#fem!vir

[alvojake]

Crazed Nights | K.SN & Y.JW

「parings」 : sunoo x fem!reader x jungwon 「word count」 : 7.1k

「synopsis」 : after being ghosted by the guy you were seeing, you went out to a bar with your friends, getting drunk off your ass. however, the last people you had expected to run into were two of your brother's best friends, two that you had a huge crush on at that. they were just going to take you home, but what if the alcohol gives you a little more courage than you had expected?

「genre」 : smut, brother's best friend(s) troupe, threesome

「warning」 : threesome, unprotected sex (big no-no), oral (m. & f. receiving), face sitting, biting/marking, dubcon(?), all three are slightly intoxicated, cussing, alcohol/drinking, teasing, dom!sunoo x sub!reader x dom!jungwon, praising, degradation, making out, cum eating, face fucking, riding, creampies, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, clit play, petnames (baby, princess, pretty, slut...), slight choking, begging, slight manhandling, implications of multiple rounds, lmk if I missed anything!

「notes」 : I got this idea from reading something a few days ago and knew I wanted to write it out, just didn't know which pair to use. after some consideration and asking friends I decided on pocketz. now, I can't tell you why I chose them exactly, just that it seemed fitting to me, and tbh, I've had bad sunwon brainrot since this past weekend... I also got a little carried away with the word count... n e who... I hope you enjoy this!

“I swear I’m never dating another man again,” you cried out as you downed your nth shot of soju. Dayeon and Wonyoung sat on the opposite side of the table, looking at you with a mixture of annoyed and concerned gazes.

“Is she seriously drunk already?” Dayeon sighed, downing a shot of soju herself. Wonyoung just shook her head, mumbling about how she knew going out would be a bad idea, especially when they knew you couldn’t hold your liquor very well.

“I can’t believe he took me on two dates and we even made out just to tell me that I wasn’t his type.” You exclaimed, tears brimming in your eyes. “TWO FUCKING DATES!” Your voice raised a few notches, causing both of the girls to jump, instantly trying to shush you. “How can someone be so heartless?”

“That was pretty mean of him to do.” Wonyoung agreed, swirling the small shot glass in her hand, while Dayeon nodded in agreement.

“Right!” You exclaimed once more, and Dayeon scolded you for being far too loud, but you just pouted, slumping down in your seat. 

Dayeon then grabbed your bowl, which still sat empty in the middle of the table, as well as the ladle. “Hey, y/n. Eat some of this before you drink anymore.” She scooped some of the hotpot that sat in the center of the table. " You’ll end up hugging a toilet all night if you drink on an empty stomach.”

Tears poured out of your eyes. " Thank you, Dayeon…” You grabbed the bowl, staring down at the broth inside. You weren’t sure why the simple gesture that she had done so many times was making you so emotional. Maybe it was all of the events that had previously taken place. Or maybe it was just the alcohol that was in your system. 

“Yeah, and don’t dwell on Junmin. He was a prick!” Wonyoung reassured you as she sat a glass of water in front of you, hoping to sober you up at least a little bit.

“BUT I LIKED HIM!” Your outburst drew the attention of those around you, “I LIKED HIM, THAT’S WHY I DIDN’T CARE THAT HE WAS A VIR-”

“SHUT THE HELL UP DUMBASS!” Dayeon reached across the table, grabbing your cheeks and muffling your shouts while Wonyoung looked around the bar with a nervous gaze.

All of your movements stopped, and your teary eyes looked up to meet Dayeon’s annoyed ones before flickering down to Wonyoung, who had slid off of her chair onto her knees in embarrassment. You didn’t have to look any further to know that you had caught the attention of those around you. The feeling of eyes on you was too heavy to ignore. You let your body slide down the chair in embarrassment as Dayeon’s hand fell from your face, eyes looking around.

“No one heard that, right?” You mumbled, too ashamed to look around yourself. Your face grew even warmer when you noticed the uneasy looks on both of your friends' faces, the heat making you feel lightheaded and dizzy. So you slumped forward, resting your forehead on the cool wooden table, arms hanging off at your sides.

“Jeez, you really have no filter when you drink.” Dayeon groaned, sitting back in her seat while Wonyoung followed suit, running her fingers through her hair. Deyeon then grabbed a napkin from the center of the table, wiping her hand of any tears, snot, and/or saliva that had gotten on her skin from when she grabbed you. You just mumbled incoherently into the surface of the table, completely missing the two figures that had walked up to the table.

“Uh, excuse me… hi?” Jungwon was the first to speak, Sunoo not too far behind him. His eyes were fixated on you, taken in your drunk form. Even from a mile away, he could recognize your unkempt hair because you refused to put it up before doing anything, claiming that it ‘hurt your scalp.’ 

“Yes?” Wonyoung and Dayeon both looked up at the two males, eyes looking them up and down. If they didn’t know any better, they would have thought they were going to ask you three to join them. Wonyoung’s eyes then shifted over to the table they had come from, seeing one dude passed out on the table while the other stayed unbothered on his phone, completely uninterested.

“Would you happen to” “Yeah, no thanks,” Wonyoung cut the boy off before he even had a chance to finish his sentence, catching both Jungwon and Sunoo off guard.

“Sorry?” Jungwon blinked a few times. Had they misunderstood him? 

“We don’t want to join you, plus she’s drunk out of her mind.” Dayeon deadpanned, jabbing a finger in your direction. You were still in your own little world, telling the table stories that were far from comprehensible.

Jungwon’s eyes then widened in realization, his hands waving around frantically, assuring them that’s not what he wanted, “No, no, we were just wondering if you were Wonyoung and Dayeon? Y/n’s friends?” He asked, his finger hesitantly pointing in your direction. 

Your ears stopped ringing just in time to hear your name roll off of Jungwon’s tongue, lifting your head at the familiar voice. A chill went down your spine when you met both of their eyes, suddenly feeling sober. Of course, you just had to run into your brother’s friends, not just any of his friends, though. The two that you have had a raging crush on for the majority of your childhood.

You felt heat rush up your neck as you flung yourself backward, regretting it instantly, “Fuck me in the ass! Of all the people to meet here, it just had to be you two.” White flashed across your vision making you groan, bringing a hand to cover your eyes.

Sunoo then walked over to your embarrassed form, making sure you weren’t going to fall out of your chair. Jungwon’s eyes followed the older of the two, but the feeling of eyes on him made him look back over, meeting Dayeon and Wonyoung’s confused looks.

“Oh! We’re friends of y/n’s brother…” Jungwon laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

“Really? Nice to meet you!” Wonyoung exclaimed while Dayeon bowed in greeting, “We didn’t realize that the two of you were y/n’s friends.”

You whined, mumbling how unlucky you had become, wishing that the ground would just swallow you whole. Sunoo reached over, placing his hand over your forehead, making you jump. His fingers were cold against your burning skin, but despite that fact, it only caused your face to heat up even more, your brain short-circuiting at the contact. Sunoo’s eyes moved from your figure, meeting Wonyoung and Dayeon’s.

“Why is she so drunk?” He asked, removing his hand from your face not missing the way your shoulders relaxed at the loss of contact. He had to fight the urge to roll his eyes; even in your drunken state, you wanted nothing to do with them.

Dayeon leaned forward, resting her head in the palm of her hand propped up on the table. " The guy she was seeing ditched her,” she said.

“Ah, so that’s what all that yelling about a virgin was…” Sunoo mused, and you lifted your head, looking up at him with wide eyes while the two other girls groaned. His eyes flickered down to you, a smirk playing on the corner of his lips. 

“Man, Jay would get so pissed if he found out. He’d flip his shit and go after that guy.” Jungwon sighed, causing both Wonyoung and Dayeon to visibly stiffen, “and if he found out y/n got drunk, he’d raise absolute hell.” He sweatdropped, arms crossed over his chest, and Sunoo’s lip twitched in nervousness.

They both knew how overprotective Jay could be, especially over his little sister, and god forbid they did nothing. It would be safe to say that they wouldn’t live to see the light of another day.

During all of the small talk, your head lolled forward, and your face planted into the table once more. Dayeon had to stifle a laugh while Wonyoung was too busy panicking that Jay could find out that they had let you get drunk.

Sunoo pulled your chair out to help you up, but you didn’t budge, dragging your face along the surface of the table. However, before you could flop to the ground, he wrapped his arm around your chest, pulling you back. Jungwon then walked over to help the older male pick your body up off of the chair.

“Come on, y/n. Wake up. We’re going to take you home,” Jungwon grumbled as he tried to pull you to your feet.

Wonyoung rubbed her temples when you started having a hissy fit about going home, but you were quickly silenced when Sunoo mentioned your brother. A pout formed on your lips as you slumped onto Sunoo’s back, loosely wrapping your arms around his neck. The smell of his calonge instantly invaded your senses, making your head spin and your stomach churn.

“I feel like I'm going to be sick…” You mumbled quietly as you buried your face in Sunoo’s neck, which only strengthened the scent, but you couldn’t pull yourself away. Slowly getting high off of his scent, the slight citrusy smell was making your brain spiral.

“I swear to god you throw up on me; I will not hesitate to throw your ass.” Sunoo threatened, but his shoulders went stiff when he felt your nose brush against his neck. He became acutely aware of just how close the two of your bodies were at that moment. Your boobs pressed against his back, his hands wrapped securely under your plush thighs. He bit the inside of his cheek to try and keep a level head, but it was futile as he felt his dick twitch in his jeans.

Jungwon couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy seeing you so close to Sunoo. Though he told himself that it was just because you were drunk, that as soon as you were sober, you would yell at them for barging in on your night out. 

Biting back a sigh, he turned towards the two girls who were watching them, “Well, we’ll be going now. I’ll leave a note reminding her to message when she wakes up.” Both of them nodded, waving softly.

They watched as the two men walked out of the bar with you before it finally dawned on them what just happened. Dayeon groaned, throwing her head back while Wonyoung scrambled to find her phone.

“Did we seriously just let two strangers walk out of here with y/n?” Wonyoung panicked as she quickly pulled up her socials, tapping on the search bar. Dayeon tilted her head slightly, looking over at the blonde who was sitting next to her. As calm as she may seem, she was freaking out on the inside because she knew they would both be dead meat if anything happened to you and Jay were to find out.

Not even five minutes later Wonyoung melted into her chair, placing her phone down on the table. “Thank god… they’re really his friends.”

About halfway back to your apartment, Jungwon had offered to take you and as much as Sunoo wanted to say that he was fine. He wasn’t. His will slowly break every time your fingers caress his chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Or the way your foot brushes against his crotch. He was starting to go insane.

So he let Jungwon take over, helping move you to the younger’s back. You protested at first but were quick to go silent again when your face fell into Jungwon’s neck. Your whole body tingled when his fingers grazed a little too close to your barely-covered core.

“You okay?” Jungwon asked when Sunoo’s breath hitched in his throat. The reason being that when he backed away from your body after making sure Jungwon had a good hold on you, he could clearly see your lace baby blue panties. 

Sunoo quickly cleared his throat before reaching out and pulling your dress down. " Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s go.” With that, the two of them continued to walk down the dimly lit sidewalk. Thankfully, there weren’t very many people out and about, so they weren’t getting suspicious or weird stares.

You had woken up about ten minutes away from your apartment, your head was a bit clearer, but you were still surprised when you found yourself on Jungwon’s back. You nearly flew off of his back in surprise, causing Jungwon to stumble, but thankfully he was able to balance himself.

“Hey! Stop moving around, or I’ll drop you,” Jungwon exclaimed, his grip on your thighs getting tighter. A small squeak left your lips at the sensation, his fingertips grazing the inside of your thigh.

“Put me down! Where do you think you’re taking me?!” you exclaimed, arms flailing around. Even though your head still felt a little dizzy, you were sure that small nap had sobered you up. However, neither Sunoo nor Jungwon were dumb enough to put you down. You’d just run, and with their luck, you’d get hit by a car or something.

At first, the two ignored your whining and continued walking, but when you almost caused the three of you to fall backward down the stairs, Sunoo had enough.

“Y/n.” The tone in his voice sent a shiver down your spine and heat rushing to your core. You stopped struggling in Jungwon’s grip, causing the younger male to let out a sigh of relief. A small pout formed on your plump lips, and Sunoo had to damn near pinch himself to keep from kissing you until they were swollen.

“You guys are bullies,” you whined, shoveling your face into the crook of Jungwon’s neck. His scent, much like Sunoo’s, intoxicated you—so much so that you pressed your nose against the warm skin of his neck, inhaling deeply. “Wonnie, you smell so good.”

The poor boy could have sworn he felt his heart stop and heat rushed up his neck. His grip tightened even more on your legs as the three of you stood outside of your apartment. Sunoo noticed that Jungwon’s face was more flush before seeing you nuzzling into his neck.

“Dammit… isn’t Jay off on a trip somewhere?” Jungwon swallowed thickly, trying to ignore how you leaned more into him. He could smell your strawberry lotion mixed with the alcohol that you had drunk earlier.

“Fuck, yeah. Do you know the code?” Sunoo groaned, his eyes falling back on you. Meeting your eyes as you looked up at him from Jungwon’s neck. He could feel his dick twitch in the confines of his jeans when he saw how lust-blown-out your eyes had become. He wasn’t going to be able to keep his composure at this point. He needed to get you inside and in bed before anything happened.

“Oh uhh, I’m pretty sure it’s eight, two, thre- hey y/n stop that!” He warned when he felt your lips press against the skin right under his ear. His will was only holding on by a strand, and much like Sunoo, he wanted to get you inside before anything happened.

You weren’t even sure what had come over you, but you did know that Jungwon’s scent and his touch left you more drunk than any of the alcohol you had. You could blame the alcohol that was still in your system for your bold moves, but you were sober enough to know what you were doing. Both of your brother’s friends were taking you home, the very home where the three of you would be alone. You’d be a fool to not take advantage of it.

So, as soon as Sunoo managed to open the door and all three of you were inside, you straightened up a little bit. Thinking you were about to try and jump out of his arms, Jungwon opened his mouth to protest but was cut off when you ran your fingers through his hair far enough to get a good grip before pulling his head to the side so you could latch your lips to his neck. It all happened way too fast for Jungwon to stop it.

“Hey! Y/N, stop. We need to get you to bed.” His voice shook, catching Sunoo’s attention. As soon as he saw you, his eyes grew wide. 

Jungwon’s face was cherry red, his eyebrows scrunched together due to your lips and the grip you had on his hair. His fingers were digging into your thigh, probably tight enough to leave bruises. He was scared to move, knowing he would fold the instant he tried to.

“Come on, her room is back here.” Sunoo coughed, covering his lower face trying to hide the blush that had taken over his cheeks.

However, before Jungwon could step further into the apartment, your voice cut him off. Your words sent his mind reeling.

“Won’t you fuck me, Wonnie?” Your voice was raspy from attacking his neck like a starved wolf, “I know you want to.” Your heel-clad foot brushed against his growing erection, causing him to hiss.

Hearing your words made Sunoo stop dead in his tracks, turning to face you and Jungwon. Sunoo’s gaze had turned dark, pupils blown wide. It scared Jungwon a bit, but the feeling of your lips on his skin once more and your foot pressing against his hard-on was making it hard to care.

“Won put her down.” Sunoo’s tone left little to no room for discussion, so Jungwon untangled your legs before setting you on your feet. You whined in protest, ready to latch yourself to Jungwon once more, but Sunoo was quicker. In a few quick strides, he was standing in front of your smaller frame, your chin nestled between his thumb and forefinger. His face is close enough to yours that you could feel his warm breath fanning your lips. “Are you really that much of a desperate slut that you’re willing to throw yourself at your brother's friends?” 

His words made your breath hitch in your throat, but the name didn’t hurt your feelings. No, if anything, it left you dripping more in your panties. Your eyes searched his darker ones, trying to find the words to say. You wanted to make a lie and just say yes that you were willing to just throw yourself at them because you were so pent up, but in reality, you just wanted them. Both. If it was any of Jay’s other friends you wouldn’t have enough thought about doing what you did to Jungwon.

Not getting a response from you, Sunoo clicked his tongue before pulling your face closer to his. He watched in amusement as your eyes fluttered close as his lips ghosted over yours. You then mumbled something he didn’t quite catch.

“You’re gonna have to speak up, princess.” He grumbled against your lips, causing you to open your eyes. Your pupils were blown out to the point that hardly any of your iris was visible. 

Your hand wrapped around his wrist, “If wanting the both of you makes me desperate,” Your eyes flickered over to Jungwon, who was standing no more than two feet away, “Then I am very desperate.”

“Sunoo… we shouldn’t be doing this; none of us are sober.” Jungwon panicked because as much as he wanted to sink his dick so deep into your cunt he knew it was wrong for multiple reasons. 

In a matter of minutes, Sunoo had your back pressed against the cushions of the couch, his lips attached to your neck. Biting and sucking before dragging his tongue along the wounded area, the feeling making you squirm.

“I’m completely sober, Won, have-” A squeak cut you off as Sunoo’s hand squeezed your thigh roughly, “I have been since I woke up earlier.” Your head then fell back when Sunoo ground his hips against yours, pressing his hardened erection against your clothed cunt.

Jungwon stood there fidgeting, conflicted about what to do. On one hand, you did say you were sober, but on the other hand, you were his friend's sister. However, when Sunoo pulled away from your neck to look back at him, he could have sworn his soul had left his body.

“You either join us, or you can leave; the choice is yours, Jungwon.” Sunoo’s voice was deep and husky, making your head spin and your pussy clench around nothing.

Jungwon then threw all caution to the wind. When would he get the chance to do this again, especially with the girl he had been crushing on for the past three years? He made quick work of his jacket, pulling it off his body and throwing it somewhere in the room.

Sunoo smirked before facing you once more, “See that princess, Wonnie is gonna join us.” His fingers that had been resting on your thigh trailed up until he brushed against your clothed pussy. A whine fell from your lips, and your hips bucked up into his touch, causing him to chuckle. “God, you’re so cute but so fucking sexy at the same time.” He bit down on the junction of your neck as his fingers pressed against your pussy. “And you’re so fucking wet, you’re soaking your underwear.” 

You let out a choked whine, covering your face, but Sunoo was quick to grab your wrists, pinning them next to your head. Tears brimmed your waterline, and Sunoo could have sworn he could cum at the sight alone. His eyes then trailed up to the awkward male who was just standing there.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, princess; you’re going to suck Won off while I devour this pretty cunt of yours.” He smirked, leaning down to your face, ghosting his lips over yours once more, “You’ll do that for us, won’t you?” You were quick to nod, but Sunoo just hummed, “I want words, princess.”

“Yes, please.” The tears in your eyes built up more due to how pent up you felt, you just wanted them to touch you, do something. Anything. So you shifted your eyes from Sunoo’s to Jungwon’s, who had pulled off his shirt, leaving you a good view of his toned torso. “I wanna suck Wonnie’s cock while you eat me out, please, Sun-” Before you could even finish your sentence, Sunoo had his lips on yours.

The kiss was full of hunger and need, but the force was almost bruising, leaving you breathless when he pulled you to sit up. His hands make quick work of your dress and bra, throwing them off to an unknown location in the living room. Then his lips were back on your, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling your head back to deepen the kiss. His eyes then looked over at the younger male. It didn’t take a genius for Jungwon to figure out what he was saying, so he quickly shed the rest of his clothes before finding his spot at the end of the couch, right behind you.

Sunoo pulled away from your lips, a string of saliva connecting the two of you until it snapped, and your eyes fluttered open. His hands smoothed down your sides before scooting back a little bit.

“Turn around for me, princess.” His voice was soft, but the look in his eyes made you follow his command as quickly as you could. Turning around onto your hands and knees, facing Jungwon. His eyes were clouded with lust as he took in the sight in front of him; your tits hung underneath you as your ass was pushed up, giving Sunoo the perfect view of your pantie-clad pussy. 

Sunoo’s fingers traced up your spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before pressing down right between your shoulder blades. A small whine fell from your lips as you moved closer to Jungwon. His eyes stayed focused on you as you came face-to-face with his dripping cock. Beads of precum decorating the tip. Situating yourself, you arched your back a little more before taking his hard dick into your small hand.

A groan tore through Jungwon’s throat as you started to rub up and down his shaft. His precum was more than enough lubricant to make your movements easy. Sunoo watched in amusement as Jungwon’s head fell back, one hand gripping the back of the couch while the other covered his mouth. Taking his attention off of the younger boy Sunoo moves his hands down to your hips, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your underwear.

The soft whines that were slipping through Jungwon’s fingers sent shivers throughout your body, your pussy clenching around nothing. It made your head fuzzy, and you wanted to hear more. Leaning forward, you give his tip a few kitten licks, making his body shutter, his hips bucking up in your hold.

“Don’t be so scared to touch her, Won; she obviously wants it. Look how wet she is.” A whine escaped your parted lips when Sunoo’s cool fingers grazed along your slit, gathering your slick before pulling back to show Jungwon. The younger male's eyes went wide at the light reflecting off of Sunoo’s glistening digits.

“Shit…” Jungwon cursed under his breath when you finally took him in your mouth, moving his hands to gather your hair into a makeshift ponytail. His mind went whirling when he made eye contact with you, his breath hitching, seeing the lust in your eyes. When you took him completely in your mouth, he could have sworn he would bust right then and there. However, when you moaned around him, sending vibrations reverberating throughout his entire body, his hips bucked, causing you to gag. God, it was the best feeling he had ever experienced.

Sunoo moved down until he was face-to-face with your cunt, blowing on your glistening hole. You whined against Jungwon once more, causing the boy to groan, tears pricking at the edges of your eyes.

“Fuck, baby, can I fuck your mouth, please?” Jungwon asked, hips bucking once more, making you gag. You looked up at him with a gaze that clearly said yes, but he wanted to hear you say it. So he pulled you off of his dick with an audible ‘pop,’ caressing your cheek softly, “I wanna hear you say it pretty.”

You leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering for a moment before you moved to capture his lips with yours. He was surprised at first but was quick to recuperate the kiss, leaning into you to deepen it before pulling away. You pressed a small kiss against his lips again before moving down to his dick once more, rubbing languidly.

“Please use me however you’d like, Wonnie.” Your voice was raspy but full of lust. You then took him back into your mouth. Jungwon damn near lost his mind when you took him in your mouth all at once.

Sunoo’s hands found their way back to your thighs just as Jungwon started to buck his hips up into your mouth, holding your head in place. He didn’t give you any kind of warning before diving in, mouth latched onto your soaping pussy, making your body twitch as you moaned around Jungwon.

“Fuck!” The younger man moaned out, his movements picking up as you tried your best to focus on your breathing. However, the assault from both ends of your body was enough to leave you breathless.

“Did you forget about me already, princess?” Sunoo chuckled against your cunt, making you moan again, but was quickly choked up by Jungwon’s cock.

Your eyes rolled back when Sunoo sucked harshly on your clit, the pleasure making you go insane. Your grip on Jungwon’s thighs tightened when Sunoo’s tongue prodded at your entrance before he pushed in, letting your juices fill his mouth.

Jungwon wasn’t going to last much longer, and even through your fogged brain, you could tell. So you pressed your tongue against the underside of his cock while using a hand to fondle his balls.

“Holy shit…” He groaned out as his dick twitched in your mouth before painting your throat white. After a few more thrusts, he pulled out of your mouth, allowing you to swallow his load, which only turned the poor boy on even more.

Your head then fell forward when moved to your clit once more. However, Sunoo was growing more and more needy. He needed more, and this wasn't enough. Pulling away, he turned around, where he was lying on his back underneath your dripping cunt. You went to whine in protest, but he harshly tugged on your thighs, making you sit on his face.

“Sun- fuck!” You moaned out when his lips latched onto your clit once more; shocks flared throughout your body as he continued to eat you out like a starved man. You lifted your upper body, hand gripping the back of the couch like a vice to try and keep your balance. You were so close, and Sunoo could tell how your thighs were starting to shake.

Jungwon watched the scene in front of him like it was his favorite porn, his hand pumping his sensitive cock. He just couldn’t seem to get enough of the faces that you were making, and it turned him on so fucking much.

Sunoo’s grip on your hip got tighter, and he pulled you further down onto his face; you tried to resist, scared that you would hurt him. He wasn’t having any of it, using his strength to pull your pussy flush with his face listening to the pretty sounds that fell from your swollen lips.

“I’m- fuck, I’m so close.” You whined as your grip tightened on the couch, hips rutting against his face chasing your high. Sparks dance across your vision when your high comes crashing down, your body trembling in Sunoo’s hold. Small cries fell from your lips as Sunoo continued to lap at your twitching cunt, prolonging your orgasm until he was satisfied. When he pulled away, Jungwon reached out for you and you took his hands without a second thought.

All of the awkwardness had fled from Jungwon’s body at this point; now, he wanted nothing more than to completely ruin you. A smirk pulled on his lips when you perched yourself on his lap, his hands finding your hips. You leaned forward, latching your lips onto his once more; he pulled your hips down enough to have his rock-hard cock slip between your folds. A whine tore through your lips but was swallowed by Jungwon’s mouth.

“Fuck I can’t wait much longer,” Jungwon groaned against your lips before biting down on your bottom lip, “will you ride my cock, pretty?” He asked, moving your hair from your neck so he could place soft kisses along your jugular.

“Please.” You sighed, your hand moving between your bodies, growing impatient. Jungwon chuckled before leaning back to watch as you lifted your hips so you could line his tip with your entrance. The stretch was something you’d never experienced before; he was definitely bigger than any of the other guys you had ever been with before. Jungwon noticed your struggle and rubbed soothing circles on your hips, telling you to take it easy, but you shook your head. No, you were far too desperate to feel him buried in your cunt to wait any longer. So you took a deep breath and tried to relax as much as possible before sinking fully down onto his girth.

“Such a desperate little slut aren’t you?” Sunoo teased you as he moved from the couch to stand behind you. His hands move down to grope your boobs, squeezing hard enough to elicit a whimper from your pretty lips. “Go on, ride him.” 

You didn’t have to be told twice, slowly rocking your hips on Jungwon. The younger let out a throaty groan, his grip on your hips tightening. You were clenching around his dick so tight it was driving him insane.

Sunoo leaned down, moving your hair to the side, placing kisses along the skin of your shoulder and up your neck. Your body leaned back into his chest, basking in the feeling of both of their hands on you. The angle you were sitting in only drove Jungwon’s cock so much deeper into you, hitting all the right places.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” The word left Jungwon’s lips like a mantra as he rutted his hips up into yours. “Shit, I’m sorry, y/n.” Before you could even open your mouth to ask what he meant, he planted his feet behind you before stilling your hips above his and thrusting up into your cunt harshly.

“Jun-” Your breath caught in your throat as he continued to thrust up into you without any remorse. Sunoo grabbed your chin softly, tilting your head back to connect his lips with yours in an upside-down kiss. He swallowed all of your pants and moans with a smirk; he ran his hand down to your core, pressing his middle finger to your clit. 

Jungwon could feel you tighten around him like a vice when Sunoo wrapped his other hand around your throat. Your eyes then trailed down to meet his, eyes completely blown out in lust. He felt his dick twitch when your eyes rolled back as Sunoo sped up his fingers on your clit, mouth gaping open. You were close, and both of them could tell.

“Go ahead, princess, make a mess all over Wonnies cock.” Sunoo cooed in your ear, his movements not slowing.

Your grip on Jungwon’s forearms tightened, nails digging into his skin, sure to leave marks in the morning. Sunoo’s hand around your neck tightened, making you feel lightheaded as you came all over Jungwon’s lap. Your eyes stayed connected to Jungwon’s as he continued to rut his hips into yours, oversensitivity creeping into your body and making your whines louder.

“Wonnie.” You whined out, back arching, causing him to push even deeper into you. Stars started to dance across your vision as Sunoo released your throat to plant hot and wet kisses along your jugular. His fingers never left your spasming cunt, working in tandem with Jungwon’s thrust.

