#red nose day one shot 2023 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

teamatsumu · 7 months

Text

kinktober 2023 -> day 11

strangers - iwaizumi hajime x reader

word count: 1,578

warnings: swearing, regular smut warnings, squirting, oral (m!receiving), iwaizumi hajime (27) athletic trainer can make a girl lose her sanity and that’s canon in my head

kinktober masterlist

“Who’s this for?”

You eyed the murky golden liquid in the glass the bartender had just set down in front of you before looking up at him in question. The bartender jerked his head to the side in response.

“He says it’s on him.”

You followed his gaze over to the other side of the circular bar, eyes meeting with the man sitting there, alone like you were, staring directly back at you as if waiting for you to see him.

Your breath hitched. Oh, he was gorgeous.

The red lights in the club bounced off his frame, highlighting the built muscles stretching under his t-shirt. Half his face was in shadow, yet you could make out the strong jut of his jaw, the pierce of his stare, closely cropped spiky hair. He lifted a glass up to his lips, one that you followed eagerly with your eyes, and took a small sip. You gulped.

It took half an hour for him to slam your front door behind the two of you, pushing you into the wall with his frame before his lips met yours in a fiery kiss. You gasped and moaned into his mouth, tugging at his shirt like it was offending you, wanting nothing more than to rip it off and run your hands all over his body, feel how his muscles shifted and moved as he did unspeakable things to you-

“Fuck.” He groaned into your neck, teeth sinking into your skin as his hands slid under your skirt and grabbed handfuls of your ass so you would arch into him. You whined at the sting of his bite, feeling your core clench around nothing.

“T-take this off.” You whimpered until he pulled back, tugging his shirt off his to reveal beautiful expanse of bronzed skin. You wasted no time in running your fingers up his arms, the flex of his biceps, his shoulders, tense and ready. His abs clenched as you brushed over them, and you felt your mouth water when you touched the v-line that led to his pants.

“Wanna suck your cock.” You whispered, looking up at his face again. His eyebrows shot up in shock before a smirk tugged up the corner of his lips.

“And here I was, thinking you were one of the shy ones.” His voice was so husky that you moaned. He reached a hand up to tangle in your hair, pushing down on your head.

“C’mon then, sweetheart. Get on your knees.”

You nearly came.

You lowered yourself down, trembling hands undoing the button on his jeans, eyes never leaving the bulge that was struggling to get out from the confines of his clothes. Your eyes widened as you stared at his dick, long and thick and flushed in a furious maroon color. You could feel his smirk as he stared down at you, but your eyes never left his crotch. You licked your lips, unable to wait a second longer.

His groan was heavenly when you took him into your mouth, as far as he would go, too impatient to work him in properly. You didn’t take the time to slowly relax your throat around him. You were in no mood to go slow. You wanted to choke on him and have him fuck your face hard and rough until your mind was too foggy to register anything around you.

Why else would you hook up with a complete stranger?

“Jesus fuck.” The man swore, hand tightening in your hair and groaning loud when he hit the back of your throat, making you gag a bit as your eyes watered. You struggled to breathe through your nose, pushing forward again and moaning long and loud, nose brushing against the skin of his pelvis. A sharp tug immediately pulled you off his cock, making you gasp and whine at the loss. One more tug and you were stumbling onto your feet. You met his eyes then, breath hitching at how dilated his pupils were, at how his lids had fallen to half open, looking at you hungrily.

“You’re too good at that, princess.” He groaned, stepping forward so your body was once again pressed to the wall behind you. “But I wanna cum with my cock deep in your pussy instead.”

You moaned and flushed at his statement. The foul language coming from him was turning you on immensely, the thought of some unknown man stripping you of your clothes and talking about how your pussy would feel around his cock made you clench hard, feeling wetness run down your thighs. He hooked a hand behind your knee, pulling your leg up so you were spread for him, the other hand reaching up to run through your folds, making you whine and jerk up at the contact.

‘You’re soaked, baby.” He cooed, breath hot on your neck. The tip of his finger prodded at your entrance, and you moved into his touch, making him chuckle.

“I- please,” your voice trembled. “Please.”

He wrapped the leg he was holding around his waist, supporting your weight and lifting the other leg around him too, pressing you into the wall. His cock brushed your slit, head breaching your hole and making you arch into him.

“The name’s Hajime.” He whispered against the shell of your ear. “Scream it, princess.”

With that, he slammed his cock into you.

You screamed and arched, breath knocked out of you when he wasted no time in picking up the speed, cock pounding into you over and over with no signs of stopping. Your hands shot up, trying to find purchase over the wide expanse of his sweaty back, nails digging into his skin. You cried and gasped, arching into the amazing feeling as his cock tore through you, hitting spots you didn’t even know you had, tingling nerves that had never been touched before, his skin sliding against your own and his breath hot on your neck.

“H-Hajime!” You weeped, one hand reaching up to clutch at his hair, unable to breathe properly when the head of his cock brushed against your sweet spot. You jerked and wailed at the feeling. His lips curled up into a smirk against your neck.

“Found it.” He whispered, angling his hips so it would hit the same spot over and over again. Tears streamed down your face and you shrieked, struggling against his hold, which only tightened, locked you in place so he could pound into you, stimulating every fiber of your body until your head was spinning, until it was too much-

“I’m gonna cum.” You choked out, nails digging so hard into his back that they broke the skin. But you didn’t care, not when your core was clenching around him for dear life, not when he was hitting your spot so wonderfully. And not when you knew what was going to happen when you came. You could feel it. This build up was too familiar to ignore.

“Hajime, I’m- I’m gonna make a mess.” You whined, feeling fresh tears pour from your eyes. He lifted his head from your neck, eyes meeting your wet ones. His pupils were blown. Sweat dripped from his forehead and his hair was sticking out in all directions. His cheeks held the most beautiful maroon flush you had ever seen. You felt your core tighten at the sight.

He smirked as he looked at you, at how destroyed you were. “You’re gonna make a mess?” He grunted, speed picking up even more. You screamed again.

“Yes!” You arched your back, eyes squeezing shut. You felt no shame in that moment, despite how dirty it was. Oh, it was filthy, warning this stranger who had his cock inside you that he was fucking you so good you were about to squirt on him. It made your eyes roll back. And all it did was turn you on more.

“Fuck.” He choked out. “Do it, baby. C’mon. Wanna feel you gush all over my cock. C’mon princess, cum all over me.”

And that’s all it took. You wailed as your vision blacked out, every muscle in your body seizing as you felt wetness gather all over your crotch and his. Your lungs refused to expand with air, choking and gasping as your body jerked and tensed, mind turned to mush at the intensity of your orgasm. You barely registered Hajime groaning and stilling, emptying himself into you and digging his teeth into your neck as you went limp in his arms.

All was silent for a few minutes, both of you trying to catch your breaths. You blinked a few times, trying to clear your vision. When your eyes met his again, he gave you a lazy smile.

“Wow.” His voice was raspy and broken. You choked out a laugh.

“We didn’t even make it to your bedroom.” He continued, pulling out of you and moving to set you down. Your legs gave out when your feet hit the ground, making Hajime tense and hold on to you tighter. You stared at each other for a few seconds before he snorted.

“Alright, c’mon Bambi.” He lifted you up again, bridal style, walking further into your house. He stopped in the middle of the living room, staring at you sheepishly. You laughed.

“Bathroom is the first door on the left.” You grinned at him. He started walking, a softer smile on his face.

“You never told me your name, princess.”

Taglist:

@bxbyyyjocelyn @thisbicc @lazuliquartz @dreamayy @kuroosluthoe @true-form-hoe @akumakitsune21 1 @cham0mil3-and-h0n3y @samisfunky @universal-s1ut @msbyomimi @dohwaesu @leothesquishy @n0tmykays @tsukiran n @reyofsunshinelol @bleach-your-panties @galaneiaeris @leyra-giovanni @erenspersonalwh0re @peachesncats @soapsoftheworld @iwannabecamiloshovel @vintagevict0ria @smithieandy @moonlit-mizukage @snazzyturtles

A/N: For those whose tags arent working, im sorry! I tried and for some reason, your names wont show up in the mentions :( another way of being notified is to turn on my blog notifs for @teamatsumufics . I only reblog my fics there so it serves almost like being in a taglist!

#kinktober #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime smut #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi hajime x y/n #iwaizumi hajime fanfiction #iwaizumi hajime imagines #iwaizumi hajime fic #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu smut

779 notes · View notes

moonhoures · 7 months

Text

Merciless

🕷️ kinktober — day 5: bondage 🕸️

pairing: hyunjin (stray kids) + reader (g/n)

genre: non-idol!au, smut, the tiniest amount of fluff

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, explicit smut, established relationship, bdsm dynamic, bondage (rope & mouth gag), pet names: ‘honey’, ‘good boy’, ‘baby’, ‘pretty boy’, ‘my love’ (all for hyunjin), oral (m receiving), brief handjob, mentions of spit/drool (lots of it), ball fondling, mild edging, cum swallowing

word count: ~1.7k

synopsis: your boyfriend looks the prettiest when he’s tied down

a/n: this is v short and a teeny bit 🤏🏻 out of my comfort zone since i’m not used to writing bdsm-themed stuff, but i hope it’s still enjoyable for you guys 🫶🏻

posted: october 5, 2023

kinktober masterlist

It’s unfair. A downright act of injustice for him to look as beautiful as he does in this moment. Long, raven-colored hair perfectly tousled, strands delicately fallen over his forehead and in front of his eyes, some of the ends catching on his eyelashes. His sculpted face tinted was with natural blush and his glimmering eyes shined in the dim light from your lamp in the corner of the room. His body looked like a statue chiseled from the finest piece of rock by the most-talented of sculptors. Though, you had the bigger hand in his posing tonight.

Hyunjin sat naked in the black iron-framed chair before you, his arms expertly tied down to each arm of the chair with a rope made of safe (but intriguing) material. The cords wrapped around his muscles and wrists, holding him down, but you left just enough room to keep his circulation intact. The same cords were coiled around his upper body, intertwining up and over his chest and shoulders, anchoring him to the seat. Even his calves were tied to the legs of the chair, giving him no way of escaping on his own. He was completely and utterly at your mercy, whenever you decided to give it to him, but it wouldn’t be any time soon.

His chest was flushed, light red marks appearing over the skin from his previous orgasm and the chafing of the rope. It was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t unendurable. He breathed heavily through his nose, nostrils flaring with every intake and outtake of oxygen. His eyes were fluttering closed. His orgasm had only just started to subside, but you were already wanting to give him another.

His eyelids shot back open when he felt your fingertips graze his knee. The hairs on his leg stood up and goosebumps prickled from the skin of his thighs. His eyes had a hint of nervousness in them when they met your own.

“What? Too soon?” you patronized him, an eerie smile creeping in from the corner of your lips. You found his deer-in-headlights expression very cute, “Oh, come on, honey, I know you’ve got another one in you. Don’t you?”

