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halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months

Note

You're my favorite writer, and König is my favorite aussie man, so OF COURSE im making you write for him, hal, BEAR W ME !

Alright, what do you think about König with the “You’re here late.” prompt? The reader is part of KorTac and always worked alongside König, since they both entered about the same time, because of the readers personality, they are always fighting, one of these fights are specifically bad, leading the reader to go on a mission with another KorTac member, to help out somewhere else and take their mind off things, when the reader face a problem on the mission and ends up arriving late, König is furious.

Moths Hit the Window

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Fights with König were always loud, but this time his comments went a bit too far.

WORD COUNT: 5.9k

WARNINGS: Verbal fighting, angst, high tension, blood & stitches, wounds, canon typical violence, guns/weapons, death, suggestive near the end, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: Huge thanks to @idocarealot for the German translations!! Also, König's wearing the arachnid skin in this because I love it sm - enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You seethe. If eyes could turn red yous would be a beautiful shade of crimson—bloody knives ripping out of the cornea to strike whoever happened to get too close. It was as if the very air boiled with the force of a raging tsunami as you stomped down the local military base’s hallways, covered in blood and guts. Never had you reconsidered working for KorTac more than at this very moment.

Maybe I should just become a mercenary, you rip at the torn-apart gloves over your hands and jerk your arm out. Passerbyers quickly avert their eyes as you shove them into a garbage can and continue on with a growl. No shitty rules, no regulations—no fucking partners.

If people happened to slide past without noticing the steam coming out of your ears, they would have immediately locked eyes on the pure elephant of a man trailing fast behind. König’s eyes were goring into the back of your neck, gray and tan garb swaying as the packs and flash grenades on his combat vest bounced with every step. Accents of red do nothing in comparison to his visible flesh—the section of his eyes uncovered by his mask and head rig alight around his obsidian gaze.

König was muttering to himself far under his breath, curses and harsh comments all in German that he wouldn’t say to your face. At least not right now in view of others.

“I can hear you, you dimwit,” you hiss over your shoulder, grinding your teeth as you both make your way to the armory, “curse me out quieter!”

“You are making a scene!” The beast grunts, that heavily accented English striking your eardrums with its harsh dialect.

“Oh, jeez!” You raise your voice even higher, turning back forward and clenching your hands into fists as blood and guts drip off your gear—none of it yours. “I’m just so damn embarrassed, König! I’m making such a large and obnoxious display. Whatever will I do?!” Sarcasm like a valuable drug is injected into the waves of your voice. People from open doorways look out with shock, brows pulled up.

Everyone quickly darts back away when you snap your head in their direction and send them a scathing glare.

No one was surprised to find you and the Austrian going at it again but knew well enough to stay out of the crossfire. Lest someone get roped into it.

“Fuck off!” You spit the last curse into the burning air and shove past a soldier ahead of you.

König’s dark eyes flash dangerously, lips under his mask twisting into a sneer. The man’s shoulders seem to dig in even farther, spine curling over as if a brooding child.

This had all started the second you’d joined up with KorTac. Fresh out of the military and eager to get back into the game after a good vacation the PMC group had been at the top of your list. But if you’d known you’d be paired up with this damn mountain every chance there was just because he’d got into the game at nearly the same time as you, you’d have put in your luck with SpecGru.

“I do not see how this is appropriate behavior,” König follows as you place your palms on the black metal of the armory door, pressing with your shoulders. “I did what I was tasked to do—”

The masked man is cut off as you whirl on your heels, the door slamming shut as his body is shoved into it with strong arms. Dark eyes go wide in surprise, feeling the dig of your nails on his abdomen as your form presses into him and the chill of the door on his spine. You feel his skin bunch under his thick shirt and even if you want to stare him down that’s just not an option. Your warm figures shuffle together with panting breaths and dangerous glints in your eyes.

“Bull,” you drag out the word, growling it right up into his neck; sniper hood caressing your chin. König’s breath hitches with shakes of swirling emotions. “Shit.”

Shoving once more so he gets the point, you push off of him and stalk away like a feral wolf, already unclipping grenades and medical packs from your vest.

“You’re the damn reason the target got away!” Gear is thrown haphazardly to the long table in the center of the room. The Austrian watches with predatory eyes, hands clenched so hard that they quiver. He stays still, watching, as you send scathing glances. “The reason we’re going to be here for ten times longer than we’re supposed to be!”

“It is not my fault you failed to properly check the perimeter before you rushed in like a fool.” Volatile couldn’t be used to describe this…this was nothing short of volcanic. It was as if there were two sides of a scale filled with bullets and gunpowder—fire in the middle that was equally heating both piles as they raised and lowered erratically. König’s voice grates over the air, “I did what I could to fix your scheiße plan!”

“Don’t you shit on my plan!” You point, voice bouncing off the weapon racks as you rip the rifle strap from over your chest, chucking it away.

“I will shit on it—it was…it was…!” König’s voice cuts out and he can’t find the words. The Austrian descends into visceral German ramblings. “Es war so ziemlich der schlechteste Plan, den ich je gehört hab. Welcher halbwegs vernünftige Mensch geht in eine heiße Zone ohne vorher alle Zielobjekte richtig zu markieren?! Ich kann dich und deine Rücksichtslosigkeit nicht mehr leiden — du bringst mich um meinen Verstand! Hast du überhaupt ein Gehirn in deinem Schädel?”

You shake your head to yourself, heart pounding. “You’re still the one that was supposed to focus on the HVT. I rushed so he would flush out, but, no,” taking out the magazine of the rifle you hold it in your hands like an accusatory ruler that a teacher would hold. König shoves off the door and stands to his full height; arms tensed and straining before they coil around his chest in a soothing gesture.

He hated the fighting—the constant strain between the two of you. But when you were together it could never amount to anything else. The room felt like it was a million degrees.

Your eyes stab at him, “No! You had to go and focus on me! I hate to break this to you, König,” feet come forward and you once again find yourself close to him—breathing the same air and taking in the scent of gunpowder and blood. You point the tip of the magazine into his chest. His unseen lips pull; jaw clenching with held-back fire. “But I am not your damn mutt to keep on a leash. I had it under control.”

It’s as if you don’t realize the Austrian could snap you in half with a single kick of his leg, as if the sheer size of König had slipped your mind as a whole. His hands could snap your neck in an instant, but that was only if he got ahold of you.

But that was a line the both of you were never planning to cross. Words were one thing in this profession, actions another. If you ever got into a physical fight, you’d both kill each other, no doubt.

You’d like to think you’re a bit above that, but perhaps not.

König’s chest rises and falls deeply, taking in calming breaths as he tries to get his temper under control. “You didn’t,” he jeers out, “I saved your life, you Heißluftgebläse. And if you wanted to be treated less than a dog,” he grunts to you, head pulling down close to your face, harshly whispering out, “You could have simply asked me, yes?”

You both snarl at each other's throats like rabid animals, the world disappearing all around the obsidian eyes that match with yours; for a moment you get lost in the shining bits of silver in his iris that seem to burn with chilled iron. What little skin you can see is flushed and tight—hawk nose nearly poking out your eye as you’re leaned over like a giraffe near a bush.

Body vibrating, you sharply breathe, “I’m not even going to ask what that fucking means, you tool.”

“Good.” The words are bitten and fast, “because I am not telling you.”

“Great!”

“Perfekt!” You both were arguing like children. Hot faces and unwilling to let the other have the last word. If you got along it might have been funny.

“I’m going to dump all of your Einspänner out on the tarmac.” Your sure voice echoes with a definitive promise to the tone.

Pale lids widen in horror at the threat to the Austrian's favorite beverage, comfortably sitting in the Base’s fridge.

“You would not,” König’s tone is deathly serious and you smirk, eyes dancing. “You…” a guttural growl meets the air, mind translating words and giving meanings, “beast of a woman!”

“Oh, is that the best you can fucking do?!” You yell, splaying your hands out widely and moving away from him. “Now that’s really a show stopper, König, I’m shaking in my damn boots.”

“Ich komm mit dir nicht mehr klar.” König yells, moving back and placing both of his hands atop his head, knuckles white. “You’re rude—you do not even try to get along. You are loud and disrespectful; how do you live like this?!”

Your eyes slightly widen, watching the Austrian.

“Don’t try?” You echo, scoffing loudly. “What do you mean don’t try? I was the one to try and smooth things out between us in the beginning.”

“When?!” König spreads his hands out, knees slightly bent. “Because I have no recollection of such events.”

“Well of course you wouldn’t!” The heat was meeting a breaking point—words were getting more personal, sharper. Like a blade being honed for the kill slowly; being sharpened by rocks and whetstones of conviction.

König points a finger at you, voice going low and thin, “I’ve had enough of you, yes?” His sniper hood moves rapidly with his fast ricochets of breath. “Just about enough. Would you have wanted me to let you die?”

“I had it,” your lips spit, nose scrunched, and forehead tight. The man’s chest vibrates with a mute growl.

In all actuality, you’d never seen him this worked up before. König wasn’t above giving your quips back even if he obviously disliked it—most of that was due to the strange familiarity between the two of you. In large crowds, the man preferred to stay silent. This only added to his almost deadly aura with others, though you knew the muteness was because of social anxiety and not some built silence. He wasn’t shy per se, just afraid he’d say something wrong; mess up the conversation. You did most of the talking in meetings and you never minded it. Added him in when the topic was something he knew a lot about.

Your mind had addled it up to thinking it was cute, actually. How his feet would shuffle; his half-lidded gaze and his intense eye contact to let them know he was still listening. When he’d have to remind himself to look away with a pinch to his thigh because it was starting to seem threatening. It was endearing, even.

But around people König knew, well, he was going to speak his mind. No matter how long it takes his brain to catch up with his lips.

The only thing the two of you were good at was being moths—hitting the metaphorical window over and over on the same topics and tension points. Slamming heads and flapping wings. You were at the end of your rope just as he was.

“I should have never taken you as a partner!” He calls, feet splayed. “Should have gotten out of this the second you were assigned with me. Gott, ich hab wirklich versucht, dich zu verstehen — Ich hätte gleich aufgeben sollen.” Your lips thin, lungs stalling as all the air vacates the room. You stand still and listen to what he really thinks, fingers shaking.

König’s large form towers over all, great sparks of electricity flying out. His gear shakes as he moves, thigh straps pushing fabric to shift and conform to his body. Your blood pumps with brewing hesitance.

Maybe this had gone too far. I’ve never seen him like this.

“I can’t stand you any longer! Pathetic squabbles that mean nothing, absolutely ludicrous plans that make little headway.” Your head bursts with aggression and what little warning signs you have are squashed. “I can’t keep saving you because you can’t do your job correctly!”

“You don’t have to save me at all!” You scream. “You can’t keep your damn eyes off of me for five seconds, König.” Feet move away quickly from the armory door as if someone had come to put away their stuff but thought better of it. The next words burst from you before you can think of the contents. “It’s like you fucking love me or something!”

König doesn’t miss a beat, but for months afterward, he wishes he had.

“Oh, do not make me laugh—” he scoffs ferally, adrenaline making him talk, “as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place.”

Twin eyes widen and both parties immediately fall silent. A sharp inhale.

Too far.

Under the hood, König’s face goes an embarrassing shade of red all the way down to his chest. Fingers freeze. Jaw slackens.

You feel like your heart was just grasped in his grip and ripped out of your ribs with one violent motion—one sentence out of all the others enough to knock down the rebuttal that had formed on the tip of your tongue. Your throat closes up as you blink in shock.

“I-I…” König stutters, mind blanking as he struggles for words. But anger was easier than pain.

Numb fingers rip off the last of your weapons and belongings as you let them hit the floor with defining thuds as warm shame floods your cheeks. Shaky puffs of breath like a panting dog. Dark eyes watch with regretful panic, heart jumping and eyes flinching. The adrenaline it…it made him forget himself on occasion—how to properly act when not on the battlefield. It was like that with everyone but…but he hadn’t meant that.

Shame that it’s already too late.

Your fisted hand slams into his chest, brutal and unforgiving. König lets off a grunt but does nothing as you slither past, hissing into his ear, “Find yourself a new punching bag.”

His hand snaps to his breast where you had slammed your KorTac patch right into his heart, catching it. It’s many moments before he can think enough through the alarm; form words.

“I…I didn’t…oh, du blöde Kuh!”

By the time the man composed himself, panicked tears burning in his eyes, the door had already slammed shut. His feet squeaked over the tile to an empty audience.

—

Private Military Companies don’t have ranks. There are no Sergeants, Lieutenants, Generals or Colonels. Just people. Beyond the orders you’d been hired on, there was nothing keeping you in line with König on this mission. And those orders were loose at best.

Adhere to policy and listen to the Base’s COs. Shut up and get the job done.

The Austrian and you weren’t due out for another week because of rotations. Since you’d failed to capture or kill the HVT that you were assigned, another group had picked up the tracks in the meantime. Like an oiled machine, the gears of this operation kept whirling.

Evolve, or die.

“Lieutenant!” You call to the geared-up man on the tarmac—the one heading that very same group. It had been only a few hours since the incident in the armory. You needed a distraction; blood was still running high and brain pounding for release. There were only so many times you could bruise your fists and legs on a punching bag before people started giving you nervous looks. “Need an extra hand?”

Your voice sounds strained, even to you. The man looks you over once and narrows his eyes. Nods not moments later.

“Get tired of your big friend? Okay, how fast can you be ready for me?” You feel your shoulders loosen, a relieved sigh exiting your lips.

“Three minutes.”

“...get to it then. We move in five.”

So that was how you found yourself backed into a corner five hours into the op from hell—bloody knife held tightly in your grip and mouth open in ragged pants.

“Fuck,” your vest is torn and riddled with bullets; your entire chest must be bruised by now because it surely aches like it is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You really are reckless, just like König had said you were. Maybe you’d just never realized it because he always seemed to watch your six. This…this was really bad. The comms were awash with screaming orders and panic, ringing out across the abandoned mining factory that exploded with light from gunfire and the sounds that accompanied it. You knew for a fact three soldiers were down; two KIA.

The Lieutenant is one of them.

Your hand snaps to the radio strapped to your chest, one eye squinted in pain at the ragged slice across your left brow line. At your feet, two heavily armed men lay dead.

“Pull back! They knew we were coming!” But your word didn’t carry weight here. Your face twists between pain and rage. König’s comment still rings in your ears as the onset of tinnitus does, as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place. It wasn’t ideal to be thinking about this now—it was detrimental that you didn’t.

But König and the things he did often stained your brain. No matter how much you tried to distance yourself from that fact.

