back make him to slow down. All of sudden he slapped your face.

- You fucking whore! To hurt me is not allowed to you! Turn around for me!

You was suprised cause the slap but you loved this sadistic side of Jouno. Made you more horny. You kneeled with your ass before him, pushed his cock deep in your pussy and moved faster than before. Pressed down your head into the pillows, with his other hand slapped your butt. You could hardly breath but smiled, enjoyed the situation.

- Jouno, Jouno, ahh fuck me harder, yes, I wanna cum, you are so deep!

You are out of your mind, Jouno suprised, he could able to know many things about you but not everything. You were already lying under him, he moaned a little bit louder, you finally heard his voice like this. He pushed yourself so deep as he can, trembled of his orgasm and laid on you. You felt his full weight on you, waited a little while he catching his breath and moved next to him. You felt his sperm leaking out from your pussy. He lied to his back, pulls you onto his chest, gave a kiss to your head.

- I’ll kill Tecchou if he touches you again.

- So, did I make you jealous? – you chuckled.

- Maybe...

Thank you for @win-writes @iovetecchou and @stinkyme whos inspired me to write my first own, and whos works keep me alive in the everyday ♡

and ofc @nikolaiismysugardaddy whom I talk everyday and inspired each other ♡

masterlist

#anime #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bungo #stray #dogs #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #hunting dogs #oneshot #jouno #jouno saigiku #jouno x reader #bsd jouno #jouno x y/n #jouno saigiku x reader

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klance-dreams · 1 year

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Oh, come on! I thought we bonded! Keith? Buddy? My man?

“My man...?”

Keith felt the words zip down his spine like lightning, warming him from the inside out. He felt the words settle in his belly like fire as heat bloomed across his cheeks.

Lance’s man?

Keith liked the sound of that…Liked being the one coming to Lance’s rescue, liked being able to banter with him—flirt with him, his mind whispered—or simply bail him out. It made him feel bold enough to say, “Can’t have it both ways, sharpshooter.”

Lance’s slow, “huh?” had Keith chucking.

“I said you can’t have it both ways. Am I your buddy? …or am I your man?”

If Keith couldn’t hear Lance sputtering over the comms, he’d worry he’d gone too far, but as it was he could practically feel Lance’s blush as he said “Keith!” almost as if he was winded.

“Better decide quick,” Keith murmurs. “I’m about to land.”

He could make out Lance muttering “oh my god” over the comms in a breathy voice. Keith decided to end the link before Lance could hear him laughing.

He was glad he had when he landed close enough to glimpse the blue Paladin, ass up, chained to a tree and took a picture for the sake of blackmail, obviously. Definitely not to keep for himself.

As Red and Blue settled down in the sparse terrain he could feel the lions chuff in amusement at Lance’s predicament.

“Hey,” Keith called out with a smirk as he walked up to Lance, casual and easy as you please.

He took his time, took in the pretty picture Lance made before gracefully sitting against the tree Lance was chained to.

“Just hanging out?” Keith asked dryly.

Lance snorted. “Oh, screw you man!” He flailed dramatically before resting his cheek on his outstretched arms.

It could’ve just been the rosy hue of the atmosphere here, but a Keith could swear Lance’s cheeks were dusted with a light blush at the red paladins attention.

“How does this always happen to you?” Keith asked (fondly), propping his chin up on an elbow as he met Lance’s eyes.

Lance sighed out one gusty sigh and thumped his forehead into the dirt. “You tell me. I guess I always wanna believe someone’s actually interested? Like interested in me,” he huffed in a self depreciating way. “And not just interested in the Paladin of a Voltron lion. But once again…” he quirked his lips and looked up, nodding toward his bound wrists.

Keith hummed. “They don’t know what they’re missing,” he said quietly as he moved over to break Lance free.

Lance sighed in relief and groaned as pins and needles assaulted his fingers in a rush.

“Thanks,” Lance said softly, pushing up and meeting Keith’s eyes—much closer than he’d anticipated. “Oh” he breathed quietly.

“Any time,” Keith murmured, eyes flickering between ocean eyes and sweet bitten-pink lips.

Slowly, Lance brought one hand up and pushed a lock of hair behind Keith’s ear, leaving his hand there against Keith’s cheek. Lips curving up in a smile as Keith leaned into the touch automatically. Lance let his eyes trace down to Keith’s generous mouth, feeling stuck there…

As if gravity itself was pulling on the both of them, their lips met in the middle in a soft kiss that surprised them both.