He didn’t bother attempting to respond. It was futile. With the gag in his mouth, even the loudest of words he could muster wouldn’t be comprehensible. The best he could do was shake his head, but that was no good. You had already decided his fate for him.

“Hm, I thought so.”

You sunk down onto your knees in front of him. There was a sparkle to your eyes as you watched him watch you. His fringe swayed in front of his dark, lust-clouded eyes, making him look like a model. His beauty was astonishing. You would never tire of looking at him, you thought. And he only got prettier when he was like this, tied up just for you. It wasn’t fair. It was selfish of you to keep his beauty all to yourself, but that’s what made having him like this so special. You knew you were the only one to ever behold such a sight.

“Don’t give me those eyes,” your voice sounded like honey when you spoke. Your fingernails traced aimless lines up and down his exposed thighs, leaving pale marks in their wake. They came to a stop right at his pelvis, briefly leaving his skin before you took his half-flaccid dick in your grasp. You looked up at him again, seeing anticipation in his eyes now, “You know you want it.”

I do, he thought to himself.

“You want my mouth. My tongue. You want me to choke on your cock, don’t you?”

Yes.

“You want to stuff my mouth full until I gag?”

God, Yes!

“You want to cum down my throat?”

Fuck, just do it already.

“Huh, Hyunjin? Answer me, honey.”

Despite the humiliation he felt, he tried his best to do what you asked. But his reply came out in muffled nonsense. The spit from his attempt seeped into the fabric you used to gag him, and created a wet spot on the corners of his mouth.

“Good boy,” you praised him.

His heart beat quickened as he watched you lean forward and press fluttering kisses along his thighs. They trailed upwards, until you were at the base of his cock. He was still a little soft, but nothing you couldn’t deal with. You kissed him all over, up to his tip. Your lips puckered, peppering small smooches against his slit. You let spit bubble up and drip down his shaft—lots of it.

Hyunjin loved messy blowjobs.

He didn’t tell you that, but you could just tell. There was a glint of excitement that settled in his gaze as his eyes trained on your every move. His breathing pattern picked up in pace, and his fingers twitched, having nothing to grab onto.

“You’ll be good for me, right? You’ll let me suck your cock, and you won’t cum until I tell you to.”

He nodded furiously, pathetic little ‘mhm’s being eaten up by the fabric between his lips. You smiled, eyes returning to his hardening shaft in your hand. You opened your mouth and sucked in his tip, loving the way he filled your mouth as you went further down. When you got as far as you could go, you hummed, and a small whimper sounded from Hyunjin’s throat.

You pulled your mouth almost completely off, then took him in again, and repeated that a few times, slowly. His erection leaned a little to the left naturally, so your right cheek bubbled with the tip of his cock pressing into it. The sight made his head spin.

Soft gagging noises filled the room as you took him in deeply again, his tip touching the back of your throat. It was uncomfortable for you, and it was getting harder to breathe, but you didn’t care about that. You cared about having him on the brink of a raging orgasm. So you added your hands to the mix, using one of them to massage his balls. He let out a whine, like a sad puppy, and his eyes closed for just a moment before opening to watch you again. He couldn’t help it; he needed to watch you torment him.

You made eye contact with him while you sucked him off and fondled him. You made sure to let your drool pool up at the corners of your mouth and drip down his cock. Once you had enough of his balls, you started to pump the bottom of his length, using your drool as lube. His arms and legs were flexing with unbridled energy; he was itching to get out of his restraints. He wanted to touch you. He wanted to caress your face. He wanted to feel your spit all over his hands as he pumped his cum into your mouth. He wanted to hold your head down his cock until your nose brushed his pubes. He needed it. But he couldn’t have it, and it was killing him.

“You’re doing so well, Jinnie. Just a little longer.”

The tears were brimming in his eyes now, creating sparkles in the corners. You felt your heart become mush at the sight. Despite your act right now, you had the biggest soft spot for your boyfriend. Because at the end of the day, that’s all this was: an act. As soon as he decided he had as much as he could take. As soon as the safeword left his mouth. You would praise him and give him the most comforting hug you could manage to give him. You would rub his skin where the ropes held him after you took them off, and he would thank you for treating him so well. You both would get the sexual gratification you wanted, and you would both be happy.

“Where do you want to cum, baby? My mouth? My face?”

His eyes widened and his brows upturned at the first option, so you repeated it. He nodded his head vigorously.

“Okay, pretty boy,” you held his eye contact like you had him under hypnosis. He wasn’t even watching your ministrations anymore, his eyes solely existed to look into yours in that moment. He wondered what he looked like in his current state. You always told him he looked beautiful, but he wanted to see it for himself. He needed to remember to ask you next time to bring a mirror.

“Cum.”

Hyunjin’s eyelid twitched and the flood gates sprung open. Just like that, at the uttering of the word, ropes of his seed jetted onto your tongue. You had taken his tip back into your mouth just in the nick of time, and as he continued to cum, you sunk yourself further down his length. You went as far as you could, but with his semen filling your throat, you could only do so much.

You swallowed it all, holding back a cough as you let the bottom half of his shaft out of your mouth. The fat tip sat on your tongue for a moment, poking your right cheek again. Your tongue laved his malleable skin, feeling the faint veins in it. The salty, creamy essence was vaguely left in your mouth as he fell out of it with a wet ‘pop’. Rugged breaths and humidity clouded you as you felt your face growing warm.

Hyunjin was absolutely spent, his eyelids growing heavy. He was exhausted, and he only had two orgasms so far. He watched, in shock, as you reached for the gag in his mouth, wet to the touch from his saliva. You pulled it out from between his lips, and you took a second to admire the puffiness and redness in his lips. The faintest pink lines at the corners of his mouth made you smile. Gorgeous.

“Ready to use that pretty cock of yours, my love?”

He wasn’t. If you fucked him now he would be so sensitive. He would go insane. But a big part of him wanted to feel your insides so badly that he couldn’t think straight. Lust was the only thing that stayed consistent in his head, and it plagued his every thought. It plagued his lips as he spoke the first and only word that came to mind.

“Yes.”

— taglist #1

@jaylaxies @xiaoting999 @kookthief @zaddywilk @wonrangwoo @pedriswrld @ikykleeknowww @odisdad @abby-grace @jungwonloveer @pinklemonadeflav @celestialplatinum @luvkpopp @nlklstan @kisses4denji @jenos-eye-smiles @a-l-i-y-a @channiesprincess @bekah931215 @mrsdacherry @heerinnie @fairygirl18 @cinnikoi @im-ur-calico-cat @unlikelysublimekryptonite

798 notes · View notes

vs120shound · 4 months

Text

Debut of one of SSW's most attractive SF models/actresses, Tiffany, of France. Appears as though she is a heavy, longtime smoker!

THE INTRODUCTION OF TIFFANY ON SMOKING SWEETIES (SPAIN)!

★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ | Four-and-a-Half "Stars"

From vs120shound staff | ★★★★★ (S/R)

Dual-Media 11-Pack Megapost!

HAD QUIT FOR 4 MONTHS BUT IS BACK SMOKING!

Tiffany is a French stewardess in diplomatic relations as well as a fashion model. She had been a pack-a-day smoker for 12 years ⏤ starting her love affair with cigarettes as a teenager ⏤ before her four-month bid to quit smoking that ended this past autumn only a few days before Fran, the SSW web-master/web producer, shot her by capturing her beauty, seductive nature and stylish, strong smoking. Math indicates that she is in her late-20s or early-30s!

This video has been out in the public domain for approaching a month now on the Smoking Sweeties (Spain) website, with its mid-December 2023 release. Part of the narrative/description on www.smokingsweeties.com . . . "Her smoking style is intense, cheek-hollowing drags and cigarette flashing is combined with double-drags with nose jets [exhales], natural French inhales and erect drags."

Photos of Tiffany from the Smoking Sweeties Website!

Here are some excerpts from comments on the webpage for the video, named Tiffany: Getting Back Into Her Habit:"

Bombshell Tiffany 4 weeks ago, by Anonymous "WOW! Tiffany is gorgeous bombshell and an intense smoker. Beautiful great deep double-drags combined with fierce jets of nose exhales. I love ladies [who] smoke those strong 100 Reds. So please bring her back, a new stunning star is born. Great work (again), SSW!"

Gorgeous! Let's See More Of Her! 3 weeks ago, by Jon "I just downloaded this video and watched it today. What a gorgeous woman! I hope we can see more of her, maybe in some outfits that show off her legs like short shorts or a skirt? She is an incredible smoker with great inhales and exhales and the discussion in this video was top notch. I hope she comes back. Bravo again for a superb new star!"

ANCHOR PHOTOGRAPH OF TIFFANY!

#SF #Hot women who love smoking cigarettes #Smoking cigarettes #Smoking #Tiffany of France for Smoking Sweeties!#“Tiffany: Getting Back Into Her Habit!”

180 notes · View notes

everythingne · 6 months

Text

marketing ploy - LN4 / ch. 3

a little (drunken) insight to Olivia and Oscar's relationship. Plus, a conversation she’s definitely not supposed to overhear, and one she finds makes her start to regret everything.

piastri!oc x lando norris / fake dating, brothers best friend trope

warnings/notes: alcohol/drunkness, language, like two jokes about sex, i named oscars sisters bc i couldn't find anything after two minutes of searching and also its cute ok

prev | next

—

06 APRIL 2023 — MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA ↴

“Oscar!” I shout, the clock striking midnight. At my mother's house in Melbourne, we’re already all terribly drunk in the pool with only our eldest sister Ophelia's half sober boyfriend to make sure we all don’t drown while the 'middle' sister Oaklynn is in control of the aux so our extended family can't ruin the mood with what we call 'divorced dad rock.' It's an average Piastri birthday party, booze, music, and sopping wet bodies across the pool deck in the mid Autumn chill.

“Ollie?” Oscar says, turning around and slipping on the wet deck, splashing vodka all over the ground beneath him. Lily giggles into the back of her hand, steadying herself on his arm, and I snort as Oscar makes a face at the spilled drink.

We were so not going to have a good flight back to England tomorrow night.

“Happy birthday to my twin brother because its now midnight, baby!” I shout, being met with loud cheers as my mother guides me across the pool deck so I don't fall in. As Lily takes the now half empty glass from Oscar, I'm handing him what is probably the biggest shot of the night. He grins, arm wrapping around my shoulder as we clink our glasses in toast, tap them on our lifting knees and then take the shots with no chasers. The Fireball washes down my throat fine, but Lily’s shrill laugh lets me know Oscar’s not faring so well as our family claps at our celebratory shots.

“Come on, Ossie!” I laugh, leaning into him as I giggle and he laughs in turn, hiding his face in my hair as he groans and slumps against me. Luckily, Lily is smart enough to slip the shot glasses out of our hands.