“I’m almost- fuck, I’m almost there, pretty.” He let out a choked groan when you tightened around him, “Just a little bit longer. Can you do that, baby?” You nodded your head like a broken bobblehead.

Sunoo chuckled as he released your clit from his touch as soon as your body tensed, causing you to whine. He then bit down on the junction of your neck as Jungwon’s hips shuddered because of how tight your pussy was clenching around him.

“Fuck.” Jungwon moaned out, head falling back as his grip tightened and his thrust because sloppy, “I’m cumming, shit, I’m cumming.” He pulled your hips flush against him as he released his load deep into your womb.

“God, that was hot as fuck.” Sunoo groaned as he let you lay against Jungwon, face buried in his neck. He then pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it off somewhere in the room to join yours and Jungwon’s.

“Fuck, you did so good, baby.” Jungwon cooed as he pressed a soft kiss against your temple, hands smoothing over your hips and thighs, squeezing the soft plush.

After stripping, Sunoo walked back over to the two of you, rubbing your shoulders, “Think you can handle another one, princess?” His finger kneading into your sore muscles made you feel light as a moan escaped your lips. “Hmm?” 

You removed your face from Jungwon’s neck, leaning back in Sunoo’s hands. “I can, Sun; please fuck me.” Your whiny voice left his dick twitching, wanting nothing more than to bury himself in your cunt beside Jungwon’s, but you weren't ready for that yet. Instead, he sat on the opposite side of the couch, smirking at you while your eyes watched him.

“Come here, princess.” He motioned for you, and you reluctantly lifted yourself off of Jungwon, making the two of you whine out in sensitivity.

Crawling into Sunoo’s lap, you were quick to grab his hard dick, trying to line it up with your entrance. However, Sunoo clicked his tongue, moving your hand away and you looked up at him confused.

“You’re so impatient, but don’t worry…” A squeak left your mouth when he grabbed your thighs, quickly lying you down on your back, hovering over you, “I can’t wait any longer either.”

He threw your legs over his shoulders before pushing into you swiftly. Your jaw fell slack, head falling back as the sudden intrusion. He wasn't much wider than Jungwon, but god, was he longer, his tip kissing your cervix.

“Fuck you’re still so tight.” He groaned, giving you a split second to adjust. You reached up, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him towards you. He practically folded your body in half as he kissed you deeply, rutting his hips slowly until you gave him the green light.

As soon as you gave him the green light, he started to piston his hips into yours. Broken moans of his name fell from your tongue, tears spilling from your eyes. Every time he would hit your cervix, you swore you saw colors dancing in your vision.

“Fu- fuck Sunoo!” You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders at overwhelming pleasure.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe I waited this long to fuck you.” Sunoo groaned, burying his face in your chest, nipping at the skin around your collarbones. Your brain was far too fogged to comprehend what he had just said; the only thought in your fucked out brain was how good it felt to finally have him buried in your cunt.

Sunoo wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol that lingered in his system or if it was because he was so hard for so long, but he was already close to cumming. However, he wasn't about to cum before you; no, he needed to feel you cum around him. Pulling back, he grabbed your legs right behind your knees, thrusting faster into your abused pussy.

“Come on, baby, cum around my cock.” He cooed, biting back a groan when he saw Jungwon’s head thrown back as he rubbed his cock with sloppy and fast movements. Chuckling, he dropped one of your legs to grab your chin, forcing you to look back at the younger male, “Look how hard you got him, princess; he’s gonna cum again just by watching me fuck you.”

Your eyes met Jungwon’s, his hooded gaze making your body tingle and pussy clench. Sunoo watched with dark eyes, keeping his orgasm at bay until he got you to cum once more. Letting go of your face, he trailed his hand down your body to your heat, pressing sharply on your swollen clit.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” You chanted, eyes squeezing shut as your whole body started to shake. Your impending orgasm creeps up even faster, “Sunoo! I’m gonna cum.” You whined, back arching off of the couch. Sunoo hissed as you squeezed tightly around his cock before your walls started to flutter around him, silent screams falling from your lips.

“Shit, that was hot,” He groaned, moving his hand from your bundle of nerves. Grabbing your leg once more, thrusting into you in deep, hard movements. His eyes studied your fucked out expression wanting nothing more than to burn it into his brain, unsure if he’d get to see it again. 

“Fuck I’m gonna cum again,” Jungwon whined, his thumb pressing against his tip. Sunoo’s eyes flickered up to him, a smirk adorning his lips.

“Then cum Won, cum all over our needy slut.” His words made your mind reel, unfocused eyes meeting Jungwon’s as your head fell back. Your heated gaze was enough to push him over the edge, cumming all over your chest and abdomen with a string of curses leaving his lips. 

Sunoo’s hips shuddered, his high right on the tip of his tongue. Looking down, his eyes caught sight of the white ring that wrapped around the base of his cock. The sight flipped something in him, his pacing picking up once more, making you cry out in sensitivity.

“I’m gonna cum,” Sunoo groaned when you squeezed around him again, “gonna cum in this needy little pussy of yours, fill you up so full.” He growled, pushing his cock deep into your cunt, “so full you’ll be dripping for days.”

You gathered some of Jungwon’s cum onto your thumb before placing the digit in your mouth, eyes locked with Sunoo’s. The sight caused both of the males to groan, Sunoo’s hip shuddering.

“Then do it.” Your voice was hoarse as you pulled your thumb from your mouth with a ‘pop’.

That’s all it took for Sunoo to bust, groaning as he painted your gummy walls white. His hips fucking his and Jungwon’s cum into you until slowing to a stop. He let your legs down gently before pressing soft kisses to your face, letting your racing heart calm.

The three of you sat in comfortable silence, catching your breaths before Jungwon spoke up.

“Jay is going to kill us.” He panicked a little, causing both you and Sunoo to burst out laughing. Jungwon looked at the two of you with wide eyes before slowly melting and joining in.

You ran your fingers through Sunoo’s hair as his face was buried in the crook of your neck, your body sticky with sweat and cum. Suddenly acutely aware of this fact, you cringed, “We need to shower.”

The two males burst out laughing again before agreeing and helping you to the bathroom so you could shower. Maybe get another round or two in before the three of you piled into your queen bed, passing out.

“What the fuck?!” The sound of your brother’s shouts woke you dead out of your sleep, sitting up in bed quickly. Sunoo was right behind you, shaking his head out while Jungwon remained lying down, awake.

“Was that Jay?” You asked, looking over at Sunoo with wide eyes.

Sunoo opened his mouth to say that you had probably just heard things and that your brother wasn’t supposed to be back until that night. However, the sound of heavy footsteps shut him right up.

Jungwon shot up in the bed, eyes meeting yours and Sunoo’s panicked ones.

“We forgot to clean up the living room,” Jungwon whined, rubbing his face and flopping back down on the bed, accepting his fate.

Oh, you guys were definitely screwed.

@alvojake | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 : @heesitation @riftanswhore @yeonzzzn @yzzyhee @skzenhalove @seuomo @moonchus @enha-stars @ikeuverse @prized-jules @ro-diaries @yeonjunsfox @luvyong2z @snoopypupp

#♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ :𝓴𝓪𝔂 𝔀𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮𝓼: :; #kim sunoo #yang jungwon #sunoo #jungwon #sunoo enhypen #jungwon enhypen #sunoo enha #jungwon enha #kim sunoo enhypen #yang jungwon enhypen #kim sunoo enha #yang jungwon enha #sunoo x reader #jungwon x reader #reader x sunoo #reader x jungwon #kim sunoo smut #yang jungwon smut #sunoo smut #jungwon smut #enhypen sunoo #enhypen jungwon #enhypen kim sunoo #enhypen yang jungwon #enhypen #enha #enhypen x reader #reader x enhypen #enha x reader

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Idk if you watched the movie Were the Millers?? But can you do imagine where reader never had a first kiss and charles and lando give her her first kiss ?? Like the scene with Jenn Anniston, will poulter, and Emma roberts ???

Grounded || LN4 & CL16

AN: Been a while since I watched it but this was fun to write ☺️ virgin!fem!reader

The backseat to Lando’s Range Rover was spacious and you stretched your legs out to settle in for the drive. A snow storm had grounded the planes in London and Lando had offered to put you both up for the night. As Charles assistant you had tried your best to find a hotel but with Christmas right around the corner everything decent was booked out.

Lando had said to call him if you ever needed anything, but you hadn’t been brave enough to use it until now.

“Are you sure it’s okay to drive in the snow?”

“It’s 4 wheel drive,” Lando replied as he looked at you in the rear view mirror and reassured you with a smile. “We’ll be fine, but if we get stuck at least we can huddle for warmth.”

Your eyes widened at the departing wink in the mirror and your cheeks could have melted all the snow within the greater London area. It would have been a service to the city worth a damehood by the King himself.

“Stop teasing my assistant, Lando,” Charles said with a laugh. “She accidentally deleted my calendar the last time you flirted with her.”

You wanted to argue but he had left you so frazzled you hit the wrong buttons on your iPad. It had been mortifying and the fact your boss was bringing it up again only made you slink lower in the leather seat. It was hard enough to work with such a handsome man, but the fact that his friends that he competed against were just as handsome made your life much harder. At least Charles paid you so there was a line of employee/employer relationship that kept things professional, but there was still the occasional comment that crossed that line - and you never knew how to handle it. Mostly, your brain just shut down.

Shoving your AirPods in, you started to open Spotify to find a distraction from your embarrassment and they both noticed it.

“I can’t help it, you cannot tell me that you don’t find the innocent vibe hot?”

Your fingers froze over the song you were about to play and realised they thought you were already listening to something.

“She’s my assistant.”

“That’s not a denial.” Lando was grinning from ear to ear. “I bet she’s still a virgin.”

You spluttered indignantly and both men looked at you, Charles over his shoulder and Lando in the mirror. Tugging the AirPods out you narrowed your eyes and lied, “I am not a vir-” you couldn’t even bring yourself to say it but you swallowed and took another attempt, “virgin.”

The weak lie caused a crack in the press of lips, until both men laughed outright. Huffing, you crossed your arms and looked out the window. “Does it really even matter?”

“Aren’t you even curious?” Lando shot back.

“I know all about sex, for Christ’s sake, I do read.”

“I’m not sure reading is quite the same as doing in this case,” Charles said, remembering the many times he caught you slamming a book closed at his entrance. He was even more intrigued about those thick volumes now.

“Reading doesn’t threaten to leave me disappointed as I have heard men tend to do.”

Lando scoffed and shook his head. “I haven’t had that complaint. Charles?”

“No, no complaints either.”

“I’m sure it’s less romantic than the books describe too, like kissing. What is so good about possibly chipping a tooth, or sharing saliva?”

The SUV screeched to a halt into a rest stop and Lando turned in his seat. “Wait. You’re telling me you’ve never been kissed?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Charles asked, before he turned and saw the telltales signs of your discomfort. “No, really? How? You are beautiful.”

Your mind went to that place of thoughtlessness, where every neurotransmitter misfired and your heart seemed to find itself beating in two places. “Uh…” you scrambled for an answer that they patiently waited for. “I don’t have any time to date so it just hasn’t come about.”

Charles certainly utilised your availability to be on call 24/7 but he hadn’t thought about the personal cost that took on you. He assumed you didn’t have or want a social life, not that he was the cause for it. Maybe that was why he next words slipped out without censoring, or so he told himself. “I will kiss you, right now.”

“Or I can, and I’m not your boss so there wouldn’t be anything wrong with it,” Lando countered, already unbuckling his seatbelt. “Everyone deserves a perfect first kiss.”

You gripped the seatbelt across your chest as you tried to understand why they were both unbuckled and opening their doors. Cold air rushed in as both backdoors opened and they slipped in beside you, mist billowing from their breath before the warmth was sealed inside once more.

Your lips felt dry and they watched as the tip of your tongue peeked out between to wet them. Your fingers were gently pried off the belt until each hand was laced with theirs but you still stared ahead at the unhappy quiet road. “What if I don’t want to be kissed?”

Lando scoffed but Charles turned you to face him with one curled finger under your chin and a look that made breathing impossible. “Then tell me you don’t want to be kissed,” he whispered as his lips drew nearer, his breath fanning your cheek. The touch of his lips were chaste at best, a caress on cheek before trailing closer to the place where words failed. Your toes clenched in your boots and you trembled with anticipation until the air burst back into your burning lungs. Your lips parted with the intake and he struck.

Your stomach that had been knotted suddenly erupted in the explicable feeling you had only read about. Butterflies, chaotic and energetic, fluttered joyously around your insides and a foreign sound escaped your lips that danced with his.

“I think she likes that, Charles.” A hand on your throat stole you from the taste that you certainly wanted more of and when you opened your eyes you found the pair change from green to blue. “My turn, gorgeous.”

Lando didn’t tease. His hand squeezed and you gasped in response, a sound so similar to what Charles had drawn from you. He took the opening you gave him and devoured you with the hunger of a starving man. His tongue dominated yours as he tipped your head back and deepened the kiss further until you were certain you were going to be consumed by him.

You welcomed it.

You weren’t adept enough after two kisses to know whose was better, both left you yearning for more. But they were parked on the side of the road and you were all too well aware that losing your virginity in the back seat of a Ranger was not what you wanted. Even if your body screamed yes.

“How do you feel?” Charles asked as he eyed your swollen lips and your dilated pupils between your flustered blinks with pride.

“Uh…” You told yourself to think but it was nearly impossible, and the men chuckled with the knowledge they had kissed you stupid.

“Just think of what other ‘firsts’ we could be,” Lando offered as he ran a thumb along your bottom lip, wanting another taste. “We could be snowed in for a while.”

“Wait, what?” They cut through your mental haze with clarity and you sat up straighter. “No, the airport said tomorrow…”

Charles shrugged and your brows pinched. “The storm’s worsening, it might be a few days until the planes can take off.”

“It’s okay,” Lando assured you with a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll look after you.”

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one imagine #f1 x reader

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24HighSchoolStudents #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental education #environmental justice #environmental protection #environmental health #high school students #high school #youth #youth of america #school

[the-iceni-bitch]

𝕭𝖊𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖞 𝖂𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝕽𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖎𝖗𝖊

𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷 - 𝙳𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝙰𝚛𝚒 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊.

𝙰𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 ~ 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗'𝚜 𝚟𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊, 𝚊𝚗𝚞𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑

𝙶𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚑𝚢 ~ 𝙰 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚗-𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚋 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚟𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊 𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚞𝚜

𝚂𝚝𝚢𝚐𝚒𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊 ~ 𝙰𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕, 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕, 𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

Word Count: ~3.5k

Relationship: demon!Ari Levinson x virgin witch fem!reader

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (size kink, unprotected p in v, breeding kink), violence, witchcraft, self cannibalism? SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY!!!

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all my latest fics, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!

You breathed deeply as you checked your sigil and ensured the circle of salt was complete, placing crystals and candles around yourself before sitting back on your heels and closing your eyes. The backs of your hands rested on your knees when you began to chant in a low voice, swaying when you felt the power starting to flow through your veins as your voice grew stronger.

“Fortitudinis filia sum et rapui omni hora a iuventute mea. Caeli me alloquuntur! Concupiunt et cupiunt me furioso appetitu! adumbrata calenti saxea, et purpureo nubilo tectus sum. Ego autem defloratus sum, et adhuc virgo! ecce! Educam tibi natos, o vir Arximoro!!”

The sigil started glowing a deep red and you opened your eyes, your breath catching when smoke that smelled of sulfur began to fill the room. When you heard a distant roar you steeled yourself, keeping a dispassionate look on your face when the furious noises grew closer. Horns appeared in the center of your circle and you fought every instinct that told you to prostrate yourself and beg forgiveness. You were the strongest witch of your age, there was none alive who could hold a candle to you. You would not cower and beg like a simpering girl, no matter that you were making a show of supplication.

As soon as he broke through the haze Ari growled, shaking his head and thrashing his tail while he took in his surroundings. When he realized he was bound he snarled, testing your circle and groaning at the strength of it and gnashing his teeth as he threw himself against the ring of salt. He hated the plane you had called him to, the stench of humanity and the cool air was like a curse. Then he spotted you kneeling at the edge of the circle and bared his teeth, crouching like some massive predator about to pounce as his silver eyes raked over your naked body.

“You stupid little witch…” Ari licked one of his massive fangs and sneered when you just stared back at him, his claws digging into the wood floor as he thought about dragging them across your tempting flesh. “Unbind me now and I promise to leave your body as lovely and unbroken as it currently is.”

“If I am stupid then remove yourself from my restraints.” You winced and cursed yourself under your breath, hating that you had already lost control of your mouth. “Um..I am sorry, my lord.” Even though you had him bound and you needed to remain strong you would still show him the respect he was due as a Lord of Hell, since you didn’t want to end up filleted when you eventually had to release him. “But I fear they are a necessity as I make my plea.”

“Foolish girl.” He tossed his head and let out a rumble from deep in his chest when you dipped your fingers in fragrant oils and began to draw runes on your breasts and stomach, surprised at the sudden feeling of desire he felt stirring in his core. “Make your plea and make it quick, I have more important matters to deal with than some needy little witch. What do you want?”

“There are a great many things I want, my lord.” You could feel the way the intent of his gaze started to shift and it made your breath grow shallow, your eyes sliding up his body until they met his and you let out a small gasp at their intensity. “But what I need is a child. And a worthy mate to sire the child.”

“And you wish for me to sire your spawn? How flattering.” Ari let out a harsh laugh and rose to his full height, rolling his shoulders as he gazed down at you from his eight feet and ran his forked tongue over his bottom lip. “Tell me why you require the seed of a Lord of Hell, woman.”

“I will show you, my lord.” You mentally checked your bindings as you rose to your feet, biting your lip and bowing your head as you turned so he could see the brands that had been seared along your spine. “A warlock bought and bound me, using my power as his own and binding me to his will. I cannot break free without the seed of one of the most powerful of all demons.”

Ari snarled when he saw the marks on your back, his tail lashing back and forth while rage started to creep through his veins. He could look at you with as much disdain as he wanted, he was a Lord of Hell and you were mortal. The stink of humanity tainted you, in spite of the fact you were a witch of incredible power. But even if you were below the hierarchy of Hell, you were still a servant of the Dark Lord. The fact that some worm of a mortal with no power of his own had made such a vile claim on you, a handmaiden of Lucifer, was an offense of the highest order. You were being wasted on some mortal’s whims instead of serving your eternal master as you should.

“Tell me where he is, little witch.” Ari started to push at his bindings again, his voice low and feral as he thought about ripping into the man who had dared to defile one of the unholy servants of Satan. “I would see this mortal punished for his crimes.”

“He is asleep. I brewed a draught that will keep him unconscious and unaware of my activities for the next hour.” You knelt at the edge of the circle again, fighting against every independent bone in your body and bowing your head respectfully as you continued to address him. “Even in death he has arranged for my bond to pass to another warlock just as vile as he. I can only be freed by demonic seed and the spawn of an unholy Lord. This is my plea to you, my lord, to bear your child and be your humble servant in exchange for being released from this bond that was placed without my consent.”

He almost purred as he watched you lay at his feet, his claws scraping against the wood when he flexed his toes as he considered what you were asking of him. You were as comely a witch as he had ever seen, and he wasn’t one to deny himself the pleasure of a mortal lover, much less one that was only half mortal, such as yourself. And the smell of power that came from you was intoxicating. A child borne from a union between the two of you would be a creature of incredible strength. He couldn’t deny that the thought of propagating his line with a witch as lovely and impressive as you aroused him, heat flushing his body as he stepped as close as he could while the circle was still complete.

“I will do this for you, little one.” Ari breathed deeply when he saw you relax, leaning down and pressing his thick fingers to the floor at the edge of the circle. “But know that I expect something in return:”

“I will give you whatever you desire, my lord.” You began the process of releasing him from your circle, extinguishing the candles with a flick of your wrist and pricking your fingers so you could adjust your sigils as needed. “I will bind myself to you my lord. I will be your humble servant. If you wish to take the child once it is born I will let you. All I wish is to be free of this man and his cruel desires.”

When you freed him from the circle he stretched his entire body, his massive wings unfurling and his tail lashing back and forth before he stepped closer to you. His eyes bored into yours, and he found himself licking his lips at the intensity of the hunger in your gaze. You gasped softly when he wrapped his tail around you like a lover would their arms, your breathing growing heavier as he pulled you off your feet so he could drag his nose over the curve of your neck. Ari breathed in your scent deeply and growled at the sweetness, lifting you even higher so he could rub his face against your breasts. He laid you on the floor and licked his fangs while he stretched his body over yours, his massive frame caging you in while his tail snaked around your soft body and he started to brush his nose down your stomach.

“Mmm, I love the smell of a virgin cunt.” Ari purred when he nuzzled at the plump folds of your mound, hooking your knees over his horns and spreading your thighs wide so he could press his face against your dewy flesh. “So sweet and unspoiled.”

“That is lovely but I require your seed… oh!” You whimpered when his forked tongue slithered through your pussy lips, your back arching and your eyes fluttering closed when the cleft in the thick muscle toyed with your clit. “Fuck.”

Ari just growled while he tasted you, savoring the sweet flavor of your virginity and watching your body writhe for him. The pleasure of soiling a virgin was unlike anything else in any of the spiritual planes, and the fact that you were offering yourself to him so willingly, even if you were a little bit sassy about it, just made everything better. He purred against your flesh before slipping his tongue inside you, his lips spreading in a grin when you cried out and kicked your little feet at the new sensation. Your body and mind were already surrendering to him, he could feel it, he could practically taste it as his tongue pushed deeper inside your wet warmth.

You could feel your core growing tighter while your body rolled against his face, your breath leaving you in small whimpers and gasps as pleasure raged through your veins. When you felt his thick tongue undulating inside you your vision went white, your toes curling and the taste of your own blood filling your mouth while you bit your lip in bliss. Your breath was heavy in your chest as you came back down, your body limp as your new demon lover rose to his knees and drew you into his lap with one massive hand.

“I had to warm you up, little witch.” Ari purred and dragged his nose along your sweat dampened temple, huffing out a laugh when you could only mumble nonsense in response as his free hand moved to line his gargantuan cock up with your creamy pussy. “Don’t want to actually break you while I’m breaking you in. Not if I plan on keeping you around.”

The way he lazily leaned back against the wall as he manhandled you should have been annoying, but the arch of his brow and arrogant smirk of his full lips only served to make your cunt drip even more. He kept licking your juices off his lips while he watched you struggle to regain some semblance of control over your mind and body, but then his thick tip slid through your pussy lips to catch at your entrance and all you could do was moan.

Ecstasy. That was the only word for the sensations that overwhelmed your body when he pushed inside you. A violent scream of pleasure escaped from you once you were completely full of him, your cunt spasming wildly around his cock. There was pain, but there was also bliss. He was bigger than anything you could even imagine, and the barbs that surrounded his shaft made you stretch even more as you arched your back and whined. Your thighs started trembling as he guided you down on his length, his free hand cupping your jaw almost tenderly when you felt your virginity tear and let out a pathetic mewl.

“Shhhh, it’s alright little one.” Ari grinned wickedly when you choked out a thin whine as he rolled his hips under yours, his hand on your waist gently keeping you upright even while his eyes glittered mischievously. “Just let every thought drain out of that pretty little head except for how good it feels. That’s it.”

Your eyes rolled back in your head when your hips finally met his, your muscles quivering with the effort of stretching to accommodate him. It should have been impossible for his cock to fit inside you completely, but it was, making you feel every one of the fleshy barbs along his shaft that would swell and throb in his release before he started to slide you up and down his length with no effort. Ari growled pleasantly when he watched your nectar and blood drip down his cock as he pulled you up so just his tip was nestled inside you, then snorted out a laugh when you yelped as he dropped you back down again. One of his thumbs started tracing the curve of your breast idly, making him grunt when your pussy clenched around him before beginning to snake his tail around your legs and between your thighs.

“What a sweet, soft little witch you’ve turned out to be. You enjoy this, don’t you?” Ari chuckled when you just nodded at him, swatting your ass with his tail and making you yelp again as he slithered the tip between your cheeks. “You will find that I enjoy when my lovers tell me how much they enjoy what I do to them with words, little one, especially when it’s their first time. Is it as wonderful as you thought it would be?”

“It’s… ohhhh, fucking Lucifer.” You dropped your head back and keened when his tail dragged through your slick before pushing inside your ass, your hands clutching at the thick fingers that held you as you felt new warmth spreading through you. “It’s… it’s incredible… so full… my lord.”

“Mmhm, and you look lovely all stretched open like this.” When you scowled a bit at that Ari laughed, sitting up so he could breathe in your scent while he nuzzled at the top of your head. “Don’t scowl little one, it’s unbecoming. And I feel as though you should call me something new now that we’re mated. Obviously not my name, I am still a lord of hell and you’re just a little witch. But why don’t you try calling me your beloved?”

“Not little.” Your pout disappeared with a gasp when he flicked your nipple with the sharp edge of his claw, not enough to make you bleed, but enough to warn you to behave as he cocked his head at you. “I’m sorry, my… my beloved.”

“That’s a good little witch.” Ari’s tail slithered deeper inside your ass at the same time he drove up into you and he purred at the noise you made, starting to move his hips regularly rather than just pump you up and down like an inanimate doll. “Why don’t you come for me, little one? Think of your new life that waits for you in the depths of hell as my mate and come for your beloved”

He ground against your clit and you could barely rasp out a ‘yes beloved’ before you were crying out in euphoria, your body arching and your cunt fluttering as everything in the world turned to bright white light. Every muscle in your body trembled and clenched while he held you upright, and it was impossible to catch your breath as you sobbed and gasped. When your mouth was still open you felt his forked tongue slide inside, your gaze finding his as you opened wider for him while his grip on your waist tightened and his movements became more determined. Ari groaned with pleasure when you swallowed his tongue, his claws scraping against your flesh at the feeling of your ultimate surrender.

You could hear him in your mind, telling you how beautiful you were, how well you were taking him and that this was what you were made for. He promised to give you as many sons and daughters as you desired, all the power you could ever dream of if you would serve and pleasure him however he wished. It was intoxicating, being full of him in every possible way. You could swear you were already feeling the warmth and static of the new power he promised you flowing through your veins and prickling your skin as you lost yourself in his touch and the depths of his silver eyes.

Ari kept his lips molded to yours when you came again with a muffled cry, cradling your body almost gently even as his hips thrust against yours faster and wilder. His tail fucked your ass while his tongue fucked your throat, your tight pussy squeezing the life out of his cock when he started to swell as you fluttered and stretched around him. He could see the plea in your eyes as you whimpered and moaned, remembering just how addictive the emotional energy of a mortal lover could be when they were overcome with pleasure. With a growl and a deep roll of his massive body he let himself go, the barbs of his cock engorging and locking him deep inside as he pumped his thick, hot seed into your fertile womb.

As soon as you felt the first gush of his cum inside you, the bonds forced on you by your mortal master disappeared, your power raging unfettered through your veins for the first time in years and making tears well in your eyes even as you grinned against Ari’s mouth. Ari felt the change and his eyes widened, the strength of your power making him appreciate you even more as he thought of the might you would pass on to your children. He let his tongue slither out of your mouth even as he kept your other two holes filled, licking his fangs as he gazed at you curiously, bending one massive leg so you could rest against his thigh.

“A strong little witch.” Ari reached out to drag his thumb over the bulge in your lower stomach where his cock was resting against your womb, smirking when he saw his cum leaking out of you and staining your thighs. “You may even survive the birth, sweet one.”

You were about to answer him when the door to your private cell was flung open, your warlock master looking even more furious when he saw you resting in the arms of your new demon lover. When you didn’t immediately cower he snarled, his fists clenching as he gathered his weak and meager magic to try to bind you again.

“You stupid little bitch!”