Snapping the knife in your grasp down in an arch to dispel the blood from the blade, you take a steel-laced inhale and shove off the wall. Limping, but moving. Sprained ankle. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.

The concrete under you is splattered with crimson viscera and you stumble over spasming bodies riddled with bullets. With a subdued shink you slip your knife into its thigh sheath, grabbing the FTac Recon strapped around your chest after slamming a fresh mag into it. With a numb calm overcoming you, you slip your forefinger into the trigger guard, poised over the easy press of the trigger itself.

The long shadows spread over you; your head illuminated by the dull sheen of the moon as you pass under a stretch of open sky to slink into the building across the empty street. Feral yells still bounce off the air and you go to them readily, purpose settling in your veins.

Pain flies to the back of your mind, displaced by adrenaline and the rabid puffs of breath that fall like grinding thunder from your lips.

You wonder what König’s thinking right now—he’d without a doubt noticed that you were gone. He’d even probably gone to your barracks room to try and apologize and found it empty. That was just how he was.

Would he be happy? You wondered. Relieved to see you out of his life? You’d both done nothing but fight, but there were moments of peace. Understanding.

Shared meals and comfortable, yet sarcastic, comments; soft glances when the other wasn’t looking. Heat in your face and obviously shown on his when shy hands brushed.

Your hold tightens on your gun, brows dripping with sweat as it dribbles down along with the blood. Gunfire flashes.

Closer now.

Shadows scream on top of a raised walkway attached to an in-mountain compound, targets with trigger fingers firing on your fellows who take cover behind crumbling walls. Pinned down. You watch, unseen, from a broken window as dust and moths collide.

Your eyes lock on the closest hostile and you raise your weapon slowly, barrel resting on the frame between shattered glass. You clock the distance and adjust accordingly; breaths falling steady.

The small insect that keeps hitting the window plays in your mind over and over—drowning out the yells; the fire.

Just a moth readily willing to smash into that barrier until it dies. You hum under your breath and rest the gun into the crook of your shoulder, cheek to stock.

Your finger slams into the trigger.

—

You stumble out of the loud infirmary with a bloody rag pressed deeply into your forehead, medical pouch under one arm. You hear rushing feet and barked orders from nurses and doctors just before the door closes, cutting off as you stake out on your own.

Limping, you reason there were others with more severe wounds than your own; as blood drips from your flooded rag, your feet take you deep into the base one broken step at a time. You’d figure it out yourself.

Plus, the silence would give you time to think. Think about König.

You just gritted your teeth and decided that was better than taking up space in the infirmary.

In times like these, the Austrian would fix your wounds for you, just as you did his. While you had your disagreements and heated fights, he’d never made it as personal as he had hours beforehand. Never made it hurt.

“Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing your other crusty hand over the mud along your chin. Everything ached and you don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing.

Flinching along like a downed bird, you shove through into the last door into the barracks; thoughts now stuck on finding a chair to sit down on before your legs gave out. The darkness of the common area was deep—staining your eyelids as you grunt, bumping into the back of the couch.

It’s almost funny the way the lamp flicked on mere moments later.

You hiss, eyes snapping shut as the rays attack your sight, rendering you blind for a moment. The shaking hand on your dripping rag tightens before the spark of pain makes you lighten the pressure.

There’s a dark grunt just as you open your eyes back up.

“You are late.” König.

He sits in one of the chairs—sniper hood still over his head yet only clothed in a large compression shirt and casual camo pants. Like a disappointed parent, the Austrian’s arms were crossed over his chest; feet resting out and crossed at the ankles. With such a big stature the look could strike fear into anyone.

Anyone but you, that is.

König’s dark eyes rove over you, stopping immediately on the fabric you keep to your forehead. The previous, furious, tone stops and the flash of very real concern takes precedence. His hands tighten on his biceps, thighs tensing over the cushion; spine just a little bit straighter.

You watch and say nothing—dead-faced.

Your heart suddenly skips beats, stuck into the framework of the man’s eyes. König’s brows peel back and a timid stutter stays in your breast.

“...Vögelchen?” Lids blink rapidly, and before you can register anything because of your blood loss and fatigue, you’re being dragged to the couch and forced to sit down.

Strong hands encompass your shoulders and small breaths flutter in front of your face as König peels back to kneel in front of you; spying the medical pouch in your under-arm.

“What is this?” He mutters to you, vision flinching along your body but always dragging back to the bloody rag on your face. “What did you do to yourself?”

Scarred hands raise before pausing, obsidian eyes staring deeply into yours as if in frantic question. Your own gaze keeps him close, spying on his veiled fear at the sight of your blood and your disappearance. He’d heard about the mission, then, that much was upfront because of his earlier comment.

The humvee had been late arriving back. Half an hour.

“Fuck off,” you utter, shoving off the couch before you’re captured in an unyielding press again, shoved down. Your anger spikes along with your unease, “König! I don’t have the patience—”

“I’m sorry.” The fight leaves you.

Fingers squeeze your biceps, hold lightly shaking with nerves. “I did not mean it.” Obsidian pierces you, “Please, Vögelchen, I am sorry. Utterly. I speak so fast I misplace words—get far more,” words fail as you stare so intently at him, a strange feeling swirling in your gut. König’s face was going crimson again, though not from anger. His tone was deep and honest, accent becoming more whole with emotion. The hands on your skin stay. “Rude than I intend. It is not an excuse, but…”

In the horizontal oval of his hood, you spy the dots of tiny freckles; the whispers of auburn hair. That hawk nose still points violently from behind the fabric. König never finishes his sentence, just takes a large breath and looks to the side after a moment of silence.

Then he steals the medical pack from your grip and opens the zipper with firm fingers, taking out gloves and gauze. Needle and sutures. It’s all placed on the side table as the bear of an Austrian stays on his knees for you—bending and shifting as the bottom of his shirt rides up.

It’s a tense affair of touching skin; warmth and hissed curses. Gentle shushing. But you say nothing through it. Until he’s up in your face trying off stitches with forceps and a needle holder, breath making his hood lightly caress your bloodless face. His fingers are large and firm, never second-guessing or stuttering over the course of directing tools that dig a needling and thread into your flesh.

He’s warm and every motion elicits shivers. You see his form from the side of your eye; his face’s outline as the lamp light illuminates the hood’s fabric. Shadowy silhouette of König’s strong jaw that shifts with every other breath from his wide chest.

“You’re an asshole for saying that to me, y’know.” you slip your gaze away just as he snaps over. “Adrenaline or not.”

The needle pauses and a swift nod is given.

“I…I know it was. No amount of apologizing can explain how very horrible I feel. It was like I was so…so…” An annoyed grunt was leveled at himself.

“Pissed off?” You offer quietly.

“Yes! Pissed off.” Amused glances were shared, the air slowly smoothing out between the two of you. Dark eyes quickly look away from yours and König clears his throat terse-like. But softer, steadier, “I…could not bear it if I were to see you in harm and be unable to assist you. That…is why I was watching. Why I do watch you.”

Inside of you, it was like there was a pot of water on the stove, steadily boiling under the heat. Your eyes are delicately wide when the man’s hands leave your face; kneeling body still tall enough to stare into you.

“You are…” König pauses, but not to find the words. To ready himself. He takes a long breath. “You are special to me, my Vögelchen. I can not see you hurt,” a gesture to your forehead and creased eyes. As if your pain was his own. “Not like this.”

“What are you saying, König?” You whisper, face twisted with hurt and confusion. Apprehension. “You’re giving me mixed signals. We always fight with each other. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but…c’mon, now. Look at us.”

“Not…always.” He grumbled like a child, tools placed away and hands dripping blood before he slips the gloves off. They meet the side table with a tiny toss. The Austrian leans back onto his ankles, butt to heel. He begins to look at your forehead and you can practically hear his heart break. “I do not like arguing with you, you know that, yes?”

“Me neither,” you whisper, fingers fiddling as a sheen of anxiousness sets in. “You just,” you pause, “confuse me.”

König blinks in surprise, head tilting and large eyes shimmering. Your mind flashes to a curious cat and you try to explain with a burning face and fast lips.

“You say we’re partners but you never act like it,” he stares and listens. When had you both had a conversation like this before? “You make it seem like you can’t trust me to do the simplest task. I’m not,” your voice betrays you, cracking, “I’m not that useless, am I?”

He freezes, muscles going taunt.

“U-Useless? Nutzlos? No, no,” A hand comes to capture your chin and you let him move you where he wishes. Creased eyes lock on yours. “That is not right. You’re not useless to me—how could you be?” Pained brows move in, “did I make you think like this? Like I did not appreciate your skills?”

Your eyes burn, and the aches from your wounds mix with the pure fatigue in your flesh to leave your emotions running between sanity and sadness. A moment later you’re turning your head away.

König recaptures it, hands finding both sides of your cheeks. He looks shaky; desperate.

“No, please, Vögelchen, please. I need you to look at me.”

“König, I don’t—” You close your mouth before you let out the beginnings of a sob. “I can’t keep fighting with you.”

“I know, oh, I know,” his hands are so grounding it’s like you’re the inner pages of a book, and his grip the thick leather cover—leather laced with shared scars and the same that had stitched you up countless times. This push and pull had to end. “I cannot fight with you either—it tears me apart. Oh, du weißt gar nicht, wie sehr es mich schmerzt, dein wunderschönes Gesicht anzuschreien. Mit dir zu streiten bedeutet, meinen Verstand und mein Herz gleichzeitig zu brechen.” König’s thumbs run up and down your skin, still bloody with dried flakes falling to the ground. He seems not to care a bit.

“What can I do to fix this? Anything. Anything to get us to stop doing this to each other.” You stare into his eyes, both creased and glazed over.

There’s a brief moment where you wonder if anyone truly even knew you as well as König did—there was no one else that you shared such a deep connection with. Years upon years of being stuck at his side.

And someone else’s hands had never felt as good as his. They were hard and callused over but cupped your face as gently as one would cup water from a rippling stream. His eyes were stars; visible skin like porcelain, his breath raised a large and wide chest with a fast-paced heart. You could sense his throat trapping air.

König kneeled to you and bared himself.

Anything, he had said, to fix what he had said. To stop this.

There was one way you could think to stop this—it might not have been smart, certainly not, but…hmm…You gradually raised your hand raised from your lap and slipped it under the front of König’s hood.

Slowly, with all the delicateness of a glass dragonfly, your fingers strayed to the side of his neck to press into tight flesh. A rapid pulse.

The man goes to stone. It’s like you’ve stolen his nervous system. Dark eyes stay locked onto yours as you gaze back, hand dragging nails up with a light pressure near to the speed of a slug.

König whispers your name into the empty space and the oxygen seems to dry up. Warm light from the lamp cast phantoms on walls and over skin in a small moment of foreign discoveries. The Austrian swallows saliva and you feel his neck flex. You don’t answer him, just watch and feel his own hands tighten on your cheeks in warning.

But you never listen, do you? Reckless you were called. And König had been right.

You were reckless.

Your hand had now explored like a map the indents of hidden facial scars; long and short over jaw and lips. The hand that was doing this had hiked the sniper’s hood up around your wrist so that the man’s lashes were twitching as the fabric got too close to his eyes. And you watched. And so did he.

A twin pair of moths hitting a glass window, staring from opposite sides at one another until they realized the break in the frame.

“Anything?” You ask in a loose tone, barely heard above the flood in both of your ears.

König was breathing heavily but didn’t pull away. Pupils wide and body heavy to your touch. His spine briefly straightened, until he realized he had moved back slightly and immediately hunched again if only to keep your hands on him.

“I…” he grunts, “A…anything.” Fingers touch his nose, they spread under the hood to trace the bumps and marks he keeps hidden like buried treasure. Your vision takes in the otherworldly hue on his visible skin; the glaze of rapture in his eyes yet still that ingrained heat.

Your body shivers at the gravel in his accented English.

Fingers stall over his lips, hood showing you the pale being of König’s strong chin and jaw. You shift your touch to the side and find chapped lips revealed to you, a small palate scar that had healed to nothing more than a line up to his nostril.

You spare it nothing more than a glance before you look back into obsidian. Dark ether and dead galaxies devoid of stars. Swallowed in a sea of pasts and futures. You look for hesitation; for disgust.

You find none.

“You said that no one could ever love someone like me,” your head leans in, and your breath mingles together with an intimacy that had never been shared between this type of partners. König, as if broken from a spell, takes down a swift inhale of air into his stiff lungs. He stares with far back lids. Flashes of unidentified emotions. “Why did you say that?”

A moment of silence and of rabid hearts. The man’s lips twitch over yours as he answers slowly, not breaking eye contact for a moment. As if he did he’d be turned to rock. As if he’d miss something amazing from happening.

He speaks with a whispered confession.

“Because if they did—I would have to kill them. Because no other than I would be able to love you more.” Your world slows and your ears strain with the breathy words.

Face burning your lips part with shock and awe. Violent to any other, but to you this was a confession from a man that could meet you blow for blow—calm you and infuriate you all in one. Challenge you, but knew when he’d gone too far and how to properly apologize.

He’d waited in that chair for you all night, you’d realized.

For you to come back to him. His partner.

You press your lips to his and hear his pitiful sounds of gasped reassurance. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you let saliva drip off of your chins to splatter onto bent knees and shaking thighs.

König’s arms cage you; capture your waist and draw you closer, lips breaking apart before you both share a wide-eyed look of momentary pause. There was no room to breathe; to think. Chests hit together and fingers tighten to a tendon-visible hold.

The man's growing smile is wide from where you still hold his hood up by his nose, and with a lick of his red and wet lips, he reconnects your awaiting mouths.

This time, you’re the one to gasp.

“Lass mich zeigen, wie leid es mir tut, Vögelchen.”

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akela-nakamura · 8 months

Text

DPxDC Prompt

Summoning is an imperfect art, mispronouncing a name or having an incorrect symbol can lead to unexpected, and sometimes explosive results. Summoning can open unexpected doors. No one's prepared for what--or who--steps through when a rising gang tries to summon backup.

My little ficlet for this is below the cut:

Smoke. The acrid slam of it in the nose, brought on by the screaming wind. Chanting. A chorus of voices, steady and thrumming. Pain. Everything is hazy, and it’s equal odds on it being from the smoke or the potential head injury.

Bruce stumbles to his feet, body throbbing.

This was not how he’d planned this night.

Of course, he hadn’t planned for Gotham to suddenly be overrun with a new…gang? They claimed to be a government organization, but Bruce has his doubts. He hadn’t had a chance to go through the GIW’s information, but according to Barbara, their claims were sketchy at best.