“Why do I always let you pick Fireball? It burns every time I drink it.” He complains into my hair before stepping back, I grin up at him as a polaroid flashes.

“Twenty two slaps!” someone shouts before I can respond to Oscar. I scream, running to be out of the way of the barrage of backhands from our sisters when I trip. Oscar tries to catch me, bless him, and we both end up screaming as we tumble into the pool with a loud splash.

“Good lord—" Josh, Ophelia's boyfriend laughs, and he and Lily help us all back to the deck with plenty of half-wet towels to try and dry us off. I giggle and sit up once the parties attention is shifted elsewhere, some song playing that takes the heat off of us for a moment. I peek up to look at Oscar and he smiles at me, poking my nose.

“Thanks for this party." He says and I shrug, going to say its no big deal as I always do when he continues talking,

"Lando’s stress is rubbing off on me. With him being next in line for the best racer position, McLaren's pushing me and Bia up as quick as they can. I think they're expecting someone to try and buy Lando out from them.” he murmurs and in my head, the rest of the party fizzles out. My attention is solely on the man born a few minutes before me. His arm wraps around mine as he pulls me to his side. I slot there, where I belong, a comforting embrace of an older brother of the same womb.

"Lando's contract goes to 2026, and lets not worry about F1 right now." I poke his thigh where a bruise from a minor crash in training months back was finally finishing its healing stages, "Ossie, you, and everyone here, come before anything or anyone else. I would rather throw you a big party than fly back to England to chase around statistics with Red Bull for a few days."

I close my eyes as the world spins around me and I feel Oscar shift. His body heat vanishing around my shoulders, the air seemingly changes as some sort of breeze rolls across the pool deck. It makes me shiver, and I glance up at Oscar to see him staring into the light reflections of the glowsticks deep in the water our legs dip into.

“Ossie?” I whisper. He's in his head again, and this time I'm concerned it's my fault for some reason. His tongue pokes out, a sharp breath coming through his nose before he turns to me.

“What’s happening with you and Lando?"

Oh for the love of god--

"I know, I know, okay, older brother don’t let him hurt you speech bullshit blah blah but… is there something there?” Oscar blurts out with the upmmost care in his tone. I'm taken aback by how genuinely worried he seems about it.

“It’s nothing serious.” I deflect, hand coming to squeeze his wrist just above the watch he wears (that is definitely ruined now), “Just some flirting, some gifts… it’s like testing the waters.”

“Is he… kind to you?” Oscar's tone is far too accusing for my liking, almost like he's expecting me to say no, but despite that I nod.

“Too kind.” I find a small giggle escapes my lips. I have the urge to tell him everything, to say it’s all for media, but something makes me stop myself other than knowing it would kinda ruin the whole secrecy of it. Oscar watches my face, and I can see him sense there’s a lie, but he doesn’t push.

“Okay.” he sighs, taking my hand and squeezing it, “as long as he’s good to you.”

OLIVIAPIASTRI MADE A NEW POST ↴

tagged: oscarpiastri, oaklynnpiastri, opheliapiastri

liked by redbullracing, mclarenracing, landonorris, and 896k others...

oliviapiastri: to ossie,

happy birthday to the only guy worthy of sharing a girls night wine bottle with. thank u for always being our biggest supporter in the darkest days and a ray of sunshine on our good ones. papaya looks wonderful on u and we cannot wait to see you grow into such a confident person (thank u @ landonorris for that)

ur a good man, charlie brown. much love from oakie, ophie, and ollie (and lily, josh, momma, and dad) 🧡🧡

landonorris: happy birthday to the only guy who is allowed to pick me up from the club atp

⤷ oscarpiastri: u would be dead without me

⤷ landonorris: actually.

maxverstappen1: ayyy happy birthday man !

lovepiastris: AAAA BABY OSCAR!!!

oscarpiastri: watch me literally sob into this chardonnay.

mclaren: easily the best looking siblings 💪🏻😮‍💨

10 APRIL 2023 — MILTON KEYNES, UK ↴

"I'm bored." Oscar whines over the phone, making me laugh as I settle down at my desk in Red Bull's home base. There's about sixteen hours worth of things I need to cram into the next eight, considering my statistics for the next grand prix are due in like... twenty six hours?

"Aren't you supposed to be training?" I hum, reading through files and highlighting important notes I know I'll need to bring up with my team during our meeting tonight.

"Lando's going right now, and I kinda almost puked after endurance so I’m taking a break.” He makes a mock gagging noise and I recoil and groan and his soft laughter comes through my headphones.

"Christ, Ossie." I lean back in my chair, staring at the list of notes of things we need to improve by Azerbaijan, "Augh, this is gonna be the death of me. Max's numbers keep changing so he keeps skewing the data, at least Perez is pretty consistent."

"How many sensors do you guys have for Azerbaijan?"

"I'm not doing that work today, thats Kylie's job. Most of my work right now is just making sure that the car isn’t literally falling apart in Max’s hands since he’s been pushing it so hard this year.” I run my hand through my hair, feeling the grease along my hairline and cringing. I need a self-care day soon.

"Oh and Kylie’s pretty much running real time analytics herself this race so I might be able to hang around you at McLaren for a while if Christian's not breathing down my neck."

“Sick. I need to introduce you to the new social media photographer. Lando convinced her to a do a whole section on film.” Oscar giggles and my eyes widen--film photography was one of my passions in secondary school, and I can't imagine trying to shoot F1 on it.

“This poor girl.” I laugh as I adjust my seating and open the sensors scan from the left tire of Max's car, noting any abnormalties that haven't already been flagged. In the silent lull in the conversation, there’s a click and a creak on Oscar’s end of the call.

“Oscar—“ Lando’s talking is muffled for half a second before I hear something fall and a chair squeak, “what were you trying to ask me about earlier?”

My did my heart flutter when I heard Lando talk?

Nope. No. No, thank you. No.

I did not like Lando Norris.

“Oh—hold on Ollie—I’m going to attempt to mute.” I hear Oscar laugh as he taps his phone-screen, and like many times I’ve been on the phone with him I have to pause to see if he actually managed to mute the call.

Oscar seemed to always miss the important buttons, like hanging up or muting himself. Over the years, I’ve heard quite a few things I wasn’t supposed to.

Like Oscar’s next question—

“If I don’t just say it I’m never gonna ask, because it’s such a cliche thing but—what exactly are you trying to do with my sister..?”

I nearly die as my cheeks flush bright red as I scramble to pick my phone up.

Okay, super overdramatic reaction, but hearing this conversation happen in real time is not something I can feel like I would be able to physically handle. So, I’m quick to turn my volume all the way down and take off my headphones as soon as Lando’s laugh makes my cheeks dust pink.

Oscar was never particularly protective over me, in fact it had always been opposite. Even as the youngest Piastri I was constantly protecting my older siblings with my whole heart, like when Oaklynn was being bullied by her pole vaulting captain and I hit that guy so hard I broke his nose, or when Ophelia first got her heart broken and I drove all the way from Melbourne to Sydney in one go to pick her and her stuff up from his house. Oscar and I had many moments like that, considering our sisters were a bit older than us, it was always Oscar and I together. I had moved to England with him when he chose to pursue racing, he had been there every late night I spent studying to get into analytics as early as I had.

And I knew one day Oscar would have this conversation with the man I would marry, someone who took my entire heart in his hands and held it so gently I felt safer than I ever had.

But, Lando was not that guy. Not as far as I was aware.

Maybe ten minutes later, figuring the conversation is long done, I turn up the volume and just catch the end of it. Oscar's laughing, theres a soft thwack of someones arm being hit as Lando keeps talking, his voice fading into my headphones.

"...Ollie's just... I could stare at her all day and never get bored."

"You are--" Oscar laughs, and I hear him hit Lando's arm again, "so so goddamn cheesy, mate!"

"Sorry!" Lando laughs, and I try to ignore the way I bring a hand to my mouth as I stand up and pace around a little, shaking my hands and arms out a I try to suppress the giggles that bubble to my chest.

10 APRIL 2023 — IMESSAGE ↴

OLIVIAPIASTRI MADE A NEW POST ↴

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 978k others..

oliviapiastri: ‘can i come pick u up from work?’ and then we end up at a car meet AND i get to sleep over?? win win.

⤷ maxverstappen1: @ charlesleclerc shovel talk?

⤷ charlesleclerc: yep.

⤷ oliviapiastri: oscar has already been yelling at me for like five hrs pls i swear nothing happened

redbullracing: lets just not tell christian you were out of the sunroof of a drift car.

mc481: lando and olivia spotted together... olivia suddenly has a new bf...

oaklynnpiastri: BABY SISTER HAS A BOYYYY AAAAAAAA

letsgolando: OH MY GOD THE FLOWERS?

18 APRIL 2023 - AZERBAIJAN GP PADDOCKS ↴

"Olivia Piastri."

"Max Verstappen."

"Olivia Louise Rae Piastri."

"Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc."

"Shit, she remembered."

I snort as I set my bag down as Max and Charles hover at my desk in the Azerbaijan paddocks. I'm starting to think the Ferrari driver might be having a contract change soon if his team is so lax with him basically living with us in Red Bull.

"What?" I ask, crossing my arms as the fabric of one of Lando's plain black leather jackets he'd lent me rubs the fabric of the sweatshirt I'd stolen from him underneath.

"How was your drift date?" Max grins and I roll my eyes as I plop down in my chair. Charles takes his spot in one of the side chairs as Max sits on the edge of my desk.

"He showed up to Red Bull, brought me flowers, we stopped to get takeout food and then went to the car show. He knew one of the guys drifting so we got to ride in his car and then he invited me over to watch a movie and we both fell asleep halfway through." I lean forward, "does that satisfy you?"

"Sleep?" Charles prods and I take a pen off my desk and throw it at him.

"Yes, sleep." I huff and before Max and Charles can continue their barrage of idiotic comments and questions, three knocks sound to the creak of the hinges as Christian steps into my office with Ada right behind him.

"Morning Chris, Ada." I nod and Max and Charles stand, greeting them both with firm handshakes.

"Ferrari might need their driver back, Leclerc, and Max--you need to get dressed." Christian waves them off without as much as a hello, before Ada shuts and locks my office door.

"What?" I find myself asking again as Ada grins to me.

"Sales are up 70%." She says, "We've made around... 28 thousand pounds so far."

"Holy shit." Is all I can say. 28 thousand pounds in revenue because Lando and I were pretending to date?

"You guys are doing swimmingly, we just have one more stipulation. You've already done the soft launch, Lando will be doing his tonight. The next thing you guys need to do, other than the paparazzi date but Astrid is working with Lando on that right now, is the celebration." Ada clasps her hands, Christian nods, keeping his back to the door that leads into the office and for some reason it feels suffocating.

"Great Britain. Hopefully Lando will podium, its his home race, a nice little kiss, it'll be cute."