Whatever he had been about to say next was cut off when you raised your hand and gave an indolent flick of your wrist, smiling to yourself when he was instantly flung against the wall and pinned there, gagged with air so his mouth was forced wide open. Ari laughed at your display of power, pulling you closer and kissing the top of your head before pulling out of you so he could stand. Your former master had the good sense to flinch when the enormous demon came to stand in front of him, his eyes flitting towards you and widening with fear when Ari leaned forward to smell him.

“Weak and insignificant, I wonder how you ever managed to snare my little witch.” Ari snorted and rolled his eyes when the man pissed himself, reaching out a hand towards you and looking down to smile at you when you came to stand by his side. “I would normally punish you myself for making a slave of one of the Dark Lord’s handmaidens, but I should like to see what my sweet little one thinks you deserve. She is the mother of my child, after all. Make it quick or bring him with us, small one, I will be bringing you to your new home.”

You beamed up at him adoringly before turning to sneer at your former master, biting your lip as you ignored his muffled sobs and thought about what exactly you wanted to do to him. By the time Ari had opened a portal to the realm of Hell you had performed a quick incantation, gripping one of your lover’s hands with both of yours as he led you into the shimmering heat, your mortal captor swallowing the first of his fingers and whining as he followed the two of you before the portal winked shut and you left the mortal world behind.

#natalie writes #monstrous mayhem #kinktober 2023 #ari levinson #demon!ari levinson #ari levinson x y/n #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson smut #female reader #chris evans #chris evans character x reader #chris evans character fanfiction #chris evans character #chris evans smut #eighteen plus

[xexyromero]

red red wine. matías recalt x fem!reader

fem!reader, matías recalt x reader, smut.

cw: +18, smut, sexo em público, matías falando merda, penetração, dirty talk, dumbification.

sinopse: o melhor amigo do seu irmão mais novo finalmente consegue roubar seu beijo.

wn: seu pedido, @luludohs! desculpa a demora e espero que você goste <3 também juntei com o request de um anon que me pediu smut na praia!

você pausou o filme que assistia a muito contragosto quando ouviu uma série de vozes muito animadas entrando pela porta. a voz do seu irmão era clara entre as demais e a voz do argentino maldito vinha logo em seguida.

matías era o amigo argentino do seu irmão que vinha visitá-lo no brasil de vez em quando. eles gostavam muito da praia que sua família tinha casa e, quase sempre quando matías vinha, davam um jeito de escapar para o litoral.

uma pena que resolveram vir na mesma época que você estava tirando seu mês sabático longe de todas as pessoas e formas de vida possíveis.

o argentino não era má pessoa, só era infantil, implicante, não tinha a menor noção do significado de "espaço pessoal" e claramente queria te comer a qualquer custo.

o que não era um problema pra você - ele até que era gracinha - mas só o fato de ele tentar tanto já te deixou sem muita vontade. não só isso como tinha a mais plena certeza que seu irmão jamais a perdoaria.

de qualquer forma, alheios ao seus pensamentos, os dois entraram pela sala gritando, comentando sobre algo que tinham visto, seguido de mais três amigos brasileiros do seu irmão.

"boa noite." cumprimentou sem muito entusiasmo, encarando seu irmão mais novo que claramente estava bêbado. "que coisa bonita, viu? mamãe vai achar lindo."

"mamãe não vai achar nada! não conte pra ela!" o desespero na voz era palpável. todos riram bastante, menos o desesperado.

"buenas." matías disse, sendo o único que te cumprimentou olhando nos olhos, depositando um beijinho na sua bochecha. "está linda hoje, nena. adorei o vestido." teria enrubescido se aquele não fosse mais um flerte comum de matías. balançou a cabeça negativamente.

seu irmão resmungou alguma coisa que você fez questão de não ouvir.

"vocês levam esse pateta lá pra cima? acho que ele precisa de um banho." aproveitou a presença dos demais pra não se responsabilizar em nada pelo irmão bêbado. já tinha bancado a babá vezes o suficiente nos últimos dias.

"chicos, podem levá-lo, eh? vou ficar aqui cuidando dessa princesa." você bufou, desligando a televisão de vez. queria dizer que não, que saísse de perto de você, que a deixasse em paz, mas sabia que aquele tipo de comentário só renderia mais e mais implicâncias de matías. era melhor ficar calada.

viu todos carregando o corpo acordado, embora claramente inerte, escada à cima. o safado aproveitou que ficou distraída e rapidamente sentou ao seu lado no sofá, as coxas centímetros de se tocar. "hola, linda."

"hola nada, argentino."

"não hables assim que me encanta."

"matías, não me amole. hoje eu não estou com saco. vai perturbar os patetas lá em cima que eu tenho mais o que fazer."

curta e grossa, não esperou para ver a reação do mais novo. se retirou da sala, indo direto para a área da varanda que, felizmente, era de frente ao mar. tirou às chinelas e colocou o pé na areia, sentindo-se calma quase que imediatamente.

gostava muito daquele lugar e gostava mais ainda da praia à noite. era tudo tão calmo. não havia viva alma por ali que não fosse você e todas as micro formas no mar e na areia. o marulho te fazia sorrir. andou um pouco, se afastando da casa, sentando onde a luz da varanda quase não te alcançava mais.

estava tudo perfeito, até ouvir aquele sotaque forte se aproximando.

"ay, linda. me pergunto o quanto que eu vou ter que me humilhar até conseguir um beijo teu." sem convite, e sem esperar por um, ele sentou-se ao seu lado na areia. enterrando os pés quase que automaticamente. largou ao seu lado uma mantinha do sofá.

você acharia fofo e ficaria até com pena se não conhecesse a peça muito bem.

"infelizmente, matí..." e soltou o apelido com todo escárnio e ironia que conseguiu. "acho que só nascendo de novo."

o rapaz bateu de leve na própria cabeça, soltou uma palavra em espanhol que você não conseguiu distinguir e se levantou quase que na mesma hora. a reação foi esquisitíssima, até porque ele sorria.

você virou o rosto para entender melhor o que ele planejava fazer. o argentino deu alguns passos em direção à casa, estremeceu e voltou. sentando no mesmo local que antes ocupava, do seu lado, na areia. ele trazia consigo um sorriso encantador.

"hola, me chamo matí. sou argentino e estou visitando o brasil. como se chama?"

você piscou algumas vezes. matías era um safado mesmo.

"matías, francamente."

"sim, é matí de matías!" chega deu um saltinho, fingindo surpresa. "como adivinhou? acho que nosso encontro estava escrito nas estrelas!" os olhos estavam arregalados, a boca aberta em choque e a mão direita apontava para o céu, que estava salpicado de estrelhinhas.

você não conseguiu conter as gargalhadas que saiam sem permissão da sua boca. maldito! "eu disse nascendo, matí. não conhecendo!" mas as risadas falavam mais.

e o argentino, que não era bobo nem nada, aproveitou seu acesso de riso e baixa de guarda momentânea para se aproximar. ele trazia um sorriso sincero, sereno e mirava direto para seus lábios.

você não sabe muito bem porque deixou. talvez pelo término recente, talvez pela insistência do outro. pela curiosidade de finalmente entender o que ele faria se conseguisse te beijar.

fosse como fosse, permitiu. deixou que ele chegasse perto. deixou que seus lábios se encontrassem pela primeira vez. deixou que o beijo se intensificasse, que a língua pedisse passagem, que ele colocasse a mão firma na sua cintura.

e também permitiu os demais beijos que vieram em seguida.

se agarravam sem qualquer pudor na praia vazia. os beijos mais longos e mais intensos, os toques saindo do educado e entrando no reino sexual. você até colocou a mão na coxa dele, sem vergonha. e deixou que ela deslizasse com certo cuidado pelo membro já pulsante do rapaz.

aquilo foi o que ele precisava, pelo visto.

matías se levantou, pegando a manta esquecida e a estendendo na areia. deu duas batidinhas. "sua cama, princesa." e soltou uma risadinha ridícula.

você não aguentou e deu um tapaço no braço dele, embora tenha aceitado a oferta e deitado por cima do tecido. "se você acha que vai me comer na praia, ma..."

foi interrompida por mais um beijo ardente. ele jogou o corpo por cima do seu, deslizando as mãos do seu rosto até a cintura, passando propositadamente pelo vale dos seus seios.

"shhh, nena. eu ia te comer em qualquer lugar. por acaso, vai ser na praia. relaxe." você queria conseguir respondê-lo, queria sim. algo bem desaforado, se levantar e deixar ele doente de tesão sem poder te tocar nunca mais de novo.

mas na mesmíssima hora que ele calou a boca, a mão encontrou o caminho por de baixo do vestido que usava. seu corpo estremeceu no momento que ele arredou só um pouquinho sua calcinha para o lado. o contato do dedo quente e do vento frio em um ponto tão sensível e já estimulado te fizeram gemer baixinho.

matías se levantou sem tirar a mão, ficando de joelhos na frente do seu corpo deitado. "porra, que tesão. você sabe que eu quero meter aqui desde a primeira vez que eu te vi, né?" introduziu o dedo indicador que entrou sem dificuldade com o tanto de mel que você soltava. "é tão engraçado. você estava tão inteligente até agora. respondendo tudo direitinho. eu meti o dedo na tua buceta e de repente você perde a capacidade de falar."

"matías." foi um aviso. estava com tesão mas não era maluca. por mais que as dedadas dele (que agora acrescentava mais um dedo) estivessem te levando a loucura.

"repete meu nome de novo. quero que você goze me chamando." e ele abriu o zíper da calça, colocando o membro para fora com maestria e jogando o corpo por cima de você. meteu só a cabecinha do pau com cuidado na sua buceta. você suspirou fundo, as mãos correndo para os ombros dele a fim de te dar apoio e suporte.

"que bucetinha apertada. agora entendi porque você é tão mal humorada. não se preocupa não, nena." e ele introduziu o restante do membro, soltando um gemido tão lânguido quanto o seu quando se enfiou por inteiro.

ele metia com gosto, em um ritmo perfeito. queria que ele jogasse seu vestido fora e a blusa que usava também, mas sabia que não podia devido as circunstâncias. afinal, ainda era um espaço público.

a constância estava te deixando louca e ele aproveitou que seus gemidos estavam ficando mais desesperados para masturbar seu clitóris. "goza comigo, linda. e geme meu nome." você não era louca de não obedecer. em poucos minutos, gozou de boca aberta, chamando o nome do argentino sem vergonha e sem pudor.

em pouco tempo sentiu o interior sendo inundado pelo gozo dele.

matías se vestiu, ajeitou seu vestido e deitou ao seu lado, passando o braço por de baixo do seu pescoço e te trazendo pra perto. pela primeira vez, ficou calado na sua presença. e aí você entendeu que esse provavelmente era o único jeito de fazê-lo calar a boca.

#matias recalt x reader #matias recalt #lsdln cast #lsdln #ffs

[imninahchan]

⌜ 𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐒: 4some, leitora!atriz, festival de veneza, sexo casual, cigarro [cof cof cof], bebida alcoólica, dirty talk, degradação e elogios, dumbification, dry humping(?), oral fem, food play, finger sucking, fingering, alguns tapinhas, breast/nipple play, orgasm denial, big cock(?), chocking, manhandling, oral masc, sexo sem proteção [minha mãe disse q não pode]. ⋆ .⭒˚｡⋆ ⌝

꒰ 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑨𝑺 𝑫𝑨 𝑨𝑼𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑨 ꒱ baixou o nível hein

𓍢ִ໋🀦 ESSE É O MELHOR MOMENTO NA SUA CARREIRA, SEM DÚVIDAS ─────

O Festival de Veneza é o seu terceiro nessa temporada de exibições. Na última semana, esteve na Espanha para entrevistas e outras atividades de divulgação, onde reencontrou alguns conhecidos da indústria no tapete vermelho, conheceu novos colegas de trabalho.

O seu filme está indo muito bem, a propósito. A crítica internacional rendeu elogios, a sua popularidade aumentou, o que te faz acreditar que, quem sabe, logo logo vai se deparar com um roteiro no qual não precise falar espanhol. Está trabalhando tanto que acha que merece um agrado, algo pra renovar os ânimos porque todas essas viagens indo pra aqui e pra lá estão consumindo seu espírito. Mas você não é a única pensando em relaxar um pouquinho entre a agenda lotada, não é mesmo?

A mão grande paira no seu quadril, é um toque canalha e clássico pra quem quer apenas abrir espaço para alcançar alguma coisa. E, de fato, Agustín estica a outra mão para apanhar o garrafa de champanhe no balde cheio de gelo. A questão é que não precisava chegar tão perto, não precisava encostar o corpo dele no seu a ponto do calor ser contagiante, muito menos te empurrar de leve contra a quina da mesa retangular de forma que possa encaixar deliciosamente o meio das pernas na rigidez da madeira. Quando você espia pelo ombro para olhá-lo, o sorriso ladino no rosto do argentino é tão fajuto que você não evita o seu. Ele enche a própria taça mais uma vez e se afasta, como se não tivesse feito nada.

Você não retruca, quer dizer até esquece se planeja falar algo. Os olhos se perdem na visão mais à frente, na outra figura masculina. Matías sopra a fumaça pro ar, tombando a cabeça contra o vidro da porta da sacada. O rosto quase desaparece, a silhueta franzina, os cabelos curtinhos. Embora à pouca luz ambiente, somente um abajur aceso no aparador de madeira e os raios do fim de tarde italiano, sabe reconhecer o sorriso rasgado de canto, a carinha de quem está muito mal intencionado desde que você aceitou vir ‘comemorar’ o sucesso profissional junto com eles. Tava mais do que na hora de terminar aquilo que quase começaram em Madrid na semana passada.

O clima aqui no quarto é tenso, é óbvio. Ao fundo, tem uma musiquinha tocando no celular de algum deles só pra disfarçar qualquer possível barulho que reverbere além das paredes do hotel. A festa não deveria estar acontecendo aqui, mas sim no cômodo ao lado, onde o diretor do projeto deles curte o triunfo com outros membros do staff mas sem, claro, os atores que, aparentemente, se perderam entre os corredores.

Por isso, quando a porta abre você não estranha a imagem de Enzo adentrando mais uma vez, com duas tigelas de vidro arabesco. Finalmente, depois de demorar uns dez minutos, com certeza porque foi pego em conversas com a equipe e só conseguiu escapar agora.

— Demorou, hein? — e o Recalt tem a pachorra de reclamar.

O uruguaio evita revirar os olhos, porém é notável a irritação só pela forma que ignora o mais novo. Você ri, se anima quando ele entrega a comida e te garante ‘pa ti, mi amor, mordendo a pontinha da unha ao vê-lo sorrir de uma forma charmosa.

— Desculpa te deixar esperando. — Enzo pende o corpo para se equilibrar com o cotovelo na mesa, ao seu lado, tocando a sua bochecha com as costas da mão. — ‘Tava difícil achar uma desculpa pra sumir de novo...

Matías se aproxima da mesa também, deixa a taça de lado porque a mão se ocupa de ir em direção à tigela que contém os morangos fresquinhos.

— Mas bem que cê podia voltar lá e pegar mais bebida, né? — murmura, mastigando um pedaço, e levando o restante pra afundar no chocolate derretido. Leva à boca e sorri, travesso.

Enzo só estala a língua, estede o braço pra pegar o cigarro de entre os dedos do amigo. Traga pra não ceder às provocações do pirralho.

— Inclusive — o argentino, agora, leva a atenção a ti. Os olhos apertam, a cabeça vergando pro lado pra observar as suas costas —, como tira esse vestido, linda? — Toca por cima das amarras até chegar no laço. — É só puxar? — E faz essa carinha lavada, inocente.

— Tem o fecho aqui, também — é o uruguaio que informa, com um sorriso, o dedo correndo pela extensão do zíper fininho que quase desaparece entre o tecido de cetim.

Você bebe o último gole na sua taça, não poderia nem se quisesse esconder o quão mexida está com toda essa situação. Teria se esfregado na quina da mesa enquanto Enzo desenhava pelo fecho do seu vestido, do coccix à bunda, se não estivesse tão retraída, com os ombrinhos encolhidos e tudo. Parece que eles querem brincar contigo, nossa...

De novo, você sente a presença quente de Agustín por trás. Dessa vez, porém, não segura no seu quadril, o que acaba sendo mais provocante ainda, porque, veja só, a virilha continua pressando o meio das suas pernas contra a madeira. Ele retira e larga o blazer azul sobre a mesa, junto da taça, e depois empurra tudo pro canto.

— Que bom que é fácil tirar a sua roupa — diz, as mãos pegando na sua cintura pra te virar pra ele. — Já pode tirar?

Dá aqui, Enzo apanha a taça da sua mão, deixa no cantinho. E você foge do olhar do Pardella, rindo, sem dúvida nenhuma pra onde cada ação ou fala alheia está levando. Quando o joelho encaixa direitinho entre as suas pernas, segura nos braços dele, estremecida.

— Olha, vai com calma, vocês são três...

— Quê? Tá parecendo que a gente vai meter tanto, mas tanto em você que vamo’ te deixar, sei lá, uns dois dias de perna bambinha? — A pergunta é tão sem-vergonha que tudo que você consegue fazer é tentar empurrá-lo de levinho no ombro, porém tendo o pulso apreendido e o corpo roubado para os braços alheios. Ele ri, os dedos afundando nos cabelos da sua nuca. — Jamais, nena. Eu sou cavalheiro — mas o tom de voz não passa confiança nenhuma.

Dá pra escutar o risinho soprado do Vogrincic, ou imaginar a expressão debochadinha de sobrancelha arqueada do Recault, mas a resposta de Agustín é ainda melhor. Te olha, cheio de teatralidade pra se fingir ofendido. As mãos à meia altura.

— É — Matías reforça, igualmente fingido —, se machucar vai ser, tipo, só um pouquinho, né, ‘Gus? A gente jura, pode confiar...

Você nem olha na direção do Recalt, internamente derretida com a fala sacana mas querendo manter alguma marra por fora. Os olhos pescam a imagem de Enzo tragando o restinho do cigarro e não evita questioná-lo, é cavalheiro também?

Ele desvia o olhar, coça a têmpora, guardando os fios espessos atrás da orelha. A fumaça escapando entre os lábios entreabertos num sorriso, sim, aham, cariño...

Teria rebatido com algum resmungo, um ‘odeio vocês’, ou algo do tipo. Nenhum deles parece querer colaborar com a sua sanidade, é incrível. Entretanto nem tem um mísero tempinho pra isso, Agustín te pega pela cintura mais uma vez e te senta na mesa. Você arfa, sendo manejada pelo homem que te coloca deitada sobre a superfície fria e separa as suas pernas.

A barra do seu vestido é enroscada na barriga, a calcinha desaparece do seu corpo mais rápido do que pode contar. Ele te ajeita bem na beiradinha da mesa, o ideal para inclinar-se e devorar. A sua panturrilha se penturando sobre o ombro alheio, a aspereza da barba roçando no seu joelho enquanto o olhar de fome te faz delirar.

Não sabe onde segurar, inquieta quando o sugar do seu clitóris te apetece. A língua quente, habilidosa, acariciando cada partezinha sua lá em baixo. Pega na mão de Matí, que ri diante da sua reação, porém ao ver Enzo dando a volta na mesa pra se curvar sobre o seu rosto, os fios abundantes dele são uma escolha melhor.

A ponta do nariz grande resvala na sua, os lábios deixam um beijinho ali, terno. Apaga o cigarro no cinzeiro, o foco agora é todo no seu corpo, deitado sobre a mesa como se fosse a próxima refeição pra finalizar o dia.

— Quer? — te oferece um moranguinho. Você faz que sim, dá uma mordida, mas logo se perde no prazer das lambidas certeiras e até desaprende que deve mastigar e engolir. Ele come o resto, sorrindo. Os lábios logo vindo em busca dos seus pra intercalar da melhor forma que o ângulo permite.

A mão de Matías percorre a extensão do seu decote. Porque o tecido é fininho dá pra notar a ausência do sutiã, o biquinho duro apontando por baixo. Só de arredar pro lado já é o suficiente pra te expor, pra apalpar a mama. Envolver o mamilo entre os dedos e esfregar, acertando um tapinha pra ver a carne mexer. E você lamuria, Matí, chamando o nome dele em meio aos selinhos molhados que troca com o uruguaio.

Mas Matías não amolece com um chorinho leve, já tinha uma intenção bem óbvia desde que Enzo avisou que traria morango e chocolate pra você comer. Faz como queria, evidentemente. O indicador mergulha na tigela de chocolate derretido, trazendo a calda pra pintar por cima do seu peitinho.

A sensação morninha cobrindo a região te faz tirar a atenção do ósculo para presenciar com os próprios olhos o argentino chupar todo o caldinho da onde manchou. A cena erótica é de alucinar, especialmente ao ouvir o estalinho dos lábios dele depois de chupar.

— Tsc, fazendo uma bagunça nela, Matí... — Enzo murmura, observando a confusão de chocolate e saliva que resta depois da primeira lambida.

O garoto sorri, sacana como nunca.

— Por que não põe seus dedos na boca dela? — instiga. — Aposto que ela vai mamar igual uma puta se estiver docinho assim...

E Enzo pondera a ideia, abaixando no nível do seu ouvido pra perguntar quer, hm? É?, sussurrando, que coisa de putinha, nena, quando te ouve dizendo que sim. Afunda dois na tigela com chocolate e traz pra você provar. É abraçado pelo calor da sua boca, se lambuza na sua saliva, estocando da mesma forma que faria se fosse colocar entre as suas pernas.

— Por falar em dedos... — Agustín ergue a face, corre a língua nos lábios molhadinhos — ...vou te dar três... — ofega — ...pra cada pau que vai foder a sua buceta.

Você morde sem querer os dedos de Enzo, que até faz carinha de dor só que nem dá muita ideia pois já imagina que o Pardella foi cruel ao ponto de colocar tudo de uma vez. E por mais que ele continue sussurrando ao pé do seu ouvido, tranqui, nena, você consegue, todo carinhoso, você sabe bem que é justamente o contrário. É a boca de Matías nos seus peitos, Agustín metendo três dígitos dentro de ti enquanto beija pelo seu baixo ventre, arrastando a barba até os pelos arrepiarem, e, por Deus, a pior parte não é nem babar com os dedos do Vogrincic na sua boca, mas sim não respirar outra coisa senão o perfume gostoso dele.

— ‘Gus... eu... — quer avisar o iminente, a vozinha soando quebradiça junto de tantos estímulos.

Agustín compreende, cessa as carícias dele na mesma hora.

— Ia gozar, princesa? — Acaba te roubando dos outros, as mesmas mãos indelicadas pra te virar sobre a mesa, pressionar seus seios contra a superfície e empinar a sua bunda. — Que boa menina, avisando na hora certinha... — Sobe a barra do seu vestido de novo, a ponta dos dedos arranhando nas suas coxas. Estala um tapa na sua nádega, o torso inclina sobre o seu pra dizer: ‘cê não vai gozar agora, okay?’

Vai ficar cheia de porra, explica, mas não vai gozar agora.

Só consegue espiar por cima do ombro na hora que o homem se despe. A camisa branca desaparecendo para que o peitoral tatuado, de pelinhos finos, possa ser exposto. Fecha os olhos, só esperando para senti-lo dentro, e quando ele vem, caramba, você murmura que não vai caber, não vai caber, só pra levar tudinho, bem quietinha, ao passo que eles caçoam do seu desespero bobo.

Agustín força com a mão a lateral do seu rosto na mesa, faz seu corpo todo tremer a cada investida, igualzinho faz no móvel. Sente a barba nas suas costas, por entre as amarras do vestido. Não refrea o próprio quadril de se empinar mais, na ponta dos pezinhos, oferecendo o melhor ângulo para que ele possa continuar se enterrando nesse ritmo alucinante. A visão fica turva, os olhos revirando, babando feito uma tonta sobre a mesa, mas consegue reconhecer a silhueta de Enzo sorrindo diante do seu estado.

E é o uruguaio que, assim que o amigo finaliza, inunda o seu interior todinho, te ergue para se sentar sobre a superfície mais uma vez. Franze o cenho, segurando nos cantinhos do seu rosto para te observar bem. Parece ponderar, julgar a sua expressão abatida.

Matías apoia o queixo no ombro do Vogrincic, a língua pingando veneno quando provoca: ‘será que a bonequinha aguenta mais?’

Enzo aperta o olhar, os lábios crispando, cômico, enquanto mira o Pardella, o qual, ofegante, só sabe sorrir diante da brincadeira boba dos outros.

— Olha pra mim, princesa. — Encaixa as mãos por baixo das suas orelhas, de modo que os polegares possam acariciar as bochechas. As íris castanhas procuram pelas suas, pelo seu foco, porém você ainda está tão retida ao que viveu, o meio das pernas ainda latejando de saudade, que demora a voltar a si. E Enzo ri, acha bonitinho. — Vou te levar pra cama, okay? — diz, calminho, falando devagar como se você não pudesse reconhecer as palavras. — Acha que consegue mais um?

Você arqueja, mais dona de si, afirmando que sim, aguenta sim.

— É? — reitera, terno. — Então, vem.

Se entregue ao colo dele, se deixa ser envolvida e erguida da mesa para deitar as costas no colchão macio do quarto de hotel. Começa a tirar você mesma o vestido, assim que o vê se despir, na ansiedade para tê-lo. Enzo, chama o nome dele, com manha, a carinha de quem precisa tanto, mas tanto de algo que vai enlouquecer se não tiver logo. E ele diz calma, calminha, nena, nesse tom tranquilo que te tira do sério, bufando de frustração, enquanto os outros dois só sabem rir do seu jeitinho de desesperada por pica.

Assim como Agustín, o Vogrincic também tem as mãos bem firmes para te manejar. Os dedos apertam na sua carne, te acomodando de ladinho, porém erguendo a sua perna para que possa descansá-la por cima do ombro dele. Você suporta o equilíbrio do torso no cotovelo escorado no colchão, à mostra dessa forma e, pior, ensopadinha já, o homem tem pouca ou quase nenhuma dificuldade pra se empurrar pra dentro.

Vai tão fundo nesse deslize único que os seus lábios se afastam num ‘o’ perfeitinho, tomada até o talo, soltando o ar dos pulmões por aparentar senti-lo na garganta. Puta que pariu... É só ele começar a se mover que os seus gemidos se desencadeiam um atrás do outro, as notas docinhas e quebradas a cada estocada. A cadência dos quadris masculinos fazendo a cama remexer junto, o impacto do corpo dele no seu te deixando fraquinha.

— Sabia que ia aguentar mais... — Ele se dobra por cima de ti, quer conversar pertinho do seu ouvido, com o nariz encostado na lateral do seu rosto. A mão sobe pela sua barriga, aperta o seu seio, mas o destino final é o seu pescoço, onde segura, brusco. — Mas porque é uma piranha treinadinha, né? Leva dois, três, quanto quiserem te dar...

Te falta fôlego, raciocínio para completar a conversa, para alimentar o tesão que a voz rouca dele te causa. Tudo que te resta, então, é continuar sendo surrada, mordendo os lábios até doer pra conter os barulhinhos de puta que queria estar fazendo cada vez mais alto.

Novamente, o cérebro parece derreter. A virilha dele roça no pontinho certo em ti, angustiantemente te estimulando, porém nunca o suficiente pra te levar ao apice. Perde os sentidos, a noção, pode ter babado de novo pelo cantinho da boca que não vai saber. Só saca que Enzo jorrou até a última gotinha no seu interior porque começa a escorrer por entre as coxas, sente ele latejando lá dentro.

Você deita a cabeça por cima do braço, desmontando depois de ser usada mais uma vez. O cheiro ardente do tabaco te leva a crer que eles estão fumando mais uma vez. Suspira, cansadinha, uma pontada no peito e os músculos da perna doloridos te fazem duvidar de que vai conseguir se colocar em mais alguma posição pro terceiro. Mas Matías é improvável, e tem seus próprios planos.