The shouting about ghosts and waving around sci-fi weapons with no trigger discipline certainly didn’t help their claims.

Government organization or not, they had no right to raid homes, to drag people out onto the street, or overall threaten his city.

His ears ring, and the chanting rises in volume, impossibly. His chest reverbes with the sound. It’s steady enough to feel like a second heart. His blurry vision locks onto the center of the summoning circle. Because this night couldn’t get any worse, of course.

First the GIW had rocketed up his list of threats with one simple move.

They’d gone after Jason.

Jason, who even now was laid out in the middle of the summoning circle, eyes bright, bright, bright green through the haze.

First they’d taken his son.

Then they’d used him as a sacrifice.

Bruce bared his teeth, locking eyes with the closest GIW agent. The man held up his weapon, a glowing baton. His form is weak.

The baton gord flying, Bruce’s armored elbow slamming the man to the ground. The agent curls up, groaning. Nightwing’s escrima sing electric in the background, followed by the whip of Tim’s bow staff. Damian’s sword glints through the haze, and purple flashes through the crowd of white, white, white.

He can’t see Cass, but he doesn’t expect too.

The ground rocks under his feet, and it takes several precious seconds to regain his balance. There seems to be an almost endless flood of agents, with more and more meeting his fists as he tries to make it through the gauntlet.

Suddenly, the air shifts, the scream of it heading for the circle instead of out.

The circle glows toxic green, and Jason’s at the center, frozen in the light.

“No!” Bruce shouts, the sound ripping from his soul.

It’s echoed by Dick, who stands just outside the circle’s boundaries. His hands are pressed against the light, his blue eyes a shock against the green.

It’s a confusion of people - GIW white and the summoner’s black. The GIW is here to end whatever it is they need Jason to summon to them. The summoners themselves seem to have broken away from the “agency” and want power from the being they’re calling. It’s a fight on multiple fronts, with the GIW fighting the summoners and Bruce and his family fighting them all.

The temperature drops.

“HOOD!” Dick screams, as Jason is swallowed by the green.

The chant is all he can hear, even as he shoves towards the circle, even as he slams against the same wall Dick’s against.

The world goes bright and he can’t keep his eyes on Jason. On his son.

When the light fades, Jason’s not alone.

A being sits six feet in the air, Jason collapsed over his lap, somehow hovering with the - what is he? He looks human, but there’s something wrong. Off. Bruce can’t quite pinpoint his age. A crown glows on his head, an ever shifting cape spills down his back, dragging close to the floor. His eyes are green as Lazarus, and just as deep. Jason is breathing, Bruce notes. The being’s hands curl in Jason’s hair, playing with it idly.

The air is *rigid, and everyone’s stopped fighting. No one can draw their eyes away from the being.

“You dare to summon me with one of my own?” The being speaks, and it’s like crackling glaciers. Someone whimpers.

“We - wanted to give you a gift,” One of the men in black says, his voice chattering.

It’s like breathing in ice.

“A gift?” The being says and the sound is fury, banked in a waiting avalanche. “What kind of gift is this? A denizen of my Realms, trapped and tortured? Used to summon his king, against his will? This is no gift.”

“B-but we didn’t know,” another speaks, and then obviously realizes he shouldn’t have.

“Ignorance will not save you,” the being says, and it - he’s? - still holding Jason like he’s something precious. “And I am not the only one you have infuriated.

“I am not the only one you have awoken.”

To a man, the GIW agents cry out in panic. Bruce turns, looking for the threat but - the agents are buried to various depths in the cracked concrete floor. The ground is decidedly solid beneath Bruce’s feet but the agents would obviously not agree. They flounder, like the concrete is quicksand. The summoners are next, but it’s ice that gets them, crawling up their bodies until they’re locked into place.

“My lord!” One cries and promptly finds himself gagged.

Bruce can’t stay silent any longer. “Hood was used against his will to summon you,” he starts. The being’s eyes meet Bruce’s. “He didn’t want this. Is he alright?”

“Your son is fine,” the voice is rough, but feminine, and obviously not from the being. It’s around him, dancing through the steel beams and pushing through concrete. “You are mine, my knight. You and yours are mine. The little king will not harm him, nor you.” A figure forms off to his right.

“Holy shit,” Dick whispers. Bruce has to agree.

She’s made of concrete, of broken brick and dust, of bone and police tape, of twisted metal and more.

“Gotham,” Bruce breathes, and he doesn’t know how he knows but he does.

“Hello, my knight,” she says, her form shifting. She turns slightly, and there’s something sharp in her movement. “Hello, little king.”

“Lady Gotham,” The being - the king? - returns. “You look well,”

Lady Gotham laughs, a ringing sound - it’s bells and gravel, fresh air on a summer day and rising wind. “How you flatter me, little king. Do you fear me?”

The being grins, mischief dancing around him, white hair floating high. “I respect you. It’s good to see you awake, Milady.”

“What is happening?” Tim asks no one in particular. Dick shrugs and Steph just leans harder on Tim. Cass holds Damian’s shoulder firmly, watching carefully.

Bruce wishes he had an answer.

“It is good to be awake,” Lady Gotham says, and she shifts closer to the circle, fingers skimming against the barrier of light. “How long do you intend to keep my reaper from me?”

Reaper. Bruce thinks, and it’s a gut punch.

It makes sense, to describe Jason. Jason can go where Bruce cannot, do what Bruce cannot.

The king laughs lightly. “The summoning harmed him, Milady. I’m just keeping him safe. I’m not here to undermine you,” the king’s eyes glow. “But remember who is king.”

Lady Gotham smiles. “I’m aware of hierarchy little king.”

“My son,” Bruce says, because there’s no point in pretending Jason is anything less. He’s talking to - the embodiment of gotham and a king of - something. “He’ll be okay?”

Lady Gotham sighs. “He will be fine, my knight. The little king cares for his own.”

“What - what are you the king of?” Tim asks, bold.

The being smiles.

“I am Phantom,” he says. “I am the Ghost King.”

Jason stirs in his lap, and the implications crash over Bruce. Maybe Reaper has more meaning than he’d thought.

#DPxDC #Akela's Antics #Prompts #Ficlets #Crossover #DP x DC

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scuderiahoney · 4 months

Text

Always Walk Me Home

Max Verstappen x Reader // Strawberry Wine Pt I

Strawberry Wine Series

Masterlist

Summary: You and Max are keeping things casual. Sooo casual. You can be casual. Right?

Word Count: 4.3k

a/n: Heeeeere we go, his number is in my bio for a reason, it’s my other favorite boy! This one is heavily inspired by some of the prompts on this list. anyways enjoy!

Warnings: alcohol/mild intoxication, mild sexual references, google translated Dutch

Things with Max are… brand new. Everything is still fresh. Everything he does gives you butterflies, makes your heart skip a beat. It’s the honeymoon phase, as everyone calls it.

It’s so brand new that nobody knows. Nothing is… official, yet. You’ve just been on a few dates, had a few movie nights. You’ve stayed at his place a couple times, waking up with his arm around your waist and Jimmy and Sassy curled up next to you. It’s casual. You’re keeping things casual. Max seems content to feel things out, to keep seeing you without labeling it. You’re trying so hard to be casual about it that it’s almost embarrassing.

You feel like everyone sees straight through you. On top of spending time alone together, you and Max are friends, so you see each other at group outings and clubs and dinners with your other friends. Max acts the same there as he always has- kind, courteous, and friendly. You won’t lie, sometimes you wish he’d hold your hand or pull your chair out for you or something, anything to show you that you’re not the only one feeling less than casual. But you’re scared of scaring him away, so you keep your mouth shut.

…..

You’re out to dinner with friends, somehow ending up sitting next to him. It’s nice, really nice. You can smell his cologne, can feel the warmth radiating off of him at the packed table. You have to fight the urge to nudge his foot with yours, to press your knee against his. That wouldn’t be very casual of you. You can do this, you can be normal.

He’s saying something to the person next to him, laughing and leaning towards them. You want to be the reason he’s laughing, want to be in on the jokes. You keep your mouth shut and look at the menu instead.

“What are you going to get?” Max asks.

He’s suddenly in your space. He’s leaning close, his shoulder brushing against yours. Be normal. You shrug, sliding your finger down the menu.

“Probably the shrimp scampi,” you say, pointing at the item.

Max nods. “You love seafood.”

You blink, breath caught in your chest. He’s right, but you didn’t know he knew that. Let alone for him to say it as fact. It’s not like he’s whispering either- someone else could hear. It’s silly, because it’s such a small thing, but you’re overanalyzing everything about it.

“I do,” you agree, turning and smiling at him.

“I remember things,” he says, a soft smile on his face, and now your face is growing hot.

Someone draws his attention away, and you look back to the menu. You nearly yelp in shock when something brushes your knee, but- it’s Max, you realize with a start, his hand searching for something. You hold your breath. His fingers find yours, and he interlaces your hands, palm to palm. He keeps them resting on your leg.

You try to take even breaths. He’s holding your hand in public, with your friends right next to you. Sure, it’s under the table, but this is the most you’ve gotten from him in a setting like this. He’s held your hand on dates, done much more in the privacy of his home, but here it feels overwhelming. His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, and you resist the urge to hold on so tightly to him that he can’t let go.

Eventually the food comes, and you both let go so you can eat. But it was nice while it lasted.

…..

Max’s apartment is spacious and cozy, despite the fact that he’s gone from it so often. There’s a warmth here, an aura that just screams Max. His cats roam freely, though while you’re there they have a tendency to follow you around.

“They are traitors,” Max accuses as Jimmy and Sassy weave around your ankles in the kitchen.

“Maybe I’m just better than you,” you say.

“Oh, you are,” he says, sending up a swirl of butterflies in your stomach. “But I feed them. So they are traitors.”

You laugh, leaning down to pet the cats. They nudge their heads against your hands and legs, paw at your socks, and when you walk into the living room, they follow after. Max just watches with disappointment.

By the time he joins you in the living room, drinks in hand, both of them are curled up in your lap. He lets out a huff and sets the drinks on the table. Then he’s nudging at the cats, and you cry out when he pushes them both off your lap.

“Max!” You say, appalled.

He laughs, lays down on the couch, and promptly placed his head exactly where the two cats had been. He stares up at you with a wide grin, eyes squeezed nearly shut.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you answer.

He reaches for one of your hands. He squeezes your fingers softly before bringing your hand up to his hair. You laugh and take the hint, start running your fingers through the blonde strands. He lets his eyes fall shut. Then you watch as he brings his hand up, purses his lips, and points at them.

You take that hint too, lean over and plant a kiss on his lips. When you try to pull away, he wraps a hand around the back of your neck and keeps you there. He deepens the kiss, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of your neck to hold you there. It’s not the best angle, but it’s nice, always nice to kiss him.

He finally lets you go and collapses back into your lap, a satisfied smile on his reddened lips.

…..

“I can’t open it!” You squeak. “What the fuck, how do they make it look so easy?”

You’re holding a bottle of champagne in your friend’s apartment, trying to get the cork out. It doesn’t help that you’re scared- one too many horror stories about someone getting a cork to the eye, or breaking a window. You huff and try again, gently. No use.

“Lando slams it on the ground,” your friend suggests, her eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, and he also shattered one of Max’s trophies,” you say. “So maybe not the best example.”

You hear familiar laughter, then, and you drop one hand to your side, still holding the bottle in front of you with the other. Max makes his way through the kitchen, a smile on his lips that paints his whole face. You hold it out to him, pouting.

“No, no,” he says. “I’ll show you.”

He wraps his hand around yours, around the bottle. You can’t lie, your mind goes somewhere else for a second, but you tamp those thoughts down and try to focus.

“See, you put this hand on the cork,” he instructs, “and this hand on the bottom.”

His hands are warm over yours. Your face feels hot. Does he feel the sparks when his skin touches yours, too? Or is this normal for him? Is it just a friend helping another friend? You wish you knew, wish he’d say something to quell your worries and calm your racing heart.

“-and then you twist, like this,” he demonstrates.

The bottle hisses, and you jump, but there’s no dramatic pop, no shooting of the cork. You just pull it out, and you stare at the bottle with wide eyes. Oh. That was-

“Easy, right?” He says. “You are already a pro.”

You laugh, shake your head, and hold out the bottle to your friends, standing there with their empty glasses. You want to study their faces, ask them if they noticed anything. You want to ask if they saw the sparks, too. Someone takes the bottle, and your hands fall to your side, the cork still between your fingers.

Your knuckles brush against something- when you look, it’s Max’s hand. He’s still standing there, watching as everyone passes the bottle around. You swallow tightly, bump your hand into his. Deliberately. You want to look up at his face, want to gauge his reaction, but you resist the urge.

Max reaches his pinky out and hooks it with yours. For just a moment, standing in the kitchen, surrounded by your friends, you’re linked. The sparks run from his finger, up your wrist and arm and straight to your heart. Your chest fizzes like the champagne, bubbly and overflowing.

…..

You weren’t even planning on seeing Max tonight. It’s a girls night, one that’s been suggested over and over, each of you being too busy to make it happen until tonight. You’re at your favorite bar, bass thudding in your chest, your friends all around you.

And then, there’s a tingling feeling in your spine. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Someone is watching you. You turn over your shoulder and lock eyes with Max.

He’s leaning against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other. He has a black t-shirt on that’s always been one of your favorites- it hugs his upper arms and his chest so perfectly. He’s watching you, a soft smirk on his lips, a drink in his hand. Everyone is moving around you, but you’re stuck on him.

You smile, wave, and force yourself to turn back to your friends. You like him, you want to spend time with him, but you’ve been neglecting your friendships because of it. Your friends have been teasing you all night about how you’ve been too busy, how you keep checking your phone, how there must be a guy. You’ve denied it at every turn. You can’t leave them now. Ditching your friends for the guy who isn’t even your boyfriend would be the opposite of casual. You force yourself not to look at him, but you swear you can still feel him staring.

Ten minutes later, a bartender appears with a tray of shots and lime wedges. “For you,” she says, pointing at you, and your friends squeal in excitement. She points behind you, then. “From him.”

You turn over your shoulder again. Max is watching, and waving this time. You laugh and wave back, and your friends all do the same. He’s far away, too far to make it in time as you each grab a shot and throw them back in unison. You put the lime between your lips and turn to look at him again, raising your brows. He laughs, eyes lit up so bright you can see the blue even across the room, you swear. Then he juts his chin in the direction of the hallway when nobody else is looking. A message just for you.

You find him out there ten minutes later, trying not to make it obvious and taking the time to come up with an excuse- you fake a phone call. The hall is empty when you walk out, and you wonder if he’s given up on you- you know you saw him walk out. Then he pops his head out from around a corner and waves you over frantically.