We have to kiss in front of everyone. How could I fucking forget? The GB prix isnt for a while, two months if I remember right, but my mouth goes dry at the thought of kissing Lando Norris.

I don't remember agreeing and bidding goodbye to the two, all I know is my stomach ache doesn't go away for the rest of the night. Even when I ball the fabric of Lando's jacket--still smelling like him, over my face and scream into it.

LANDONORRIS MADE A NEW POST

liked by oscarpiastri, charlesleclerc, redbullracing, and 987k others

landonorris: made a pretty good pinkie promise a while ago.

oscarpiastri: good man

mclaren: we love to see our racers winning 🥹

mercedeeznnn: this has to be olivia. IT HAS TO BE.

maxfewtrell: don't fuck it up norris

⤷ landonorris: trying

rbfansunite: so we're all thinking the same thing right?

papapa.ya: LANDO AND OLIVIA !!!! WE WIN !!!!

#formula one #f1 #formula 1 #lando norris fic #lando norris x oc #lando norris #ln4 fic #ln4

253 notes · View notes

sleepyxxhead · 7 months

Text

༉‧₊˚. flufftober 2023!!

WEEK 2: Grumpy!Megumi x Sunshine!Reader

CONTENT: fem!reader, light swearing, established relationship

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

CHARACTERS: Fushiguro Megumi x fem!reader

NOTES: this one was definitely a shorter one! soz :(

Throughout your relationship with Megumi, you two had both learned to enjoy each other’s company in many different ways. Whether it be a memory to enjoy with others, laughing and having a fun time; or maybe a moment of silence between the two of you, just basking in each other’s presence; and of course, the more intimate moments the two of you shared, getting close and comfy together.

As autumn began to settle, the days became cooler, leaves of gold and red hues scattered across the ground. Today was one of the last warmer days of the season. You and Megumi walked side-by-side through your local park, leaves crunching under your boots as a small breeze blew across your face. Your pinky was hooked with Megumi’s, swinging your arms back and forth like a child. You wore one of Megumi’s sweatshirts, cradling a small blanket in your arms. Megumi held a picnic basket in his free hand, filled with all of the food you had packed for your picnic date.

When you found an open spot on the grass, you spread the blanket out and unpacked the food that you and Megumi had prepared before walking to the park: two bentos, some sandwiches, some onigiri, and some cut fruit. As you sat down on the blanket, you opened your bento, breathing in the crisp autumn air. Megumi sat down beside you, grabbing his own bento. After a few bites, you leaned your head against his shoulder, sighing contentedly.

“Yooo! Fushiguro! L/N!”

You turned around to see Itadori, Kugisaki, and Gojo approaching you. You gave them a small wave as Megumi sighed out of annoyance.

“We finally found you two love birds~!” Gojo-sensei sang, wrapping his arms around you two.

“Why are you here?” Megumi asked, clearly irritated.

“We wanted to hang out with you guys, of course!” Yuji exclaimed as he passed Nobara a sandwich, trying to find something in the basket for him to eat.

Megumi rolled his eyes, watching them rummage through the food. You rubbed the back of his hand with your thumb, looking at him with a small smile on your face.

“Sorry,” he mumbled quietly.

“For what?”

“Our date’s ruined,” he stated as if it was obvious.

“What? I don’t think our date’s ruined,” you commented. “We can have some more time to ourselves later!”

You gave him a big smile, to which his eyes softened, turning back to his friends. You leaned your head back on his shoulder as you watched your friends and your teacher now fighting over who should get which onigiri.

“No, I want the tuna mayo one!” Yuji whined, holding the rice ball to his chest protectively.

“Come one, Itadori! Be a gentleman and give it here!” Nobara yelled, trying to grab the rice ball.

“But your sensei always works so hard to teach you all! I think I should get the tuna mayo!” Gojo whined, sounding even more childish than the students half his age.

As Megumi sat down in the chair across from you, you opened your book, ready for a quiet library date with him.

The two of you had made library dates a weekly occurrence, hoping to find some peace in the chaos that made up your lives as sorcerers.

As you read on, you kicked your feet a little, sipping on a cup of hot chocolate that Megumi had bought for you on your way to the library. The liquid’s warmth spread throughout your body, extending to your fingers and your nose, almost making you feel drowsy.

The silence between you and your boyfriend was comforting, so pleasant after a week filled with training and fighting cursed spirits.

After a couple hours however, your hot chocolate wasn’t nearly as hot anymore, the silence between Megumi and you felt deafening, and you couldn’t read through a paragraph without having to read it 5 times over. Your eyelids felt heavy as you lightly kicked Megumi’s foot, signalling for his attention.

His eyes shot up to meet your gaze, finding you in your tired state.

“‘Wanna go home ‘gumi…” you yawned, rubbing your eyes.

Without saying a word, Megumi closed his book as well as yours, stowing them away in his backpack.

As you stood up, you stretched your legs and arms out. You felt sore all around your body for sitting down in a strained position for so long.

Grabbing your bag and his, Megumi hooked his pinky with yours before heading home.

Tonight was finally Friday night, a night when you and Megumi rarely had anything to do but to spend time with each other in your dorms.

“There you go!” you beamed as you smoothed a face mask over Megumi’s skin. He was wearing a fluffy headband to match yours as well as a pair of bunny slippers you had bought for him.

Despite doing this with you every week, Megumi made a weird face at the uncomfortable feeling of the mask on his face.

You giggled, as you snuggled up next to him, turning on a K-Drama to watch together.

“This guy is so stupid, he needs to confess to her already!” you groaned at the end of the episode. “Anyway, it’s time to take of our face masks!”

As you peeled away your face mask, you rubbed the extra serum into your face, doing the same for Megumi. “You’re such a pretty boy,” you mumbled with a smile.

Megumi blushed at your words, looking away. You laughed at his shyness, pressing play on the next episode.

Snuggling back into his side, you continued to complain about how you were getting impatient with the love interest. “It’s been like, 12 episodes now!”

Megumi listened while he brushed his fingers through your hair, giving your head light scratches. You didn’t even notice until half an episode later that he had fallen asleep.

You exhaled through your nose, a small smile creeping up on your face. You took his headband off and pulled the covers over the two of you. After closing the lid of your laptop, you tossed it to the side and gave your boyfriend a quick peck on the cheek.

“G’night Megs…” you mumbled into his neck before the sound of his steady breathe and the warmth of his skin lulled you to sleep.

BONUS:

“Yuji! Come look at this!” you heard Nobara whisper as you started to wake up.

“Whatwhatwhat!”

A camera shuttered as you started to open your eyes. “...What time is it?” you mumbled sleepily, raising your head.

“Oh shit! Shit!” Yuji whisper-yelled before hurriedly shutting the door.

“...hm?” Megumi groaned, shifting beneath you. “Y/N?”

“It’s nothing Megs, go back to sleep.”

NOTES: fjdksal;fjskda this one was so late oml

anyways have a nice day cutie <33

dividers: @cafekitsune

taglist form

325 notes · View notes

violetsaffron5 · 8 months

Text

NSFW Gojo Week (1)

Ao3 • Discord 18+ • Social Media • Series Masterlists

Pairing: Gojo x f!Reader

A night off work leads you and your work crush to finally meet up for a steamy rendezvous

cw: exhibitionism, light degradation, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, facial

words: 1.7k

Masterlist • Day 2

Check out the links below for more info!

Tumblr - Link to all 2023 Gojo NSFW Week works!

Carrd - For guidelines/rules, AO3 Collection, etc.

Twitter - Give us a follow!

CuriousCat - For any questions you may have!

As a sorcerer, you don’t get many nights off, nights to do whatever you please without a care in the world.

Tonight is one of those nights. The lights of the small club you’re in flash green, red, purple, and blue all around you. Shoko wanted to use the opportunity to go out, have some fun, and relieve some stress, so she invited you, Utahime, and Satoru, and even got Nanami to come along.

It’s been busy for everyone the last several months. Fighting curses, and spending time healing; Shoko having a multitude of sorcerers to care for, along with surgeries.

The bass of the music vibrates from the soles of your feet through every hair follicle at the top of your head, sending a tingling sensation throughout your body as red, green, purple, and blue lights flash over your face, through the sea of people dancing.

You’re dancing with Satoru; he has one of his large hands splayed on your exposed stomach, just under your crop top while his other rests at your hip while you press your ass into him.

You might have a little, teeny, tiny work crush on him, and you’re pretty sure he has one on you too. He’s never been one to hide how he feels, but he’s also flirty with everyone, including Nanami, so it’s hard to really know.

Either that or he just really wants to fuck you.

Your hand is wrapped around his neck, nails scratching at his undercut as you move your hips together. And judging by the way Satoru’s dancing with you, the rumors must be true.

Of course, you’ve heard them, everyone has.

Gojo fucks so good, it’s actually insane.

I’ve never cum so many times in my life, and that tongue, oh my god.

He has the biggest dick I have ever seen… I should call him again, actually.

The two of you have had some… tense moments, to say the least. A few flirty grins here in there that have been met with your lips ghosting one another on several occasions.

But each time it has been met with an interruption. Someone walking into the room looking for one of you, or a phone call about an urgent mission. Each time it happens, it leaves you craving more, wondering when your lips will finally meet, and if it will it be as incredible as you’ve heard.

Satoru leans down, you can feel his warm breath tickling your neck and the shell of your ear. It sends a chill right down your spine, straight to your core. Tilting your head to the side, you’re met with his azure half-lidded gaze.

Your eyes flicker between his and his lips several times, and just as your lips ghost one another you can hear your name being called.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath to steady yourself before turning to see Shoko calling you over to take a few shots with her.

Satoru rolls his eyes as you groan in annoyance at once again being separated at the last moment. He removes his hands from your hips and stomach, stuffing them into his pocket, diligently following you back to the private booth you have for the night.

Shoko already has the shots ready, handing one to everyone who clinks their little glasses together before downing them. Satoru winces and you quickly grab another drink to use as a chaser, trying to rid the taste of alcohol on your tongue.

You take a seat next to Satoru who pulls you in closer to him by wrapping his arm around your shoulder, letting his thumb gently rub against your skin with light, featherlike touches that send a jolt straight to your core.

As everyone engrosses in conversation, you turn your head towards Satoru when he speaks, letting your nose run along the length of his jaw. Pressing your forehead into his cheek, you turn to see Shoko eyeing you with a raised eyebrow as your cheeks heat and you clear your throat.

“I’m, uh, gonna head to the bathroom really quick.”

The wetness between your thighs is absolutely unreal and becoming increasingly uncomfortable. You can feel Satoru’s gaze on you as you walk away and you turn back, biting your lip only to see his eyes trailing down to your ass slowly before coming back up, meeting you with a sultry grin.

Once inside the bathroom, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself of something that might not even happen tonight, or ever, if the universe has anything to say about it.