— Aqui. — Escuta a voz do argentino ecoando, só que, de olhinhos fechados, nem se preocupa muito em ver o que ele vem te oferecendo pra boca. Quando recebe, porém, a mistura da fruta com a calda é saborosa para o paladar, uma delícia. — Agora, aqui. — De novo, confia, literalmente de olhos fechados, apenas para ser surpreendida pelo gosto mais salgadinho, a ereção sendo enfiada goela abaixo.

Você quer ‘reclamar’, a garganta vibra num resmungo que só serve para fazê-lo sentir ainda mais prazer. Segura nos seus cabelos, a virilha chegando cada vez mais perto do seu nariz até te fazer engolir tudo.

— Não faz ela engasgar, tadinha... — Agustín diz, afirmando pra dizer o contrário. Malandro, no momento em que ele e Enzo te notam com dificuldade para mamar e engolir a saliva que se acumula.

Matías ajoelha no colchão da cama, ergue a sua cabeça pelos cabelos, para encará-lo. Tá engasgando, boneca?, dá dois tapinhas na sua bochecha, esperando uma resposta, hm?

— Ah, sinto muito... — a ausência de gentileza é palpável só pelo tom debochadinho. — Escuta, o Matí vai foder a sua boquinha primeiro, porque tô com vontade. Depois, vou meter direto na sua buceta, e aí, só aí, vamo’ te dar um orgasmo, se você for boazinha até o final. — Vem com o rosto bem próximo do seu, um meio sorriso de pivete sem mostrar os dentes pra assegurar ‘tendeu?

#imninahchan #lsdln cast #enzo vogrincic fanfic #enzo vogrincic smut #enzo vogrincic x reader #enzo vogrincic #matias recalt x reader #matias recalt x you #matias recalt fanfic #matias recalt smut #matias recalt #agustin pardella #agustin pardella smut #a sociedade da neve #la sociedad de la nieve #the society of the snow

[wlfllia]

AGORA TEM DONA - MARK LEE 💋

• PERSONAGENS: Mark Lee x Leitora!fem.

• AVISOS: menção a oral!masc, mark paulista da zl, br!au, masturbação feminina, choking levíssimo (quase nada), d!rty talk, ‘Markie’, uso de ‘amor’ ‘gatinha’ ‘mô’ ‘linda’ e mais uns.

• NOTAS: isso aqui é basicamente uma continuação de ‘Polo Rebaixo’ que é uma das histórias mais favoritadas no meu perfil do spirit. (só clicar no nome destacado que vocês vão direto para a “parte 1”)❤️‍🔥

boa leitura💋

O barulho alto daquela caixa de som já começava a te incomodar e o cheiro doce e enjoativo do narguilé estava lhe fazendo enrugar o nariz. Você já tinha curtido em demasia tudo aquilo, havia dançado umas dez músicas, virado algumas doses de uma bebida qualquer e agora se encontrava sentadinha ao lado de suas amigas em um dos sofás disponíveis naquela espaçosa garagem.

Era aniversário de um de seus amigos e ele havia organizado a famosa ‘Revoada’ só para os mais próximos. Apesar de ter ido ali festejar mais um ano de seu amigo, não mentiria que o principal motivo de estar presente era reencontrar o marrentinho de fios vermelhos que é figurinha carimbada em todos os rolês.

Mark já tinha percebido seus olhos o seguindo durante a festa, até retribuiu algumas vezes, soltando um riso de canto enquanto bebia mais do conteúdo em seu copo, até mesmo ousava te provocar, deslizando calmamente a palma em sua cintura quando passava próximo à você. Toda essa tensão e troca de flertes mudos lhe excitava, te deixava ansiando por mais dele.

Depois da vez que deram amassos nada castos no banco de trás do carro dele, vocês logo engataram um lancezinho, já podiam se apelidar de “ficantes sérios”, se é que isso existe. Em cada festinha que se esbarravam acabavam na cama um do outro ou até mesmo no banco de trás do Polo rebaixado do Lee. Não podia negar, você estava caidinha pelo marrentinho.

Você é tirada de seus pensamentos quando sente seu celular vibrar em seu colo, o pega e le pela barra de notificações a mensagem do dono de seus atuais pensamentos. “ ‘Ta afim de vazar daqui?”, você sorri de canto lendo o texto, buscando o Lee com o olhar, observando ele com os olhos fixos em você acenar com a cabeça para porta da garagem.

“Me espera lá fora, vou dar uma desculpa para as meninas.” É o que você responde para ele na mensagem, o vendo concordar de leve com a cabeça e virar o resto do líquido — provavelmente alcoólico — de seu copo, seguindo para fora do local.

— Bia, eu acho que eu já vou, ‘to com um pouco de dor de cabeça. — Você basicamente grita a desculpa esfarrapada que arrumou de última hora no ouvido da garota ao seu lado, roubando a atenção dela.

— Eu já vi o Mark saindo daqui amiga, vai atrás do seu menino, vai. — Ela rebate, sorrindo de canto, com ar de malícia. — Mas olha lá hein, juízo porque sou nova demais para ser tia.

Você apenas revira os olhos e ri junto da garota, se despedindo com um beijo de bochechas e indo atrás do Lee.

Ao dobrar a esquina, se depara com Mark apoiado na lataria prateada do capô de seu carro, distraído com algo no celular e segue até ele calmamente.

— E ai, minha gatinha? — Ele sorri de canto, guarda o aparelho no bolso da calça cargo assim que te vê a frente dele, circunda sua cintura com os dois braços, colando os corpos para então lhe puxar para um beijo lento.

Você sorri e nem tem tempo de o cumprimentar de volta, apenas retribui o beijo, abraçando o pescoço do Lee, o sentindo inverter as posições, te prensando contra a lataria. A mão de Mark aperta sua cintura com possessão. Gruda mais o corpo ao seu, ao passo que aprofundava o beijo, lhe fazendo soltar um suspiro. Nunca iria se cansar da pegada gostosa que o Lee possuía.

— ‘Tava com saudade, é? — Você sussurra, cessando o selar, ouvindo um riso nasalado vir do mais alto. “ ‘Cê não faz ideia, linda.” Ele murmura, despejando mais alguns selinhos em seus lábios, descendo as mãos de seu quadril para sua bunda, descansando a palma ali.

— Também senti sua falta, lindo. — Murmurou ainda com os lábios bem próximos, brincando a lupa acoplada aos fios vermelhos bagunçadinhos do garoto. “‘Cê ‘tá tão gatinho hoje, amor… trajadinho do jeito que eu gosto.” Você solta no mesmo tom baixo, sorrindo de canto ao desviar o olhar dos lábios do Lee para o mirar nos olhos, encolhida nos braços dele.

— Do jeitinho que você gosta, é? — Ele arqueia uma sobrancelha, abrindo um sorriso safado nos lábios, subindo as pontas dos dedos para dentro do tecido de sua saia, alcançando a renda de sua calcinha. “Mark… Estamos na rua, esqueceu?” Você indaga, sorrindo travessa junto a ele.

— ‘Tamo? Mas ‘cê ‘tá ligada que eu não ligo não é, princesa? — Rebate rouco, te empurrando levemente para atrás, te induzindo a sentar sobre o capô, abrindo suas pernas para se encaixar ao meio. “Até porque não ia ser a primeira vez que a gente brinca em cima desse capô, né?” Termina, deixando um único selinho em seus lábios para descer uma fileira de beijos para seu pescoço, se aconchegando ali.

A palma atrevida segue entre suas pernas, o Lee arreda o tecido negro para o lado, alçando seu clítoris com o polegar, esfregando de cima para baixo, sentindo seu íntimo cada vez mais molhado. “Markie..” Você manha de fechando os olhinhos e inclinando seu pescoço para o lado, dando mais acesso para as mordidas que Mark deixava na pele.

— Gemendo manhosa desse jeito só com um dedinho, amor? — Provoca contra sua orelha, trocando os dedos para ir em direção a sua entradinha úmida, ameaçando entrar e logo em seguida apenas circular seu pontinho, observando seu corpo sensível dar leves espasmos com os estímulos.

Sua mão que descansava no ombro de Mark se agarra aos fios acarminados e com um sorriso sacana estampado nos lábios você sussurra ofegante: “Você é maluco, Mark Lee”, tendo como resposta o riso do Lee, que reverbera abafado contra a pele castigada de seu pescoço.

Sem pudor algum, você movimenta os quadris contra os dedos dele, rebolando lentamente em busca de mais daqueles toques nada inocentes. Não consegue controlar o volume de seu gemido quando enfim o sente enfiar dois dos dedos em seu interior, começando uma movimentação rápido contra seu interior.

Não ligam se ainda estão extremamente próximos da garagem onde a festa rolava e que qualquer um podia passar por ali e flagrar o Lee te dedando com afinco. A adrenalina de serem pegos deixava tudo mais excitante para vocês.

Buscando abafar seus gemidos, Mark te puxa para mais um beijo, dessa vez mais urgente e bagunçado, engolindo cada gemido manhoso que saía de sua boca.

— Amor… — Geme sôfrega quando os lábios se separam minimamente no ósculo, não conseguindo nem terminar a frase ao sentir a pontinha dos dedos do Lee alcançarem seu ponto sensível, fazendo suas perninhas tremelicarem contra a lataria.

— Já vai gozar, princesa? — Rebate com o mesmo sorriso cafajestes quando sente seu interior espremer as falanges. “Vai esporrar nos meus dedos como uma vagabunda virgem, é?” Provoca capturando seu lábio inferior contra os dentes, soltando lentamente.

Soltando um gritinho manhoso, você chega ao seu limite, molhando a palma de Mark que se delicia com a visão de seu corpo molinho e ofegante sobre o carro dele.

— Caralho, ‘cê consegue ficar ainda mais linda quando goza pra mim assim. — Solta com o cenho franzido, retirando os dedos de seu íntimo e te mostrando as falanges encharcadas de seu orgasmos.

Você o segura pelo pulso, levando os dedos em direção a sua boca, sorvendo todo o seu gosto entre os dedos do de fios carmesim, olhando diretamente para os olhos dele, não deixando nenhum resquício de seu líquido ali. Mark apenas observa sua língua deslizar por entre a pele, mordendo os lábios enquanto imagina o músculo contra seu cacete duro e esquecido dentro da calça.

Ao largar os dedos num “ploc” luxurioso, o Lee não perde tempo em grudar os lábios no seu novamente, explorando cada canto de sua boca antes pronunciar com rouquidão contra seus lábios: “Entra na merda desse carro que você vai me mamar até eu melar sua garganta com a minha porra, cê me ouviu?”

✦.

Ao virar a esquina e entrar em sua rua, Mark dirige mais alguns metros até a entrada de seu condomínio, estacionando em frente à portaria, porém antes que você se despedisse e saísse do veículo, ele chama sua atenção segurando em sua coxa.

— Eu ‘tava pensando aqui e… — Coça a nuca com a mão livre. — Se ‘Pá, o bagulho era a gente namorar, né não? — Você o escuta questionar enquanto alisa sua coxa com calma.

— “Se pá”? É assim que você vai me pedir em namoro, Mark Lee? — Você questiona em tom zombeteiro, virando o corpo no banco para o olhar, arqueando uma sobrancelha e com um sorriso de canto.

Mark revira os olhos, estala a língua, abrindo um sorriso.

— Não fala assim, mô. — Ele manha, desviando o olhar fazendo vocês compartilharem um riso bobo, mas logo ele suspira voltando a te encarar sereno. — Mas é sério ‘pô… Quero oficializar isso que a gente tem, sabe? — Faz uma pausa, respira fundo, analisa cada mínima reação sua antes de continuar. “Te curto de uma cota já e não quero perder mais tempo. Quero poder te chamar de minha sabendo que você é minha mesmo, ‘ta ligado?”.

A cada palavra que ia saindo da boca do Lee, seu sorrisinho ia ficando mais evidente. Podia jurar que seus olhos brilhavam enquanto ouvia o marrentinho dizer — de forma até meio tímida você diria — que a queria como namorada dele.

— Mas não quero que você se sinta pressionada pra nada, falô? Se você não quiser eu vou enten… — Você não o deixa terminar, se inclina sobre ele no banco do motorista e cola seus lábios contra os dele, o calando com um beijo calmo.

— É claro que eu aceito namorar com você, seu bobão. — Você diz baixinho, separando minimamente seu rosto do dele, podendo ver o grande sorriso que se expandiu nos lábios de Mark, que não perdeu tempo em segurar a base de seu pescoço e te atacar com vários beijinhos no rosto.

— Então quer dizer que agora a gente namora, é? — Questiona brincalhão, deixando um selo demorado em seus lábios.

— Uhum… — Você murmura, arranha a nuca avermelhada e completa baixinho rente aos lábios rosados, só pra ele ouvir. “Agora o terror da DZ7 tem dona.”

#wolflia #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #nct smut #mark #mark smut #mark lee #🐺

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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[inkwolvesandcoffee]

Breakfast in Margate (Alfie Solomons x Reader)

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Modern AU

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3.2K

Warnings: A grumpy Papa Solomons (yes, that is a warning) and a whole lot of tooth-rotting domestic fluff

Summary:

Mornings aren’t always easy. For example, it’s terribly difficult to not be caught making breakfast for your fiancé, a workaholic who always takes the task upon himself.

However, what makes it harder today is the fact he loathes food made with recipes found online. Fortunately for you, though, Alfie isn’t the only one who’s good at playing games when he wants to push his own agenda.

Especially those that concern a sweet reward.

Author’s note: I've kept Alfie's adherence to his Jewish heritage quite loose. Nevertheless, I hope that the aspects I did incorporate in this work have been done so properly. If not, let me know and please don't hesitate to educate me (in a polite and respectful manner) because I love learning about different cultures and religions.

Tag List: @potter-solomons @zablife @wandawiccan60 @dreamlandcreations @liliac-dreamer @buttercupsandboys @vir-tual @rose-like-the-phoenix @hoodeddreams13 @mollybegger-blog @solomons-finest-rum @hecatemoon87 @babaohhhriley

TH Masterlist

Mornings like this are rare, these quiet moments unbroken by the usual ruckus in the kitchen. Now, it’s solely my bare feet on the wooden floor and the waves crashing onto the shore. No clanging of metal, no muttered curses in Yiddish or Russian, nor the scent of freshly brewed coffee. 

In the living room, Cyril lays in front of the hearth. The first rays of sunshine fall over him like a warm natural blanket, highlighting the ginger undertone in his fur. One of the many features he shares with his owner. 

As soon as I pass by, he lifts his head, tilts it in wonder, and lets out a low bark. After all, it’s Alfie who’s more often than not the first one to wander around the house at the crack of dawn. That is, if he’s slept at all. However, recently he’s started properly adhering to the Shabbat. Although, as much as he allows himself to because if Alfie Solomons is one thing, it’s mighty stubborn. Moreover, he’s an incurable workaholic. As hard as he works at The Old Rum House Bakery to let the business flourish and maintain his position as the fearsome Mad Baker of Camden, just as much effort does he put into our relationship. In fact, it’s not only towards Cyril and I his attention goes, but also to the house.

Our home.

Alfie has become a lot more domestic since we started dating, shortly after meeting one another on a train to London. Disregarding his tendency to walk around naked, he cooks and cleans, assuring me time and again I don’t have to help. When we go out for our weekly grocery trip, no matter how tired he is, he carries the bags to the car so that I don’t have to. Neither do I have to put away what we got, more often than not shipped off to the luxurious red sofa in the living room with a cup of coffee or tea to pair with whatever he’s baked at night. 

Nevertheless, regardless of the otherwise very loose relationship with his heritage, Ollie and I are glad he’s at least taking a day off in the week to rest up. The bakery has recently started taking its toll thanks to an influx in customers, which means extra stock as well as staff is needed. In turn, this means more part-timers to train and more admin work. In other words, everyone has to pick up the pace to meet the current demand. Such is the power of marketing, especially on social media. Alfie is loath to admit it, but Ollie and I can tell he’s secretly grateful we managed to convince him to let us handle the bakery’s socials.

We don’t get cinnamon buns on Monday anymore, though.

I stop in my tracks, turn to Cyril, and put a finger to my lips. “I know, love, but Papa is still sleeping. It’s finally Mama’s turn to make breakfast again.”

Seldom do I get the chance to experiment in the kitchen, let alone try a recipe I’ve found online. Or worse, via Youtube or Instagram. Now, that’s usually enough to make Alfie bristle. Nevertheless, mention the word ‘viral’ and a scowl will twist his lips.

Sometimes I wonder whether or not Alfie and Cyril are the same person because he lowers his head onto his paws and lets out a deep sigh that sounds like sarcastic resignation.

Thanks for the faith, buddy.

“It’s gonna be okay. No fire in the pan this time, I promise. How about we go stretch our legs after brekkie, hm? That sound good?”

Cyril huffs in agreement and closes his eyes, back to enjoying his luxurious pillow. 

We bought it for him when we went antique shop hopping in London last week. Although, perhaps it’s better to say I bought it after convincing my grumpy companion we should occasionally pamper our adopted four-legged child and I couldn’t fix his old pillow anymore. Of course I could, but I was more than done with constantly needing to fix the seams and re-stuff the thing.

Borough Market has become a regular stop on our weekly grocery trip, mostly because I used the splendidly efficient strategy of batting my lashes and pouting. Artisan goods and fresh produce can be luxuries, something to only occasionally splurge on. After all, why spend a fortune when there is a cheaper alternative that’s just as good? 

Nonetheless, Alfie developed a taste for supporting local businesses soon after our first visit. To some he has proposed contracts, offering them a position as a supplier to his bakery. Granted their goods are kosher, of course.

Yesterday, we got some wonderful fresh bright yellow bananas, eggs from a local farm, and oat flour from a mill a little ways away from London. Alfie thought little of it when I plonked them triumphantly in our grocery bag, having occupied himself with the fresh stock one of the florists was setting out. I glance at the colourful bouquet of wildflowers on the table and for a moment I’m back to him holding out to me, face full of the warm tenderness that stands in stark contrast to the stern and unpredictable persona he portrays when I’m not there. 

Right then and there, he wasn’t The Mad Baker of Camden, the fearsome King who rules the borough.

He was a sweet and caring gentleman.

Simply Alfie Solomons.

Nevertheless, in spite of these small moments of tenderness, he can still be awfully grumpy.

Especially if he hasn’t had his coffee.

“Mornin’, dove.” Two big warm hands glide over my hips towards my lower stomach. Those very same palms pull me flush against a naked chest grown soft with neglected muscle, slightly clammy with the remainder of last night’s late summer heat. Alfie presses his lips to the side of my neck and hums, tightening the embrace as he does so. The sonorous trill in his voice sends a shiver down my spine and rekindles a familiar heat. Nonetheless, the way he leans on me betrays he isn’t entirely awake yet. The slight slur in his words serve to confirm the lingering drowsiness, sounding like they’ve been pulled out of bed only moments before too. “That shirt looks good on you.”

“I’m glad you think so because you’re not getting it back any time soon.” I briefly stop mixing the batter to scratch his beard. He closes his eyes and leans into the touch as a content sigh escapes him. “You slept in.”

“Still woke up to an empty spot, though. If you want me to sleep more, yeah, which you know I find a terrible waste of time, I’ll need my wife to ‘old.”

I pat his hands to placate him. The thin gold band inlaid with a modest diamond around my ring finger matches his. I had thought Alfie would pick something elaborate for himself, but instead he chose a simple thick gold ring and got it engraved. It says: Ani l’dodi, v’dodi li; I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine. “Don’t get hasty. We aren’t married yet.”

“Let’s just go to the courthouse today.’’ He slips his hands beneath the fabric of the shirt I stole from him, letting them rest on my stomach after a brief caress. It’s a gesture he often makes nowadays. ‘‘Sign the paper, right, and be done with it so the desk eaters are ‘appy. We can always celebrate it later. Throw a party as big as the whole of bloody Camden, like a proper coronation ceremony to celebrate our union.”

“Tempting as it is, I’ll have to refuse. Besides, it's Shabbat today and you need to take a break. I promise I can wait a little while longer to officially become Mrs Solomons.”

“You ‘ave been from the start, Y/N. I don’t need a ring to call you my wife. ‘Sides, you well know ‘ow I am. Which reminds me, breakfast is my job, innit?” A wary tone creeps into his voice as he leans away to check what’s in the mixing bowl. “Is that edible?”

“It will be,” I say, continuing to mix the ingredients until they’re well combined.

“I’m not eatin’ that goo. Looks fucking awful, that stuff.”

“It’s healthy goo! Uses the bananas, eggs, and flour we got yesterday.”

Nose scrunched, Alfie peers at me. “Oh, so yesterday was all a little scam to get me to eat whatever this is?”

“You aren’t the only one who can lie. Although, it’s not really a lie, is it? More like a half-truth.’’ I shrug. ‘‘I simply never told you my plan. Would ruin the surprise.”

“Which is?”

“Baked oats that taste like cake. They just haven’t been baked yet.”

“Where’d you get the recipe?”

“YouTube…”

He groans, wide awake now that the conversation has taken a turn towards a point of absolute irritation. “Fucking ‘ell, dove, ‘ow many times ‘aven’t I told you not every recipe on social media-’’

“Don’t judge before you’ve tried it.” I put the spatula down, turn around in his embrace and steal a kiss off of his lips. “Said so yourself, didn’t you?”

“Don’t use my words against me.”

“Oh, I will. If only to keep things fair. Have a little faith in me. It’ll be fine.”

I hope.

A warning finger raised and pointed at me, he leans in until our faces are mere inches apart. “Fine. But I’m gonna make us coffee, right, so we’ll at least ‘ave something to get us fucking started.”

I can’t suppress a chuckle at the grumpy gesture. “Sure.”

The threat turns into tenderness when he cups my cheek. His palm has grown rough with the hours spent at the bakery, proof of his hard work. Tenderly, he presses his lips to mine. “Ikh hab dir lib.”

“I know.” To show I accept his usual indirect apology for his bad mood and avoid coming across as being cross with me, I run my fingers along his jaw. “I love you too.”

Resting his forehead against mine, he nudges my nose with his. “Mhm.”

“Why don’t you take Cyril for a brief walk, eh? The oats have to bake for twenty-five minutes anyway.”

“We can take ‘im on a walk later together. I’ll go set the table.”

“First put on a pair of knickers.”

“No.”

“You know the rules, Alfie. No buns on the chairs during summer.”

“I ain’t sweating.”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe you’re the one who isn’t.”

I cock an eyebrow, fighting the smug smirk threatening to break out. “That so?”

“Yeah,” he drawls, “first we’ll ‘ave coffee, right, ‘cause otherwise neither of us functions. Now, ‘ow about after we’ve started the day proper I’ll fuck you like last night, hm?”

Until I black out. 

The prospect of it mixes with memories of last night. Sea blue eyes, usually so steady and full of hidden temperaments, barely able to refrain from going cross-eyed. The fight with the stutter in his hips, gradually growing closer to the edge of pleasure but also exhaustion. Big hands reminiscent of wolf paws gripping the headboard for support while I was already lost in a satisfied delirium. The absent-minded glance to the bruises on my thighs adds to the steadily growing heat between my legs, perversely longing for more.

For him.

Nevertheless, the haze clears in an instant with a single sharp thought. I take a step back, crossing my arms as I search his expression for confirmation. However, as usually is the case, Alfie keeps his true motifs to himself. And this time, behind a mask he tends to put on when he wants something from me in particular. “So you can make breakfast. That’s what you’re getting at, aren’t you?”

“No,” he purrs, stealing a kiss as soon as he has bridged the distance between us, “not at all, dove. I just want my wife. I wanna make love to you.” We softly start to sway, slowly making our way out of the kitchen. “Let me make love to you.”

We come to a halt on the threshold. “Later. After you put on a pair of knickers and we’ve eaten.”

He blinks, the cheeky smile grown stiff. I can feel his muscles tense, unconsciously causing him to grip me a bit tighter than before. “But-’’

“Knickers, Alfie.”

“One round.”

“Alfred Solomons Jr, knickers. Right now.”

The use of his full name provokes a menacing snarl, the kind which is usually preserved for those who cross him. “Those oats better be fucking worth it, yeah, ‘cause otherwise you’re payin’ for lunch.”

I trace his cock, the skin hot and hardening beneath my fingertips with every sharp intake of breath. Perhaps this game won’t go on for as long as it usually does before he loses control. “Somehow I don’t think I will.”

He roughly grips my face, the thrill of every low-voiced word against my lips travelling throughout my body. “I ought to do somethin’ ‘bout that attitude of yours. Big fucks small, Y/N, always.”

Game over.

Except for the one card I have left to play.

“I know,” I wrap my hand around him, barely able to grip him properly, “but first some knickers. Please, Papa?”

“Clever bird, ain’t ya?” He growls into the kiss when I lightly squeeze him and let go. “Maybe I should carry out my own personal form of stigmata later. Add to those pretty bruises.”

Like snow in the spring sun, his attitude melts and changes. Alfie gently nudges my cheek and makes for the bedroom. A few moments later, he returns and starts setting the table while I pour the batter in the ramekins and plop them in the oven.

Despite the promise to make coffee, I reach for the cupboard to grab a mug. After all, old habits die hard.

Nevertheless, I find myself cut off by a hand that gently lowers mine, away from the handle.

“I said I’ll make us coffee,” Alfie grumbles. “Let Papa Solomons do ‘is job, yeah. Go sit in the livin’ room. I’ll be there shortly.”

I nod at the baking aftermath in the sink. “I got some washing up to do.”

“Nah, that can wait. Coffee and, ‘opefully, food first.” He places his hands on my shoulders and kindly coerces me out of the kitchen. “Go on.”

I let him guide me, feigning defiance by pouting. Yet, the act quickly falls apart with a lighthearted giggle. I suppose I still have a lot to learn from him concerning the art of masks. “Alright.”

Soon after he joins me on the porch, where I’ve settled down with Cyril to enjoy the salt air. The beach across the street is still empty, devoid of the plethora of towels. The breeze is silent, not yet filled with the chatter of tourists and locals alike.

These hours are ours.

This is our Margate.

“'Ere you go, love.” Alfie hands me a steaming mug of cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso, the milk soft and foamy, before he sits down next to me. I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes as I take a sip. “Nice, innit?”

“Mhm.”

Thus we sit in comfortable silence, enjoying the view and each other’s company. Cyril has started to doze off, although he tries in vain to keep his eyes open. One glance to the side tells of Alfie fighting the same battle. Occasionally he pulls a face or lifts his hand to stifle a yawn. It’s strangely funny to watch him continue to take a sip afterwards, a small gesture of hope. Surely he should be readily awake before his cup is empty.

Because sleeping isn’t an option.

He’s tired of the nightmares.

The faint sound of the oven going off disturbs the domestic bliss.

Alfie groans as struggles to get up, glad to have my arm to use as support while he pulls himself to his feet. I say nothing, knowing full well how his sciatica influences his mood.

And it’s already rotten enough in the morning.

As Alfie washes his hands, I get the baked oats out of the oven and place them on the plates. Meanwhile, Alfie warms up a few slices of babka and the challah bread we made together yesterday. “Just so we ‘ave somethin’.”

He sits down while I wash my hands. From the corner of my eye, I see him poke the oats with his fork. “It’s kosher?”

“It is,” I say, drying my hands before I sit down across from him. “Shall I go first?”

“Very funny.” He scoops a bit of the oats onto his fork and puts it in his mouth. His brows knit together, contemplating the taste.

“And? Do you like it?” 

Remaining silent and gaze fixed on the ramekin, he pokes his oats again. 

I swallow hard, my excitement crushed under the stones of dread. A nagging voice in the back of my head feeds into the fear of his judgement. Funny how one connects their self worth to food. Then again, it was that which started our relationship. A cup of coffee, a slice of babka, and a slice of plant-based carrot cake. Back then, though, my stomach didn’t quiver this badly nor did my ribs feel like they were caged in a very tight-strung corset. “You don’t.”

“Dove,” he begins, but doesn’t continue. 