He’s leaning against the wall, the same way he was in the club. You stand against the wall on the other side of the hallway and stare at him.

“I’m not leaving right now,” you say. “I promised I’d stay out late.”

“I know,” he says. “Just wanted to see you.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah? Seeing me across the bar wasn’t enough?”

The tequila running in your veins has you feeling braver than usual. It doesn’t seem to scare Max. He just grins wider, brow quirked.

“No, it wasn’t,” he says. “You’re pretty from far away, but even prettier up close.”

Your face feels hot. He pushes off from the wall, leans towards you. He could box you in if he wanted, could pin you right there, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes your hand in his and pulls you away from the wall, too. The kiss he sweeps you into is sweet. He wraps his arm around you, and you sling yours around the back of his neck. One of his hands cradles the side of your face as he deepens the kiss. Out of all of it, you’re much more focused on the feeling of his thumb on your cheek than the feeling of his lips on yours. It’s strangely intimate, strangely soft, the way he holds you as he kisses you in the hallway of a bar. The way his nose nudges against your cheek, the way he pulls you closer and closer like he can’t get enough.

He pulls away, leaves you gasping for air.

“You taste like lime,” he says.

You nod, dumbfounded.

“You should go back to your friends,” he suggests, kissing your temple. “If I keep kissing you I won’t want to let you go.”

You breathe out a laugh and slap his shoulder. “If you keep staring at me in the club I won’t be able to focus on anything else.”

He laughs. “I know,” he says. “That’s what makes it fun. Besides, you’re fun to watch.”

…..

Three days later, Max is holding your purse. He’d taken it from you when you were all standing in the lobby of the restaurant and your friend dragged you into the bathroom. He’d promised to keep it safe. Now you’re back, your friends are gathering their things and saying goodbyes, getting ready to go home. You’re watching him.

The little black bag looks even smaller in his hands. His fingers are wrapped around the clutch, thumb rubbing back and forth across one of the stitches the same way it had on your skin the night before. He’s talking to someone else, but when there’s a break in the conversation, you nudge him.

“I can take that back,” you say, holding your hand out.

He tilts his head, blinks softly. “That’s okay. I’ll carry it.”

You’re sure you’re staring at him like a deer in the headlights. “Okay, but I’m leaving, so I need my purse.”

He nods. “I thought maybe I could walk you home. If you wanted.”

You nod in response, feeling a bit dumbfounded. The two of you exit the restaurant, waving goodbye to your friends. He takes your hand the second you’re outside, your purse still in his other one. Your fingers knit together like second nature, now. You could predict the pattern of the brush of his thumb against your skin like clockwork.

Your apartment isn’t far, but you find yourself walking slow on purpose, prolonging the moment. You pass people on the street and you know that to them, the two of you look like a real, actual couple. It’s nice to pretend. You lean into his shoulder, and he stumbles and laughs and keeps both of you upright. The two of you talk the whole way there, about everything and nothing and all the stuff in between.

When you reach the apartment building, he finally holds your purse out to you. You open the clutch, digging through it to find your keys and the front door access card. He watches in amusement as your fingers fumble through the bag.

“D’you wanna come up?” You ask. “I have some of that wine you like.”

You pull the card triumphantly from your bag. You look up at him, and he’s smiling softly, something sparkling in his eyes that makes your breath hitch. Makes the champagne bubble in your chest all over again.

“That’s okay,” he says, softly. “I’ve got to get back to the cats. But can I take you to breakfast tomorrow?”

You blink, card still pinched between your fingers. “Yeah, sure.”

He tilts his head at you. “Maybe brunch. You are going to need sleep. How about you text me when you wake up and we’ll go from there?”

You nod. He nods back. Then he reaches up, cups the side of your face in his hand. He’s so gentle about it, more so than he normally is. When he presses his lips to yours, he tastes like gin and he kisses like… like he cares for you. Like this isn’t leading somewhere else, like he’s not going to pull you into his lap and start trailing kisses down your neck. He kisses you just to kiss you, just to say goodnight.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says when he pulls away. “Goodnight, liefje.”

You smile up at him. “Goodnight, Max.”

He smiles back. Then he leans forward and presses his lips to your forehead softly. You swear you’re melting into the sidewalk. You must be a puddle under his feet. You want to press yourself into his chest, tell him to wrap his arms around you, ask him to never let you go.

But you’re trying so hard to be so good at being casual, so you kiss his cheek, turn around, and walk inside. You take the elevator up, leaning against the wall and covering your giddy smile with your hand. When you get into your apartment, kick off your heels, and drop your bag on the counter, your phone buzzes. It’s a call. You look at the screen and see Max’s face.

“Hello?” You answer.

“Did you get in alright?” He asks.

Your heart squeezes fiercely in your chest. He sounds so soft, asking it. You walk over to the window, peel back the curtains, hoping you’re right about what you think you’ll see. There he is, still standing in front of the entrance, phone to his ear. He’s staring up at your window. When he sees you, he waves.

“Yeah,” you say. “You didn’t have to wait, you know.”

But I’m so glad you did.

“Yes I did,” he says, voice soft and scratchy from the night out. “Had to make sure you were safe.”

“Okay,” you breathe. “Let me know when you get home, okay?”

“I will,” he says. You watch as he waves again, smiling up at you. “Goodnight.”

…..

He picks you up for brunch the next day. By the time you’re in his car, it’s nearly 10:30. He drives with his hand on your knee, like always, fingers dancing across your exposed skin below the hem of your sundress. You like watching him drive, like being here with him. He pulls up to the restaurant and runs around to open your door for you, leaving you laughing. He hands the keys to the valet. Then he slips his arm around your waist and leads you inside.

You’ve been on dates with him, but none this fancy, none where you feel a little out of your element. Max seems comfortable, though- it’s moments like these where you’re reminded he’s not just your-friend-Max. He’s F1-world-champion-Max-Verstappen. Of course he can get a reservation here with such short notice. They’re honored to have him here.

A waiter leads you to a booth in the back. The restaurant is bright and airy, fresh flowers on every table. Max asks for a pitcher of water and orange juice before the waiter leaves. He pulls your chair out for you, pushes it in when you sit down. Your palms are sweating, heart beating rapidly. It’s just- this is the closest you’ve come to feeling like you’re actually dating him. Suddenly, it’s terrifying.

You ask him what’s good on the menu. He points out his favorites- the French toast, the eggs Benedict, the omelettes. He tells you he’s going to order a fruit sampler for the two of you to share, and you smile softly.

“They always have the best strawberries,” he tells you, eyes lit up. “You love strawberries.”

“I do,” you tell him, warmth filling your cheeks. “You do too.”

You’d bonded over that, when you first became friends. A strawberry wine that nobody else wanted to drink. Too sweet. You’d split the bottle with Max and went to bed with a sugar rush, your lips still tasting like strawberry. Ever since, for every special occasion, the two of you have gifted each other that same strawberry wine. It’s a running joke, among your friends- you’ll open the bottle, ask if anyone wants a glass. They’ll ignore you, but Max will come running.

He opens his mouth to say something, but over his shoulder, you spot something that makes your blood run cold.

“Shit,” you mutter.

He looks at you in concern. “What is it?”

“Nothing, just-“ you sigh. “Your coworker is here.”

Charles Leclerc has just walked in the door, a girl on his arm. The waiter is pointing in your general direction, towards an open table a little ways away. There goes your whole morning. He’s going to want to leave now.

Max turns to look, brows raised. “Oh. At least it’s one I like.”

You can’t help the laugh. “Should we go?”

Max turns back to you, perplexed. “What, get up to say hi? I don’t like him that much. He’ll come over here when he sees us.”

Us. You wish he meant it how you want him to.

“No, like-“ you sigh, gaze flickering down to the table. “You don’t want people to know, so-“

“What?” He asks, wide eyed. “What do you mean, I don’t want-“

“You didn’t want to tell anyone,” you say, quietly. You can’t look at him. “We haven’t even really talked about this, and… I figured you…”

You trail off, because you can feel him staring at you. He reaches over and tucks his finger under your chin. He tilts your face upwards towards his. His gaze is soft, a small smile on his face.

“Schatje, you have to be joking,” he says, and you stare back at him. “Of course I want to tell people. I have wanted to tell the whole world since I kissed you the first time.”

You blink. “But you- you didn’t want to put a label on it. You never…”

“We never talked about it,” he says. “I was giving you time. I’m a lot. Dating me is a lot. You are… I was following your lead.”

“Oh my god,” you blurt out, a giddy feeling in your chest. “Oh my god, I’m so dumb.”

The two of you just stare at each other for a moment. His eyes are bright and sparkling, his smile spreading across his whole face. You’re so done being casual.

Charles appears at the end of your table seconds later, smiling at the two of you. “Max, hi, good to see you. And I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,” he adds, turning to you.

“Charles, this is my girlfriend,” Max says, reaching across the table to take your hand.

When you greet Charles, you can’t wipe the giddy grin from your face. It stays there the whole rest of the day- through breakfast, through a walk through a park, through a late lunch at Max’s with the cats winding around your ankles. Every time it starts to fade you think of Max, bright blue eyes, his finger under your chin. You fall asleep still smiling. You’re pretty sure it’ll be there when you wake up.

…..

The next time you go out with your friends, Max carries your bag the whole night. He also keeps his hand on the small of your back nearly constantly. He orders and pays for all of your drinks, includes you in all the conversations, and brushes his lips against your temple every time there’s a lull in the talking.

Nobody questions it. None of your friends even bat an eye. You find out why when you end up in the bathroom with the girls, a tradition as old as time itself.

It turns out they all already knew.

“Max told us all the day after he kissed you the first time,” someone tells you. “And then he told us we all had to act like nothing was different, because he didn’t want to scare you off.”

You collapse into a fit of laughter, bracing yourself against the sink. All this time, you were worried about it, and he’d told everyone right away. You’d thought you were the one struggling to be casual. God, you’d have saved yourself so much trouble if you’d only asked. If you’d only told him straightforward what you wanted. If you’d only been up front.

You’re giddy with it, then. You can feel it coursing through your veins and buzzing in your fingertips. You won’t call it love yet, at least not out loud. It’s too soon, right? It can’t be love. But it’s something, and now you want him next to you. You want his lips on yours again. You’re missing him even though he’s just through the door, waiting for you, your bag in his hand.

When you return to his side, you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. You watch his smile grow and his cheeks turn red. You place your hand on his shoulder and put your lips against his ear.

“You should take me home,” you tell him.

His cheeks get even redder, and he turns to you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say with a nod. “You’ll walk me home, right?”

“Always,” he agrees.

He takes your hand, squeezes lightly. You feel like you’re glowing brighter than the neon lights above your head.

…..

You slip up over your morning cup of coffee three days later. The cats are in your lap. There’s the perfect amount of cream and sugar in the mug, he’s made it exactly right. The sun is shining through the windows, bouncing off his hair and painting his skin in golden light. You weren’t going to say it out loud, you really weren’t, but it slips past your lips anyways.

“I love you,” you say.

Max laughs, takes the mug from your hands, and kisses you.

Then he says it right back.

read the prequel/ sequel, Someone Sane

okay, now I’ve got my three favorite boys in the masterlist! thanks for reading! come say hi, or check out more of my writing here. drop an ask or a dm to be added to the tag list!

taglist: @4-mula1

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #formula one fic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 x reader #f1 fanfic #max Verstappen #fanfic #max verstappen fluff #fluff #honeywrites #mv1 #strawberry wine verse

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hazelfoureyes · 2 months

Note

Have you ever thought about the idea of a Clueless ace reader x ace alastor trying to figure out what all the fuss is about? Couple different ways it could go obviously but I feel like it would be a perfect comedy smut

Thank you for this meal. Okay I know this is LOOSELY based on your prompt, please forgive me. Can I add in that they be a little tipsy?

After a few drinks, you and Alastor do your usual teasing and mimicking of the others dramatic displays of physical affection. But, unusually, Alastor seems to be really invested in the joke tonight…

Warnings/promises: light smut (fingering), wrong kind of haha, sconces, bad Angel accent, Under 1500 words

maybe the tag list? Works list: @ xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx

Alastor list: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

Fuck Joke Around and Find Out

The evening started with drinks among the group gathered at the bar. Everyone talking, sipping, leaning into each other to be heard better. Vaggie’s fingers playing with Charlie’s, Angel inching closer and closer to Husk until he was quite literally on top of him, to Husk’s obvious embarrassment. At some point, Angel took Husker’s hand, the two slinking down the hallway. Soon after, Vaggie not-so-discreetly followed a bouncing Charlie to their top floor home.

After realizing the couples snuck off, you turned to Alastor and asked, already smiling, “Oh I guess it’s our turn?”

Your giggling slipped into mutual cackles, his brows rose and he asked, “Your room or mine?”

You threw your leg over Alastor’s lap and straddled him, mustering your best Angel Dust accent, “Pssst rooms are for squares, baby.”

Normally, especially when having a little to drink, the physical barrier between each other was thin and easily toppled. An unspoken understanding had formed some time ago, allowing you both to relax a little more than usual when in close proximity. He still attempted his touchy intrusions to fluster and bother people, but he knew that didn’t work quite as effectively on you.

“Squares? Oh, not us.” A smirk, his head somewhat dramatically shaking a reinforced ‘no’, making his bobbed hair sway left and right.

When you start a pitifully-motivated grinding against him, losing balance and tipping backward, Alastor’s large hands come to the dip of your hips and still you. A laughed, accent-less, “Thanks, trying to do it like he did,” fell sloppily from your mouth, your hands going to his shoulders for extra security. Your head bent down, stifling another nervous giggle from spilling out. “I think this is exactly how Angel had Husk pinned. Not a convincin’ portrayal, pookie?” Your accent was shit, but he smiled all the same. His ears were pressed down and to the side, resting a little more against his skull than usual, something that seemed to happen often when he had a couple glasses. It looked more relaxed than his normal way of wearing them, but you never asked him about it.

Alastor’s finger tipped your chin upward, pulling you in for a kiss against his grin. When you huffed, fighting the awkward laugh, he swiped his tongue over your lips and slid into your mouth. A hum, as you relaxed into it. What a long joke this is, you think somewhere a little up and to the left of your liquor softened mind.

When alone together, you’d occasionally play around. Just mimicking what ridiculous things the other sinners had done recently, laughing and moving on to general gossip and conversation. Maybe the alcohol was dragging out the bit.

His hands pulled you forward, your little hip movements actually making contact with his crotch now. You hear yourself moan into his mouth before you even realize you’d made the noise.