Standing at the mirror, you run your hands through your hair quickly just as the door opens. You expect to see Shoko walking through the door, but instead, you’re met with a tall head of ivory hair and crystalline eyes surrounded by soft snowy lashes.

“Fancy meeting you here,” You say playfully as he walks up behind you, tilting his head to stare at your ass as you lean forward just enough for your asscheeks to peek out from under your skirt, pretending to fix your lipstick in the mirror.

Satoru chuckles but doesn’t say anything as his hands find their way back to your hips, pulling you into him. Your breath hitches when you feel his hardened length under his slacks, encouraging you to grind into him slowly.

“What if someone walks in?”

“Let them.” He whispers in your ear, warm breath sending a chill down your spine as he flips the back of your skirt over your hips, kneading the plush skin of your ass with his large hands before sliding his fingers over your soaked panties and moving them to the side.

He groans when he runs his fingers through your already soaking folds, avoiding your clit, he doesn’t press in, he just teases until you’re whimpering, rutting your ass back into him further, begging for more.

“Satoru, please,” You whine, “If you don’t fuck me right now, I am going to die.”

He chuckles, continuing his teasing, “Guess you’ll just have to die, baby.”

You glare at him through the mirror where he watches as your furrowed brows slowly turn upwards, lips parting slightly when he lets his thumbs press gently to your clit.

“Can’t even wait for me to get you home?” You mewl as he continues his ministrations, “So fucking desperate for me.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head when he dips two fingers in and you’re already feeling more full and more pleasure than you’ve ever felt before. Leaning back, you rest your head against his shoulder, rocking your hips to the best of your ability, a coil forming in the lowest parts of your belly.

And then he just stops and pulls his fingers out to your dismay.

You glare at him like he’s just shot you, before he tangles his hand in your hair, tilting your head to a better angle, allowing him to kiss and nip down the sides of your neck - he could tell you hours doing your hair, and makeup to look nice tonight.

He’ll gladly ruin both.

Satoru pushes you back over the sink, quickly undoing his belt, letting his slacks fall past his knees with a clatter. When he releases his cock from the confines of his briefs, he taps the leaking tip on your ass a few times before positioning himself at your entrance.

You gasp, pressing your hands to the sink, pushing your ass further towards him. He watches you through the mirror giving a salacious smile and a wink before pushing in all the way to the hilt.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, adjusting to the sheer size of him. With a hand pressed to your stomach, you feel the way his cock bulges as he thrusts into you a few times.

“Look at me,” He commands. Your eyes flutter open, watching him through the mirror as he places one hand on the wall in front of him for support, and you hold onto the sink for dear life, knuckles aching at how hard you’re gripping the ceramic.

He keeps a hand on your hip to help keep you steady, nails digging into the skin as he moves his hand from the wall, tangling it into your hair once again, holding your head back, forcing you to watch as he relentlessly snaps his hips into you.

“You’re making such a mess, baby,” Satoru purrs, watching his slick-coated cock disappear into you with each thrust, watching as your arousal drips down your thigh and onto the tile below, “So fuckin’ tight.”

Leaning forward, he licks and bites down your neck leaving several scraps and marks - proof of your little bathroom rendezvous.

His eyes lock with yours when he feels your walls clamping around his cock like a noose.

“Yes, right there,” You moan as the coil in your lower stomach returns, threatening to snap at any moment.

He groans, unsure of how much longer he’s going to be able to last, “Wanna see you cum, baby. Give it to me. Bet you make the prettiest faces cumming on my cock.”

You’re chanting his name, all Satoru, and yes as the heat in your core erupts and you’re convulsing and spasming around his cock, squeezing him like you want to keep him there forever.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hisses, pulling out and dragging you down to your knees before you’ve realized what’s happening.

He strokes his cock several times and your eyes widen at the sight. Flushed tip so red and angry, but the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

You open your mouth, looking so pretty as you place your tongue on the tip of his cock, just as cums all over your tongue and lips, rubbing the tip of his sensitive cock over your tongue, pushing it further into your mouth.

“Swallow.” And you do, licking your lips to make sure you’ve gotten every last drop. Satoru adjusts himself back into his briefs, bending down and placing his lips on yours in a searing, fiery kiss that lets you know he’s nowhere close to being finished with you.

He can taste himself on your tongue but neither of you care.

“I’m gonna text Shoko, tell her I left.”

Satoru clears his throat as he helps you stand, placing an arm around your waist to hold you close, “Call Ijichi too. Tell him you’re taking an extended weekend vacation.”

#jjk fanfic #violetsaffronfic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #nsfwgojoweek2023

185 notes · View notes

meropegaaunt · 1 year

Text

WEST COAST

Billy Dunne x reader

Implied eventual Graham Dunne x reader

Summary: The love between two best friends toes the line between platonic and romantic.

Warnings: Kid on kid violence, fighting, angst, alcohol, and attempted kissing

Word Count: 2,359 words

GRAHAM DUNNE (lead guitar, The Six): Growing up, Y/N and Billy were, like, best friends. I mean, God, they were close, so close you never saw one without the other.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

You, Y/N L/N, grew up in a small suburb outside of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Said suburb was small, quaint, filled with red-brick houses and white picket fences. The kind of place where everyone knew everyone. The rich thrived, having two or three properties in their name and far too many zeros in their checking accounts, but the majority struggled to make ends meet, to even keep a roof over their heads. You were part of the majority, but your father, F/N L/N, did everything in his power to ensure that you lived in blissful ignorance, unaware of the struggles that weighed so heavily upon his shoulders. He had two jobs, one as a music teacher and one as a bar manager. Endless hours had been spent slaving away at those jobs in an attempt to ensure you were given every opportunity to succeed, and luckily, you were.

Truth be told, you had not the faintest idea of your dire living circumstances, because your father showered you in love and affection, making everything, even the most mundane tasks, seem like an adventure. He had a way with people, a way that he passed on to you, which was why at school, you got on well with your classmates. You got on best with Billy and Graham Dunne, though, two brothers that shared your true love: music.

(Your friendship did not have an easy beginning, though. Not by a long shot, because even at a young age, Billy had trouble letting people close. Your first encounter with him was in passing. Names had been exchanged, but there was no inkling of what would bloom between the two of you. That inkling did not come until a boy two years older than you and Billy and four years older than Graham came around looking to give Billy a hard time. He found Graham instead, who became his victim of circumstance. You happened upon the scene just in time to see the boy deliver a harsh kick to Graham’s ribs, and that sight alone was enough for you to see red and abandon all common sense. It mattered not that he was your superior in both age and size. All that mattered was that Graham, who had only ever shown you kindness and civility, was frightened and bleeding and needed help, which was why you threw caution to the wind, ran forward, and thundered, “Hey, that’s my friend you’re kicking!” In an instant, you two were on the ground, grappling violently atop the dirt path. The boy pawed at your face, pulling at your locks while you pressed on his throat. His efforts broke your skin and knocked your nose askew, yet your hold stayed firm, just as F/N had shown you. You hunched forward, pale with rage as he writhed about, trying futilely to get free. Each action made his throat tighter, though, so his attempts hastily slowed down. He gasped, his eyes growing hazy from the wild thrumming of the blood in his head. It was only after oxygen escaped him for a beat that you lessened your grip and retreated with Graham, though, your feet flying over the earth until you found Billy. That day, covered in blood and dirt, he deemed you all right.)

Seeing your love for music, your father found and salvaged an old guitar for you, a Gibson Les Paul that had seen far better days. It had suffered much hurt and misuse, but he searched out alternatives for each decaying piece, eventually returning it to its former glory. You basked in its glory, showing it off to the Dunne brothers with stars in your eyes and a smile that rivaled the sun in intensity. They had an old Silvertone guitar, so the three of you began learning how to play, going through much trial and error before discovering what worked and what did not.

Your musical range evolved as you entered your teenage years, especially when Billy and Graham’s mother, Marlene, bought them an old Strat. Armed with three guitars, you delved into songwriting, thus laying the foundation for what eventually became one of the world’s most beloved rock bands.

You were there at the nanscene of the Dunne Brothers band, long before its first additions — drummer Warren Rhodes, bassist Chuck Williams, and rhythm guitarist Eddie Roundtree — were brought on. You did not have a designated title, though. Instead, you played whatever part was needed, whether that be a singer, guitarist, or keyboardist. The band worked whatever gig it could, whether that be at house parties, seedy bars, or dance clubs.

Around that time, you had noticed that you had physically changed, had grown into your own. Your friends had, too, but you did not realize until one of the nights when the band had played at a seedy bar. There had been various acts of violence committed at said bar, but this particular night, a man who was out of his mind on drugs had started swinging. Hands had been thrown, landing hits upon bar attendants, but then, he had come for you . . . You had not seen it coming, too engrossed in your music, which was why there was no time for you to react, to defend yourself. Your eyes snapped up, catching sight of the fist flying your way, but it never made contact with your face. Before it could, Billy collided with the man, hitting him with enough force that he was sent crashing to the ground.

You blinked once, twice, thrice, pure, unfettered shock keeping you rooted in place. It was only when a warm, familiar hand landed upon your shoulder that you snapped out of it, the shock wearing off. “Thanks, Billy,” you breathed, your eyes rising to meet his emerald ones. “I owe you one.”

“It’s nothing,” he shrugged, a mischievous look flitting across his face. “Couldn’t let him take you out before I do.”

“Ah, that’s not happening,” you remarked, unable to conceal your amusement. He had tried to sweet talk you before, had even gone as far to use his go-to pick-up line: If you let me take you out I’ll write a song about you. The pick-up line had not worked, though, for you had shot back: No, thanks, Dunne. If I want there to be a song about me, I’ll write it myself. “The day we start dating bandmates is the day the Dunne Brothers is over.”

Perhaps if he was being serious, you would consider going on a date with him, but you truly believed that he was not, that he was simply being his typical coquettish self. Despite this, in the future, you will think that this perhaps was the moment when you first realized that you loved him, that you were in love with him . . .

─── ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ───

BILLY DUNNE (lead singer, The Six): We got hired for this wedding. It was a big deal. A wedding meant we were gonna be heard by, you know, a hundred people. I think I was nineteen.

We had auditioned for this couple with our best song. It was this slower, folkier song Y/N and I had written called “Nevermore.” Just thinking about it makes me cringe. Truly. I was writing about the Catonsville Nine and things like that. I thought I was Dylan. But we got this gig.

And about halfway through our show at this wedding, this fifty-something guy catches Y/N on a water break and pulls them onto the dance floor. I see and think, Does this guy know what a creep he looks like? And then I realize it’s my dad.

GRAHAM: Our father was there, all over Y/N, completely unaware he was making them uncomfortable. I realized it before Billy, I think. Recognized him from the pictures our mom kept in the shoe box under her bed.