Not until after he’s had another bite. “It’s good.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or simply trying to appease me.”

“I’m serious.”

“You are?”

“I am,’’ he says, raising his voice ever so slightly in spite of the effort to keep it even. Alfie finally meets my gaze and I can tell he’s being sincere regardless of the way he accusingly waves his fork at me. ‘‘But I still don’t like 'ow you got this off of the internet. ‘Ow many times ‘aven’t I told you, hm? You should know better by now.”

I chuckle as I at last taste the baked oats myself. They’re chocolatey with a subtle banana undertone, which is warmed by the cinnamon. “I gotta find new recipes somehow.”

“There are cookbooks.”

“Too limited and they take up too much space.” While nibbling on a piece of challah bread, I take a sip of coffee. “Can I make this more often?”

“It does taste like cake,” he reluctantly admits, spooning up another bite. “Yes, you can.”

“Why do you make it sound like there’s a condition?”

“You can make these oats, yeah, if I get to serve you something sweet in return.”

Something not to be had in the kitchen.

‘‘Deal,’’ I lean in, biting my lip as I play my final card, ‘‘Papa.’’

Alfie clenches his fork upon hearing his favourite nickname, the title he is secretly proud of. A dark haze clouds his eyes, the gloss in them highlighted by the morning sun. The smirk on his lips has evened out, his jaw tightened with the effort to practise self-restraint. 

Game over.

I won.

And the prize is something sweet with lots of cream.

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #alfie solomons x reader

[gardensofbabilon]

I want 'em all - esteban kukuriczka x fem! reader

Todos os anos em seu aniversário kuku posta uma declaração para você <3

face claim: laura harrier.

a/n: como eu disse.. os tempos aqui estão sombrios kkkkkkk espero que gostem!

tw: vontade de casar com o kuku.

curtido por vogrincicenzo, lsdlnlover, seuuser e mais 76.028 pessoas.

kukuesteban meu amor, esse é nosso segundo ano juntos e é a segunda oportunidade que o universo me da de poder te escrever essas palavras.

Os dias afrente antecipam uma mudança imensa na nossa vida, todos os dias que compartilhei agonias, inseguranças com você pelo o que estava por vir.. obrigado por ser minha rocha.

A cada levantar e por do sol, estarei aqui ao seu lado. Seu kuku.

vogrincicenzo parabéns S/N!! Obrigado por estar sempre aqui por todos nós. (curtido por seuuser)

seuuser enzitoooooo, obrigada!

juanicar É A NOSSA MÃE!!!!!!! (curtido por seuuser)

seuuser Kuku, eu te amo. São 2 anos que tenho a maior alegria em ser sua parceira de vida.. que os dias futuros tragam para nós apenas coisas boas, você merece.

1 ano depois...

curtido por vogrincicenzo, juanicar, seuuser e mais 776.098 pessoas.

kukuesteban Minha agora (futura) esposa, feliz volta ao sol!

Tudo mudou bruscamente de um ano para cá, mas meus sentimentos por você apenas se firmam cada vez mais. Minha maior certeza é que compartilharemos um futuro brilhante juntos, te ter comigo é uma dádiva.

Sei que minhas surpresas sempre falham, mas não tem palavras que descrevam o quanto antecipei esse momento, te escolher como esposa foi fácil, lembro como se fosse ontem o momento:

Estávamos nos arrumando para o primeiro tapete vermelho da nossas vidas, você estava tremendo de nervoso mas mesmo assim olhou nos meus olhos e vendo como eu estava ansioso, segurou em minhas mãos e disse que não sairíamos dali até que eu estivesse pronto.

É essa sua bondade em colocar o outro na frente que me fez ter ainda mais certeza do quanto eu te quero para sempre.

Feliz vida.

carregar mais 389.780 comentários

netflixes eu não to chorando nao.... você que tá

seuuser kuku, eu sempre soube que esse dia chegaria, como ébom comemorar esse ano ao seu lado. mais um degrau rumo a nossa eternidade juntos. obrigada. (curtido por kukuesteban)

user7 meu deus... quando vou ser amada assim??????

user10 eu quero um kuku pra miiiiiiiiiiiiim

juanicar é triste a vida do solteiro..

1 ano depois..

curtido por seuuser, pipegotano, juanicar e mais 986.534 pessoas.

kukuesteban Esse é o primeiro aniversário como sr e sra kukuriczka.

Seu dia não poderia ser diferente, especial e único assim como todos os momentos que passamos juntos!

Existem poucas palavras que complementam o quanto eu amo sua vida, todos os dias que passo ao seu lado em nossa casa é como se meu maior sonho se tornasse realidade.

Nunca em um milhão de anos me acharia digno de compartilhar meu destino com o seu, e em breve seremos 3.

Eu te adoro.

Os comentários dessa publicação foram limitados.

Seuuser Kuku, eu te amo. Todos os dias que se passam a certeza que você vai ser o melhor homem, o melhor pai e o melhor companheiro só se firmam. Obrigada.

1 ano depois..

curtido por seuuser, blaspolidori, vogrincicenzo e mais 1.789.926 pessoas.

kukuesteban Para a mulher que me deu a oportunidade de ser pai de uma adorável menina dos cabelos longos e cacheados: feliz aniversário.

Escrevo esse texto enquanto você deita ao meu lado descansando após mais um longo dia de brincadeiras e muitos filmes infantis, você dorme com um sorriso no rosto toda noite e todos os seus sonhos são em português.. talvez seja saudade de casa.

Conhecer a mulher que você é e a mulher que se torna todos os dias é um prazer, eu não saberia o que ser ou fazer sem ter essa presença tão imponente ao meu lado que segura as pontas e a minha mão ao mesmo tempo, só poderia ser você. Obrigado por aguentar cada dia mais os problemas e por enfrentar comigo as redes.

S/N, a vida ao seu lado tem outro significado, poder olhar nos seus olhos e te chamar de esposa é o que a torna tão boa, que a cada dia que passe nosso amor cresça como nossa pequena lis.

Os comentários dessa publicação foram desativados.

#lsdln #lsdln cast #smau #sociedad de la nieve #social media au #au #instagram au #esteban kukuriczaka x reader #kuku #esteban kukuriczka

[lovesuhng]

Bésame sin miedo - Johnny Suh

casal: johnny x fem!leitora gênero: friends to lovers sinopse: O dia do show do RBD tinha chegado e resolveu de última hora levar seu melhor com você. Mas, ao invés de realizar apenas um sonho, você acabou realizando dois. nota da autora: Toda essa passagem do RBD pelo Brasil me trouxe um onda de nostalgia enorme, então resolvi escrever essa história rapidinha. Sempre fui muito fã do grupo, mas, ao contrário da principal, não realizei o sonho de ir para o show deles. Sei que muita gente é nova e não pegou o hype do RBD, mas deem uma chance a história, por favor.

O dia tinha chegado. 15 anos tinham se passado e você estava se arrumando para realizar um dos sonhos da sua infância: ir a um show do RBD. Na época da “febre do RBD”, você era muito nova, morava longe dos locais dos shows e seus pais eram contra a você ir assisti-los, mas hoje, uma mulher que ganha seu próprio dinheiro e morando em São Paulo, iria levar aquela garotinha para realizar um dos seus sonhos.

Já estava perto da hora de ir para o local, você estava começando a colocar o famoso uniforme do Elite Way School, quando sua amiga te liga dizendo que infelizmente não poderia ir ao show contigo pois não estava se sentindo bem, estava com uma intoxicação alimentar e precisava descansar um pouco. Você compreendeu, mas não pode deixar de ficar muito triste, afinal, era um sonho das duas. Vender o ingresso era uma opção, mas não queria ir ao show sozinha, então, ligou para a pessoa que te ouvia falar desse show desde que foi anunciado: Johnny, seu melhor amigo.

“MEU QUERIDO JOHNNY!”

“Fala”

“Vai fazer o que agora?”

“Tava pensando pedir algo pra comer, assistir algum filme, não sei. Por que?”

“Toma um banho, coloca uma roupa e vem para meu apartamento. Vamos para o show do RBD.”

“Como assim? Nem sou fã disso! E você não ia com aquela sua amiga?”

“É, mas depois te explico. Não precisa ser fã, só precisa ir comigo. Vamooooos Joooohn!”

O homem resmungou alguma coisa, mas logo concordou em acompanhar a amiga.

“EBAAAA! Ah, não esquece de colocar uma camisa de botão branca.”

Depois de quase uma hora, vocês já estavam na entrada do estádio onde iria acontecer o show. Era evidente o quanto você estava feliz em estar ali, vendo tantas pessoas vestidas com o universo clássico da novela, com algum figurino memorável ou apenas com acessórios icônicos que faziam referências ao grupo.

“Por que você mandou eu vir com essa camisa branca?” Johnny lhe perguntou, enquanto esperavam na fila para poder entrar no estádio.

“Nossa, eu ia me esquecendo!” Então, você tirou uma gravata igual a sua da bolsinha, fez um sinal para Johnny se abaixar um pouco e começou a fazer um nó, que tinha aprendido em algum tutorial na internet exclusivamente para aquele show. Quando terminou, abriu mais um botão da camisa do amigo, arrumou a gola e deu dois tapinhas nos ombros dele. “Agora você está prontíssimo para viver a experiência completa.” Johnny apenas riu da sua animação, além disso esconder o quanto tinha ficado nervoso com a aproximação.

Os primeiros acordes de “Tras de mí” começaram. Mesmo não sendo fã, Johnny ficou todo arrepiado vendo o estádio todo cantar. Quando te olhou, você também estava cantando, porém com os olhos todos cheios de lágrimas, cantando cada palavra em espanhol, lembrou de todas as vezes que você falava a ele que era graduada em espanhol por causa do RBD e sorriu, mas também percebeu quanto estava feliz por ver você realizando aquele sonho. O coração dele se aqueceu ainda mais quando você se virou para ele, deu um sorriso, na opinião dele, um dos mais lindos do mundo, e cantou alguns trechos da música. O show foi se passando, você pulava nas músicas alegres, se emocionava nas músicas mais lentas, cantou em plenos pulmões quando Maite performou “Cuando el amor se acaba”, afinal, ela era a sua rebelde favorita, puxava seu amigo pela mão para dançar com você. Sua alegria era vista de longe. 

Em um momento do show começou a música “Bésame sin miedo”, uma de suas favoritas e, como de habitual, você começou a cantar da maneira mais animada possível, porém, em um momento começou uma espécie de “kiss cam”, onde as pessoas que apareciam nos telões se beijavam. Você ficou chocada com o que estava acontecendo e se divertindo muito com Johnny, principalmente quando a câmera focou em um casal que estava perto de vocês. Mas, o improvável aconteceu: a câmera estava parada em você e seu melhor amigo. Johnny demorou para entender o que estava acontecendo, só entendeu quando alguém começou a lhe dar pequenos empurrões para que te beijasse. Ele começou a negar dizendo “Somos apenas amigos” e coisas do tipo. De repente ele sentiu um puxão na gravata e lábios grudados nos dele. Tudo aconteceu muito rápido, os gritos em volta simplesmente sumiram, as mãos dele foram diretamente na sua cintura, fazendo com que você tomasse mais uma iniciativa, que era aprofundar o beijo. O que era pra ser um selinho rápido, se transformou em um beijo digno de final de uma comédia romântica, digno de estar em uma tela enorme, como estava acontecendo naquele momento. Vocês só interromperam o beijo quando escutaram alguém falando “Isso é porque eles são apenas amigos.” Procuravam o ar, se olhavam profundamente, tentando entender o que tinha acabado de acontecer. Johnny apenas se aproximou da sua orelha e disse: “Depois a gente fala sobre isso, aproveita o show.”

E foi o que aconteceu. Vocês aproveitaram o show. Já próximo do fim, quando eles apareceram colocando os blazers vermelhos e o hit “Rebelde” começou, você não segurou as lágrimas. Chorou, cantou e registrou cada momento.

O caminho para casa foi silencioso, parte por conta do cansaço, parte porque você ainda estava um pouco envergonhada por ter beijado seu melhor amigo na frente de milhares de pessoas. Johnny não queria te forçar a nada, iria esperar o momento certo para falar sobre o que aconteceu.

Ao chegar em seu apartamento, Johnny estava pronto para se despedir, mas você impediu, pedindo para que ele ficasse só mais um pouco.

“Acho que te devo explicações…” Johnny fez um sinal para que você continuasse a falar. “Desculpa cara, tipo, eu fiquei muito emocionada e me deixei levar.”

“Eu não tô chateado. Você queria fazer aquilo?”

“Hã? Ah, não sei, acho que sim.”

“Então, por que está se desculpando?”

“Achei que você ia ficar constrangido, algo do tipo, não sei, simplesmente não sei.” Você andava de um lado para o outro, passando a mão pelo rosto. “Me desculpa”

“Você está se desculpando de novo.” Ele deu uma risadinha e colocou uma mão nos seus ombros, fazendo com que você parasse de andar feito uma barata tonta. “Talvez eu quisesse fazer aquilo também, mas você teve bem mais coragem do que eu” Você se engasgou com a própria saliva, tirando mais uma risada de Johnny, dessa vez ainda mais alta. “Fica tranquila.”

“Você só pode estar brincando John.”

“Nunca falei tão sério. Pode me beijar quantas vezes você quiser, na frente de quem quiser. Se quiser, vou atrás de ingressos para o show de amanhã para a gente se beijar novamente.” Foi a sua vez de rir do que ele falava. 

“Para de graça! Então, isso significa que…” Apontava para ele e para você mesma, como forma de questionar se estava rolando algo entre vocês depois daquele beijos. Johnny foi se aproximando, colocando uma mão em sua bochecha, fazendo um carinho que você queria que durasse para sempre. 

“Se depender de mim, somos bem mais que amigos a partir de hoje.”

“Por mim também, agora posso te beijar sem medo algum.” Naquele momento, vocês se beijaram, mas, diferente do que aconteceu no show, todos os medos foram deixados para trás.

Quem diria que no mesmo dia você iria realizar dois sonhos: ver seu grupo favorito desde a infância e estar nos braços do seu melhor amigo.

#nct #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct fanfic #nct 127 #nct br au #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 fluff #johnny suh #nct 127 br au #nct x reader #nct drabbles #nct 127 drabbles #johnny nct 127 #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 x y/n #nct pt au #nct pt br #johnny drabble #johnny fluff #johnny suh au #johnny suh fluff #johnny suh x reader #johnny x reader #johnny au

[izzluv]

𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐎 — Depois de tanto observar a mulher no templo, Icarus finalmente conseguiu o que tanto queria.

[ ⚠️] sub!haechan x leitora!dom, mitologia grega!auum leve breast play, o nome grego dele é Icarus, haechan carente de atenção, enemies to fuckers, sexo em um lugar público (templo), oral (fem), masturbação (masc), uso de "bom garoto'.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐀 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐀: acho que vocês já se acostumaram comigo sumindo do nada e voltando postando. 🥹 mas dessa vez foi porque eu estava muito ocupada no curso, consegui arranjar um tempinho ( greve ) para poder botar matéria em dia e poder voltar a escrever para vocês. é isso meus amores, boa leitura. ❤️

Como descrever Icarus, o filho mais novo e o favorito da deusa Afrodite? Para todos, Icarus é um homem com uma beleza estonteante, carismático, um doce de pessoa. Mas para aqueles que conheciam melhor Icarus, ele não era esse doce todo. Antes de Icarus nascer, quem tinha a posição de filho favorito era Eros, seu irmão mais velho, responsável por fazer os casais se apaixonarem. Assim que Icarus nasceu, o seu jeito tomou o coração da deusa, fazendo com que ele logo tivesse toda a atenção de sua mãe para si, causando inveja no irmão. Icarus cresceu sendo um garoto mimado, sempre conseguiu tudo o que queria, de qualquer pessoa, até mesmo das mulheres que iam ao templo de sua mãe, com exceção de uma, que não se deixava levar pelas atitudes mimadas do garoto, sempre que Icarus ia para o templo observar as mulheres, ela fingia que ele não estava ali, para poupar sua paz.

Foi assim que Icarus começou a se sentir intimidado, e um pouco irritado com as atitudes da jovem. Acostumado a sempre conseguir o que queria, quando não conseguia algo, se irritava logo. Era por isso que sempre voltava para seu quarto irritado, pensando naquela mulher que negava tudo, tudo mesmo. Algo nele fazia ele sempre ir ao templo nos dias que ela ia, na esperança de conseguir capturar sua atenção, até cogitou estar apaixonado por ela, ou quem sabe sentir algo por ela, só assim faria sentido ele querer voltar todos os dias naquele templo, para poder olhá-la de longe, esperando que suas ofertas e preces acabassem, para poder tentar roubar sua atenção mais uma vez.

— Por que me persegue? – a voz doce da mulher ecoou pelo templo, chegando aos ouvidos de Icarus, que se escondia atrás de uma das pilastras. — Sabe que não irei te dar nada de mão beijada, por que ainda vem aqui?

Se levantando, a mulher pegou a cesta onde tinha trago suas ofertas para Afrodite, foi até a pilastra, encontrando Icarus. — Lembro-me que você disse que sua função aqui era verificar se as seguidoras de sua mãe estavam sendo fieis às regras impostas por ela, certo? Mas não é isso que eu vejo você fazendo, Icarus.

— Acha que perco meu tempo vindo aqui para que?

— Não sei, diga-me você, que está sempre me olhando enquanto eu faço minhas orações, sempre vem me pedir algo, mesmo já sabendo a resposta.

A ousadia de Icarus também te irritava, queria poder bater nele, mas não faria isso, não sabendo que ele era filho de uma deusa.

— Icarus, o que queres dessa vez? Estou cansada de você seguindo todos os meus passos.

O garoto sorriu, se aproximando, pegou suavemente em sua cintura, chegando perto de sua orelha, afastando seus fios para poder sussurrar “Eu quero você”. Aquilo te fez se afastar, olhando surpresa para o homem.

— Por favor, eu prometo que após isso eu nunca mais irei te pedir mais nada, nem vou vir mais aqui na intenção de só ver você. – A cada palavra ele voltava a se aproximar, enquanto você andava para trás, até que estivesse encostada na parede, com Icarus em sua frente, com a mão novamente em sua cintura, a outra indo até suas costas.

Não sabia explicar o que sentia naquele momento, nem o que queria. A verdade é que não queria aceitar que queria Icarus, aquele garoto mimado, insuportável, que negava até a morte ter algo por ele. Mas ele estava ali, na sua frente, implorando para te ter, foi diferente de todas as vezes que ele te implorou por algo, ele agora não queria um bem material, como um de seus colares, ele queria você.

— Se me quiseres, terá de fazer por merecer. – Queria se fazer difícil, talvez mais do que já era. Você não precisou falar ou fazer mais nada, Icarus entendeu o recado por si só. Começou atacando seu pescoço, de uma forma desesperada, deixando vários beijos molhados por ali, até algumas mordidas perto da clavícula. Desceu até o decote de seu vestido, juntando os seios, passando a língua por eles ainda vestidos. Deixou mais e mais beijos em sua pele, começando a tirar o seu vestido, abaixando as alças, fazendo com que ele caísse no chão suavemente. A língua quente percorria toda a região de seus seios agora, se concentrando com um na boca e o outro apertava, ia intercalando, parando apenas para trocar, deixando ambos os seios babados e vermelhos.

Foi se abaixando devagarinho, passando a ponta do nariz e os lábios por toda sua barriga, até chegar em sua intimidade, não demorando em começar a passar a língua ali. Pegou suas pernas, as colocando sobre seus ombros, segurando seu corpo pela cintura. Assim como os beijos, a língua percorria por todo local de forma desesperada, mas gostosa. Era como se ele tivesse desejado e se controlado esse tempo todo e agora estava podendo descontar tudo aquilo que acumulou. Sua mão foi até os fios do rapaz, segurando um punhado com força. Icarus levantou o olhar para você, com aquele olhar mimado e dengoso dele, deixando apenas a ponta da língua trabalhando em seu clitóris. Aquilo fez seus olhos revirarem, não podendo se concentrar no jeitinho que ele ainda te olhava ou no sorriso que ele deu.

O rapaz parecia não querer sair dali tão cedo, não que você estivesse reclamando, afinal, Icarus estava fazendo um trabalho tão bom. Focava no clitóris sensível, beijava e sugava os lábios menores, ameaçando penetrar a língua. Não tinha como controlar os gemidos, nem os apertos que dava no couro cabeludo do homem. Se soubesse que se sentiria assim, teria cedido mais cedo. Os dedos faziam um carinho na sua cintura, causando ainda mais arrepios. Aquilo tudo era tão gostoso, tão bom, um pecado estar fazendo isso em um templo, em um lugar sagrado, mas era um pecado tão bom. Merda, não tinha imaginado que iria acabar assim, não com Icarus.

Foi colocada delicadamente no chão, podendo ver o rosto sair do meio de suas pernas, passando as mãos por suas coxas, apertando, ainda agachado em sua frente, olhando com aquele olhar pidão dele. Queria mais, muito mais. Você então se agachou, empurrando o peito do garoto, até que ele estivesse deitado no chão, se sentou sobre sua ereção logo em seguida, a expressão sofrida ao sentir uma breve estimulação no lugar, na esperança que logo pudesse sentir o quente do seu interior e ter um alívio. Afastou as vestes da virilha masculina, pegando o membro, acariciando, escutando um gemido de alívio, e ao mesmo tempo todo dengoso, manhoso.

— Icarus, Icarus…o que eu faço com você? – recebeu um olhar assustado, querendo saber o que estava por vir. — Não acho que tenha sido um bom garoto, sempre se comportou tão mal comigo.

— Me perdoa, por favor… – tentava elevar os quadris, na tentativa de seu pau se movimentar na sua mão. — Por favor, eu prometo que não vou mais agir assim com você.

— Vou pensar no seu caso, Icarus. – se sentou por cima do pau ereto, mas não o penetrou, começou a se esfregar nele, a glande raspando em seu clitóris, criando uma fricção gostosa. O rapaz continuava a gemer em um tom carregado de dengo, as mãos indo até seus seios mais uma vez, apertando, descontando o tesão que sentia naquele momento. Os dois estavam uma bagunça, os sexos molhados se tocando, os sons que ambos faziam, os olhares que recebiam, porra, se isso tudo for apenas mais um de seus sonhos eróticos, que ele nunca tenha fim. Os gemidos vindos de Icarus ficaram mais altos, os choramingos começando a aparecer, ele estava perto, não ia durar mais tanto tempo.

— Você é tão patético, Icarus…vai ter um orgasmo apenas em ter alguém se esfregando em você. – em circunstâncias normais, ele já teria mandado você calar a boca, mas estava tão submisso, que a única coisa que sabia fazer era concordar, te arrancando um sorriso.

Como esperado, o orgasmo do rapaz veio, trazendo o seu junto ao sentir o membro pulsar e o esperma lambuzar seus lábios inferiores. Caiu pelo peito do garoto, o sol batendo na pele bronzeada, deixando ela bonita, permitindo que você olhasse Icarus com um olhar diferente pela primeira vez, não sendo mais de raiva.

Você se levantou, tratando logo de se vestir e sair do templo, antes que alguém visse aquela cena. Icarus ficou deitado no chão, a respiração ainda voltando ao normal, quando a luz do sol foi substituída por uma sombra, uma figura masculina com asas. Não precisou se esforçar muito para adivinhar quem era. Era seu irmão, o olhando da cabeça aos pés. Sabia as consequências, mas pelo menos ele conseguiu o que ele tanto queria, e pretendia conseguir de novo.

#izzluv work ! #haechan hard hours #haechan hard thoughts #haechan smut #donghyuck smut #donghyuck hard hours #dongchyuck hard thoughts #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #nct hard hours #nct imagines #nct fic #nct dream hard hours #smut

[rae-gar-targaryen]

mi media naranja [holiday!AU - mickey "fanboy" garcia x fem!reader, aka "cielo"]

A/N: For Fanboy’s fangirls - a holiday celebration with Fanboy y Cielo. Lots of callbacks to my original Fanboy HCs  – so if you’ve been following their journey thus far, there will be lots in here for you. Bonus points if you get the references! 

Pairing: Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia x fem!civilian!reader (aka “Cielo;” as always no use of y/n – my readers are written ambiguous, but with a latina!reader in mind.)

Warnings: my writing is its own warning, smut, so 18+ ONLY – p in v sex, unprotected sex, v mild breeding kink, references to oral sex

Word Count: 5.8k of the warmth of a holiday spent together with your beloved, of chestnuts roasting on an open fire, of the cinnamon-orange passion of sharing half of yourself with someone else.

Summary: You spend your holidays with your sweet boyfriend. Mickey takes you home to visit his family, but of course, you make sure to indulge in the magic of the holiday, just the two of you [part of the Fanboy y Cielo ‘verse].

(moodboard courtesy of lovely @ouralcohol)

--

Divided holidays were a challenge. 

You and Mickey had opted to spend the few days preceding Christmas with his mother and his sisters, which meant, of course, holiday travel.

You'd left your beachside home in San Diego, packing gifts and luggage alike to make the trek to Mickey’s hometown. Artoo was set up with your friend for the few days you’d be gone. And it wasn’t as though you weren’t coming back in just a few days to celebrate Christmas with Mickey, just the two of you. It would go by in a flash. So why were you nervous?  

You had met his family before. And, of course, they’d never indicated anything other than that they’d liked you … Still, you’d felt the perpetual need to impress. To ensure that they still liked you, as though their opinion would have changed in the six months since you had seen them for the family’s summer beach weekend.

And the drive was pleasant enough, Mickey expressing to you ad nauseam that he was glad you were coming, 

“You don’t understand, cielo,” he urged. “Every time I talk to my tía it’s like – ‘¿Y tu novia? ¿Y tu novia?’” he parroted. “I swear, it’s like she’s convinced you don’t exist, even though my mom has literally met you.”

You patted his arm in comfort, offering him your coffee cup, which he eyed warily – all too familiar with your penchant for bitter brew. Politely shaking his head in refusal as he turned his eyes back to the road.

You shrugged.

“Oh, I’m familiar,” you assuaged. “My auntie is nosy, too, she does the same. Ever since I was in high school, always asking me where my boyfriend was, judging me if I didn’t bring anyone.”

“And?” Mickey’s eyes darted to you, drumming his hands on the steering wheel in time with the radio (and not at all nervously himself). 

You chuckled, quirking an eyebrow at your boyfriend’s a-little-too-curious tone.

“¿Estás celoso o algo así?” Are you jealous, or something? “Don’t worry, M, I don’t bring anyone around unless I think they’re worthwhile.”

You popped across the console on your elbows, enough to press a kiss to your boyfriend’s cheek, pleased at the blooming flush making its way across his finely-peaked, mole-dotted cheekbones. At his happy realization that you had brought him home to meet your family for nearly every Thanksgiving since you’d gotten together. 

That you had deemed him worthy.

And though Mickey had assured you that it would be a relatively quiet few days, a few meals and a gift exchange with his mom and his sisters, you couldn’t help but wonder – had Mickey deemed you worthy? Had the women in his life? 

So, yeah, you couldn’t help the little prickle of nerves that tingled their way through you as your playlist wound down, the dulcet tones of Sam Cooke’s “Any Day Now,” fading as Mickey turned into his driveway, his mother and sisters waiting to greet you with waving hands and identically-beaming faces. Their smiles were all-to familiar to you – a virtual carbon-copy of the one that regularly greeted you on the face of your beloved. 

And it was foolish to worry, really, you thought, as you were crushed with hugs and ushered inside by Mickey’s mother and his three shrieking, giggling sisters, all wearing variations of the same, slightly threadbare sweater (no doubt handmade and worn annually). Leaving Mickey to carry your bags and gifts into the home while his trio of sisters fawned over you,

“She looks gorgeous, no?” Said the eldest, Luci.

“I told you, she’s got that glow,” from Eiza, the youngest. 