Thinking becoming a little fuzzy, you pull back from him, “Oops. Sorry. Got carried away.”

“No need to apologize. What’s a little joking around between pals?”

You nod before a surprised shriek is forced out of you, Alastor pulling your hips down and starting to sincerely grind against you.

“I didn’t expect you to remember all the moves, Alastor.” Your hand came to your mouth trying to still the tremble of your lips as you spoke. Other hand now gripping his shoulder to stay upright. You’d never have played around with any one else but him like this. Too much confusion to deal with after. But, Alastor’s “playing” was so convincing. You weren’t minding it, to your surprise, but you weren’t sure you understood the source material as well he did.

His head fell back with a roar, “Being an infrequent lover doesn’t mean I am a bad one.”

Oh. Was the blush on your face noticeable in the dingy light of the parlor? You had never heard him say that word before. His hips were still moving, but the laughing stopped. It wasn’t unpleasant, in fact you found yourself sinking a little more, letting your weight settle fully. It earned you a sloppy half-smile from him. “That would make them experts, compared to us,” You motioned your head in the general direction of the stairs.

“You think so?”, he leaned up to kiss you, you leaned back a little, causing his lips to miss yours. A quick annoyed glare passed over his face before slipping back into a neutral stare, “Are you in the mood for a good joke tonight, dear? I wouldn’t be opposed to making you”, he grazed his nose against yours, “laugh.”

You let him capture your mouth with his, a surprisingly more intense kiss, before pulling away again when you caught another moan rising up, “I don’t mind a good laugh, now and then.” Did you-you say that or Angel-you?

The sofa cushions were pressing into your back before you could process what had happened. Alastor’s body was resting between your legs, which were spread open around him. His lips didn’t leave yours, one of his hands cradling your neck to trap you between him and his hungry mouth. The other was undoing the button of your pants and sliding under the band of your underwear.

His back was arched, his considerable height forcing him to bend over you if he wanted to continue the kiss, which he apparently did. Now on your back, you wiggled under him, awkward and uncertain what role you played anymore.

When his fingers slipped past your bottom lips and the mound of his hand ground into your clit, you pulled away from him and both hands shot to your mouth. You were aware you were in a public space but you couldn’t see anything past the sofa. Everything beyond him and the tattered chaise lounge was shadowy and lacking contrast. Even then, your heart was pounding.

When did the playing around shift? Was this—- did he think this was funny? His smile was strong against your neck still, but maybe not?

You splayed your fingers out to better hide yourself, embarrassed at how your hips rolled into his palm. Looking past your hands, you could see him staring down at you now, wide shoulders hiding you from the light of the sconces above. He had the same look as always in his eyes, nothing out of place. Cooly, he asked without actually wanting an answer, “Do you think this is what they’re doing now? Or is everyone already…”

A finger slipped down and into you, your legs clenching around his hips. You heard him sigh, before a second finger began to push in. Your hips lifted off the sofa and angled into his hand, welcoming the way he was pressing down and into you.

Oh, yeah, no.

A pent up moan tumbled past your lips when his fingers crooked up and pressed into the soft bundle of nerves just inside your entrance.

“What a curious laugh you have, my dear. Are my jokes that good?” He buried his face into the crook of your neck again when a voice stopped him from leaving the little marks he had been set on.

“I thought jokes were supposed to be funny. When is the funny part going to happen?”

Alastor’s ears were pin-straight into the air, hair stiff and sharp, as his face slowly turned to the side to see Niffty sitting at the bar.

”Oh, was I suppose to leave when everyone else did?” His hand slipped out of you and then in turn, your pants.

“No, Niffty, dear. That’s quite alright.”, Ears faced back and down, eyes half lidded and smile clearly forced, “We were just— playing around.”

“Really? Cuz it kinda looked like you guys were gonna fuck.” She hopped off the bar stool and scurried down the hall, “Please don’t dirty the sofa, sir.” echoing behind her.

You patted his shoulder, lifting yourself up on your elbows, “Can I be Husk next?”

I wrote this while washing dishes— the dishes aren’t very clean but neither am I

༻Masterlist༺

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pechoraflow · 4 months

Text

A Writer's Guide to Character Development

I don’t know about you guys, but I can only answer “what’s your character’s favorite flavor of ice cream” so many times before I realize those lists are not going to help me actually write the character.

So, instead, I like to drabble practice. Answer these ten key questions about your character (answer in character). Then, after you know them a little better, write ten scenes (NOT part of your planned story) with the ten prompts below. Set it in your world, but it can be whenever you want—pre-story, or post-story, or mid-story. You could even write two scenes for one prompt, contrasting where your character starts the story and where they end up, or write one in first person and then write it again in third.

Just has to cover events that are NOT plot points. The point of the exercise is to come up with scenes you can toss out as soon as you finish them. You might end up using some of the lines or scenes you come up with, but for now you’re just playing around.

QUESTIONS

What does your character tell everyone is their greatest fear? What is it actually? Is it the same? Why or why not?

What is their greatest strength and greatest weakness?

Name the most important people to this character. All of them. Family and close friends and lovers.

Does your character have enemies? Who and why?

What is your character’s favorite holiday and why?

How does your character like to present himself/herself? How do they dress? How do they act? Are they friendly or standoffish? Do they like to make a scene, or are they a wallflower?

What is their love language? How do they express it, and how do they best receive it?

What is their highest virtue? What is something that peers would praise about your character? What do they value most in other people?

Are they messy or neat? Why or why not?

If your character could change one thing about their life, what would it be and why? And, conversely, if they could only save one thing from their life, what would it be?

PROMPTS

Your character has had a bad day. What happened?

Your character’s loved one is sick. What do they do?

It’s your character’s birthday.

Someone is hiding something from your character. How do they uncover what it is?

Your character has just heard the news. A character they loved is dead. Describe the rest of their day.

Your character is on their own for dinner.

Your character has the day to himself/herself. No responsibilities, nothing. What do they do?

In the middle of the night, your character hears a noise in the house.

Your character knows they will die at midnight. What is their last day like?

Your character suddenly develops amnesia. Their loved ones try to jog your character’s memories by taking them to familiar locations and reminiscing.

#writing help #character development #writing tips #writing advice #the last one is tricky!#happy writing!

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screampied · 2 months

Text

POKERFACE! — ☆ GOJO SATORU.

➤ popstar!gojo masterlist

headline. gojo gets nominated for his fifth grammy. you being his plus one, he takes you—yet right before he’s prompted to go on stage, instead of getting an award though, he gets a…boner.

wc. 4.9k

warnings. fem! reader, popstar!gojo, semi-public, degradation, praise, hair pulling, oral, unprotected sex, overstim, implied multiple orgasms, spit, creampie, fingering.

an. stream 'it guy' on all platforms for a cheap price of $69.69!

“and the award for best solo pop artist goes to...” there’s a long abrupt pause as the female emcee gently peels open the red-encased envelope. the audience grew quiet. you could hear a pen drop at the sudden anticipation for who would win. “satoru gojo—toru!”

gojo lets off a dramatic gasp. the cameras pan towards him and he tugs on his tie. everyone starts to clap inside the filled up arena before he turns towards you. holding out his hand for you to take, he mutters out a, “oh please. i’m not going up there alone, c’mon girl.”

you didn’t expect for him to drag you along too, the press were already speculating things about you two—yet you still placed your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his palm as he flashed you his cheesy popstar signature grin before ushering up towards the stage with him. bright lights throughout the scenery nearly blinded you as the both of you walked. amid the background played one of gojo’s most recent blown-up pop songs that topped the charts for seven consecutive weeks straight.

“heh. wow. uh. this is actually crazy,” gojo starts off, taking the small awkward, cupping it in his hand before leaning into the mic. “fifth award of the night. for once, i’m speechless,” and then he pauses to snicker. “….that’s a joke. you guys are supposed to laugh...”

the crowd goes into sudden forced laughter and you sigh, meeting eye contact with various a-list celebrities. you tug on your dress before feeling gojo bring you close to him, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“eh. but anyway, i just wanna start by thanking her,” and there’s sudden confusion. you glance at gojo before he grins straight at the audience, dimples poking near the corners of his mouth. “yeah. her pussy. it’s gotten me this far, and most celebs thank their fans or parents, but why not thank the most important thing?”

that….was hours later.

everyone was buzzing about how gojo ended up getting canceled for his famous, ‘thankful for my assistant’s pussy! speech.’

it made various article headlines—yet as of now, hours before that scene happened, you were currently in his dressing room with gojo for reasons you don’t even remember why.

“this is fucked,” he whines, pacing back and forth. you sat in one of his chairs. watching the pop star have his sixth outburst of the night, here he is complaining why he can’t go on stage. this was a regular thing, and by now you started to become used to it. “…i’m supposed to be on in five but i— i can’t do that.”

“any reason why?” you muttered, tracing a nail over your thighs, brushing against the fabric that ran against your skirt. “is it your stage freight again, ‘toru?”

“pft. that’s not funny,” he glares. “and no, it’s something more serious.” he trods his feet towards you, a few white strands racing down the sides of his eyes — it’s a cute unintentional look that makes you smile at him, seeing him up close. in this cute panicky state, gojo’s bright blue eyes remained on yours before his lip quivered. “it’s embarrassing.”

right before you were gonna speak, you glanced down at your phone, the text from one of gojo’s managers signaling how he should be preparing to be walk on stage in a few more minutes.

“uh huh,” you nodded, eyes fully darted away at your phone and not him. he frowns, glancing down himself before bringing two hands towards your shoulders for you to fully look at him.

the popstar had a long designer suit on, eye-catching in the least with various rhinestones pressed against specific spots. you picked out his outfits, a thing he doesn’t mind you doing.

“look at meee…it’s serious,” he pants, and you stare into his eyes, and it takes you a moment before you finally realize. “is this…what you call a uh.. wardrobe malfunction?”

“oh,” you mumble, not realizing how quickly your pupils averted toward his bulge. you prayed gojo didn’t notice, mainly due to how embarrassing not to mention unprofessional that’d be…staring between your clients’ legs.

“oh….” you repeated, watching gojo’s face flush entirely. a smile tugs against your lips before you furrow your brows, his hands still gripped onto your shoulders before you query, “satoru, do you have a boner?”

“ . . . ”

you giggle at his silence, and he only gets more abashed and flushed. your eyes continue to linger on the pop star. he removes his hands away from your shoulders as you stand up to face him. “is that why you can’t go on stage? because you’re hard?”

“don’t…say it like that,” he grumbles, a cute pout curling against his lips. you watch as he digs his hands into the holes of his pockets, having a staring contest with the marble ground before clearing his throat. “and yeah. it’s your fault so you need to help me uh.. you know.”

“how’s it my fault?” you play along, tilting your head.

“look at your outfit,” he whines, and he says that purposely just to take a second to check you out, which he does.

gojo’s eyes roam towards your body, the pretty long dress you wore — the color matched gojo’s outfit, it wasn’t anything too revealing but it was enough to make gojo suck his teeth. the structure of it made your curves, the physique of you entirely show off, and it made him bite his lip in such want.

“ever since you came in here, i felt all hot and um.. hard. just wanted an excuse to rip your dress off instead of attending this stupid awards ceremony.”

“well,” you whisper, bringing two fingers towards his tie, giving it a kittenish pull. gojo looks down at you, and he’s so flustered you could visibly see. the way the tips of his ears perked, he was panting a bit from feeling so tense. “what are you waiting for then?”

“you’re a really bad assistant,” he murmurs, his hands starting to trail up your waist, quickly unraveling the ribbon look that went against your back. “and a really fuckin’ bad influence.”

he snickers at the concluding part of his words before you feel the popstar’s warm lips press against yours.

you kiss back, and a finger of his lifts your chin upward. he tasted sweet, honeyed even.

gojo’s hands gingerly meander all over every inch of your body, he presses into you. so close to where you feel his bulge prod and prod. he moans into your mouth, strands of his hair tickling against your forehead. you run your tongue over his, tasting the sweet tang of what appears to be wine.

he was so needy, you could tell practically from his breathing patterns. a small grunt leaves his mouth once he leads you towards the sofa. gojo’s hands roamed all over your body, his touch made you flutter in response.

gojo strokes a tress of your hair before a smile tugs against the corners of your mouth. you ran a hand down to give his slacks a playful pull, his boxers were just about hanging out.

he moans into your mouth, and it’s shaky. your touch made both tips of his ears grow to a feverish hot. as your nose brushed against his, he then suddenly pulled away — gasping for air before his lip trembles.

“f-fuck, i can’t wait anymore. i need to feel your mouth,” he pants, bringing a hand to his face to cover his embarrassed state. the pop star was so impatient, that his body language showed entirely. he was the embodiment of the saying, ‘is it hot in here or is it just me?’

you giving him that cute doe-eyed expression only made things ten times worse — the bulge forever growing and throbbing achingly in his pants made his bite down on his lip.

“don’t be so loud,” you tease, and he’s still recollecting short breaths as he watches you make your way down on your knees.

gojo’s eyes linger down toward you, and he is already envisioning your mouth. just sinking straight down on his length, drool running down your chin — he couldn’t lie to himself.. ever since you started working with him, he’s had quite the imagination.

the thought of his pretty little assistant with her mouth all full, he’s gone down on you at least twice, but the image of you returning the favor made his mouth water.

“princess, i don’t wanna…rush you or anything, but make it quick, yeah? i do have a g-grammy to win after all,”

he swallows, watching you slowly start to unzip the fly of his pants. your stare did things to him that he simply couldn’t formulate into words. gojo brings a hand on top of your head, stroking a few strands of your hair before breathing. “if i’m late, ‘m gonna blame it on you.”

“you’ve gotta be the most unprofessional person i’ve ever worked with,” you roll your eyes with a sass.

a cold sweat runs down gojo’s neck once he watches you tug his black slacks down, leaning in to kiss the white print of his boxers.

once your eyes met with his bulge, you giggle, gradually lolling out your tongue to lick the hardness that was tucked underneath the fabric.