Y/N L/N (singer, The Six): I didn’t originally know it was Mr. Dunne that had pulled me onto the dance floor that night. I mean, plenty of older men go after younger people. It’s not great, it’s just how it is. Not wanting to start a scene, I danced with him until Billy came down off the stage and pulled me away. Afterward, he told me who he was, and it just . . . made me sick. Mr. Dunne looked right at Billy, his son, and didn’t recognize him. How is that possible? How is that fair?

BILLY: I couldn’t believe it. He’d been gone ten years by that point. And he was supposed to be in Georgia. The asshole was just standing in the middle of the dance floor, no idea his sons were up onstage or that he was dancing with their best friend. I put an end to that. I got off stage and pulled them apart. Y/N was confused as hell, but I explained who he was.

GRAHAM: Billy asked a few people at the wedding about him. Turns out our father had been living a few towns over. Friends with the bride or something. Y/N was furious, saying, “You know what, fuck him. You guys are the best. If he can’t see that, that’s his problem, not yours.” They were right. He was a drunk asshole anyway. So good riddance to him.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Seeing the response — or lack thereof — from Mr. Dunne infuriated you. He had laid eyes upon his sons for the first time in a decade, and there had been no recognition, no remorse. He had helped bring them into the world, had raised them for five and seven years respectively, but then, when given the opportunity to reconnect, he treated them like strangers, like they meant nothing.

Your father had loved you dearly, had done everything in his power to protect you, which was why such a poor excuse of a man was hard to wrap your head around. You tried, though, even going as far as to snag a bottle of whiskey in an attempt to lessen your inhibitions, to think outside of the box. Unfortunately, the whiskey did not offer any answers about Mr. Dunne, but it did cause your budding feelings for Billy to spill out, to make themselves known.

He too had taken in alcohol, had consumed beer after beer, but Billy, for a reason you did not know, held his alcohol better. That was why when you took a seat next to him with a half-empty bottle of whiskey in hand, he looked relatively put together. You, on the other hand, looked simultaneously attractive and disheveled. It was paradoxical, but the sight of you, with your warm cheeks and wild hair, lit a fire within him, a fire whose flames threatened to consume him, to devour him whole.

“Billy,” you breathed his name, leaning through the dark so that your faces were mere millimeters apart, causing your breaths to mingle. “Your dad is a real prick, but I’m — I’m glad you’re not like him. You’re a real great guy. The best.”

“I’m not,” he refuted, knowing that your tongue had been loosened by the alcohol. When sober, you were generous with your words, but not like this. Not to this degree. “I’ve made some dumbass decisions. You know that better than anyone—“

“And yet, I still love you,” you cut him off, leaning impossibly closer. You had contemplated kissing him a handful of times since that night in the bar, but had yet to work up enough nerve to do so. Now, when you were feeling brazen, it would be so quick, so easy. All you had to do was bridge the gap between your faces . . . You made to do so, to press your lips to his, but he pulled away, moving out of your range. A mixture of hurt and confusion crossed your features then, followed by uncertainty. “Do you not want to—“

“Not like this,” he shook his head, because even though the flirtatious comments sent your way held truth, he would not allow you to make such a drastic move when drunk. Not with him. “If you remember this tomorrow, we can figure things out, Y/N.”

In a perfect world, you would remember this conversation the next day. You and Billy would communicate and sort out your feelings together, but this world was not perfect. In this world, you did not remember your advances on Billy, which was why when he met the foxy, dark-haired Camila Martinez, he pursued her . . .

─── ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ───

WARREN RHODES (drummer, The Six): In the summer and fall of ‘69, we were all really starting to get laid, man. And Billy was taking himself off the market. We’d all be with chicks and he’d be sitting there, smoking a joint, having a beer to keep himself busy. I came out of a girl’s room one time, zipping my pants up, and Billy was sitting on the sofa, watching Dick Cavett. I knew Y/N loved Billy. Hell, by that point, I think everyone except Billy knew. So I said, “Man, you gotta ditch that girlfriend.” Don’t get me wrong; we all liked Camila, she was foxy and she’d tell you your business right to your face, which I liked. But c’mon. Y/N isn’t the sort of person you want to miss out on an opportunity with.

Y/N: I wanted to hate Camila. It would have been easier that way, if she was terrible to Billy, if she made him unhappy, but she didn’t. She grounded him, made him a better version of himself, so there really was no choice but for me to take a step back, to put some distance between Billy and I.

GRAHAM: It killed Y/N to give Billy and Camila space, but they did. Because they loved him, and that . . . that took a lot of selflessness. I think, maybe, that might have been when I started falling in love with them.

#daisy jones and the six #djats #djats spoilers #billy dunne #graham dunne #warren rhodes #daisy jones headers #x reader #sam claflin #writing #writing requests #open requests #angst #rockband #camila dunne

528 notes · View notes

dramioneasks · 5 months

Text

Christmas Fics 2023 (Part 2):

A Gold & Red Christmas by kitsunellie - not rated, one-shot - Draco really should be studying. Unfortunately, a certain Gryffindor girl can't seem to stop humming Christmas carols in the library.

How Hermione Granger (Almost) Missed Christmas by Anonymous - E, 3 chapters - Hermione Granger isn't about to let Draco Malfoy ruin her holiday season by taking credit for her werewolf rights legislation. When she hatches a plan to expose his lies, things go awry. Suddenly, she's learning all about werewolves in a more hands-on way than ever before. Come enjoy the holiday season with the pack at the Zabini Estate.

O' Little Town Of Balsam Grove by inadaze22 - M, one-shot - Chaos comes to the town of Balsam Grove and wrecks Draco's plans for the perfect proposal.

A Meowy Little Christmas by quicknotesquim - E, WIP - Draco Malfoy is roped into catsitting an elderly Crookshanks for his co-worker and longtime crush, Hermione Granger, over the Christmas holidays.

cold nose, warm heart by riddikulus_puff - T, one-shot - Draco Malfoy is a dramatic little bitch when it comes to him being ill and feeling under the weather; and of course, he, unfortunately, falls ill over the Christmas holidays when he is supposed to be celebrating with his wife. Though he has only fallen ill with the Muggle common cold, he claimed tragically that he was dying which meant that his wife, Hermione Granger-Malfoy, had to deal with his overdramatic arse.

Minute-Long Mistletoe by olivejuice28 - M, one-shot - Draco and Hermione find themselves stuck in a bit of a situation.

Wishing on a Fallen Star by Anonymous - E, WIP - Hermione has spent the last ten years learning everything there is to know about the human brain, in a fruitless search to try and restore her parent's memories. She trusted that the soul mark on her arm meant that one day she would find that special person who made her life feel less empty and hopeless. What she found were two broken men who felt more like home than anything else. Can she figure out the solution to this problem before she has to face another lonely Christmas alone?

Christmas Kisses by LittleSixx - M, WIP - MP Hermione Granger's friends are spending Christmas at Malfoy Manor because Blaise Zabini plans to propose to his boyfriend, Dean Thomas. Turns out everyone in attendance is conspiring to couple her up with the only other uncoupled guest ... Who happens to be the host.

A Winter Ball for Two by MarinaJune - T, one-shot - Hogwarts Eighth Year marks Draco's unlikely friendship with Granger, an inaugural Winter Ball, and, perhaps, new holiday traditions.

Where the Starlight Gleams by Anonymous - M, one-shot - Christmas is approaching, a newborn Scorpius won't stop screaming, and Draco reconnects with Hermione when he least expects it.

Hermione's Holiday Healing by Fawkeswriter01 - M, WIP - Upon deciding to end her ‘relationship’ with Viktor Krum, Hermione also chose to remain at Hogwarts for Christmas. She knew the Weasleys and Harry would be disappointed when she didn’t arrive at the Burrow with Ginny, but she needed some time to herself. Little did she know that Malfoy had also chosen to stay at the castle for the holidays. It surprised her even more when they began to grow close during their time together. What happens when Krum shows up at Hogwarts without any warning?

#christmas #dramione

107 notes · View notes

sgiandubh · 8 months

Text

From California to the New York island... - The 2023 edition

I will probably quickly learn not to post exceedingly allusive things when I am running out of time and yet have to jot down the lightbulb moment, lest it's gone forever.

This morning, I mentioned in my post some images that were still freshly baked and put out for consumption on the two main Mordorian news outlets. When people started to ask in droves during my coffee & lunch breaks, I knew I had to go further, despite my deep, jaded reluctance to revisit my own musings. So now, with laundry on the way (fi-nal-ly!) and a hot cocoa by my side, let's hit the road.

This time, we're going to do it with pictures. It's easier, including for the people from Pyongyang, ahem, Mordor. And the dang simplistic context allows for it: what is there to theorize when the strings are so conspicuous?

I was writing, this morning:

This is the image the Mordorian Pravdas didn't show you:

La Niña Vaquera, feeling maybe a bit shot to the curb, when clearly the whole party vibe is where (Red Dress?) Melanie, the MPC boys band and the Blonde Brigade are. Possibly in a chit-chat with somebody who is not S., classy red plastic cup in hand. I had to re-watch the snippet at least six times in a row to find her (a very taxing job, but hey, it's for the cause). Maybe talking to the somebody whose +1 she plausibly was?

FYI, S never looked at her, never touched her, never engaged with her. Not even when she took her artillery sightseeing, while they were cheering with rapture, shot glasses in hand:

Red arrow is BBC, aka La Niña Vaquera. S is offscreen, to the left, looking at who I think is Duncan Millership (blue arrow), who also was with S at the Sasnak City event, and introduced by him as his new manager. @rosfrank confirmed this morning, in one of the comment threads:

So, rather inconclusive, eh?

With KE/Cucumber Yoga Chick out of the building with a bang, we had to somehow be led further on the Breadcrumb Trail, so serviceable *urv obliged and posted the infamous Shutters Pic I also mentioned and described. If you want to see it, park your drones in her backyard: I am not going to post it, because she arrowed it and the least thing I want is to have Ye Auld Wraith (or anyone, for that matter) on my back stat.

To make it clear: would it be for the first time in the history of mankind when a groupie checks in at the same hotel? But hey, let's be pessimistic for once and suppose she's the new Calendar Girl (based on what, I wonder). She went there, took the pic, leaked it and au revoir, les enfants. Fair's fair, for the Banana Boat Day-oh experience.

And then, we have the 'Fan Pic' who bamboozled the tired, weary masses, courtesy of the other Mordorian, CNN-style, news outlet. This I can post: I stole it from @bat-cat-reader and she never minds.

Conveniently, the woman who posted this very clear latergram does not comment. You bet she doesn't. So, I draw some arrows: let's see where they take us.

The hair is not right, as compared to Banana Boat Day-oh:

What do we say? One inch? One inch and a half longer? Three days later? I should pray for the same to happen to my waistline, but the other way round, then.

And then, also: where is...

Yeah: where's the scar, Sir?

Do you see it? I almost broke my nose and I haven't.

Irrespective of what Mordorian media reported, that is not an MPC rucksack, in the picture.