And it was foolish to worry – when they had shoved a glass of ponche navideño in your hands and began filling you in on all the chisme as your boyfriend huffed his way up to his childhood bedroom, laden with bags. 

Hours later, you were packed into the hearth-warm kitchen, virtually up to your elbows in masa as you continued to knead, by hand, the sticky dough for enough tamales to feed an army under the approving (but ever-watchful eye) of your general – Mrs. Garcia. The way her lips had split into a smile when you’d refused the stand-mixer and opted to go manual was something you’d burn into your brain for eternity. 

Maybe approval wasn’t so far off. 

“Bien, mija,” she appraised, as Mickey sipped his punch from the corner he had been relegated to in the the kitchen, watching with honeymelt eyes as the women who shaped his past, his present, and – his eyes lingered over you – hopefully, his future, all worked in tandem to make homemade tamales. Gossipping away and giggling with each other as though you had been their friend for decades. 

“Ma,” Mickey piped up, “you’ve got her making all of this by hand? She’ll cramp up. She’ll have witch's hands by the time we leave. She’s an artist, you know, it’s how she makes her living. How many tamales do you need, anyway?” 

Mrs. Garcia whipped the dish towel that was draped over her shoulder at the back of her son’s head, effectively silencing him.

“Miguelito,” she hissed, “Tradicion. And your cousin Shawn says he’ll eat at least forty, and you know they’ll be here til New Year’s.” 

“Yeah? Well, cousin Shawn is full of shit.” 

Mickey’s sisters rolled their eyes at their brother’s antics, the middle sister, Olivia, bumping her hips against yours, her eyes full of playful mirth as she finished stirring the filling. 

And you could make out the living room through its swinging door to the kitchen, Vicente Fernández warbling away on the record player in the corner, as Eiza finished decorating their tree with a few of the ornaments that you and Mickey had brought – one, an orb with a photo of the two of you and Artoo on your couch at home, she displayed prominently at the center of the tree next to some that were clearly school projects from the kids’ elementary school years. 

It was nice, you thought – to be in a home that felt like a home for the holidays. To see these little pieces of your love’s life that had preceded you and that had shaped him. To let the magic of the season wash over your lives. 

After dinner, you helped Mickey’s sisters store the tamales for the long haul (and the arrival of the cousins) while Mickey did the dishes. 

Sliding on stockinged feet over the linoleum in their kitchen, you sheepishly produced a pink box tied in twine, with a tag that had a roughly-hewn, hand-drawn likeness of the Garcia household that you had seen in photographs, offering it to Mickey’s mother – a box stuffed full of pan dulce and Christmas cookies. 

“Mija, you made these?” She asked, hand hovering over the open flap, debating which to choose. “They all look so perfect.” 

“You should, like, have a baking insta,” Eiza agreed, words muffled by a mouth full of fluffy pink pan dulce. 

“They aren’t alla that,” you huffed, waving your hand as though to wave away the compliments.

“She’s modest,” Mickey assured, taking the box from your hands and setting it on the oaken kitchen table before lacing your fingers with his. “She loves to bake. She makes cookies for everyone in the squad for Christmas and birthdays.” 

“Really?” Mrs. Garcia appraised. “What did you make this year?” 

Rooster was positively gleeful at the sight of the red tin bedecked with snowflakes. 

“Are those what I think they are?” He bent down to kiss your cheek as you pressed the box into his hands. “Our Marigold’s famous Christmas gifts?” 

You had come down to the base to deliver the baked goods in person, on a day the squad had all agreed to meet for a holiday lunch. A cardboard box full of tins, each with their own personalized tag, awaited each of the Daggers. Javy had taken his – with its tag featuring a little drawing of a howling coyote – and absconded with it, thanking you through a sprinkling mouthful of crumbs and peppermint icing. 

Bradley’s, with its tag adorned with a strutting cartoon rooster with its tail feathers made of flames, was full of iced shortbread. Something he had confided to you that his mother had made on holidays past. You hoped he’d like them, not that the recipe you had found online could ever touch Carole Bradshaw's.

Mav had winked, thanking you for the classic chocolate chip, chuckling at the cartoonish aviator sunglasses on the tag.

Chocolate-chili cookies for Phoenix. Peanut butter for Jake. Cinnamon swirl for Bob. Lemon-lavender for Halo. Sweet mochi cookies for Reuben… and so on.

“If he doesn’t marry you, Marigold,” Rooster not-so-quietly announced, gesturing at Mickey with a cookie in his hand, “I will.” 

It was then that Mickey had swooped in, looping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your cheek, waving Rooster away with a, 

“Yeah, yeah… she’ll definitely call you, buddy." Waving at the squad as he spun you and made to take your leave. "Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals.” 

–

Mickey's childhood room was, like the rest of his family home, like the man himself, warm. Belying a coziness you cherished in all spaces, replete with a checkered quilt on the bed that you were certain his mother had made. Posters bedecked the walls, shining with the grins of baseball and soccer players whose names you'd recognized from the backs of jerseys hanging in Mickey's side of your shared closet. Star Trek DVD sets on the bookshelf, nestled next to Tom Clancy novels. Model planes, jets, and Lego sets were intact and displayed – proudly, you were sure –  on the desk. It was all so overwhelmingly Mickey, you were certain you were falling in love all over again, more pieces of himself falling into place in your heart. The nature of him, ensconced by his childhood, filling the gaps in your heart. 

"It's, ehhh," Mickey scrubbed the back of his neck, placing your bag at the foot of the bed on the side he knew you'd preferred af home. "A little geeky, I know. Ma insists on not changing it."

"She shouldn't," you clarified. "It's perfect. It's you."

Mickey beamed at that, coming to your side and surveying the room from your perspective before shrugging his shoulders.

"It's more perfect seeing you here. Honestly, a pretty girl in my room? My sisters never thought they'd see the day," he chuckled, sweeping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your shoulder before gazing up at you through his lashes. "And I gotta say, cielo, it's doing a number on me, you being in here."

You batted your lashes at your beloved before patting his cheek, 

“Easy tiger,” you breathed. “I’m not trying to disrespect your mother, or anything. We can wait til we're back home.” 

"Yeah, about that," Mickey said, extricating himself from you and readying himself for bed. "My mom is probably still laughing at you for offering to sleep on the couch. They know we've been together for a while, babe. It's fine."

"Still," you hissed, shimmying out of your jeans and into your joggers, sliding beneath the covers. "It's… awkward, no? To be in your boyfriend's house, them thinking we’re like … hooking up in here?" 

"If you feel that strongly about it," Mickey slid in beside you, leveling you with his best serious gaze, "you really should make more of an effort to keep your hands off me. Like, damn. Let a man sleep in peace."

You swatted his arm with the back of your hand, scoffing at him as he turned to turn out the bedside light. 

"You're unbelievable."

"Tell me something I don't know, baby."

And it had to be some kind of record, really. How quickly you’d gone back on your own word.

As soon as you and Mickey had turned the lights out, he had wrapped his arms around you, and pressed a goodnight kiss to your lips, you were a goner. The rustle of sheets met your ears through the blanket of darkness that had fallen in Mickey’s room, his fingertips meeting the skin of your waist where your t-shirt had ridden up, his lips meeting yours in kind – a clandestine, weighted feeling that you often felt yourself lost in. 

Mickey would often tell you that he felt a sort of gravitational pull near you – when you kissed him. That he was helpless to your gravitational pull, like the crashing tides. No choice but to worship you.

It was utter bullshit.

Utter nonsense. Because there was no way he could feel that way about you, when it was exactly how you felt about him, as he trailed his lips along the skin of your neck, feeling his way across your skin, through you, over you, the very heart of you. Rendering you slavish, devoted, insane. No choice but to heed to his beck and call, like the routine surrounding the permanence of a rising and setting sun. 

At the breaking little whine shattering its way through your throat, Mickey smiles against your skin, knowing he’s won. His mouth is warm, kisses like rich cocoa against your silken skin as he slips his way down your body, a trail of teasing touches and toying temptations – leading with lips and tongue.  

 He presses his way down your body, pleased at the heavy sigh that pours from your throat like water in the desert as he slides the soft fabric of your t-shirt up your torso, allowing his lips to chase the mapping progress of his fingers – a path he’s travelled many times, but never feels the same, and never renders the exact same reaction from you. 

“Fuck, cielo,” Mickey murmurs in reverence, his tongue swirling your nipple, the heat of his mouth and honey of his lips following. His hands slipping down your waist as he peppers kisses to the ridges of your ribs, the softness of your stomach. Shucking the quilt down to the foot of the bed as he makes his way between your now-parted legs. 

His palms skated the skin of your thighs, your calves, your ankles, mumbling muffled endearments against your skin as his lips traversed to your hips, inching closer, closer, closer to your center. Your chest heaved with ragged breaths, with honeyed sighs, lashes fluttering and fingers lacing through Mickey’s curls as you acquiesced, always, to the pull of him, the swelling ocean tide sure to wash you away into the depths of him.

“You should feel how warm you are, amor,” Mickey’s lips were wistful and wanton, cruel yet comforting, as he pressed  open-mouthed kisses heating the insides of your thighs. A perpetual tease, as tongue followed. “I bet you’re sweet, too.”

Mickey’s eyes met yours as he glanced up at you from between your thighs, glimmering with the dance of mischief and amorous intent. Pleased at the hitch of your breath evident in your chest, the fluttering of your lashes, the part of your lips.

God, you were well on your way to looking as wrecked as he felt. 

Mickey smiled then, a splitting peal of glimmering happiness, before he endeavoured to shatter you – cheeky as he inclined his head to lick a firm stripe along the seam of you, through the dampened cotton of your underwear.

You yelped at the feeling, slapping your hand over your mouth to muffle the too-loud noise that had shattered the relative silence of the room (save for your collectively heavy breaths), eyes wide at the sound that had spilled from you.

You tugged Mickey’s curls, beckoning him up as you hurried to close your legs – the moment shattering as you realized that once again, you had lost sense of yourself. And under his mother’s roof, no less.

“M!” you hissed, shuffling to readjust your clothing as you gently swatted at his pec, the small thwacking sound vindicating to your own traitorous ears as you attempted to recover from the embarrassment flooding through your body, heating your chest and cheeks. “Y-you … I can’t believe you. Zorro. Baboso.” 

“H-hey,” Mickey was cupping his own pec where you had swatted at it, eyeing your fluster and bluster with barely-concealed mirth. “You wound me, baby. I was just trying to kiss you goodnight. I just wanted you to know I love you.” 

“Sneaky little good-for-nothing,” you hissed, no malice in your voice as it spilled from lips that were trying, against your better senses, to tug into a smile. Shaking your head. “What would Ken Griffey Jr. think?” You tugged your shirt down, beckoning with pointed finger to the larger-than-life splashed likeness on the poster of the hall of fame ballplayer, staring down at the both of you, frozen smile ever-affixed. Not judgmental, but not-not judgmental. 

“He’d high-five me for a home run?” Mickey shrugged.

“You’re shameless, you know?” You readjusted yourself under the covers, making a show of pulling them up to your chin, obscuring your body from his view.

“Well, what do you suggest we do instead,” Mickey queried.

“Um, sleep?” 

“Baby,” Mickey’s voice was low, lilting – a slip of a tease in the wintery-darkness of his room. “I don’t, uhhh, think I can go to sleep right now.” 

You arched an eyebrow at him, “I want to go on record as saying that this is a self-created problem, but because I love you …” you sat up, allowing the covers to fall to your waist, bending forward and cupping Mickey’s jaw, urging him to you to press a chaste kiss to his lips. 

“Lie on your stomach,” you eased. “Let’s play the word game.” 

The word game. Something you had invented with your siblings when you were little. When you were too hyper to sleep, filled with the sugar from Christmas cookies and hot cocoa, waiting for Santa Claus, urging the morning to come … you’d come up with the game to pass the time. A game you had passed on to friends at sleepovers, graduating to giggling wine-drunk iterations in college. And now to your beloved. 

One of you would lie on your stomach, while the person that was “it” would pick a word or phrase, drawing each letter on the expanse of the other’s back. If the guesser chose the letter correctly, you would move on to the next letter, until they’ve spelled the word and identified it. Then you would switch 

Now, with the twinkling of stars outside of Mickey’s window and the luminescent glow of the moon to light your way, you rubbed your palms along the smooth skin of his muscled back, perusing your mental catalog for your word. Mickey groaned beneath you, pleased at the feeling of your hands working their way along his skin, his contended exhalations leaving his lips like a purr. 

“Ah,” you began, “I’ve got one. Okay.” 

You traced an “R,” the curving bow of the letter causing a shiver to wrack through Mickey at the featherlight touch of your fingertip, the gentle scrape of your nail.

“Cielo, this is supposed to relax me, not turn me on,” he turned his head to the side, allowing it to rest on his arms so he could glare, balefully, at you through cocoa-swirled eyes. 

“I can’t be breaking the rules if everything I do turns you on. Control yourself,” you replied primly, easing the sting of your jest with a sweet kiss pressed to his tanned shoulder. “I’ll draw again.” 

“It’s an ‘R,’” he supplied, huffing. “Stupid, sexy ‘R.’” 

You beamed, nodding so that he could see, before drawing the next. E. 

As Mickey guessed each letter, you proceeded. Giggling at some of his mistakes, signaling wrong answers with a wiping, swirling motion along his spine, not unlike the sweeping shake of your head, until – 

“Regalo,” Mickey guessed. Present. 

“Bien,” you smiled. Rewarding your beloved with a sweet kiss to his lips, breezy and sweet like honeysuckle in spring. 

“And what present did you get me, my love?” 

“You’ll have to wait to find out,” you eased down next to him, cuddling into his side. “Or maybe my presence is the present. Either way, you’ll have to be good, or you get nothing.” 

“Always,” Mickey murmured, the facile lovingness of your touch, the game, having lulled him some, easing into the routine of relaxing by your side.

Whether he was referring to you always being a gift, or that he was always good, you weren’t sure. And you didn’t ask, his evening-breathing suggesting that he was well on his way to drifting off – one step closer to dancing dreams of swirling ardor. 

–

As you sat around in the morning with Mickey’s sisters in their matching sweaters, waiting to exchange gifts, they eyed you with something like mischief. A look you were all too used to seeing in their brother’s eyes. 

Mickey was in the kitchen, chipperly helping his mother plate the pan dulce you had baked and pouring coffee. The sunshiney nature of early-birdedness seemed to be a Garcia family trait, you thought, as Mickey’s mother greeted you with a million-watt smile and a kiss to your cheek before ushering you to be comfortable by the tree. 

“I heard the strangest thing last night,” Luci began, her lips curling into a grin. “Did you hear it, Oli?” She looked to the middle sister.

“Oh, yeah,” Olivia continued, knowingly. “Some noise coming from down the hall, like a strangled little cat. Very strange.”

“We don’t have a cat,” Eiza piped up, helpfully-unhelpful. 

And if your face didn’t bely your embarrassment at Mickey’s sisters clearly having heard your little yelp from down the hall, you were sure that the heat rushing through your body might melt you, like a shameful wave of lava, bent on your destruction. 

“Ehm,” you began, plucking intently at the very apparent little loose thread at the hem of your joggers… 

“We’re teasing you,” Luci appeased. “Don’t worry. Quite honestly, the fact that you’d choose to be with that little nerd is astounding –” 

“You’re too cool for him,” Eiza finished from her end of the couch. 

“He’s, uhm,” you smiled weakly at each of his sisters, still recovering from the mortifying ordeal of having been put on the spot. “He’s pretty great.” 

“Yeah,” Olivia rolled her eyes. “If you think Star Trek Christmas sweaters and talking about jets and G’s is cool.” 

You shrugged. “I do.” 

Mrs. Garcia and Mickey entered, then, distributing the steaming cups of coffee and reheated sweet breads. Your beloved pressing his lips to your temple as he pressed the warm mug into your hands.

“Buenas días, mija,” Mrs. Garcia greeted you, easing next to you on the couch. 

“Good morning, señora.” 

She knocked her shoulder gently into yours, smiling between you and Mickey, as he began to distribute gifts.

“Oh, M, give out mine first, please?” You urged, the little prickle of nerves from yesterday tickling at your throat (or maybe that was just the warm swallow of bitterly-strong coffee, just the way you liked it) as you were eagerly-anxious to see if his family liked your gifts.

Mickey nodded, passing soft wrapped packages to each sister – their names calligraphed on each tag in elegant, looping letters. Urging each sister to tear into the paper, an extra smile for Eiza as he passed her a firmer, square box. 

Luci cooed over the hand-knitted scarf and hoop earrings, assuring you they were just the pair she wanted.

Olivia had beamed at the hand-painted mug, admiring the white oleander blooms you had painted. Thanking you for the book of poems. 

Eiza shrieked at the pink gamer headset as she unwrapped it, looking up at you with awestruck, eager eyes. 

“Now you can join M, Reuben and me on our Call of Duty nights,” you smiled. “You’ll need some face masks, though. We multitask our self-care.” You nodded at the box, urging her to check as she pulled out a pack of Korean sheet masks (the same that you had separately gifted Reuben). She swept you in a hug, promising to set up a time to play with you. 

Mickey passed his mother a large, flat package, urging her to tear into the paper.

She ripped away the shining green, revealing a canvas with a watercolored likeness of your beachside home. The cerulean of the swirling ocean and the grapefruit-pink of the sunset stippled into in the background. 

“She painted it, mama,” Mickey gestured to you, eyes swimming as he took in the pleased smile on his mother’s face.

“I just wanted you to have something, a piece of our home in yours, until you can come visit us,” you eased. “I hope you like it.”

Mrs. Garcia nodded, reaching to clasp your hand in hers. “It’s beautiful, my darling girl.” 

Mickey’s sisters had gifted you with a stocking full of puppy goodies for Artoo. A set of bath bombs and a new sketchpad for you. Gifting Mickey with some games he had his eye on.

Senora eased her way up from the couch, pulling a small wooden box from beneath the tree and handing it to you. 

You admired the hewn wood, popping the lid on the box to find a handful of recipe cards in what you recognized form letters and cards to be Mrs. Garcia’s handwriting.

“Just a few recipes for you – so the two of you can have them for your home. And start some of your own traditions.”

You thanked her, with teary eyes and a warm hug, all vestiges of worry set aside as you enmeshed yourself into the warm welcome of the Garcia home.

"You make him better, no?" Mrs. Garcia was sitting with you as Mickey packed up the car, his sisters twittering around him about taking leftovers (seriously, Shawn did not need that many tamales) and promising to FaceTime them after you and Mickey opened the rest of your gifts. The snippets of their conversations meeting your ears as you visited with his mother.

“-- I swear, Miguelito, you better marry her,” Luci’s voice caused your heart to lurch a little. 

You turned your attention back to Mrs. Garcia,

"He makes me my best."

–

Artoo was overjoyed at your reunion. He leapt at your feet before you’d even had the chance to exit the car, his tail moving a mile a minute as he bowled over Mickey, licking at his face and his ears.

The two of you had settled into a lazy morning together, Artoo contentedly tearing into the stocking of gifts from Mickey’s sisters from his perch on the couch as you gifted Mickey with a plate of cheesy scrambled eggs – a Christmas morning breakfast tradition in your home.

“I like the shirt,” you acknowledged, beaming at the Mickey Mouse shirt that had been your birthday gift to him the prior year – a tradition of his own making, to wear the shirts you’d gifted him on Christmas. Each year a surprise as to which one he’d pick. 

This year’s – a grinning Mickey hugging Pluto – a splash of color adorning Mickey’s torso. A welcome sight painting the picture of your holiday backdrop while you made chili-spiced hot cocoa as your father had taught you, the sweet tickle playing on your lips as you grinned at your boyfriend.

And it was a cosmic, karmic collision – something in the stars, you think. Watching him play with Artoo, watching him eat his breakfast, watching him pluck packages from beneath the tree, ready to give to you. And maybe it was the magic of the holidays – that tinges everything in evergreen romance, warm and sweet and cinnamon. But you think, perhaps, that it will always feel this way with Mickey – as though he was the sunshine in your wintery sky, iridescent and luminous.

“Here,” you passed a package to your beloved, waiting with bated breath and eager eyes as he set his cocoa cup aside and ripped into the paper, marveling at the bound graphic novel in his hands – 

A full, illustrated edition of “The Adventures of Fanboy and Payback,” their space-exploration adventures that you had invented and drawn now captured fully, rather than in the piecemeal etchings you would stick into care packages when Mickey was away.

“Baby,” Mickey breathed, “you did all of this?”

“Well,” you worried your lower lip between your teeth. “The binding isn’t the best, but I tried. Do you like it?”

“Ah-mor,” he swept you off the couch and into his arms, his lips meeting yours, full and flush. “You literally made me a sci-fi hero. This is the best ever.” 

“I’m so glad,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his tapered waist and squeezing. “You’re definitely my hero, M. Callsign: Romeo.” 

Mickey chuckled, disentangling himself from you and pressing another kiss to your lips. Assuring you he loved it as he gently set aside the book as though it were made of glass, turning to pick up your gift.

Mickey gazed at you expectantly as you held the small, unexpectedly dense box in your palm, searching his face for any hint as to what could be in the box,

“Don’t –” Mickey started, trailing off as you gently shook the box, “shake it… Fine.” 

You smirked, peeling the paper off the box and peering into it, met with the fiery hue of —

“An orange?” You query, lifting the small fruit from the box, its stippled rind leaving the pleasing, citrusy smell on your fingertips as you examined it. The blazing blue sticker on the side of the rind boasting the phrase, “Sweet Valencia.”

“Por supuesto, cielo.” Of course. 

“Well, you know I love oranges,” you smiled at him. “Thank you, my love.”

“Cieloooo,” he snickered. “If we were to share it. To peel it in half, what do you have?” He pressed you.

You gazed at him, glancing between the orange in your hand and your beloved’s shimmering eyes, dark and luminescent as the night sky.

“A half of an orange. Is this a riddle? What am I missing?” 

“Si, cielo, my brilliant, beautiful girl.” Mickey kneeled before you know, cradling your hand that held the orange in his palms. “An orange half. Mi media naranja.”

Your breath caught in your throat. 

And it was one of your favorite things about the Spanish language, your favorite endearment.  Embodied by the gift your boyfriend was handing to you now, the fiery-hued orb in your palms, perfect. The sweet smell of citrus tickling your nose. 

Mi media naranja. His soulmate. Literally translated, mi media naranja – “my orange half,” in reference to you.

Mickey dropped your hand, turning to pick up the box you had gently set aside, plucking something from the bottom of the box before picking up one of your hands. 

The coolness of metal slid along the ring finger of your right hand.

You tore your gaze down in time to see the coppery rosiness of a simple rose-gold band against the skin of your hand.

“I’m going to marry you one day, mi naranjita,” Mickey assured, looking between the ring on your hand and your starshine eyes. “Until then, consider this my promise to you.” 

With your artist's eyes, you can appreciate the watercolor brushstrokes of the moment, the way in which you saw the world, textured and swirling. Rosy and perpetually-perfect as your lips met Mickey’s, tugging him toward you with a finger crooked in his silly shirt.

“You’re perfect, M,” you murmured into his mouth. “Impetuous … but perfect.” 

You dragged Mickey down the hall, toward your bedroom, your lips fused to his as you made to peel the cartoonish shirt from his torso as you went, reveling in the firm feel of him beneath your fingertips. 

When had the script flipped? You were beneath Mickey now, him rolling his hips into you, the sweet, heavy drag of him inside of you sinfully sweet as you tipped your head back to watch your beloved watching you. The tight heat of you squeezing around him, causing him to roll his eyes back, bucking his hips into you harder. 

“Baby,” Mickey groaned, “you're so pretty it hurts.” He dragged his teeth over the column of your throat, soothing the stinging scrape of teeth with a pretty little brushstroke of his lips over the canvas of your neck. "I'll give it all to you – give you more, more, more …" he murmured into your skin as his thrusts became sloppy.

And watching you come apart, to shatter in his embrace, was the gift you kept on giving. One he’d never tire of as he spilled inside of you as you urged him to, “Please, baby, come inside me,” urging, urging. “I want it.”

He never stood a chance.

You draw your finger repeatedly along the curve of his nose, pressing kisses into his neck and begging him not to move from inside of you as Mickey rests his head on your shoulder, puffing exhalations evening into the deep, easy breathing of the satisfied. 

And as you glanced down at the rose gold band on your hand – the simple little gift that held so much weight, you drifted to the afternoon you had spent with Mickey before leaving his mother’s home. The tour he’d given you around town, narrating the lives of the ghosts of his hometown as you drove past the movie theater where he’d had his first date; the park where he and some friends had gotten drunk as teens. Stopping to climb to the roof of the school building, to watch the late-afternoon wintery sunset. 

"I wish you knew what it feels like," you sighed, carding your fingers through Mickey's curls, his head in your lap as the two of you watched the blaze of orange sunset turn purple like tufted cotton candy.

"What what feels like?" He asked tilting his chin to allow his eyes to prove your form, appreciating the fiery hues of the sky splashed against your skin.

"To love you," you glanced down, meeting your beloved's eyes with a smile.

Mickey's million-watt grin beamed back in response.

And perhaps that's the reason for the setting sun, you thought. It has no choice but to retreat in the face of something so radiant as your beloved's smile, a second fiddle at its own game.

"Oh, I have a pretty good idea, cielito" Mickey sat up, warm hands coming to cradle either side of your face, to appreciate the curve of your jaw as you smile at him -- little reminders how every part of you, delights in every part of him.

At your arching eyebrow, he continued, "After all, I know what it feels like to love you."

His lips met yours, the feel of his kiss like night-blooming jasmine, like petals against your wistful mouth -- eternal against the evening dusk of his hometown's little skyline.

Perhaps traveling for the holidays wasn't so bad.

--

some tags for my usual suspects: @joaquinwhorres @withahappyrefrain  @clints-lucky-arrow @inklore @phoenixhalliwell @ohmagawd-life @levylovegood @thatredheadwriter @zombieaurora @shadeds-library @writercole @ijustwantedplums @justalonelyslytherin @gretagerwigsmuse @fanboysfangirl @siriusfahey @the-navistar-carol @jadore-andor @fanboygarcia @lavenderluna10 @thedaredevilsgirl @fluffyprettykitty @mickeyluvs @mothdruid   @maxmayfield @eagerforthesky @callmemantha @mxgyver  @andrewrussgarfield @bioodforbiood @the-purity-pen @luxuryberzatto @liz-allyn  @moonlight-prose @thegirlwhowritesfics @phoebe-danvers ​@jadore-andor  @marvelousmermaid @spidervee ​@t-nd-rfoot​

#mickey fanboy garcia x reader #mickey garcia x reader #fanboy garcia x reader #fanboy x reader #fanboy x cielo #mickey 'fanboy' garcia x reader #holiday fic #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fic #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #tgm fic #my writing #mickey fanboy garcia #Mickey 'fanboy' Garcia #danny ramirez

[creads]

⭐️ blow off some steam. fem!reader x matias recalt

🪐 minha masterlist

» cw: smut! por favor só interaja se for +18; leitora!professora e matias!aluno [😮]; oral f recieving.

» wn: oieeerrrr…. boa noiteee……. tava pensando no nariz do matias e saiu isso aqui, espero que gostem ⭐️💋 ah, e eu não sei nada sobre o processo até se tornar professor universitário, então se tiver alguma coisa errada por favor finjam kkkkkk

—————————————————————————

Quando você aceitou o convite das suas amigas para visitar um barzinho novo da cidade, não esperava que ficariam a maior parte do tempo separadas: uma delas tentava salvar o relacionamento pelo telefone e a outra estava beijando um desconhecido há 20 minutos.

Apesar de ter ficado sem companhias a maior parte do tempo, o motivo que elas usaram para te convencer ainda era muito relevante: você tinha que relaxar, se distrair. Ter o estresse grande de ser uma professora, ainda tão nova, não é fácil. Apesar de dar aula para apenas uma turma, conciliar isso com os estudos da sua pós-graduação exige muito de você. Além do mais, o resto dos professores são bem mais velhos, então de vez em quando é bom ver gente da sua faixa etária fora da sala.