“f-fuckkk,” he breathes, keeping his eyes on you for the entire duration. he was so pent up, gojo’s boner made you lick your lips, purely from the intact sight.

as you traced your tongue all over his bulge, tasting the blandness of the fabric—you part your lips, slowly starting to peel his boxers off with your teeth. “dirty girl. you’ve been thinkin’ about this too, huh?”

you shake your head and he lets off a pouty frown. “don’t lie.”

a smile spreads amongst your lips again, and once his boxers were finally peeled off with the help of your teeth. you meet eye contact with gojo’s lengthy cock. just a quick second glance and your tongue was already salivating from pure zeal.

gojo was long, of course, he was well-trimmed.

yet, he had a few specks of white hair scattered near his base — it was sexy. your eyes stared at his body, the way his undershirt from his tuxedo was slightly lifted.

you could see his abs clenching, his happy trail that ran down…

“l-look what you did to me” he huffs, and his tone sounded entirely whiny. he had somewhat of an upward curve. you lean in to give the soft plump tip of his a chaste kiss.

a few remnants of pre-cum smother against your spit-glossed lips. gojo’s jaw tightens, watching you roll out your tongue unsteadily, swiping it against his frenulum. “just…just like that.”

a sharp breath gets caught in his throat, you looked so pretty like this — slowly lapping your tongue against his smooth cockhead.

his pre-cum barely had a taste to it. despite that, you’d still describe it as purely sweet. lashes of yours fluttered as you continued to taste him before starting to leisurely sink your mouth lower and lower.

“…damn,” he grunts, feeling his own eyes start to flutter. your mouth was so warm, it made gojo tighten the grip he had on your hair just a bit more. he tickled against your scalp with a ring that was thrown on his finger.

the pop star quickly started to grow obsessed with that tongue of yours, the way you playfully swirled it around the inner part of his tip—you knew the exact spots to reach. he shivers, feeling both temples of his cheeks burn with such intensity.

“keep lookin’ at me,” he murmurs sheepishly, raising a thumb against the side of your face to stroke your cheek lovingly. “stare at me while you’re gettin’ a good m-meal, yeah.”

your eyes flicker towards gojo, and he says that yet could barely hold eye contact. your gaze made him so flustered that he looks away. you simper, further inches going down your right throat.

he felt you roll your lips around your teeth, strands of spit already starting to seep near the corners of your mouth. gojo’s just groaning and whining in the distance—you were so good with your technique, it had him at a loss of words.

“spit on it,” he suddenly says, pulling your head up to look at him again. “i— i wanna make you a messy assistant for me. can you do that?”

you nod, skimming your tongue around his tip before breaking away, gathering a reasonable wad before spitting on his shaft, going back towards it to lap it up with such filthy ease.

“nasty girl,” he starts to pant, his right thigh bounces before within moments later…you go back to your original place. gojo’s got a bit of thickness to him, so you gag about two times before he’s fully reached down your throat. he whines, feeling his eager tip prod against your uvula — and that’s when you start to bobble your head. “with a throat like this, you’d be such a good fuckin’ singer, y’know.”

gojo starts mumbling seductive words at you left and right whilst your mouth’s being occupied. it starts to make you throb from underneath…

so much so that you can’t help but reach between your thighs, past your fishnets, and touch yourself.

“…this could be a good vocal training reflex actually,” he adds, and your lips remain enclosed over your teeth. he finds it hot especially how you don’t even use your hands, just your mouth—you had him swallowing imaginary lumps in his throat.

while you’re still abiding inches up and down your throat, his abdomen curls. he lifts a part of his shirt that’s tucked underneath his tux just so you can get a brief view. his biceps were forevermore swollen. you moaned, feeling him keep such a gripping hold on the crown of your head.

“s-shit,” he cursed, starting to chase his breath as if it was some kind of race. he was in love with how sloppy you were.

strings, an entire glistening cobweb of spit slithered down the corners of your mouth—all down your chin. “how’s it taste? ‘s good for you?”

again, your response was a nod, and for a concise moment you sink yourself all the way down.

breathing through your nose, gojo grunts, stroking underneath your chin that was smeared with nothing but your saliva before he pulls you back up again.

“goddamn,” he throws his head back, and he’s starting to stutter. each time your tongue swiped across his sensitive tip, near the entrance of his frenulum, he whined. he leers before that’s when you feel him starting to thrust right into your mouth. he couldn’t help himself. “pretty mouth was just askin’ to get fucked a l-little.”

your jaw opened a bit as you happily took him into your mouth, your eyelids were half-lidded and you stared right up at gojo.

he returns the stare, flashing you a cute abashed grin, uttering a, “h-hey princess.”

your nails dug into the thin layers of his pulled-down pants, feeling him thwack and thwack against the very back of your throat. gojo’s hips were so erratic, thoroughly sloppy that you just craved for more.

“keep suckin’ me l-like that, ‘n i’m gonna make such a mess down that nasty throat of yours.” he whimpered, feeling the way his abs tightened. all from a few kitten licks of your tongue running against him, taking him fully with that most intense eye contact imaginable.

he shifts his feet a bit, and that’s when his phone starts to buzz. gojo grunts, reaching into his pocket before taking out his phone.

with stubby fingers, he uses his same passcode of ‘sexymansexyspraycan69’ and his eyes widen, murmuring out, “aw man,” you briefly look up at him — confused as to what happened before he scrolls, still having another hand gripped on your head. “my nudes got leaked again?”

…again?

with your mouth full, you kept up a pace, and whilst keeping his attention focused towards the bright blue-lit screen, he makes you suck him off just a bit harder. with a groan, he lets off a snicker. “oh well. at least i look good. i wonder if sugupoo saw..”

he was so unserious, probably the most unserious man you’ve ever met — let alone had to work with for a living.

gojo notices your cold stare and he nervously chuckles, “what? i didn’t say anything,” and then he fakes a moan, moving your head back and forth, an obnoxious grunt. “sorry…i mean uh. fuckkkk. right there, ‘m gonna cum.”

you give the pop star a deadpan before he meekly smiles at you, yet that’s when he moans for real once your tongue cursorily brushes against the scar tissue that resided near the underside of his tip.

“f-fuck. ‘m sensitive there,” he heavily pants, and the nerves throughout his body. his cock that was shoved deep down your throat, you felt your breaths leave through your nose. gojo’s head goes back before he groans, his orgasm feeling like a wave. an abrupt riptide.

once he came, it was so much — it trickled right into your mouth, thick velvety strings of ropes that coated all over your tongue. to halt your gagging, you squeezed your left thumb into a fist, still holding onto his thighs.

gojo’s lip quavered, and his face flushed. with swollen, varicose veins that briefly popped out displaying on his body, he sighs.

“s-so much to give to you, princess,” he slurs, completely out of breath. he was taken aback, watching your cheeks become cutely hollow. gojo’s dick remained in your mouth before he tapped your left temple, whining out a, “say ah. i wanna see.”

immensely, you loll out your tongue, showing him the paint of his cum that stuck in your tongue, how it sprayed all inside.

he groans. gojo rubs his sensitive achey tip near the flatness of your tongue, it turns into short slaps on your tongue and you moan.

“mmh. i read somewhere that if you swallow cum it strengthens your overall vocal performance,” he cheeses, and a droplet of sweat races down the side of his forehead. you sat on your knees, already taking his warm cum down your throat.

gojo was obviously joking…or he wasn’t. you could never tell with this guy.

as he’s calming himself down, catching his breath, the top part of his teeth gnaws down on his lip — he’s too eager because within seconds, he’s got you pinned down on the spare sofa.

“i- i need to be inside you again…” he whispers in a needy tone, and you’re already laid flat on your back. he didn’t even have the decency to take your dress off.

with a single hand, he pulled it up, taking a glimpse at your laced panties. he runs a finger against the thin strap of it, making you shudder before sprawling your legs open.

“you’re supposed to be on stage,” you giggle, watching his lips curl into a pout. he’s so handsy, gojo starts to peel your panties off slowly, licking his lips before a pant exits his mouth. “you’re not gonna hear the end of it from nanami.”

“don’t care,” he whines, grabbing ahold of his length. gojo swallows, such a hungry gaze was presented at you—it made you start to pulse a bit between your thighs.

“couldn’t go onstage like this,” and his voice briefly cracks, it’s cute. gojo brings his fat swollen tip towards your slick entrances and grows quiet once your cunt hums out a squelch. “they can wait. i c-cant.”

the pop star’s eyebrows come together, and once he starts to gradually go inside you—you moan, feeling the immediate sensation of him stretching you out.

“of course y-you can’t,” you roll your eyes teasingly, wrapping your arms around his collar. gojo stares at you and for a split second, his gaze seems romantic.

full of nothing but lust.

he looked like he was about to say something, but he turned away, disregarding it. it was cute, you pulled him in for a kiss and he only moaned right into your mouth.

his fingers traced all over your jaw as your tongue ran against his. his breath was heavy against yours, and the feeling of his body pressed on you made you whine. gojo’s thick cock continued to make its way inside, you were a bit drenched earlier, soaked practically.

gojo couldn’t pinpoint his feelings towards you.

he didn’t know what this thing was. he adored you, he’s always rambled to you about how you were his favorite assistant, whilst being his only assistant ever.

you wanted to ask him if this thing was just a fling or something more.

but…you were far too shy to ask, you figured he was just having fun. which you didn’t mind entirely, yet—you couldn’t help but be curious.

as your lips parted, you felt your legs start to wrap and lock securely around his waist. strands of gojo’s hair pokes against your forehead, and he feels a strong wave of tingles race down his back.

“fuck…i need y-you,” he murmured between kisses, and he was such a perfect fit. the moment he was fully inside, you moaned, giving his bottom lip a sudden bite.

once he started to move, just a single thrust was enough to make your head spin. gojo delivered such a sloppy thrust, that your legs tightly hugged him—and your breathing started to hitch.

he always had such a sweet taste to him, whether it was candied or a rich tang of alcohol to it, you craved it every time.

gojo brings a hand down towards your tummy to lightly press on it, curving his thumb against your bare skin before breaking away for a split second. his nose rubbed against yours before he gives you a cunning sly smile.

“you always have this look on your face,” he whispered in a teasing tone — gojo traces a finger by your lips, pulling your bottom lip down before sliding a finger into your mouth. you willingly suck on it, and he stares intently. “pretty girl. you drive me insane, y’know that?”

his fingers were always made with such length. so slender…

gojo starts up a pace, and the way his hips start to snap against you—you moan a muffled moan. the way your thighs recoil from a single slam against you, it had your mind going in circles.

“always grippin' on me,” he huffs, leaning into the inner part of your neck to lightly sink his teeth. “f-fuck, fuck the grammys. i just want you.”

you wondered if he really meant that.

it was no secret with gojo’s problematic love life, he often gets around… but he’s never had an actual decent relationship. well, he’s had one.

he often doesn’t like to mention it, but it was all over the press.

you wanted to ask him about it, it was far before he became famous — some other a-list celebrity, but he’s always avoided that particular topic.

gojo probably doesn’t even know the true meaning of love.

but you’ve had thoughts that perhaps, just perhaps. maybe you could change that. as unprofessional as it was, the industry was always strict with gojo.

and ever since he stumbled upon you, he’s always felt a bit better. you never treated him any different, and he’s forever liked that about you.

whilst you’re deep in thought, you get brought back to reality once gojo’s covering your neck with visible marks. he’s moaning all into your neck, and he sounds so sweet. melodic moans.

“f-fuck,” he huffs out, kneeling a bit between you. this was the perfect position for him to stare deeply into your eyes. you moan, feeling his lips ghost against the inner part of your neck. his tongue softly dragged against your neck, and the way he rocked his body amongst you made you bite your lip. “look at me.”

your eyes meet his, and he notices a pretty glint in your eye. embarrassment washes over his face as not even two seconds pass, and your stare gets him flustered immediately.

“dunno what i’d do without you,” he huffs out, and he genuinely had such neediness in his tone. you felt a strange string at your heart.

gojo’s always been somewhat protective of you. being so close to him like this, his body weight just barely hovering over you…

his dick reached you deep, you felt the perfectly angled stretch…

the curve as your legs trapped his weight tightly. gojo was gentle, yet a bit rough to make your eyes just about go back. he leans in to sneak kisses near the corners of your lips before murmuring. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum soon.”

he was so warm, you got chills from his body let alone — his rhythm, it was so slow.

simply perfect and precise. for a moment, you drowned everything out, being entrapped into your own thoughts.

you started to wonder if you got together with gojo, maybe he’d finally be happy.

not having to worry about faking a dumb smile for the industry. perhaps you were a bit delusional, but you genuinely pondered about it.

the two of you always did have chemistry.

was it love … or just a game?

the moment gojo cums for a second time, then a third time, then a fourth… it made him moan against your neck. his moans were high-pitched, droplets of sweat racing down the edges of his forehead.

you took his breath away every single time. the way your pussy clung onto him, through and through—each time he’d dump such a thick load into you.

he’s panting heavily, huffing and puffing while leaving you full of nothing but his cum.

it stuck against your thighs, and he became so obsessed that he just kept fucking you—you whined, the back of your ankle, the pretty anklet that wrapped around your foot brushing back against his skin.

gojo never fails to leave kisses all over your body, he nips at the corners of your neck before letting off a low sigh.

“s-satoru,” you’d mumble after a while, feeling his hips come to a certain slow pause. it’s been various positions…and even for him, his legs were just about to give out.

the tips of his ears heat up before he grunts, feeling you continue to clamp down on him. you were now on his back—facing the opposite way, grinding against him and he was pulling you closer. “gonna cum too, ‘m gonna cum.”

“bet you are,” he whispers against your neck. you’re moving back against him in such a slow way it makes him groan—you’re being held with him having a hand playfully wrapped around your throat. his middle finger tickles the middle part of your neck whilst you squeeze his relaxed knee. “give it to me, pretty.”

your eyes meet the very depths of your head, and then you feel yourself start to dramatically spasm.

his cock prodded right amongst your g-spot, not once but a few times…and you let off a whimper once he kept hitting there again and again…

such bundles of nerves continue to build up and up.

your breath gets caught in your throat to where it’s almost like whiplash. gojo tugs on the fabric of your dress, sucking the tender skin of your neck.

“let go for me,” he utters in a soft tone, his tongue deducting trailing up your neck. he knew just how to make you squirm on his lap. “thaaaat’s it, relax.”

his words warmed their way straight down between your legs, he started to guide your hips with his hands, peppering a kiss near the corner of your ear. “make a mess on me ‘n i’ll clean you right up.”

you moaned, feeling that familiar coil in yours snap before you came, by now, you can’t even remember how many orgasms he’s coaxed out of you. “f-fuckkk.” you spat, slumping your head back against him.

“so good for me,” he pants, bringing a hand towards your tummy. he toys with the string of your panties that was lazily moved to the side before he nervously cheeses, realization washing over his face. “o-oh shit. the awards...”

and yet here you were, currently standing alongside gojo as he was accepting his fifth award.

the minute he announced to probably millions of people across the words that he was thankful for your pussy, the entire arena went dead silent.

all you could hear in the background was some lady screeching out, “you need to leave!”