Keith gasped out a noise he might deny later, reached up a hand to keep Lance’s hold against his cheek and kissed him again.

When they broke apart, Lance breathed out, “Your man,” cheeks bright red.

“Huh?” Keith asked airily, head floating a little.

“You-you uh. Asked me earlier. If I was your ‘buddy’, or…”

“Oh,” Keith couldn’t believe his own ears, smile becoming blinding.

“Either way, I just wanna be yours.”

Lance leaned forward & pressed another kiss against Keith’s smile.

// transferring my twitter threads a little at a time 🥰 you can find the original post here: thread

#klance dreams #my writing #transferring my twitter threads #klance #vld keith #vld lance #lance mcclain #keith kogane #flirty keith and blushing lance is everything to me #klance drabbles #twitter threads

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russellinatussle · 6 months

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Survive a Zombie Apocalypse w/ F1 Teams

Would you survive a zombie apocalypse with your favourite team? Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and just my opinion

(The team logos represent you so if it's coloured, you're alive and if it's in black and white...sorry dude)

Aston Martin

Listen, I know you're confident you'd survive. I'd be confident too. Unfortunately you(we) couldn't be more than wrong. This is a one for all, all for none situation. If they can save their own butts they will. If its at the cost of you, well, you shouldn't have chosen them to begin with. Fernando isn't that mean though so if you do manage to fall into a trap, he'd leave you a little note reading, "Enjoy getting eaten by zombies!;D" as a goodbye as he and Lance disappears off into the distance. Great!!!

AlphaTauri

I don't think you'd survive. Daniel and Yuki have watched their fair share of survival movies but when it comes to actually surviving in the middle of an apocalypse? Yea, no. Even if you managed to survive 99% of your journey, bad luck will definitely hit you during that last 1%. On the other hand, you could be extremely, EXTREMELY lucky and survive but this has a 0.82929292% chance. But hey, it's not 0.

Alfa Romeo

Yes, you'd survive. You have two of the chillest people on the grid with you. With a level head, you'd manage to escape with minimal contact with zombies. Valterri is the team leader here and has quite a lot of knowledge on survival in the wild and you and Guanyu are willing team players so you guys would definitely survive. Don't think Guanyu doesn't bring anything to the table though. With his fashion expertise, he'd manage to blend you guys in with the zombies. Instant survival. (Let's just ignore that zombies might smell your scent and just pretend that they're partially blind and have anosmia)

Alpine

You'd survive, given that the two of them are able to work together. I feel like Pierre and Esteban would be afraid to fight the zombies but if you do encounter them, they'd somehow manage to take down most of them. They're squeamish though so if any zombie guts get on them, they're gagging and trying not to throw their own guts up. They don't really have the foundation of basic survival skills tho. Fighting they can do but making a fire, cooking and foraging? Not so good at so be sure to be proficient in these areas or else you might poison yourselves accidentally.

Mercedes

You'd survive but George and Lewis will not. It's mostly because they didn't believe the apocalypse was real until it was too late. During the few days of the apocalypse they were still alive though, Lewis had endless optimism that kept your spirits high and George's dank humour kept you entertained. Wish he actually listened to your advice of wearing a damn shirt in the middle of an apocalypse but eh. But don't worry, after the Brits meet their unfortunate demise, you won't be alone. You'd have Roscoe and the password to Mercedes' TikTok account so it's not all bad. (It is)

Ferrari

No, you will not survive. With no decent strategy and non-reliable equipment, the zombies unfortunately get to you before you can even say Ferrari double podium. You won't die immediately per say. You'd manage to hold your own for the first couple of days but when almost all your equipment starts breaking apart or stops working, the end seems to be in sight. Charles has no self-preservation skills and Carlos is in his own head most of the time. If they were given the right tools, they would definitely survive the apocalypse. But you know how it is rn... You actually do quite well defending yourselves from zombies, probably all that built up Ferrari frustration. However, if you make an alliance with another team, you'd have a higher chance at survival. If the apocalypse were to be in a few years time though, maybe you'd have a higher chance at survival

Red Bull

You and Max would survive. For some reason, you lost Checo in the middle of a zombie chase. He's not dead, you just have no idea where he is now. Max would definitely know his way around surviving an apocalypse because he's literally the Google embodiment, random facts just stewing in his brain.