Saiu para a área externa do bar, dentro dele estava tão cheio que parecia mais uma balada, precisava ficar sozinha e fumar um cigarro. Enquanto inalava a fumaça, olhava para o céu que tinha poucas estrelas, e pensava na semana que estava por vir: tenho que montar os slides pra aula de quarta, tenho que responder uns e-mails, tenho que -

— Tem isqueiro? — Seus pensamentos foram interrompidos ao ouvir a voz masculina, e quando se virou, se deparou com um rosto familiar.

— Aham. — Disse, enquanto levantava as mãos para acender o cigarro na boca do menino.

— E aí, prof? Que bom te ver por aqui. — Matias disse e tragou a fumaça. Ele é um dos seus alunos, prestava atenção nas aulas e tirava boas notas, apesar da carinha e jeitinho de quem não quer saber de nada.

— Tudo bem, Matias? — Cumprimentou, educada.

— Melhor agora, fumando com a minha professora favorita. — Ele respondeu. A verdade era que Matias não gostava muito de estudar, já era a segunda vez que ele trocava de curso. O atual também não fazia os olhos dele brilharem, mas você sim. Era fácil se distrair nas aulas dos outros professores, quase idosos, mas na sua isso nunca tinha acontecido. Além de gostar da sua didática, achava muito difícil não prestar atenção na professora novinha e bonita. Até mesmo em casa, pegava para ler as anotações da aula, ele não aceitava ir mal na prova da única professora gostosa que ele já teve na vida.

Você sorriu com o comentário, mas não disse nada, só levou o cigarro até a boca mais uma vez.

— Tá aqui sozinha? — Matias perguntou, preenchendo o silêncio confortável.

— Não, eu vim com umas amigas. E você?

— Também vim com uns amigos. E o namorado? — Matias foi tão discreto quanto um elefante pintado de rosa, o único objetivo dele ela fazer essa última pergunta, não poderia ligar menos para as suas amigas e até mesmo para os dele.

— Acho que se ele existisse, estaria aqui hoje. — Respondeu, bem humorada. Diferentemente dos seus colegas de profissão, você não se achava superior por ser docente, e muito menos via necessidade em tratar seus alunos mal, além do mais, Matias era simpático, e muito bonito, fazia bem para os olhos.

Matias solta um “ah” e logo traga o cigarro mais uma vez. Antes que ele pudesse falar mais alguma coisa, você se toca que talvez não seja uma boa ideia conversar com seu aluno em um bar, ainda mais depois da pergunta dele.

— Mas de qualquer forma, eu já tava de saída. Foi bom te ver, Matias, até quarta. — Você se despediu e apagou o cigarro, deu um sorrisinho e se virou para ir.

— Peraí, você vai como? Tá tarde já — Ele foi atrás de você e colocou a mão no seu braço.

— De uber. Eu moro aqui perto, é só pra não ter que andar sozinha mesmo.

— Eu vou com você, eu te levo até a sua casa.

Isso poderia pegar mal? Sim. É uma boa ideia deixar seu aluno mais bonito te deixar na porta de casa? Com certeza não. Mas, pensando bem, você economizaria com o uber, e isso parece um argumento perfeitamente plausível.

— Tá bem.

Você realmente mora perto do bar, então a caminhada foi bem curta, mas muito agradável. Descobriu que Matias também é engraçado e charmoso. Apesar dele ser um ou dois anos mais novo que você, Matias exala uma confiança que o faz parecer muito mais velho, experiente… Tá, talvez seja pelo fato de você mesma não ter vivido muito: passou direto do ensino médio no vestibular e desde então leva uma vida acadêmica perfeita, não é atoa que você é tão brilhante mesmo sendo tão jovem. Em contraponto, a vida romântica ficou um pouco de lado, mas não é como se fizesse tanta falta assim… Ok, talvez faça, seria bom para relaxar, mas você não tem tempo pra isso, tem que terminar seu trabalho da pós, tem que montar uma prova, tem que -

— Onde você falou que é mesmo? — De novo, Matias interrompe seus pensamentos a mil.

— Ah, é esse prédio aqui.

— Chegamos então.

— Sim, muito obrigada, Matias. — Você diz, e vê na carinha dele que ele está pensando em alguma coisa para falar, só pra ficar mais um pouco com você. Se abraçam rapidamente e você procura a chave na sua bolsa.

— Vem cá, você tava prestando atenção no que eu tava falando? — Ele pergunta, com um sorriso se formando nos lábios.

— Eu juro que estava, mas em um momento eu comecei a pensar em umas coisas do trabalho… Que vergonha, desculpa. Eu juro que não foi por mal, é que eu tô com tanta coisa pra fazer… Que as vezes eu penso nisso mesmo sem querer. — Você responde, rindo de nervoso, que falta de educação.

— Não, que isso. Eu imagino, você é muito boa no que faz, óbvio que se esforça muito. — Ele é compreensivo, até ri junto com você, acha bonitinho.

— Obrigada, mas ai, é tanta coisa, sabe? — Você desabafa, se sente à vontade com ele.

— Mas você tem que relaxar de vez em quando, né? — Ele diz enquanto te encara, te olha de cima pra baixo. Chega até mais pertinho.

Você finalmente acha as chaves na sua bolsa, e quando levanta a cabeça, vê que o menino está com um olhar diferente, fixado na sua boca. Intimidada, só diz “pois é” e concorda com a cabeça. Seu estado piora quando Matias coloca a mão na sua cintura e põe seu cabelo atrás da orelha, aproveita que essa mão está pertinha do seu pescoço e deixa ela por lá mesmo.

— Matias…

— Posso te dar um beijo?

— Não posso…

— Mas você quer?

— Você é meu aluno, Matias.

— Hoje eu posso ser só um cara que você conheceu no bar, que tal? — Ele te olha de uma forma que você nunca tinha visto em ninguém antes, uma mistura de ternura com desejo, parece que ele quer te comer inteirinha e fazer carinho em você durante. Não são só os olhos dele te distraem, também o nariz grande, que te faz pensar em coisas muito sujas, o sorrisinho que ele dá enquanto morde os lábios também não ajuda. Puta merda.

Você pondera, mas é muito difícil tomar uma decisão responsável com um homem tão lindo tão perto do seu rosto, e o fato de ele também parecer estar louco para te beijar não ajuda.

— Deixa eu te ajudar a relaxar, vai. — Ele diz enquanto faz carinho na sua cintura, apertando levemente a carne ali. A mão no pescoço continua ali, mas o polegar faz carinho no seu rosto. Ele vê seu rostinho indeciso e distribui selinhos demorados no seu pescoço, só para ajudar você a tomar coragem de dizer sim, que cavalheiro…

— Mati… — Você diz, manhosa, toda derretida pela atenção que o moreno está dando para o seu pescoço. Tudo é demais, o perfume misturado com o cheiro de cigarro se torna intoxicante, o jeito que ele te toca: tão lento, carinhoso, mas cheio de desejo. Só consegue colocar as mãos na nuca do garoto e puxá-lo para um beijo.

O beijo que vocês compartilham ainda em frente à porta do prédio é lento e molhado, ele explora sua boca com a língua de uma forma maravilhosa. Matias te segura pela cintura, e quase inconsciente, te puxa e cola no corpo dele, você consegue sentir a ereção se formando na calça dele, isso causa um pane na sua cabeça e faz com que as chaves na sua mão caiam no chão. O barulho assusta os dois, mas é a deixa perfeita para finalmente abrir o portão, andam até o elevador que já estava no térreo e quando as portas se fecham, Matias te prensa contra a parede do lugar apertado. Ele retoma o beijo, com mais urgência, as mãos que antes estavam no seu pescoço param no seu cabelo, puxam ele pela base; a boca dele deixa a sua, mas antes de você conseguir protestar, o garoto começa a beijar seu pescoço. Ele chupa a região de leve, provavelmente será suficiente pra deixar marcas, mas você não consegue se preocupar com isso no momento.

O barulho das portas se abrindo te faz quebrar o beijo, e sair apressada do elevador, puxando Matias pela mão. Abre a porta em tempo recorde, desesperada para ter ele te tocando de novo. Quando já estão dentro do apartamento, vai sedenta para beijá-lo de novo, mas Matias te impede de selar sua boca na dele ao puxar seu cabelo e curva seu pescoço para trás. A ação arranca um gemido de você, e ele aproveita para beijar a área exposta novamente.

— Não precisa ter pressa, bebita. Onde é seu quarto? — Ele diz entre os selinhos que distribui pelo seu pescoço.

Você geme em desaprovação, mas recupera a lucidez e leva o garoto para o cômodo. Quando chegam lá, Matias te guia até a cama e te deita cuidadosamente, fica em cima de você, mas é atrevido, não retoma o beijo. Ele retira sua blusa, e as mãos dele apertam seus peitos e a boca do garoto beija sua clavícula, lentamente descendo até seus mamilos, chupando e mordendo seu biquinho tão necessitado. Você desce suas mãos pelo abdômen dele e quando alcança a ereção, apalpa, praticamente masturbando o garoto por cima das calças.

Mas como já foi mencionado, Matias é um cavalheiro, segura seus pulsos e os coloca acima da sua cabeça, imobilizando suas mãozinhas atrevidas.

— Não, não, bebita. Você é quem precisa relaxar, isso aqui é sobre seu prazer. Vai ter tempo pra isso depois. — Matias diz enquanto distribui beijos molhados pela sua barriga exposta, até chegar na sua virilha. Tira sua calça enquanto mantém o contato visual, viciado na sua carinha de desesperada por ele.

Por mais que você tenha pressa, Matias não, nem um pouco. O moreno arrasta os dedos por cima da sua calcinha, já encharcada, desce com o rostinho para perto da sua intimidade, tão necessitada. Não se dá o trabalho nem de arredar a calcinha para o lado, dá uma lambida extensa por cima dela e faz questão de arrastar o nariz junto com a língua, se sente vaidoso, gosta de ver você se desmoronando por ele. Ele finalmente tira sua calcinha, puxando a alcinha com os dentes, e distribui beijinhos molhados e estalados pelo seu monte de vênus, descendo até seus lábios. Não tira os olhos de você em nenhum momento, a intensidade do olhar só aumenta o seu desejo por ele.

Ele cospe na sua buceta e te provoca, pressiona o dedo na sua entradinha tão necessitada. Você não consegue segurar e solta um gemido, ele solta uma risadinha e afasta o dedo. Morde a parte interna da sua coxa e dá uns tapinhas na sua intimidade, tão molhada que você consegue até ouvir.

— Você tá tão desesperadinha, que bonitinha. Mas fica tranquila, gostosa. Hoje eu só paro quando você pedir.

#matias recalt #matias recalt smut #matias recalt x reader #lsdln x reader #lsdln cast #lsdln smut #cwrites

[xexyromero]

dame beso //. fem reader! x francisco romero

fem!reader, fran romero x reader, friends do lovers, light smut

cw: light smut!

sinopse: você pede ajuda do seu amigo fran para montar um móvel e vocês acabam se beijando sem querer (querendo).

wn: segue seu request, @ningssl! muito obrigada <3 espero que você gosteeee! ficou pequenininho, mas foi de coração.

“ai, amigo.muito obrigada por ter vindo hoje, sério!” você suspirou, agradecida, esticando todo o corpo e massageando um ponto específico das suas costas. maldita a hora que resolvera montar três prateleiras sozinha. bendita a hora que seu amigo fran aceitou vir ajudá-la.

“por nada, amiga. conte comigo sempre.” ele sorriu, genuíno. e você sabia que podia sim. fran era um dos seus amigos mais antigos e provavelmente uma das maiores estabilidades que tinha na vida.

eram três certezas que levava consigo: o céu era azul, nada como um dia após o outro e fran romero estava a uma ligação de distância, sempre. 

o argentino tinha chegado no seu apartamento 15 minutos depois que você mandou uma mensagem pedindo socorro, com café, um pãozinho doce e um martelo. passaram uma tarde mais do que divertida. era incrível estar com ele - sua energia leve e tranquila foi o suficiente para fazer aquela bagunça de parafusos fluir da melhor forma possível. 

“bom, seu móvel já está de pé e eu já estou de saída. não ganho nem um beijinho de agradecimento?” fran piscou, te oferecendo a própria bochecha. ele era muito adorável. 

você assentiu prontamente com a cabeça, se esticando na pontinha dos pés e erguendo o corpo para beijá-lo. no entanto, você se desequilibrou (maldito fran e seus 1 metro e 83 centímetros de altura!) e acabou plantando um selinho na boca dele. o encontro dos lábios te fez sentir uma corrente elétrica. ao perceber o erro, se afastou prontamente e ficou encarando aqueles olhos tão brilhantes.

não sabia muito bem o que dizer. ou o que fazer.

algo aconteceu. 

e tinha certeza que fran sentira também. 

em questão de segundos, ele te puxou para perto com a mão na sua cintura. “com licença.” falou, embora não estivesse pedindo licença nenhuma, e te beijou com ferocidade. você retribuiu, perdida naquela sensação nova. era verdade que vocês flertavam há muito tempo, mas, da sua parte, e imaginava que da dele também, nunca passou de uma brincadeirinha boba. 

uma brincadeirinha boba e insistente que já durava meses. pensando bem, pela forma como ele te beijava, talvez tivesse algo de verdade. 

você se esticava da forma de podia, os braços ao redor do pescoço dele para abaixá-lo e deixar os corpos próximos. ele tinha as mãos firmes na sua cintura, devorando seus lábios como se a vida dependesse disso. quando a língua pediu permissão, sabia que estava perdida. 

fran era muito cuidadoso - as mãos subiam e desciam da sua cintura para suas costas, das costas para o ombro, a pontinha dos dedos te causando arrepios. era respeitoso e ele evitava as partes descobertas do seu corpo. o respeito era adorável, mas você não estava muito afim dele no momento. aproveitou que uma das mãos do rapaz tinha voltado a sua cintura para guiá-la até a bunda. ele prontamente apertou. você não segurou o gemido que escapou da boca e achou particularmente maravilhoso gemer durante o beijo. 

os toques foram ficando mais intensos dos dois lados - fran, agora, não fazia mesuras e atacava seu pescoço enquanto as mãos passeavam por todo seu corpo; você aproveitava para arranhar sua nuca e costas, se deixando totalmente submissa. 

separaram os rostos, sem ar, mas deixando o corpo permanecer na mesma posição. o sorriso de fran era enorme. “eu sempre quis fazer isso.” comentou, esfregando os lábios com gentileza nos seus.

#fran romero #fran romero x reader #francisco romero x reader #francisco romero #lsdln cast #ffs

[valentinegab3]

Jungkook Fic List

FANTASY/ HISTORICAL FICTION (ONESHOTS/ SERIES)

Bitchin (masterlist)

The 80s were a time of choices. Which perm was right for you? What color neon would you wear next? None of these choices, however, were more questionable than a certain deal you made with Jeon Jungkook.

pairing: fratboy!jungkook x reader

genre: 1980s au, eventual smut, e2l

warnings: multiple smut scenes, science talk, banter, jealousy, alcohol & LOTS of colorful 80s slang lmao

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10

A Promise of Freedom war soldier jk x doctor reader

Words: 8.8k

Genres: 60% Angst, 40% Fluff, Wartime!AU

Summary: War is cruel and its inhumanity has not spared you. Captured by the enemy, you were brought to the front lines to heal their wounded. But after one night of saving a particular man’s life, he swears to fulfill any wish of yours.

Dynasty

Words: 17.4k

Genres: 50% Angst, 35% Smut, 15% Fluff, Historical!AU

Summary: It’s no secret that the Emperor is infertile. But even so, a girl is selected every three months and brought to become his concubine in hopes of conceiving the next heir. This time, it’s you. And in order to prevent execution, Jeon Jungkook might just aid you in conception.

Winter soldier l jjk Winter soldier!jungkook x Averger!female readerv

genre; winter soldier/avengers au, angst/smut/fluff

summary; the love of your life died during ww2, they honored his death. you had never imagined you’d ever see him again until you’d join him in death, but here he is and he’s trying to kill you. he’s not himself at all. you, however, insist that the man you used to know is still in there somewhere.

word count: 6,764

Paralian Jungkook x reader

Genre: Pirate!AU + Merfolk!AU + Royalty!AU

Synopsis: Far away, under the sea exists the merfolk Kingdom of Venetus. Y/N is a warrior princess, sworn to protect the nation she loves. Each night she and her unit are tasked with patrolling the ocean, until one night they come across an unmarked ship. The ship carries a dangerous secret which tears Y/N’s ideals apart. In the midst of escaping said danger, Y/N is forced to rely upon a Prince. The Prince of Pirates, whose fate and Y/N’s seem inexplicably entwined. Whether their meeting will end in joy or heartbreak remains to be seen. (A -very- loose retelling of The Little Mermaid).

Énouement Captin!Jungkook l Soldier!Reader

Description: Mulan!AU | War is Hell, but it’s what you had to do to take your brother’s place. Of course, between the days of Hell are little slices of Heaven you’d call your Captain, Jeon Jungkook. Warning: Dom!Kook, Character Death, Gore, Angst, Choking, Intercourse, Fingering, Dirty Talk, Punishment, Oral, Hair Pulling, Public Nudism 

Word Count: 19,554

Arranged Marriage... sort of

Price of Freedom detective!jungkook x professor!fem!reader

summary: upon learning that your father had arranged for you to marry kim taehyung, heir to the biggest corporation in asia, to secure his win in the presidential election, you sought the help of det. jeon jungkook of the intelligence unit to take him down and attain your freedom. however, you soon realized that freedom had a price and det. jeon’s was the most expensive and dangerous of it all. 

FWB

When Worlds Collide ll series ll jjk ll masterlist Jungkook x reader

summary:  since your mother's passing a year ago, life has been a whirlwind. balancing your passion for ballet with a low-key presence at college, where you’re the top student, was your norm until Jungkook stepped into your world. known for his reputation preceding him, jungkook is the talk of the campus with his casual rendezvous that have the girls buzzing. despite his allure, you're puzzled by his need for your tutoring prowess, especially given his own academic merit. yet, succumbing to his persistent requests, you reluctantly agree, only to find yourself thrust into the spotlight you've always avoided.

genre: angst, smut, slice of life, strangers to lovers, college au, fuckboy jk, inexperienced/virgin reader.

word count in progress: 46k ch1-4

warnings: mentions of sex, jungkook might be a asshole, mentions of death, sexual tension, explicit sexual content, alcohol, red flags. i’ll give warnings on each part and make sure to give you a heads-up if the part contents smut.

☾01 ☾ 02 ☾ 03 ☾ 04☾ 05 ☾ 06 ☾ 07 ☾ 08 ☾ 09 ☾ 10

A "Coquette" Misunderstanding relationship:fuckboy!Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

genre: Romance/Comedy 18+

summary: Jungkook has been a self proclaimed fuck boy after his last relationship ended fairly messily… until he met you. Started out as fuck buddies, but he always had a huge crush on you. With time, he realized that he’s actually falling in love with you, and he is itching to make you his girl. He knows being a fuck boy means he has to prove himself when it comes to being serious, so he comes up with the perfect gift to give you when he confesses… only for it to turn into the biggest fucking mess.

Evolution of a lover's heart 01 l 02 pairing: fuckboy!jk x reader

summary: the rules are simple: first one to take the virginity wins.

genre: fluff, angst, college au, fuckboy au, bet au

01 word count: 8.1k

02 word count: 23.5k

Once the Thrill Expires l jjk relationship: college!jungkook x female reader

synopsis: you housmate turned fwb takes another girl home after a night out

wordcount: 5.8k

FRIENDS TO LOVERS

Fall back in love l jjk jungkook x f.reader.

word count: 17.6k

summary: jungkook somehow grew a reputation of sleeping around on campus, leaving him lonely and inexperienced with relationships. so when you, his old childhood best friend moves onto campus, he discovers what a relationship can feel like as he finds himself falling in love with you

WORK

RISQUÉ | JJK (m) series masterlist jungkook x f.reader

summary; in which jungkook becomes involved with his boss’ daughter, who’s 10 years younger than him, despite knowing he shouldn’t. however, no matter how hard he tries, he’s unable to stay away. eventually feelings get in the way and so does jungkook’s subconscious, making it difficult for him to decipher if he should give into his lust and feelings or walk the other way before anyone gets hurt.

what started out as a one-time-thing to get the tension out of their systems ended up being a whirlwind of confusing feelings, doing the right thing and letting themselves fall in love despite the odds that are against them.

rating: 18+

word count: 100k+

content; age gap au + secret relationship au, smut/fluff/angst

Landslides-001 l goldrush- jjk relationship: officeworker!jungkook x female reader (coworkers) fluff and some angst

word count: 6.8k

Summary: jungkook asks you to dog sit over chuseok. he doesn't ask you to steal the empty spaces in his head, the dreams he's yet to have, nor the idea of you always just being 'you' to him - and yet, like a thief in the night (with his own damn dog as your accomplice), you do.

ENEMIES TO LOVERS

Things You Didn't Say Jungkook x reader

summary: with the recent interactions with jungkook, you try to downplay your feelings, but your friends encourage you to acknowledge your past and move forward.

genre/au: angst | ex-best friends to friends/lovers(?)

word count: 7.3k |

✨ playlist

warnings: minor language, lana threatens oc with a fork, drinking, game of truth or dare, confessions, kissing

Things You Don't Know jungkook x reader

summary: it’s been seven years since you last saw the boy that broke your heart. after moving back home, you try everything you can to avoid seeing him around town, but destiny has a wicked way of doing the opposite.

word count: 4.3k | ✨ rating: M/17+

Love to Hate You Jungkook x reader

summary: “when obnoxiously rich and spoiled frat boy jeon jungkook comes up to you one day and asks you to fake date him for money, you definitely should have said no. because before you knew it, you were going on insta dates with him and having lunch with his equally obnoxiously rich and spoiled friends.”

genre: fratboy! AU, fake dating! AU, college! AU, rich kid! AU, enemies to lovers! AU, angst, fluff, sexual themes (later chapters)

word count: estimated 100k for the entire series, 970 for this preview

coming saturday, april 6th 2024

Show Me Something Jeon Jungkook x reader

Genre | Road Trip!au, Friends to Enemies to Lovers!au, First Love!au, Smut, Voyeurism

↳ Prompt | Take a Road Trip

↳ Summary | He was your first kiss years ago, only to become your first heartbreak the next day. Your life would have been much easier if only you would forget about him and move on, instead of having to see him almost every day because your best friend had fallen in love with his best friend. When your pal had suggested having a road trip for the final days of summer break before going back to campus, you said yes for a reprieve. Too bad she forgot to tell you about the two extra passengers tagging along. One of which is the boy who still has a tight hold of your heart without either of you even knowing it.

I want you to stay (series masterlist) JJK Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels (What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim-inspired); angst, drama, fluff, smut

Episode 1 (wc: 12k), Episode 2 (wc: 11.9k), Episode 3 (wc: 14.8k), Episode 4 (wc: 11.4k), Episode 5 (wc: 14.8k), Episode 6 (wc: 14.6k), Episode 7 (wc: 15.4k), Episode 8 (wc: 17.4k), Episode 9 (wc: 18.4k), Episode 10 (wc: 20.6k), On going Episode 11, Episode 12.1 - Finale pt.1, Episode 12.2 - Finale pt.2

STRANGERS TO LOVERS

The Curious Lifespan of Migrating Monarchs -jjk Streamer!jk x international stundent!female oc (s21)

word count: 13,011

Warnings: Clubbing [go to the link to see the warnings because there is so much]

Love Wager Jungkook x fem!reader

Genre: college au. strangers to friends to lovers. forced proximity.

Synopsis: Jungkook, scarred by his parents' divorce, staunchly believes love leads to embarrassment and heartbreak. Y/N, a hopeless romantic, challenges him to a bet: a month of embracing romance and cringeworthy actions to prove him wrong. Through debates and banter, they form an unlikely friendship. Yet, as their experiment progresses, they must confront whether to risk their friendship for love or let fear dictate their future.

playlist pinterest 🤍

CHAPTERS: 01. 02. 03.coming soon..

Baby Boy Jungkook x fuckgirl!reader

Genre: strangers to lovers? smut, fluff, a little bit of angst

estimated words: 15-20k

Summary : You are bored with all of the boys on your campus and now you want the new toy except...the new toy doesn't want you.

Warnings: Jungkook hates reader at the beginning 😭😭😭, Jungkook is an asshole to her, reader and her friends are low-key mean girls, reader and her friends objectify Jungkook a lot (red flag right there), reader is kind of the s word, slutshaming, angst (but it's like very tolerable), SMUT (FURTHER WILL BE ADDED IN THE ACTUAL FIC)

Release date- July - August

[wlfllia]

SHUT UP - LEE HEESEUNG🎱

avisos: ‘Hee’, menção a sex0 sem proteção (se projetam🤝), provocation, heeseung big!d!ck, d!rty talk, 0ral!fem, uso de ‘amor’, ‘princesa’ e mais alguns.

boa leitura!🫶🏾

— ‘Cê ‘ta ligado que o mundo não gira à sua volta, né? — Você questiona puxando a barra do vestido para cima, deixando a mostra sua lingerie preta.

Heeseung estala a língua, sorrindo de canto.

— O mundo talvez não… — Analisa seu corpo exposto, apoiado nos cotovelos apenas com a calça moletom cobrindo o corpo magro. — Já você, princesa…

Você balança a cabeça negativamente e rola o olhos em deboche, sorrindo sacana para o garoto deitado no cama de casal. Se aproxima lentamente do loiro, senta no colo dele, uma perna de cada lado.

— Você fala demais. — Você sorri, desce a palma pelo abdômen marcado do Lee e esgueira a mão pra dentro do tecido acizentado.

— É? — Ele arqueia uma sobrancelha e eleva o quadril para te ajudar a descer calça, expondo o falo rijo, que vazava excitação na cabeça rosada. “E o que você pretende fazer pra eu calar a boca, hm?” indaga, desfazendo a expressão debochada quando sua palma ágil envolve o membro quente, apertando o comprimento conforme sobe e desce.

— É o suficiente pra você? — Inclina o tronco, se aproximando do rosto contorcido de prazer do Lee, deixando um beijinho nos lábios avermelhados. “uh uh, vai ter que se esforçar mais um pouco, amor.” Ele rebate sacana, retirando o peso dos cotovelos e deitando as costas no acolchoado, lhe encarando de baixo.

Você retribui o sorriso sacana, para os seus movimentos no falo, afasta o tecido escuro da calcinha e alisa seus lábios íntimos úmidos com a ponta do cacete do Lee, gemendo com manha quando o esfrega em sua entradinha, ameaçando penetrar e logo em seguida retirando, observando o abdômen de Heeseung contrair e o cenho franzir em êxtase. “Filha da puta..” É o que ele sussurra em meio a um suspiro, fechando os olhos, aproveitando o esfregar de sua bucetinha.

— Você é tão previsível, Hee… — Debocha do jeitinho entregue do loiro abaixo de você e em um movimento ágil encaixa a glande protuberante em sua entradinha, desce no comprimento lentamente e se apoia no ombros dele com a palma esquerda, direcionando a direita para uma de suas bandas, abrindo enquanto abriga o falo teso.

— Vai sentar pra mim, é? — Os olhos cerrados evidenciavam o quão entregue o Lee estava por você, literalmente em suas mãos.

Você apenas ri, rebolando com calma no comprimento, o apertando em suas paredes apenas uma vez e assim que escuta mais um grunhido rouco vir do loiro, retira o caralho teso de seu interior, o vendo suspirar contrariado.