“…satoru, you can’t just say that on live television.” you leaned in, whispering to him with clenched teeth.

“oh yeahhh…you’re right,” he sheepishly said, turning back towards the mic. he cleared his throat before grinning, holding up his award with the most unserious expression. “uh. i mean, i wanna thank my team, my uh…”

he goes mute for a moment before concluding his speech, finishing with a, “thank you a lot though! i am tooootally grateful. and also, don’t forget to pre-order my new single, ‘it guy.’ only $69.69. if you ask me, that’s not that bad of a deal, hehe. seriously, stream it. please?”

you spot nanami in the distance shaking his head in utter disappointment. he could already predict the current headlines about to roll out.

gojo brings you towards his limo after the awards, quickly rushing you so the both of you can avoid the paparazzi.

they were probably just itching for a reaction. once the two of you made it inside, he was saying something to you before he leaned in for a kiss.

you kiss him back, teasingly pulling his tie closer towards you, and he goes up between your legs, eager to finish what he started earlier. prints of your lipstick were all over his collar, and gojo even autographed your ass with his signature. only to smack it, making it smear all over.

you moaned, squeezing his hand before pulling away, panting—out of breath before you smiled, only to pause. you and him make direct eye contact, and he’s so close to your lips, so close to kiss you again but he waits for you to speak, do something.

he figured you were gonna kiss him again, but instead without even thinking, you whispered out a, “i- i think i love you.”

“…you what?”

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wonryllis · 3 months

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ʬʬ. ! POKER FACE ﹙ SHE'S GOT ME LIKE NOBODY ﹚

𝒏o𝓉ℯs. park sunghoon with fem!reader 𖥔 ݁ enemies but secretly in love and oblivious, fluff. LIB? word count `2375

prompt. wiping a bit of frosting (or smth else) off of their cheek while eating and taking it for themself from list 02. part of this event by @okwonyo

JAY VER. JAKE VER. SUNGHOON VER: one-sided

"you look like a chipmunk," and i wanna kiss you so bad right now. sunghoon really wishes he could do that, grab your jaw, fingers digging into your soft puffed cheeks, and pull you against him as he smashes his lips into yours.

he's been dreaming of it for as long as he can remember. for as long as he knew he shouldn't be dreaming of that. for as long as he knew you have hated him and for as long as he has been supposed to be hating you too.

look sunghoon doesn't really have a solid reason to hate you besides the fact that you crush on his best friend (especially when he's been here all along?) but if getting to talk to you and sticking close by comes at the cost of pretending to do, then he doesn't really mind it. though it doesn't do much because everyone, from friends to professors, everyone can see how he's been waiting on the opportunity to jump you.

and you? you are the most oblivious thing there can ever be. sunghoon could be right up in your face, whispering sweet nothings and everything in between and you'd refuse to believe he feels anything but hatred for you. if not that then annoyance? because you for sure are always annoyed at him and his flirty antics.

"shut-" he's suddenly reaching forward and across the table, hands cupping your cheek, oh god he's melting you're so soft, thumb swiping against your skin to wipe off the salad dressing. he puts it into his mouth next, sucking off the sweet sauce with an irritating smirk on his face,"so cute," a look of lure in his hooded eyes staring at you,"eat slowly baby no one's gonna take your foo-,"

"m nat yiur baby!" you interrupt immediately, speaking through the stuffed salad in your cheeks, eyes shifting back and forth to heeseung sitting beside him. praying he wouldn't misunderstand even though your insanely fast beating heart clearly knows who it's beating for.

"come on babies don't speak with full mouth, no matter how cute you look," i'm gonna die if you don't stop right now sunghoon feels like he'll combust any moment, blow his cover and mess everything up. he doesn't give a shit that your crush aka his friend, is sitting right next to him, if anything he's doing it in front of him on purpose even though he knows the boy has got no feelings for you. he has just got something for the way your face scrunches adorably when you get annoyed, and how your oh so kissable lips turn into an angry pout that does nothing to show your anger but tempt him even more.

"ou knww wat m levnig," grabbing your plate with you, you give heeseung a tight lipped cheery little smile and two short kicks under the table to sunghoon before leaving the area.

fuck park sunghoon and fuck his hotness and fuck how he gets to you every single time. your heartbeat keeps on getting higher and skipping beats with each step you take, repeatedly hearing his words in your head again and again. even more so when you hear the sound of his footsteps behind you, those very familiar clicking of his chelsea dress shoes that suit him devilishly well.

"enjoy," sunghoon leaves the table after you, patting his friend's back in a quick apology and rushing away.

"yo chipmunk cheeks! wait up for me!"

"get away!"

just fucking kiss already. lee heeseung has had it enough already. he can't stand third wheeling anymore, it's making him sick. he needs to get you two into seven minutes in heaven or something. just anything to end whatever this is you have going on with him stuck in between.

"whatcha doin baby chicks?" sunghoon's annoying ass voice has you looking up from your book, eyes following him as he drags out the chair beside yours and plops himself down smugly. he's alone. he's alone alone.

"where's heeseung?" you ask, remembering how he promised he'd bring along the boy for a study date. the sole reason you agreed to meet him in the library.

"somewhere between those shelves," sunghoon fingers point towards the rows behind your table,"probably getting you know what," he suggests, resting his head on his hands, staring at you trying to find your guy. "liar, he's not like you," you retort and it has sunghoon grinning from ear to ear,"hm, what do you think i am like?" there's a hint of amusement and a tone of teasing in his voice, it makes it hard for you to conceal your nervousness. so many times of it happening yet you still can't control the fluttering butterflies and sparks in your stomach. are you sure you're crushing on the right person? well heeseung is nice he helps you with notes from missed classes and most importantly doesn't taunt you for being second.

"a predator," nevertheless trying to outwardly stand your ground is something you have learned to do when it comes to him. do not show how weak he gets you. do not let him have the upper hand. that's been your motto since day one.

you almost feel your heart jumping out of your chest when he bends to grab the seat of your chair and pulls you closer, leaning so close to your face, you feel his breath hit your lips with every exhale,"so you must be my pretty little prey?" if you move just an inch forward you'd end up smearing your cherry gloss on his chapped lips, feeling hyper aware of every little movement from the touch of his fingers near the hem of your skirt to the little shifting you do in your seat. fidgeting and constant staring at each other's lips. the faint hovering of his palm on your thighs, the other lingering over hand resting on the table, like a cage in between,"you're gettin-"

"guys i finally found it!" you're snapped out of it when heeseung slams a pile of books on the table, hands flapping up to slap against sunghoon's chest and push him away with all the might you got.

it takes you a few minutes to settle yourself down into calm, ignoring the way sunghoon complains about being harshly shoved for apparently no reason. and smiling at heeseung as he explains how he'd been trying to look for some books on zoology which somehow happened to always be borrowed out, that is until today. you take a second look at the books he shows, hitting an embarassing realization, eyes switching between the two guys.

"wait- you were looking for these books over there?" pointing to the same rows sunghoon did initially.

"what else were you thinking in that tiny head of yours, chipmunk?" sunghoon wiggles his brows suggestively knowing exactly what you were thinking of, enjoying the way you come to the horrific realization of how you both were just flirting, more specifically of what you implied and what you didn't deny.

"nothing, shut up and do your own work!" a poor attempt at brushing it off but he'll let it go since you aren't really alone right now. a lovesick grin, eyes trained on you the entire time. only heeseung notices and once again wonders of when you'll knock it off.

"miss second place at a frat party? that's new," if there's hell, yours is definitely tied to sunghoon, your personal lucifer on guard. amidst a roaring crowd of people he still manages to find you and get on your nervous in a matter of seconds. time and again he's proven to be the bane of your existence.

"shouldn't that go for you, mr first place? don't you want to keep it?" against the counter on the far end of the kitchen, he has you trapped.

"keeping you? i think i already have it," his lips grazing over your ear as he whispers in a low voice, pulling away immediately to leave you wanting for more. "no i-" you shutter for the first time in front of him, shit.

"i meant the last assignment, i scored more than you," you sound much softer and tinier than you would have ever liked to, but your brain's in such a mess you can't think straight.

"you're so studious it's cute but chipmunk i couldn't give a shit about being second place to you, you can take my place any time you like," he gets so much closer again you start panicking, if you don't get out of here right now, losing all your pride and prudence to him wouldn't be impossible anymore.

pushing him away slightly you hope he'd give way to you,"i'm gonna go find heeseung," adding all the more reason to it. "let me help you with that," but he's adamant on not leaving you alone today. six months of watching you have a crush on his best friend and he's had enough.

dragging you out to the living room, he brings you to the couch on the other end of where heeseung stands surrounded by his group of friends. and sitting down on it, is immediately pulling you onto his lap, hands going around the waist to hold you close,"let's make him jealous," his lips brush against yours, getting a sweet taste of your lipgloss. just like how he's always imagined.

"kiss me,"

and heeseung sighs from across the room. fucking finally.

taglist. ( open ) @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @luvyev @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @nanabbg @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly

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dumplingsjinson · 5 months

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List of “the shy one x the extroverted one” prompts

Requested by: Anonymous Request: “Character A is *really* shy but Character B is super confident and extroverted, doing things like dragging them to events, PDA, etc Thank you!! <3”

“So… You up for an adventure?” “I don’t like your idea of adventures.” “Well, too bad! You’ve signed up for it. Let’s go!”

“You know I’m a homebuddy!” Character A whines as Character B rushes around to find the perfect outfit for them to wear to the party.

Character A following closely behind Character B to social events and parties, and Character B introducing Character A to everyone else with a grin on their face like a proud partner.

“Wanna hold hands?” “Uh… Sure, I guess?”

Character B being the one to initiate PDA with Character A, knowing Character A likes PDA but is too shy to be the one to initiate it.

“Tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable, okay?” “You’re not… You’re not making me uncomfortable, please don’t worry. I love you for checking in on me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever said this, but thank you for getting me out of my shell.”

Character A slowly warming up to the idea of joining Character B for parties and everything.

“Don’t worry. I won’t leave your side if you don’t want me to. Stick with me if you need to, okay?”

Character B talking to literally everyone at the parties they attend, with Character A holding onto their sleeve and hiding behind them.

“This is [Character A’s name] and they really are so amazing!”

Character B showing off Character A to everyone and anyone who would listen, and being really proud of the fact that Character A is their partner, which warms Character A a lot.

“Them? They’re the love of my life.”

Character B making sure Character A isn’t feeling too overwhelmed and offering to go home with them the moment Character A tells them they don’t want to be there anymore.

Character B pulling Character A closer to them in public, and Character A biting their bottom lip to keep their smile at bay.

#prompts #writing prompts #otp prompts #dialogue prompts #request #my creative juices threw a fat middle finger to my face #packed its luggage #and left the country #wow #so i’m sorry for this bland list wlkfnewf

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akawrites000 · 5 months

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casually caring for someone - a prompt list

this can be for anyone - your crush, s/o, close friends. i hope you'll have fun with this!

A messaging B to wear layers first thing in the morning because they know that B never checks their weather forecast (and A obsessively checks it every day).

A and B have a study session together where B is already done with most of their work, but A is still looking all focused at their laptop, so B just pretends like they have more work to do while keeping an eye on A, in case A needs anything to be more comfortable.

Knowing that the other prefers hot/cold water and making sure to fill that in another bottle and giving it to them while you fill your own bottle.

You're having a picnic with your friends and you're in charge of buying the drinks, so you're at a grocery shop, scanning the aisles and you find a bottle of so-so that you know A really likes, so you pick it up for them, along with other general drinks for everyone else.

A and B go out to eat with their friends, and when they are leaving the restaurant, B forgets their jacket—deep in conversation with another friend. A picks it up for them, just as B turns back, searching for their jacket. "here you go" "thank you so much! i was just going to go and look for it"

A eats slowly and B knows that but they don't mind at all. B just finishes eating first and engages A by talking to them about something until A finishes eating their food.

B is scared of dogs so the moment they see a dog approaching them, they pull A in front of them like a shield. A just lets B do whatever they want because they're too busy cooing at the dog.

A invites B out to spend the day together because they've been a little worried about them recently. B hesitantly agrees, and by the end of the day, B ends up having so much fun that they both end up going home pretty late.

B is waiting for the bus to arrive so texts A in the mean time so as not to feel bored. "this street lamp looks so yellow!" A genuinely enjoys their randomness, so they of course indulge in it. "oh yeah? what kind of yellow?"

A knowing that B has a very low tolerance to the cold and asking them to go inside and not to wait with them for the bus to arrive. "please go in! you're going to catch a cold!" "it's okay, the app says it's just a few more minutes away."

(this is my first time trying to write prompts like these so i hope they're good! please tag me if you decide to use them :) )

#writers on tumblr #writeblr #prompts #writing prompts #writing ideas #descriptive prompts #fluff #fluff prompts #fluff ideas #imagine your otp #or your friends #soft #soft prompts #caring prompts #writing inspo #otp prompts #prompts for friends #romance prompts #romantic

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luviestarz · 7 months

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yang jungwon fic recs!

★ the language of flowers - @soobnny (jungwon’s just every bit in love with the student council president who keeps visiting his flowershop OR in which you find solace in a flowershop, and its owner’s grandson finds solace in you.)

★ GARDENING CLUB MASTERLIST - @snowbabys (you heard jungwon isn’t one of many friends, a silent and closed guy, and it’s not a surprise when he barely blinks in your direction when you join the gardening club. it is a surprise when he starts to show interest in you and does anything to be close.)

★ ❣︎ ⎯⎯ you’re mine . - @goldenhypen

★ infrunami - @jennaissantes (PROMPT: ‘fixing their tie’)

★ LOVE NEWS ! — YJW SMAU - @hanniluvi (BREAKING NEWS! valentine’s is right around the corner, yet you still had no partner. you didn’t think too much of it, you probably thought it was just another year where you’ll be single again. not a big issue at all. however, your favorite gossip account proves you wrong! what if you find out someone actually likes you? after gathering all the hints you’ve been given, you narrowed your list down to one person. that one person ended up being yang jungwon, one of your crushes. there’s no way, one of your crushes actually liking you back? will you believe it’s just fake or actual love news?)

★ ADMIRING YOU ! - @hanniluvi (You've never had good luck with dating. You just couldn't seem to make it work. You were led to believe that was how things would always be. You had no idea but, Jungwon, one of your classmates has been crushing on you for a long time. But because you are you, you never paid attention to him in class. After seeing him staring at you for a time, you finally identify him as a barista at the aroma café. Will anything ever change for you? Will you be able to establish a committed relationship at last?)