This is an MPC black rucksack:

Featuring this very peculiar fastening system:

The bag in the picture above has a different one and no visible beige reinforcements:

Maybe the MPC bag line did not exist on the surface of this planet when the pic was taken? Maybe he used a different bag (but we know he travels with those, nowadays) ? At any rate, that is not an MPC one.

And because the third time is always a charm, the Water Bottle. Also suggested (less insistently, though) as belonging to the MPC line.

This is an MPC Peaker water bottle:

With this type of bore:

The one in the picture is, again, different, IMHO, even if the image is very blurry:

I wanted to round this up with a bang and identify the damn logo, because I think it might provide very useful clues. I tried, damn I did, but was unsuccessful. I leave this to better sleuths than I.

Until further evidence, I stand on a very reserved ground concerning BBC. There is still absolutely nothing to write home about. But sure, go ahead and make up your own mind. By all means and I mean it. And sorry for the length of it, of course.

[edited for the fourth arrow]

Fuck, I forgot The Vest.

Weather forecast for yesterday, in Santa Monica, Ca.:

Why the vest on the same man who wrote in Waypoints:

Flying somewhere, perhaps?

172 notes · View notes

amywritesthings · 1 year

Text

about you. (cassian x you)

Pairing: Cassian Andor x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.6K

Summary: You are a rebel spy working as an escort at Canto Bight's cliffside casino. When Luthen cannot meet you for an intel exchange on New Year's Eve, he sends his best asset. Never in your wildest dreams did you think that meant you'd reunite with your former childhood best friend, Cassian Andor.

Warnings: New Year's Eve, Spy Thriller, Escort Service, Romantic Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, Reunions, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Mentions of Sex Work, Wall Pinning, New Year's Eve Kiss

A/N: Happy New Year, everyone! I had a fun holiday one shot idea and wanted to try my hand at writing Cassian Andor. I am wishing you all a happy & healthy new year, and I can't wait to continue writing in 2023.

( Read on AO3 )

Canto Bight is always bustling at New Year’s Eve.

It’s why Luthen Rael has shown up on your doorstep for the first time in months. In his not-so subtle way, the man requests (see: demands) that you float back to your old haunt, the one within the glittering halls of their monument cliffside casino, and do what you do you best: entertain as a partner experience escort for the rich and powerful.

The partner experience operation has been your designation from the very beginning of this rebellious calling. Your contribution to the rebellion, as he claims, is valuable — because the whispers in the night by decorated Imperials that feel safe in your company are priceless.

Whispers bring intel, and not even gold is as priceless as Imperial intel.

Luthen claims he knew of your potential the moment he laid eyes on you in a seedy dive bar on an Outer Rim moon. The little lamb far from her home planet Ferrix, looking fearful yet enraged all the same; starved, but most importantly willing to do anything to take down the Empire one domino at a time.

It was the type of spunk the older man needed in a claustrophobic world.

So you struck a deal: under trained supervision, you would run the casino circuits and red districts — never quite getting close enough to sleeping with the enemy (who knew the Empire thrived on humiliation and edging?) but enough to drug them, learn from them, then report back to him for the next move.

Rinse and repeat for six successful years.

And right now, you were supposed to be done. Find a small shack in the middle of nowhere knowing you did your part in the small but mighty agenda. Perhaps, eventually, you would find a way to make peace with your past and your present.

Then Luthen fucking Rael shows up at the stoop of said shack only six months later with a new opportunity.

A new strategy on the chess board.

(The rebellion, as he so candidly puts it, is never final.)

“Did you hear about what’s going on with Life Day this year on Canto Bight?” Luthen grunts, opting to stand by the doorway rather than a seat at your makeshift kitchen table.

You drop down unceremoniously with your arms at your sides. You know — and you know he knows — there is a blaster taped on the belly of the steel table should this be an unpleasant visit.

“You mean the Wookie holiday?”

“Hmm,” Luthen sounds, caught between a yes and a no. “Supposed to be the Wookie holiday, but it seems the Empire has allowed the casino a profitable chance to participate until the new year.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” you muse in return, surveying him. “When you say profitable, you mean—”

“Everyone who is anyone will be visiting.” Luthen never makes any sudden movements; always trapped sounding bored with this life he leads. It’s also a tactic not to play his cards too far from his chest. “They’ll be running the gambit for paid time off.”

Smile bland, you nod once. “Which is code for… you need someone on the inside.”

“For the season,” he agrees, shifting his weight. “A gift to the faces who may have missed you.”

“Missed me?”

“I hear about the Diamond quite a lot.”

Their precious Diamond.

Maker, that nickname always made your skin crawl.

You huff, rubbing your nose with the back of your thumb. “Flattery gets you nowhere with me, Luthen, you know that.”

He takes a pause, small eyes observing everything that you do. Updating a mental database logging your quirks and your discomfort to cipher for a later date — that’s all he’s ever done, study and download people, and he’s done so without error yet.

(It’s why he’s never been caught.)

“It isn’t flattery,” he finally says. “It’s an opportunity.”

To do everything we couldn’t the first time, is what he really implies.

It’s feeding an addiction no amount of dead fascists will be able to quench.

“And how do I tell them why I want the job back after I quit?”

“Your mother was very ill. You needed to help with her expenses,” Luthen fabricates from thin air. “It was easiest to part ways without the low note on your record. But the credits have dried up, and their clientele will be thankful of the casino’s decision to allow you back on the floor.”

It’s your turn to pause — to study. He gives away nothing. You lean forward to rest your elbows on the tops of your thighs.

“You think that’ll work?”

“You’ll sell it,” is all he gives back like you’ve already said yes.

You’re supposed to be out.

(Do you want to be out?)

No.

No, you don’t.

Getting the job back at the casino as a specialized escort is easy. The difficulty lies in remembering how to fall into old, subtle habits when all you want to do is cause chaos. Staying engaged while chatting up Imperial scum as they spittle in their expensive liquors and moan about the woes of their occupations and agenda can only go on for so long.

Yet you laugh with the rest of them once they’re kissing your feet and your hands, because everyone in this rebellion has a part to play.

(Our loveliest of diamonds, back to see us once again.)

Luthen, of course, never leaves you to your own devices for long. Gifting a hefty sum of credits and a bag of dissolvable sedatives every time he passes through Canto Bight as his alter ego is about as noble as the illusive man gets.

You fill small briefcases with voice memos and holovideos of nightly conversations, drunken manifestos and slippery plans.

It works.

By some miracle, you have never been caught.

New Year’s Eve is filled to the brim with Imperial guards enjoying time off from their grueling schedules. Some of the higher commanding officers already have their arms draped over people inviting them to a great time. Others chase after the debauchery promised by scantily clad creatures inviting them into the halls and out of their money.

You? Have a booking in advance: a high-ranking officer, but not within the Inner Circle.

According to Luther, he’s a valuable asset double-crossing their superiors.

A plant.

You are to deliver the intel to him under Luthen’s command and trust.

(Ironic. You always believed Luthen trusted no one.)

At the final half hour of the year’s end, you round the corner from the main entertainment room and down the hallway towards the private event spaces. A multitude of sounds are muffled by the doors — some good, some not so. Your focus is set on the twelfth door where your officer awaits, and suddenly you feel nervous all over again.

Meeting one of Luthen’s other operatives feels all too daunting.

After a moment, you place your code into the code box by the door and wait for the durasteel to slide, revealing the plush crimson meeting space. It's staged with a convenient king-sized bed and a vanity for refreshment, inviting comfort and suggesting the obvious.

What greets you as the door opens — a silhouette at the edge of the bed, dressed in Imperial formals — is not what you envisioned.

The man’s hair is what you notice first: disheveled brown locks are combed back neatly, smoothed by gel to keep the unruliness at bay. The jacket’s shoulders are a little too pointed, as if he’s not grown into his uniform quite yet — or like he’d stolen it on his way into the venue. The lines on his faces aren’t new, but aren’t old. He’s tired — so fucking tired, but he sits taller the second the door opens.

The blank expression on his face is purposeful, almost doe-eyed, with a feigned, smug-like innocence only an Imperial officer would wear.

Then his gaze travels from your open-toed shoes, up your bodysuit dress of sequins, and locks onto your face.

Just like that, the façade is broken.

What once was blank now hardens, wholly confused, before the lines on his prominent brow smooth with recognition.

Cassian.

Of all the idiots in all the galaxy, Cassian Andor is dressed as an Imp in your meeting space on the eve of the new year.

And you thought, with this rebellion, that you’d seen everything.

While the officer in disguise is much older than what your memory recalls, you could never forget that face even if the Empire tried. The feeling of dirt under your fingernails, the scent of rubber burning, the spark of an electric charge from a stolen piece of property — it all floods back in a tidal wave, almost knocking you a step back into the hallway.

On Ferrix, Cassian Andor always ran around with different people — sometimes it was Bix when she wasn’t punished for entertaining teen scoundrels; sometimes it was other boys in scrappy brawls and mended machinery; most of the time, however, it was you.

Hand and hand, causing mayhem in the bright suns and the full moons. He'd shown you what it meant to stand up for yourself. To want what you want and not apologize for it. To be bold, even at the expense of disruption.

And then he’d pummel whatever wayward eye looked at you the wrong way.

Trouble.

Cassian Andor was so much trouble, and you were mad for it.

Your last memory of him is as vivid as the neon lights lining the ceiling: you're both sixteen years old and shoulder-to-shoulder on an inclined metal slab, staring up at the stars. He's wearing that jacket from his father and hasn't combed his hair in days. You're lost in telling him about your dreams of a better tomorrow, of one day leaving Ferrix for good and making a difference in the vastness of the galaxy despite how small you feel. He laughs, a hum more than anything else, and takes your hand in his.

You're too afraid to squeeze back.

Having Cassian poke fun of the idea of doing much of anything in the galaxy never felt like he mocked you for wanting to try. More than anything, his laugh was one of envy: he couldn’t afford dreams, so you dreamt for the both of you. He couldn’t handle intimacy, so you were satisfied with resting your hand in his the entire night.

Nothing was said. Nothing had changed.

He gave what he could, and you understood.

Childhood friendship has a funny way of feeling that simple.

Cassian, however, never truly chose to change with you. He never truly chose anyone, not really, not when he had so much to give — to his mother, to his scrapyard confidantes, to Bix.

You fit somewhere in the chapters of his life, but Cassian Andor could never tell you which ones. He could not, and would not, promise someone tomorrow.

An unfinished book.

You never did tell him where you were going after hitching a ride on that stock transport to get the hell out of Ferrix for good. Not a single holocard or a note.

Just… gone, into the galaxy, to dream.

Now he sits in front of you at the edge of your meeting space bed, threatening to ruin your calculated cover in one-fell swoop.

Before Cassian can implode your operation, you turn on the mask: with a bright smile and squared shoulders, you gesture to the plush furniture of the room. “Is it to your liking, Mr. —?”