— Pelo jeito só tem uma forma de manter essa sua boquinha calada, gatinho… — Você pronuncia com manha e sorrindo com malícia, engatinha sobre o corpo do Lee e encaixa sua bucetinha nos lábios vermelhinhos de Heeseung, se arrepiando ao sentir a vibração do riso dele contra seu íntimo molhado e logo sentindo a língua ágil entrar em contato com seu clítoris inchadinho.

Você apoia suas palmas no colchão a sua frente, geme com manha e rebola contra os movimentos da língua ágil, tendo a visão do Lee de olhos fechados saboreando seu íntimo com vontade.

— Porra Hee… — A músculo molhado explorava todos os cantos, chupava os lábios íntimos e mordiscava o clítoris já sensível.

Porra. Acabaria gozando na boca dele desse jeito.

As palmas de Heeseung que antes descansavam no acolchoado agarram suas bandas, te incentivando a sentar sobre a língua dele, que brincava com sua entradinha já bem babadinha. A cabeça dele balançava de um lado para o outro, empenhado em tirar o resto de sanidade que restava em você.

Suas mãos apertavam o lençol com força, descontando a onda de prazer que estava sentindo. Seus olhos se encontram com o do loiro, que sorri safado contra seu íntimo, mantendo o olhar ao seu sem cessar as lambidelas contra sua bucetinha.

Sentindo seu orgasmo próximo, você rebola mais contra a boca de Heeseung, o mantendo preso ao meio de suas pernas. Porém antes que você chegue lá, o loiro inverte as posições, lhe jogando contra o colchão e se encaixando no meio de suas pernas. As bochechas e o lábios vermelhos se encontravam úmidos e você tem a visão privilegiada dele passando os dedos na tentativa de limpar seu líquido, chupando as falanges, sorvendo o que restou de seu gosto.

Antes que você tivesse tempo de o rebater, o Lee tomba o corpo sobre o seu e sussurra com rouquidão próximo a seus lábios com um sorriso provocativo. “Você já brincou demais , princesa… Acho que agora é a minha vez de calar essa sua boquinha, não?”

🐺.

#🐺 #heeseung #enhypen smut imagines #wolflia #enhypen #enhypen heeseung #imagine #smut

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

Siúil a Rún (Alfie Solomons x Irish Fem!Reader, Modern AU)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Romance, Modern AU

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Irish Fem!Reader

Word count: 5.5K

Warnings: Allusions to past violence & trauma, talk of the IRA, mild swearing

Summary: On a day you're not feeling your best, fighting yet another hard battle with your greatest enemy, your mind, Alfie has a little surprise prepared for you. After all, all he wants is to see you smile.

And make a lasting promise to his Irish queen.

Author's Note: Gods above, it's finally here! At long last I had the energy and time to finish this piece, which is partially inspired by my recent moods. Ah dinnae ken what it is, but don't you worry about my head or how I'll fix it. Instead, enjoy this piece.

TH Masterlist

Tag list: @hecatemoon87 @potter-solomons @zablife @vir-tual @liliac-dreamer @dreamlandcreations @mollybegger-blog @babaohhhriley @hoodeddreams13 @rose-like-the-phoenix

Alfie's POV

I’m no fan of the Irish, who can’t even remember what they had for fucking breakfast. However, right, they can perfectly recall their great-great-however many times- grandfather’s best friend’s cousin’s name and the unjust treatment he got from Oliver Cromwell if not the Black and Tan if they have a particularly clear check in with reality.

Yet here I am.

Engaged to my Irish queen, come all the way from Belfast. Raised in a family that supports the IRA, a bunch of hooligans that’ll do well to be tossed in the lock and left to drown.

But not her.

No.

She cut ties to home the moment she set foot ashore in Liverpool and boarded the train to London. She ain’t English, doesn’t particularly like them. So fancy the shock me ticker got when it turned out she liked me.

Or I her, as she likes to remind me, bringing up the time I asked her to taste the Irish sourdough I made her. She’d just arrived in town, wandered into my bakery looking like a parched twig on a stormy day, and sat by the window with an awfully glum face. Curious about this darling little dove who flew in, I lumbered over to see what had her caught up in her phone and laptop. One look at the screens told the whole story behind the erratic fingers flying over the keyboard or tapping away.

A place to stay, to call home.

In a land that had oppressed hers for centuries, still sees her as an outsider.

In the very capital of the cyclops, king of northern giants.

Now I, yeah, saw an opportunity to earn a little extra cash on the side. Sure, Margate is about two hours outside London by train so I couldn’t charge the full price for the room I had left over.

I didn’t.

For when those dove eyes turned to me, haunted and scared to death, whether it be due to her circumstances or me as a man I still do not know nor want to, I hadn’t the guts to ask her for a single penny.

Only a sliver of trust.

Though my rings, my kingdom, are covered in blood, I fortunately pleased Yahweh enough to have her put her trust in me. It’s a fragile thing, built over various meals, starting with silent breakfasts which gradually have filled with drowsy small talk. Normally I loathe small talk because if someone wants to say something and wants me to understand, they should talk. Nonetheless, Y/N doesn’t have to. Her voice is like an angel’s song, pleasant to wake up with.

And to fall asleep to on the nights the insomnia hits hard again. You get that, living a life of violence. Yet, even gods can’t simply forget.

I can only hide my crimes, spin a pretty yarn for an excuse, and pretend.

Pretend I’m a good man.

For her. 

If only because my midnight baking episodes have reduced since we met. Because I don’t, no, can’t do without those small hands leading me out of the kitchen and back up the stairs to what is now our bedroom. Pathetic, innit, how I also can’t live without those pretty fingers running through my beard until I can breathe normally. Close my eyes without ghosts creeping from the darkest shadows of my mind. To not feel the rage simmering beneath my skin.

For the first time in years, I can sleep again.

And if neither of us can find peace in slumber, we’ll slip into the old habit of having coffee or tea in the living room until the sun rises. No matter if we have an outing planned the next day or not.

It was on an outing like that, to Oxford, after a brief visit to that shithole called Birmingham, she first held my finger.

Two weeks later, when we popped by Hastings, she held my hand.

A month passed before she hugged me, in Cecil Court, during our first book and antiques shop hopping trip. I had bought her a vintage bound copy of one of her favourite books, Gods and Fighting Men by Lady Gregory.

However, it was in Camden, right outside me own bakery, on a bloody rotten autumn day, we first kissed. Cinnamon sugar and pumpkin spice, that’s what she tasted like.

My Irish queen.

Y/N will always claim it’s me who first confessed. Regardless of whether that’s true or not, in my opinion, right, and through genuine testimony, it was her wistful smile and timid ‘thank you’ as I served her a ham sandwich made with the sourdough I learned during one of my visits from a lovely old lady in Donegal and O’Neills ham which makes her the first to confess. Little did I know the brooding sadness around her could get much worse.

Since there are days she gets like this, reluctant to interact with the world. She’ll go out with Cyril, a barely mustered smile on her gentle face. 

It does her good. Our big bugger takes me on walks that are manageable even when my leg’s bad and her on those long enough to let her mind wander and forget about the desire to stay home. Like yesterday, they are again sitting side by side on the shore.

Y/N wrapped in my coat and scarf.

Cyril at her side.

Watching the waves.

Funny, innit, how a man of many words absolutely can��t stand the silence of his own house. Tragic, too, because it means he can’t live with himself. Perhaps that’s why I always bury myself in work, the bakery.

Our bakery.

Look, Y/N was the one who insisted on helping out. I was ready to give her board and room for free, though I was also desperate for help since business had taken a hit. Too cold, manly, rough. In need of a woman’s touch.

It was only when she told me it ain’t right to accept the offer without repaying the debt she never had and called me mister Solomons I took her on.

Mostly because she’d call me Alfie right from the start, wouldn’t see me as her boss or landlord. I never was nor am a fan of formalities, polite behaviour or whatever the fuck you wanna call it. You only get to know a person and their intentions once you place them in an informal environment, lull them into a sense of safety. Or, in her case, a sense of friendship too.

After a few more moments of watching them from the balcony, I head back inside to busy myself in the kitchen. Now, normally, yeah, on my rare day off, I love to bake. Gets the mind off things since you only have to focus on what your hands are doing and you get the ingredients right. Alleviates some of the stress the bakery saddles me up with, but those involved with the business need discipline so I can’t take a break. Would leave it to the dogs. Regardless, Ollie, the bloody bastard I hired as an assistant branch manager, forbade me to come into work. It’s my fucking bakery! Yet, though I’m loath to admit it, I am thankful he did this particular day. Must’ve felt Y/N had been different these past days, always has been good at dealing with people and emotions despite his panicky disposition. Better than me.

At least leaves her with one person to understand her entirely whereas I still grasp at straws at times.

Godhood comes with its complications, but I’ll do my best for Y/N.

For Mrs Solomons.

It’s worth the tightening in my chest, the battle for air while the same concerns keep milling in my noggin like some damned ever-turning grinding stone. I ain’t afraid of anything.

Anything except this mood.

It’s like Yahweh has established the terrifying truth of what she might be like when me health finally wins the battle, granting me a vision of a future in which we’re separated. Or perhaps it is an alternate reality in which I don’t exist or we’ve even never met. This morning, as Y/N stood by the door, her vacant gaze saw right through me as I draped my scarf around her neck. I kept rambling, not nagging, no, rambling on about how she’d catch a cold if she didn’t dress warmly despite knowing she wasn’t paying attention. As I placed a kiss on her forehead she likely didn’t feel, the comforting sense of normalcy shattered, turned into dust along with the little bit of sanity I had established by acting like everything was fine. Thankfully she felt warm in my arms because we might as well have been spectres moving past each other. Then she sauntered out the door, slow and ghostly.

My beautiful Irish queen.

When this mood strikes her, it takes away her voice. She won’t talk, reluctant to participate in any sort of conversation. Although, I think she hopes her quietness proves enough of a hint to not want to be surrounded by any voices at all. Not even mine. Now, any other man, right, any other sod who’s too self-obsessed to understand his girl, would go mad. I, on the other hand, the very image of an understanding and wise man who cares about his girl, his wife, speak less if at all to accommodate her. Instead, in the fleeting moments she’s here, Y/N communicates via small gestures.

A tug on my sleeve when she wants attention.

A brush over my fingers, a silent request for guidance.

We don’t go out in London on days like this. We tried once and while everything went fine, all things considered, the thought something happens in the split second I don’t pay attention breaks my already damaged nerves. Trafalgar Square is tricky enough as is to navigate with the fucking awful traffic, but when she’s barely here and we don’t cross the street in time or our hands let go of each other…

Eyes squeezed shut, I breathe in deeply and exhale slowly to remedy the tightening in my chest. To burn the claws crushing my ribs to ashes and let them take the nauseating vision in my banged up nogging with them. Blown away on the briny wind outside, past the lonely beach.

Left to drown in the sea across the road.

Right in front of her, vanishing beneath the waves. Cyril will make sure she won’t notice, keeps an eye on her when I can’t.

Especially when I’m too caught up in my own head, engulfed by something very, very grim. 

Eyes closed, I breathe in and exhale deeply as I repeat the thought like the verses in the Torah, embedding it further and further into my entire tainted being with each repetition. Only when my breathing has evened out and me ticker beats at regular intervals do I carry on.

I quit drinking after we met. Y/N needed a safe home and with an old drunk brute you ain’t going to find that. So I poured the rum, beer, and wine down the drain the very same evening and a drop hasn’t entered my house since. The day she first put her suitcase across the threshold, I’d been sober for a week.

We’re now a year further.

For all the bloody good he does me by banning me from my own business, Ollie makes for a fine lifestyle coach. I’ll admit that if it hadn’t been for him, his incessant texts and the brave efforts to pluck a glass from my hands, I might have lost her. Fuck, she might have hated me.

Or we might never have even met.

The house now finally knows silence.

No violent words. 

No drunk ravings going nowhere and anywhere.

True, genuine, silence.

I put the kettle on and pull the sourdough from the bread box. Bought it on our last trip abroad, to Amsterdam. It’s one of the things in this house which makes it ours because I used to plonk bread in a zipper bag and toss it on the counter. Not anymore. It goes in the box.

The mixed fruit blend I used for the dough we recently bought at Borough Market. Y/N was staring at it with a tender look on her face.

“Those special, love?” I hugged her from behind, my head on her shoulder. That morning, she had washed her hair and granted me the intense honour of brushing it. A smile grew on her lips in tandem with mine as I worked the brush through her strands. Nonetheless, while I was flattered and delighted beyond imagination, for being thus allowed in her space is a rare gift every man should know how to appreciate properly, she was amused with my attitude. But it’s alright. I don’t mind her laughing at me. 

Eyes closed, I drank in her presence. The sounds of the food stalls and crowd faded into a background hum, each sense overtaken by her frame in my arms and the scent of Argan oil and Shea butter in my nose. In that single moment, I didn’t have to think, to scheme. Just be.

With her, I can just be.

And I like that, makes me love her all the more.

Y/N regularly gives me an earful, but there are times when I truly listen and not only enjoy the sound of her voice. So when she gave me a piece of her story, I immediately snapped out of my reverie. “Nan used a blend of these when making brack.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a type of bread with sultanas and raisins. Officially, that is. But she added currants and other dried fruits when we had it and it wasn’t Samhain.”

“Tell me about the tradition. What does bread ‘ave to do with it?”

“We’d put items in the brack. A pea, a stick, a piece of cloth, a small coin, a ring, and a bean. Each of these items had a special meaning, applicable to the person who got them.”

“Which were?”

Occasionally, right, I enjoy teasing her because I adore the way her frown naturally flows into a bright smile as her distrust melts away. However, the calculating coldness in her stare even gave me the chills. Terrible, it was, and I don’t say that lightly. “Alfie, where’s this coming from? I thought you hated the Irish.”

I thought you hated me.

She didn’t say it, but the words were there, precariously dancing on the tip of her tongue. The shopkeeper gave me a warning look, ready to beat me with her cane if I didn’t watch my mouth.

“It’s your culture, innit, love?’’ I said, quick to placate both women lest we had more than a simple situation on our hands. Moreover, dangerous as it normally is, curiosity genuinely got the better of me. There’s little I know of her previous life so I am overjoyed when my Irish queen, obviously unintentionally, indulges me like this. ‘‘I know the past hurts you, but this clearly means a lot to you. Your Nan’s obviously important to you too.”

“She practically raised me. Didn’t want me involved in politics, give me a normal life. Well, for as far as that’s possible when…” she froze in my embrace, paler than a ghost at midnight in Highgate. Bit by bit, I could feel her fade in the chaos she had kept firmly under lock and key. We’re rather alike in that, keeping the mess in our fucked up noggins hidden until we choose to open up.

Or come across a trigger. 

I scanned the surroundings for hers. Men conversing as they’re hauling boxes. Tourists and locals squeezing together as they navigate the narrow spaces between the stalls, leaving no room to breathe without doing so down someone’s neck. The sizzling of oil on a hot surface.

Like a lit fuse.

“When…” She flinched when one of the other shopkeepers dropped a couple of crates.

I remember how my heart dropped into my stomach as her knees gave way. Her nails dug into my skin as I gently coaxed her to the ground, though she relaxed her grip a bit as a vague inkling of recognition made her realise it was me holding her. “Y/N? Y/N, can you hear me? It’s Alfie, your boyfriend. You’re in London. Safe. There ain’t no guns ‘ere. Just a couple crates. Just crates. That’s all.” 

I glared at the bastard who reduced my queen to a shivering husk of herself, breathing way too fast as the current of grim things swooped her along. Once he noticed I was looking at him, he quickly scurried to the back. After cursing him under my breath, I held her tight against my chest, cradled her lovely head and the funny mind in it as I gently rocked back and forth like me mum used to do when I was a child. “No guns. No bullets. No fighting. Just us, dove.”

For a few moments we sat like that on the cold paving stones. The shopkeeper fetched Y/N a glass of water which she managed to make her drink. Perhaps it’s only because the subconscious ego of my Irish queen saw her Nan in the woman. Do not misunderstand, right, I was grateful for her kindness. Nonetheless, what Y/N needed was space, fresh air. So I picked her up and carried her bridal-style to the central seating area. One day, I hope to carry her the same way across the threshold of our home.

Colour began to return to her face the longer we sat on a bench removed from everyone in a quieter area of the market. With each passing minute, I saw the demons causing those awful vacant eyes and suffocating her with every breath leave her body. The best I could do was wait and do my damn best to not let my own fear and impatience get the better of me. After all, I was not a god at that moment.

Only a man praying for the better. 

A man overjoyed when an angel gave her back her voice.

“My brothers were killed in shootings.” Slowly, Y/N sought my gaze. She blinked a few times like she woke up a second ago and did not really know whether she was still dreaming or awake. “Cillian was shot in March. Seàn the month after. They rather died than be tried by law.”

It was easier to phrase it as such than tell the truth.

They killed themselves.

Died for the ideal that had left her with a broken family. Although, perhaps it’s better to say she never had a family to begin with.

“And the man who I was meant to marry to get our family higher up the ranks, Patrick McHugh, a man I loathed, was ready to shoot me when the Gardaí had us cornered during a car bomb attack. We were meant to go on a date, so he told me, but… we stopped in the street. Alfie, he- he-’’ I put my arm around her shoulders, pulled her against me, and rested my head on hers. She didn’t owe me an explanation for her behaviour, but before I could tell her it was alright to stop, she continued. “He took me hostage. Was ready to burn me alive with him.”

“Y/N, you don’t have to-”

“Rory turned on him. His second in command, the only person he trusted. I pulled Patrick’s gun in the same moment I freed myself from his grip. Shot him in the head. In cold blood.” She bit her lip to fight the ugly sob which made her shoulders heave. “I have blood on my hands, don’t you see? Rory didn’t make it either. Stayed behind after he negotiated safe passage for me. Later I heard he saved me because he loved me. Had been crushing on me for years. Never said a word, Alfie. Never.” The fight with self-control lost, Y/N’s voice cracked with the tears yet unshed. “And now he’s gone. Everyone’s gone.”

‘‘No, not everyone. I’m ‘ere and I ain’t going anywhere. You and I, yeah, we’re gonna build something fucking biblical. A ‘ome, right, in Margate. You and I. And it’s gonna be safe. No violence. I’ll even get rid of me gun if that makes you feel better.”

“No, keep it. Still, thank you.”

I pulled a tissue from my pocket to clean up her mascara, which had stained her cheeks with little black rivulets. “If there’s anything I can do to make you feel safer, you tell me, yeah? If need be, I’ll build a fucking wall that’ll put Daedalus to shame. With me own ‘ands. Anything.”

“Thank you. I think I should repay that kindness with a clean shirt.’’ She sighed as she surveyed the damage done to my clothes. ‘‘Sorry for the stains. I know you got it fresh out of the closet.”

“Nah, it’s just a shirt. No worries. But, knowing you and your bloody adorable stubbornness, you won’t let this go. So, instead of beating yourself up over nothing because you got nothing to be sorry for, yeah, can you tell me more about the bar- barm- the… thing. Bread.”

“Barmbrack. Brack, for short.”

“Barmbrack,” I repeated. “Brack. Gonna try and remember. The items in it. You said they have special meaning.”

“Right. The… pea, a stick, a piece of cloth, a small coin, a ring, and… something else.”

“A bean.”

“Yes, a bean. A future without money. Anyway, so, now, the pea meant the person would not marry that year. The stick meant they would have an unhappy marriage or continually be in disputes. Now, the cloth or rag no one wanted to find because it meant bad luck, though it was also regarded as an omen of poverty. In contrast, and perhaps very bloody obvious, the coin meant good fortune or riches were coming for the person. If you got the ring, you’d be wed within the year.”

Say what you will of the Irish, but they are bloody creative.

We went back to the stall, got a full bag of dried fruit and went on our merry way. Y/N fortunately hasn’t noticed I’ve used some of the contents for a little surprise. For once her adorable drowsy noggin in the morning comes in handy, when she’s too sleepy to notice nor doesn’t check the bag’s contents before she puts a little in her yoghurt.

The kettle goes off. The steam creates a thin layer of condensation on the tiles and warms my face when I pour the water in a mug. There’s nothing like a cup of char regardless of the time of day.

I wager they’ll be home in fifteen minutes. Until they are, I sit on the chaise longue in the living room. It’s a gorgeous thing, a real beauty we found while antique shopping in London. I had my doubts about the red velvet, but Y/N convinced me to get it regardless because “it fits the house’s aesthetic” whatever the fuck that means. It’s a sturdy piece of furniture, definitely worth every penny.

We tested it thoroughly.

Multiple times.

Nipping the gingerbread tea we bought yesterday at M&S, when I barely managed to prevent Y/N from buying three boxes on top of the three boxes of Christmas spice tea already in our basket, I watch my family. A low chuckle tickles in my throat, proud and amused. Who’d ever thought I, Alfie Solomons, the Divine King of Camden, would stop wandering, settle down, become a family man? Tommy, the self-proclaimed head of the Shelby family though they’re all bad people, would have a bubble if he heard that. 

I ain’t like him. I’d marry my wife, the lovely and downright bloody gorgeous goddess currently down on the beach, the one and only true Mrs Solomons, out of love. A love based on loyalty, right, and not out of convenience or business. No whoring when she ain’t about, no secrets, no dirty business.

No more blood on my rings.

We’d raise our children together, perhaps spoil them rotten. Y/N would chastise me for it, I already know, but I want the best for my girls. Maybe two or three, though I’m not opposed to having a son, yeah, but he’d have to be born before my princesses so he can protect them when their good old man can’t. Hopefully, one of them would like to take over the bakery, keep the business in the family. 

I might have to be on my best behaviour, be more of a father rather than a boss if I don’t want to have her tell me over dinner one night “Papa, I’m not taking over. None of us wants to, least of all Seraphina. She’s more one for painting.”

Yes, they’d be artisans in their own right. But if one of my girls wants to paint, no way she’d learn it from Arthur Shelby, who’s head is like a broken vase what is glued together badly. Nah, I wager she’d be clever enough to teach herself. All of them would be talented like their mother.

The sound of the front door opening resonates in the hallway, followed by Cyril’s happy padding, merrily trodding past me on his way to his bed in front of the hearth. We never should’ve gotten him that pillow, has made him lazy.

But how could I tell her no?

Not that she’d have listened anyway. Y/N would’ve used her own card at the till. However, being a proper gentleman, right, and maybe because I wanted to gain extra what they call ‘brownie points’, which is a stupid phrase in and of itself, a show of being too incapable to use one’s speech properly, I paid.

Y/N follows the happy bugger, head hung low and eyes cast towards the ground. Headphones in her ears.

It’s one of those days.

I step in front of her when she makes for the living room. For a moment, she stays still, like a ghost puzzled by why it can’t move forward. Nevertheless, our eyes meet for a second when my hands touch her shoulders.

“No need to wear a coat inside, is there, darling?” I doubt she hears me, my voice drowned out with the rest of the world.

Perhaps, no, no perhaps.

I am sometimes too loud for her as well.

Although she always tries to play it off afterwards, me intestines tie themselves into a pretty tight and suffocating bow tie when it happens. When the world gets to her.

When I, the real me, The Mad Baker of Camden, get to her.

From the corner of my eye, I’ve seen her flinch when disciplining my staff or stiffen when removing rude customers. I especially hate those who bother her, how they make her freeze in their presence and how she’ll avoid my touch afterwards. Breathing is an art in and of it-bloody-self when I watch her from a distance, headphones blasting music as she sits bowed over a cup of coffee which will grow cold.

Yet, when she’s ready for contact again, those earbuds leave her ears. I don’t fucking care what my men say at this point, but I rush over as fast as I can what with my me fucking leg. I can bear that pain, incomparable to what I unwillingly inflict on her or its effect on me.

Her fingers only take my palm, mapped out from a distance, if she sees no violent lines in it. Some days it trembles, those days when her breath is shivery and I feel tears roll down the good, to her trustworthy, lines as she presses them to her cheek.

Although she doesn’t know it, then again my clever little dove likely does, I’m proud of her for trying to go without headphones nowadays. Recently, it’s only one she’ll keep in, in the ear opposite of the side I’m on. Left if I’m on her right, right if I'm on her left. On really good days, those splendid days which make you wonder whether Yahweh wants to give back to humanity, she’ll go without completely. Fortunately, most of the time this doesn’t result in situations like Borough Market.

Nevertheless, today is a day she needs them.

While Y/N moves to the living room, I head to the kitchen to finish setting up the little surprise I prepared for her. By the looks of things, she needs it. It’s hypocritical, innit, that I’m doing this despite hating when it’s done to me? Still, a good man, a proper man, yeah, a proper fucking gentleman, a bloody king, will try his damned best to surprise the woman he loves whenever and however he can.

Because she deserves it.

These acts of love.

If only because words have a tendency to fail.

As mine do.

A lot.

Tray in hand, I make for the living room. Exactly as I envisioned, Y/N has curled up on the sofa, headphones in while she’s doing that funny yarn thing her Nan taught her. She’s good at it, has made me a very nice scarf and beanie for Hanukkah last year. 

Recently, after our little getaway to the Scottish Highlands, where they speak some form of English she fortunately seemed to understand, worse than the Irish except for her, she made a blanket with a deer’s head. Got inspired by our surroundings, she said. I think it’s the show she watched on her phone every night or in the car.

I put the tray on the coffee table and sit down next to her, a little distance between us. “Hard day, dove?”

“Yeah.” She glances from the slices of sweet soda bread to the glass of whiskey and then to me, her fingers expertly holding up the yarn wrapped around them. “That for me?”

I nod, trying to contain the excitement ignited by hearing her voice. One decibel too loud and I’ll lose her again. Gotta play me cards right, so I speak as evenly as I can without showing her the precarious edge I’m balancing on. “‘Cause you look awful homesick.”

“Thank you, mhuirnin.”

For a few moments I watch her nibble on a slice, vacant gaze cast towards the cold hearth. “We can go on a trip to-’’

“No.”

“Y/N, we don’t have to go to the place your people live. We can go to, fuck, I don’t know, the Republic. It’s safe there, innit? Cork? Enjoy the sea. Waterford? Dublin for an urban-’’

“Alfie, I said no.”

“It’ll do you good.”

“I left Ireland for a reason.” Finally she meets my gaze and me ticker almost sinks through the floor once those pretty eyes shimmering with tears meet mine. “The whole fucking island. Don’t make me return.”

“Alright. We’ll go somewhere else.” I open my arms in invitation. Fortunately, it seems she’s in the mood for contact with me. Face buried in my sweater, her small fist clutching some of the fabric, I wrap her up on my arms. “Or nowhere. We can stay ‘ere.”

As an answer I’m given muffled mumbling, worse than me own.

“What was that?”

“Hotel night.”

“Where?”

“Don’t know. London?”

“We already know the town well. What about the Lake District, hm? Nice and quiet. Lots of green. We can rent a cottage or a nice B&B. Cyril would like it too, right, lots of places to explore. Makes for nice walks, yeah.”

As in agreement, Cyril lets out an excited though low bark, sensitive to what she gets like when her mood’s as it is now.

“See?” I say, pulling her a bit closer. “‘E likes the idea.”

In acknowledgement of our shared sentiments, she hums.

“We’ll figure it out later. For now, ‘ave another slice, drink some whiskey, crochet. But lean on me, eh? Lean on Papa Solomons.”

She grabs another piece of bread and starts nibbling on it, occasionally nipping on her glass.

For a while we sit in silence as she crochets and I simply watch her eat, occasionally shutting my eyes to drink in the moment.

Until my plan comes to fruition.

Feigning innocence, I lift an eyebrow when Y/N pulls a difficult face and spits something into her hand.

She once told me that according to Celtic philosophy, all things come in three.

Third slice of bread.

A ring, of course not the one I mean to present to her properly.

Her head snaps up at me, so fast I’m both glad and impressed she hasn’t broken a vertebrae.

“Yeah, this ain’t a joke.” I kiss her forehead. “Within the year.”

On a better day.

#Alfie Solomons #Alfie Solomons imagine #Alfie Solomons x Reader #Peaky Blinders #Peaky Blinder imagine