★ nice to meet you, boyfriend!◞♡ ⃗ y.jw - @delcakoo (when a strange man approaches you at the grocery store, you call for your "boyfriend", who has just cluelessly entered the store, unaware of his new relationship status with you, a complete stranger. hopefully he plays along…)

★ scaring a guy away - @delcakoo

★ cat boy - @jaeyunverse (yang jungwon is pissed his cat likes you more than him. or, in which jungwon’s cat plays cupid and sets you up.)

★ i’m your cat, meow - yang jungwon - @en-dazed (in which jungwon is jealous of a cat)

★ classmate au | yang jungwon - @soobnny

★ Baked with Love - @demusewriter (You once dreamed of having your bakery where everyone could use it as a safe refuge from reality, similar to the shop from your childhood. It seems to work as one of the famous boy groups uses it to hang out to temporarily escape the spotlight, especially by one member who seems to be fond of the place.)

★ in my head - yjw - @j1nniee (you’ve hated jungwon ever since you two met on the train to hogwarts back in first year; he’s self-centered, lazy, and always coming out for you. now in your seventh year, you’ve been named head girl (woohoo!). unfortunately, the head boy position was given to the one and only yang jungwon (boohoo…). with no other choice, you’re forced to face the annoyingly attractive boy and work with him for the rest of the year - if you can even last that long.)

★ A PIN STRAIGHT TO MY HEART - @snwpcktz (the famous decelis academy confession board is where students pin their written feelings on an anonymous sticky note in hopes of their crush reading it. for y/n, this is the perfect opportunity to finally come to terms with the feelings she has for her classmate--yang jungwon. she has everything planned out, from the color of the sticky note she would be using (blue, it's jungwon's favorite color) to the location she would pin it on the board (smackdown in the middle of the decorative heart the student council put up for valentine's day ages ago). but what happens when y/n sees jungwon pinning his own confession note mere seconds before she planned to?)

★ ⌗ attractive things jungwon does ⨾ - @aakomii

★ super shy - yang jungwon - @en-dazed (jungwon isn’t used to having company when he’s studying - especially when the company is one of the most popular girls in school)

★ ♡𓂃 START NOW ! - @loveywon (you and jungwon never really got along, but one morning you're in bed with him and you both don't recognize the room that you're in.)

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fic recs #enhypen x reader #kpop fic recs #jungwon #jungwon x reader #jungwon fluff #yang jungwon #enhypen jungwon #enhypen fluff #jungwon oneshot #enhypen oneshot #jungwon fic #enhypen fic #jungwon imagines #jungwon oneshots #enhypen oneshots

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steventhusiast · 5 months

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STWG daily prompt 3/12/23

prompt: "what the hell happened to you?"

pairing/character(s): steddie

Eddie hasn't heard from Steve for forty eight hours when the phone rings, and he jumps for it. He hopes (and maybe prays to the god he doesn't believe in) that it's Steve. That he just... Fell asleep when he got home from his shift at Scoops and that's why he didn't call when he got home two days ago. That he got distracted by the kids the next morning and that's why he didn't call Eddie one day ago.

"Hello?" He says into the phone, trying not to sound too frantic.

But as soon as he finds out who's calling, a rock settles in his stomach.

"This is Hawkins General Hospital, am I speaking with Wayne Munson?"

He's silent for a moment. Fuck. Something's happened to Steve. He debates lying, because Wayne left for work literally five minutes ago, and he needs to know what happened, and what if Steve's dead?-

"No. This is Eddie Munson, ma'am, Wayne just left for work. Is- Is everything okay?" He closes his eyes as he speaks, tips his head forward to lightly bang it against the wall of the trailer. Why didn't he just lie? Now they're never going to tell him.

"Alright, one moment.." The lady on the phone says, and Eddie hears some papers rustling and then a sigh, "Oh, Edward Munson?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You're listed as another emergency contact, so I can tell you this as well." Eddie breathes out a sigh of relief, but feels tears start to well up as he imagines what she's about to say.

"This is in regards to Steven Harrington, who is alive and stable but quite badly injured. That's all I can say over the phone. Before he can be discharged, if his next of kin don't respond, we'll need to talk through patient care with you or Wayne Munson, alright?"

"Yes I- He can have visitors, right?" He's already looking frantically around the room to see where the keys to his van are.

"Yes. Visiting hours don't end for another two hours yet."

Eddie's never hung up a phone so fast.

When he finally gets to Steve's room (after an argument with the receptionist who was hesitant to give him the room number), he practically throws open the door in his haste, and is... Surprised at the amount of people in the room.

He's zeroed in on Steve before he properly registers them though. As soon as he processes the state of his boyfriend, everyone else in the room practically disappear from his mind.

"Oh, Stevie." He whispers, walking over to the bed.

Steve seems to be either asleep or passed out, and he looks.. Horrible. One eye is swollen shut, there's a bandage over his nose like it's broken, and his bottom lip is swollen with a (freshly stitched up) wound trailing down from it an inch or so. And that's just his face-- Eddie can't even see the rest of him right now.

"What the hell happened to you?" He mumbles to himself, hesitantly reaching out to rest a hand on Steve's forearm.

It's then that he's rudely reminded of the presence of others in the room.

"More like what the hell is Eddie Munson doing in Steve Harrington's hospital room?" A familiar voice asks, and he turns to see Robin Buckley sat at Steve's side. A little more turning around and he sees Dustin, who he recognises from pictures, and a little girl who can't be older than ten.

Robin looks confused and suspicious, and like she's about to interrogate him until she sees the genuine distress (and tears) in his eyes. She softens a little, and lets Eddie ask what he's been dying to ask for over forty eight hours now.

"Is he okay?" He sniffles harshly in attempt to get rid of the waver in his voice.

"He will be. Pretty bad concussion though, and- No, wait. Seriously, why are you here?"

Eddie's about to make something up, when Steve rouses with a groan. Everyone's quiet as he squints open his good eye and groans some more at the lights.

"Wha's- Wha's goin' on?" He slurs, and Eddie feels the tears return. Steve sounds as fucked up as he looks, and- shit, Robin said concussion? Steve's already had one too many of those.

"Hey, it's okay Stevie. You know where you are?" Eddie asks gently, opting to ignore everyone else once again if they're going to stay quiet.

"Eds?" Steve's face scrunches up in a way that looks painful, and he slowly looks over in Eddie's direction with eyes that are definitely too dilated.

Eddie starts rubbing his thumb back and forth where he's still gently resting a hand on Steve's forearm. He hopes it's comforting rather than adding to Steve's pain.

"Yeah, I'm here. I got you, sweetheart."

read part 2 here

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie drabble #steve harrington #eddie munson #stwgdailyprompt #dailydrabble #mywriting

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fuxuannie · 1 year

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* pairing(s) : various hsr x gender neutral reader

* prompt : drabbles abt hsr charac's and smth they like abt u?? idk im having brainrot spare me <\3.

* authors note : this was a cute idea, lowkey made me miss having a crush HAHAHA. if this does well i promy on my left toe ill do a part two (REAL).. maybe ooc, i'm just brainrotting huhu

DAN HENG was.. oddly uncomfortable but comfortable with the feeling of liking you. You two hadn't been together long, but the short amount of time had him noticing all the little quirks that you'd do, how you'd tap your pencil whenever you were stuck on a problem, the routine you had every morning and the little notes you'd leave for the trailblazers inside their rooms.

The part that made him feel a little iffy was that.. he wasn't used to being like this. He was never the type to care much about the quirks and habits of people, but considering the amount of time he spends with you (and staring at you), he can't really blame himself. He was absolutely smitten for you, so maybe those changes weren't so bad.

"You're so cute." He chuckles as he leans on his doorframe, catching you red handed as you stick the 'anonymous' sticky note on his desk. (Everyone figured it out it was you since you were the only one who wouldn't recieve one.) "Heyy, how did you catch me?" You say with a giggle, as he walked towards you and pulled you close from your waist. "The little things about you give everything away, my love."

Saying that MARCH 7TH adored you was an understatement. She absolutely LOVED being with you, all the time, everywhere. She'll be clinging onto you like a koala and if you're busy or Welt tells her to stop being so affectionate she'll pout and cross her arms. "Why can't I be with my partner?!" She'll say with an annoyed tone, "Because you have a mission, March." Welt would reply, rolling his eyes as you only chuckle in amusement.

You already knew how clingy she'd be, and infact you loved that about her, it was so sweet with how much she cared. She'll take and shoot thousands of arrows for you, to protect you and make sure you'll always be safe and happy to cuddle her before sleeping.

Speaking of which, shes in your arms, softly snoring as you two snuggle closely on her bed. You can't believe she's yours, the most pretty, bashful and caring girl in the universe. And she loved being with you the most.

BRONYA frowned as she stared at the clock in her office, 9PM. She was still forbidden to go home, and knew how lonely it must be for you. She was your lover, but could barely find time on most days to be with you. "It's okay!" She remembers you saying, but she can't help but feel guilty imagining all the times you slept alone in a shared bed.

The sound of her door creaking open caught her attention, and she watched as you peeked your head through the door and giggle. "(name)?!" She says with a shocked and confused voice, watching you open the little sling bag that you brought with you and pull out a lunchbox. "Eat. I know you haven't eaten." You demand, putting the neatly put together meal that you made for her.

Even if you had done this so many times, it still surprised Bronya every time you had these little surprise visits. "Dear.. I appreciate all of this but it'll be late if you leave now-" But a puzzled expression is plastered all over her face as she watched you make a little comfy sleeping corner with a pillow and a hood you were wearing as a blanket.

She sighs at your stubborn nature, knowing she won't change your mind. You notice her pulling up a chair and putting it next to hers, she sits down and pats her lap. "You can.. try and see if that's more comfortable." Finally, her worried gaze turned into a smile as you're eyes sparkled in delight. Before you sat down, you plant a kiss on her cheek and lay down on her lap.

"I love you, Bronya."

"I love you more, (name)."

Dating JING YUAN might be the hardest quest you've accepted, the DOZING GENERAL was on quite a handful of lists of men that parents want their daughters to marry. And hell, they've even tried throwing their daughters in his way, but he's effortlessly avoided them all. As you were the only person who had truly mattered in his heart.

He knew that his popularity can be.. suffocating. Even when he was simply courting you, he asked Tingyun to stop selling photos of him, so you'd know that he was completely serious on being a better man than he ever could be for you. But that alone can't stop the delusions of obsessed women, and Jing Yuan spent no time reassuring you that you're the only one who gets to hold his heart and say it belongs to you.

In a crowded area, his eyes never stray far from your figure that stands next to him and holds his hand. Despite the whispers, or the fawning women (and men), his eyes were locked on yours and his gaze wasn't going anywhere.

During his meetings (where he'd sometimes be dozing off..), he'd notice how you'd actually be paying attention and smiles at your adorable serious face like the most smitten man he is in the galaxy.

You can generalize it and say that Jing Yuan has made it so painfully clear to everyone that he was inlove with one person, and had no intentions of entertaning anyone else.

HERTA, despite her puppets scattered everywhere, her main body was always nervous when it came to being around you. Maybe you were used to it, always seeing her around, but she had not quite been used to human to human contact in a while. It's natural the way she tries to brush off the way she profusely blushes after your fingertips brush against her, because she's not used to spending so much time with someone as herself. She can't just pretend something isn't there anymore, because around you, she's just an absolute mess.

You watched Herta as she works on yet another puppet for the station, putting a hand on her shoulder as she jolts at the touch. "Hehe, no need to be startled. It's just me." You tell her, but she pouts a little in response. "I am an utterly perfect being. Little things such as that do not invoke fear in me."

Humming as a response, she finds it hard to find any interest in her work now. Why would she? You're right next to her, and you were far more interesting and pretty than any of the other things she's created.

She leans on you and you look down at her, "Hm? Have you lost interest in it already?" You ask, already familiar with her habit of losing motivation in a task when uninterested. She looks up at you and smiles a little. "How could I not when you're here? I might even say, you're the most interesting thing in my entire life."

GEPARD was a man who thought that loyalty was to be earned, not given freely. So when he had met you, his heart knew that no one was as deserving of his loyalty than you. You were apart of the Silvermane guards, and so naturally he was your leader. On the first day, you were very kind to not only Gepard, but your fellow guards as well. Many believed you were the kindness that the Silvermane guards deserved but never recieved, and he couldn't help but agree.

When you two began dating, he never noticed how much softer he had gotten. The way his gaze lingered on you when you left the room, the gentle kisses he'd plant on your cheek, and the way he enjoyed making you flustered. Those things were actions that the Captain didn't know he could enjoy, until you had come into his life, and practically changed the trajectory of it.

You were rambling on about something, and as usual Gepard sat next to you and listened. Smiling a bit at your excitement of whatever you were so passionate about, eventually his gaze went from your eyes, to your lips and at that realization he nervously looked away and stared at his shoes as if the most interesting thing in the world.

"Gepard? Are you alright?" You noticed how he he had looked away, and he was silent for a few moments before swiftly planting a kiss on your lips, something unexpected considering you were both in a public space. When he pulled away, a clear blush decorated his cheeks in such a color that made him look so pretty. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself."

SAMPO adores messing with you, little teases to get you riled up. (but never taking it too far.) How could he not? When you have such a pretty expression when you were getting teased. But other than that, he was surprisingly domestic. He liked cooking for and with you, washing clothes, eating together in the morning and generally just liked doing house work with you.

You'd wake up to breakfast in bed more often than not, and a smiling Sampo waiting for you to wake up in the side opposite to you. "Good morning, sleepy head." or "Good morning, sleeping beauty." on other days, he was such a sweet man to you, to a point you were unsure of what you did to deserve him.

And he knew you thought of that, so every night he'd whisper all the little things he grew to love about you. His own little way to let you sleep without a heavy heart.

You were the child of a swordsmith, YANQING adored swords. Need I say more? You two loved to go on and on about different swords, how they're made, how they're used and the history. Yanqing loved to talk about this with you, as many people thought he was almost crazy for his love for it, but you never judged him. That little thought alone made his heart flutter and eyes sparkle in adoration.

You let him be the little excited nerd he was whenever you invited him to your job, admiring the photos of different swords you helped make on the walls and if he was good, you'd make him a new one to take home.

"I love you! I love you, I love you, I love you!" He'd gush, admiring the newly forged blade in his hands as you chuckle a bit at his excitement. "Your welcome, love."

#✹ ִֶָ ꐑꐑ entos paw prints #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #yanqing x reader #yanqing hsr x reader #jing yuan x reader #gepard landau x reader #gepard x reader #march 7th x reader #dan heng x reaxer #sampo koski x reader #herta x reader

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