Williams

Might be unexpected (or expected), but you'd survive. They have decent survival skills, not the best but decent. Logan can hunt (cause yk Logan HUNTER Sargeant?? Cmon now), with his obvious love for fishing and Alex definitely has a route planned to escape the zombies. They're not skilled scouts but they have the most basic of basic knowledge of survival so yea you'd survive. One thing you didn't see coming was the number of animals you'd adopt on the journey.

Haas

Yea you'd survive. They're definitely one of the most resourceful, making weapons out of things they randomly find but you do have some close calls due to them maybe disagreeing on certain issues. They both have basic survival skills, Kevin more than Nico so if you have no choice but to camp out in the woods, you're not doomed. In conclusion, as long as you're willing to be the peacemaker most of the time, you'll be fine.

McLaren

You survive but barely. You have good strategies but your survival skills are 1 to none. Need to make a fire? Where's the lighter? Need food but only fish is available? Yea, no way. Encounter zombies? Defence is the new offence. You try your best to avoid zombies at all costs but if it's inevitable (which it will be), you'll try an alternative way that doesn't involve hand-to-hand combat with the undead. BUT, if you really have no other choice then to fight zombies, Lando and Oscar would be pretty decent in it. Lando's chosen weapon would be a gold club while Oscar's would be a cricket bat. It's kind of therapeutic actually, just smashing zombies left and right.

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niqhtlord01 · 9 months

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Humans are weird: The Spacer’s Creed

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps) “Abandon ship, abandon ship; this is not a drill.”

The speaker cut out as the wall it was mounted to burst out in violent flames sending Zengul tumbling to the floor. He tried to get back to his feet but felt a stream of warm green blood run down his face and momentarily blinding him. He wiped his uniform sleeve across his face but a new stream just came down.

He could feel the heat from the flames on the back of his neck as he unsteadily got back to his feet when a pair of hands grabbed each of his arms and hoisted him up.

“Almost there Zengul!” he heard one of his rescuers shout. He tried to look up at his saviors but his eyes were now blurry from the blood still running down his face. Opening his mouth to say something he was surprised to find all that would come out was nothing more than coughs and gasps.

The trio made their way down the corridor as the ship shuddered again. Several pipes came loose and fell next to them but by then the motley group had made it to the escape pod. Zengul heard the door being closed behind them followed shortly by the pressure seal engaging. No sooner had the door sealed was the pod shot out of the escape tunnel and ejected into space.

Zengul could feel his hearts pounding out of his chest as one of the other survivors broke out the medkit from a storage locker.

“Here ya go.” They said as they bandaged up his head and the stream of blood finally subsided allowing him to see again.

“First class engineer Zengul,” he introduced himself to his saviors. The one who had been bandaging him nodded a greeting in return.

“Security officer Muck, deck three.”

The pair looked over at the third member of the escape pod who was cradling their head between their talons.

“What about you?” Zengul asked.

“You will remain silent unless addressed directly.” The third member said rather harshly as they snapped their head around.

Zengul and Muck cast a look between each other as they saw the uniform and rank insignia of the third figure. Unlike their uniforms showing yellow for engineering and grey for security, the third figure wore a bright blue uniform signifying that they were officer class.

With nothing left to say the pair looked out the viewport. The space outside may have been cold, but it was far from empty.

The battle between their fleet and the humans still raged all around them. Energy lances shot out back and forth tearing great chasms in metal hulls while the trails of missiles decorated the space between the two war fleets like the strokes of a painters brush. Zengul watched the engagement quietly when a rather dark notion slowly started creeping into his mind.

“I only count fifteen ships.”

“What?” Muck asked. Zengul pointed to their fleet.

“I only count fifteen ships.” He repeated.

“A good fighting number.” Muck replied, unsure of where his fellow crewman was going with this statement.

Zengul shook his head. “When we started fighting we had twenty seven.”

Hearing this, the security officer looked back at their fleet and silently counted the remaining ships to himself. He did this several times before he too shared the dark thoughts now manifesting.

“Stow your belly aching.” The officer cut in as they pushed Zengul and Muck away from the window. “Our ships will still carry the day and pick us up as soon as the last human ship is a burning husk.”

“They’re turning around.” Zengul spoke up. He pointed at a line of their battleships, several on fire and visibly leaking atmosphere, turning around and beginning to depart the battlefield.

“No.” the officer stammered as more and more of their ships began fleeing the battlefield. “NO!!!!!!”

As the officer smashed his hands against the window in dismay a large shadow passed overhead. The trio retreated away from the window in surprise as the entire escape pod began to shake and rattle as whatever it was had enough mass to have a small gravity field.

Zengul leaned forward and looked up to see the underside of a human warship passing over them in hot pursuit of their retreating fleet. The glare from their engines made him squint in pain as it flared and several plasma lances shot out into the distance. Looking to either side Zengul could see several dozen more human ships all arrayed in a line formation pressing their advantage and firing on the exposed rears of their enemy.

“Stand and fight damn your eyes!” the officer shouted as he worked up enough of a spine to return to the window and push Zengul out of the way. “Do your duty!”

As if in reply to his outcry one of their warships exploded in a violent fireball as its shields collapsed and a plasma lance tore through the engines. Zengul wagered that they had been spinning up their jump engines and the strike from the plasma had destabilized the jump drive setting off a cataclysmic event.

One by one their battleships activated their jump drives and fled the system in bright flashes of light until finally only the human ships remained to sift through what had once been a great navy.

The officer slumped to the floor while Zengul and Muck looked watched the human warships slowly begin turning around and make their way back to the debris field.

“Do you think we can get the micro jets working?” Muck asked. Zengul laughed beside himself and shook his head. “Do you really think an escape pod can outrun a warship?”

Muck opened his mouth but said nothing as he realized the futility of their situation.

“All we can do now is make peace with ourselves and hope our ancestors are ready to receive us.”

The trio sat in silence as the warships drew ever closer until once more the shadow crossed over them. Zengul could not help but feel though that this time it was the shadow of death itself. He closed his eyes waiting for the plasma lances to destroy them.

Seconds passed, then minutes; and yet still nothing came.

Instead of a fiery death Zengul felt the entire escape pod jolt to the side and begin moving.

“What’s happening?”

Looking out the window the crew members saw that the escape pod was now surrounded by a thick green light. While this was concerning, Zengul was more concerned with the fact that they were being pulled through the debris field towards the closest human ship.

“Why aren’t they destroying us?”

“Because they’re savages!” the officer shouted.

They stood back up and began searching the escape pod for something. “They’re going to bring us onboard and kill us in close quarters combat, but we shall fight them until the very end!”

Zengul turned and watched the officer as they ripped a piece of metal off the walls and began swinging it like club. “Do you know how stupid that sounds? Why would they want to do it in person when they can just use their guns?”

“What part of “savages” did you not understand!?!” the officer retorted. “They’ll want to run us through and string us up like wild animals.”

Muck and Zengul exchanged a glance that doubted this notion, but it didn’t matter as the escape pod was finally pulled within the human ship. Looking out the window it appeared to be some sort of large hangar bay. On the far side of the bay Zengul could see rows of fighter craft stowed and ready for use while a growing crowd of humans started to assemble.

“So that’s what they look like.” Muck said as if confirming something. “I always thought they would have been taller.”

While the group was distracted with looking out the window the sudden and loud clanging from the door to the escape pod almost went unnoticed. Zengul turned around at the sound and saw a pair of humans standing outside the pod with plasma rifles trained on them.

Slowly raising his hands to show he wasn’t a threat, Muck and the officer turned around at the confusing gesture and finally noticed the humans themselves.

“By order of the terran military, you all are hereby ordered to surrender.” The lead human said.

“So you’re not going to kill us?” Muck asked hesitantly.

The humans looked between each other confused by the question then back at the group of aliens. “If you surrender you will be treated well as prisoners of war.”

“Lies!” the officer shouted. They brought their makeshift weapon up and both humans shifted their aim to cover him. “We are your sworn enemies! We know you’ll just kill us the first chance you get.”

“Why did you save us anyway?” Zengul asked the humans as they kept their weapons trained on the officer. “You could have just left us out there to die.”

“It goes against the creed.” One of the humans answered.

“The creed?”

The human nodded. “The Spacer’s Creed.”

As if quoting a line of text the human continued “Friend or foe it matters not; left in space to die they shall not.”

“Though if your friend doesn’t put down his weapon we’ll put him down for good.” The other officer spoke up as their trigger finger was centimeters from the trigger.

“Oh him you should kill.” Muck replied dryly, much to the officer’s surprise. Zengul nodded in agreement. “He was just telling us how he wanted to fight you all to the death before surrendering.”

The officer’s eyes went wide in disbelief at the sudden betrayal. It was a moment he did not have long to ponder on as the human weapons opened fire and tore fist sized chunks out of the officer’s body before collapsing to the ground with a wet thud.

“So,” Zengul said as he slowly rose to his feet, “do we need to sign something or will you just take us as prisoners now?”

#humans are insane #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01 #stable diffusion #ai generated art

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