You trail off on your question to give him a chance to speak.

Cassian blinks a few times, only to remember himself.

“Raoul,” he blurts without dismissing his accent, eyes widening with an unspoken question: what are you doing here? “Sargeant Murl Raoul.”

Maker, you haven’t heard that voice in so long.

It’s deeper now. Rusty. Scratched.

“Sargeant,” you correct pleasantly, taking a step into the bedroom to toe the perimeter. Cassian pulls the geometric gray hat clear from his head, balling it in his fist, but you raise a palm at the hip when his mouth opens: don’t.

He listens, pressing his lips together with purpose.

“I asked if this room was to your liking," you repeat.

Cassian struggles with an answer, studying you with concern. You hate it. You hated it back on Ferrix when he tried to play protector, and a decade and a half apart doesn’t dilute the emotion.

Your brows rise, and he clears his throat. “I— yes, I am quite comfortable.”

“Good,” you conclude with a small nod. “Now before I join you and get more comfortable, do you have any questions for me?”

“More comfortable?” he asks a little too fast, so you recover with a glide of your hand along your sparkling thigh.

“Can’t do much when I’m in this old thing,” you coo, that stage performer voice now sounding so phony to your ears with a known audience. “Shouldn’t take long.”

Cassian runs the tip of his tongue along the seam off his lips, shifting his seat on the mattress. “I suppose I could ask how… uh, how long have you been doing… this?”

You don’t know if he’s asking about the escort arrangement or the Informant position, which further complicates the game. The odds of Cassian showing up on Canto Bight should be slim. Cassian wearing an Imperial outfit on his own ought to be slim to none.

But appearing in your private meeting space, fake alias and all?

Your blood runs cold with truth between the lines.

(Luthen never does anything by accident.)

This meeting — reuniting Cassian and yourself — is his test, a judgment call, but you refuse to let Luthen win the game with this surprise hand.

“Years,” you answer honestly, to both.

You continue to face him as you skirt around the left side of the sparkling vanity, not taking any chances with your former friend. Your manicured fingers glide along the mirror’s back, searching for the planted Imperial wire.

(Not only are they cruel, but perverted in their efforts to catch spies.)

“So then you are... experienced?” The question comes out rougher than you believe he intends. Gruff, like he’s embarrassed to even ask.

(The question almost — almost — makes your face burn.)

“If you’re worried that you won’t have a good time, Sergeant, then I promise they sent you to me for a reason. I’m going to take great care of you.”

Cassian’s expression darkens at this as he rises to his feet with purpose.

You rip the microphone from the back of the mirror, holding the device between your index and middle finger for show.

This stops him from moving ahead, eyes locked on the microphone before flickering back to you. You shake your head.

I said don’t.

He nods once, and you take the microphone between your hands. With two clicks, the wire cover pops open, displaying a multitude of tiny wires. You fidget between two, pulling, until the red eye at the center of the device dissolves into black.

The room is blanketed with silence.

Now it’s just you and a ghost here.

“We’re clear,” you tell him after another beat, dropping the seductive aloofness in your tone.

Cassian’s shoulders drop a fraction of an inch. “That was fast.”

Your brow picks up that fraction, raising high. “You have to dismantle them fast."

“Let me take a look at it,” Cassian replies, tossing the hat twisted in his hands to the mattress. "Are you certain it's off?"

“Positive,” you say, sheltering the item closer to your chest. “You don't need to look at it. Easy to disable and reassemble at a moment’s notice, so I’ll turn it back on when you depart.”

“What about lost footage?”

“Chalk it up as faulty equipment they’re too stubborn to replace in a shithole like this.”

Cassian mulls over your answer, taking a cautious few steps forward to observe the small device in your hand. “Imperial-grade wires are tough to work with. A five-second warning doesn’t give many people time to disable the alarm,” he informs in a whispered afterthought. “Where did you learn to do that?”

In your bones, you know it’s a trick question.

Fifteen-something years of reuniting in a moment like this comes with immense drawbacks. When he asks, it is not out of curiosity — it is out of the desire to see if you are truly you.

(Because he remembers your face, too.)

“On Ferrix,” you reply.

He gives no reaction, continuing to deadpan. “Where on Ferrix?”

“You want me to remember from that long ago?” you laugh, placing the microphone on the vanity’s surface and following up with a thick blue cloth to drape over top of it.

“Humor me,” he reasons, flexing his leather-clad fingers at his sides. Now that he doesn’t have a distraction, Cassian doesn’t stop looking at your face.

(The same intensity as the boy without dreams.)

“The old Slavyard. There was that one incredibly rainy month when those prim and proper freaks—”

“—installed the spyware on the back door in the middle of the night,” he interrupts, finishing the story with a misplaced awe under his breath. “You played lookout while I disabled the devices.”

You don’t answer, not really, as you offer a half-hearted smile. “Say what you want about that place, but you learn a lot of things when you watch restless boys who never know when to stop getting in trouble.”

The return smile is small and fleeting, but the corner of Cassian’s lip upticks. His brows knit together, contemplating before a huff of a laugh exits. “Not a very good lookout, then, if you were so busy watching me.”

“You never got caught, though, did you?” you joke.

You swear he almost laughs.

The silence settles at your ankles and rises with each passing second, encompassing you both in a shroud of possibilities: pleasantries are nice, but the popping of bottles and shouts of celebration passing by your room brings you both back to a reality where you’re playing pretend.

Cassian huffs once more, running a hand down his face and around his neck before dropping it in a gesture towards you. “He cannot be serious.”

He.

You catch that pronoun with intrigue and tilt your chin.

“Serious about what? Who’s ‘he’?”

His voice softens, shrinking in size, as he nears half a step closer and into your bubble. “Don’t tell me it’s you.” You maintain eye contact — maintain dominance of this situation — and stay in place. “When he said to wait…”

“...for the Informer, you didn’t think you’d run into a ghost?” you finish, and he’s polite enough not to nod. “He only told me the person he was sending in his stead was one of his best assets. This reunion isn’t my doing.”

“No,” Cassian agrees, low and certain. “It isn’t.”

Because Luthen knows.

Luthen knows, and that’s dangerous in and of itself: his little lamb on Ferrix knew his most trusted asset long before the mastermind was in the picture, and this sabotage is meant to figure you out.

(To figure you both out for his own gain: to make sure you were both up for the task, history aside.)

Your jaw clenches as you nod with assertion, mindful of the train of your body-tight dress when you shift around Cassian to create some space. He turns his torso, following.

“Did he force you to do this?” When you pause in your steps to quirk a brow, he struggles with verbalizing what this means. “Entertaining these low lives while they piss their credits away.”

“Very strong words for someone dressed as an Imp.”

He completely ignores you, hyper in his budding rage. “Because if anyone has touched you—”

“No one’s forcing me to do anything, Cass,” you reply, hateful that the former nickname leaves your lips so fluidly; as if no time has passed. “We’re all cogs working for the same machine.”

“That doesn’t mean he should be having you do this on your own,” the man argues. “He’s not even on the planet, for fuck’s sake. This is dangerous work.”

“You keep saying this or that, but you’re not really asking the real question.” Your nose scrunches, maliciously playful. “I don’t fuck them. It’s pretend, Cassian. My honor is intact.”

Cassian squints with a scoff. “That isn’t what I meant—”

“It isn’t?” you challenge.

“No,” he responds just as fast and just as intense. A smirk plays on your lips, slow and growing. “Fuck whoever you’d like to fuck. One or a dozen, I don’t care, but not them. They don’t deserve you.”

“And who does?”

“I don’t know, but not Luthen or the pieces of shit out there or anyone on this planet.”

“Not even you, right?”

He stares down at you, hard. You snort in disbelief.

“I never thought I’d see the day where Cassian Andor is jealous of a body count, but I guess stranger things have happened for both of us.”

Cassian’s jaw sets, nostrils flaring with an anger he refuses to bury completely. He searches your face, lost on a response, before sharply inhaling through his nose.

“I need information on your regulars.”

Ah.

No more games.

You roll your eyes, absently waving him off as you turn to walk towards the crate-like nightstand. “I have the files on a drive.”

No more games, or so you thought — Cassian follows close behind. “Drives are easily corruptible or lost or stolen. You could just tell me.”

Your hand hovers on the drawer when you turn your chin to look at him. “Yeah, sure, let me just… tell you about a mission I’ve spent years finessing so you can get the details wrong when you relay with Luthen.”

“Do you think so little of my memory skills?” he says and it’s a joke, but it teeters on the edge of an argument.

Just like old times.

You don’t need this type of deja vu before the new year.

“Whisper down the lane only goes so far,” you answer, turning back to the drawer in front of you. Your hand lifts the edge of the bottom plate, removing a small box from the center of the hidden compartment.

You only pause when you feel his presence right behind you as soft puffs of air tickle the back of your exposed neck.

He says nothing, not at first, in this proximity. Then a syllable sounds:

“Why?”

The question is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it whisper. His voice flutters along your skin, causing a shiver down your spine. Deep down you know he’s not asking about the drive or your distaste for his preferred method of relay. Why — the one word you hoped to never face.

If you concentrate hard enough, you can smell the scent of his cologne.

It smells nothing like Cassian.

You stay focused on a miniscule dot on the wall, too afraid to turn around.

“We can’t do this here,” you murmur, barely audible in return.

“I paid for the hour,” he replies. “If I were to leave ten minutes into your company, then there would be questions.”

(He’s right. As much as you hate it, your former friend is right.)

You raise your chin to the ceiling, closing your eyes. Contemplating. Seeking anything, everything, to say to avoid what’s to come.

You open your mouth to speak, but Cassian gets there first.

“I looked for you.” A vulnerable statement from an impenetrable man. His chin leans forward, the warmth of him spreading to your aura. “In dozens of quadrants—”

“Cassian.”

“—and about a hundred planets—”

“Stop.”

“—but you left nothing.” The final word emphasizes with raw emotion, causing your throat to swell. His gloved hand rests on your tricep, but you turn to finally face him. The closeness of him is a surprise — piercing brown eyes meet yours with mere centimeters between noses. “No note, no goodbye, no telling where you might have headed. Nothing.”

Frowning, you don’t realize that you’re shaking your head. The lines on his face are too distracting. He is distracting.

“You were never supposed to see me again.”

“And I never understood why.” He steps forward. You step back. When you think he won’t advance, he continues to step once, twice, until the third lands your back to the corner of the room. “So I am asking — now — while I can still have you: why?”

While I can still have you. You know the implication isn’t there, not truly, but your heart aches for it. The tension makes you feel so small, as if you’re eighteen and flying all over again.

You’re supposed to be over this; over him.

“I had to start new,” you answer after a considerable pause, forcing yourself to look him in the eye in what little space is held between you. “I was always going to leave Ferrix.”

“I knew that,” he argues softly. “I was never going to deter you from—”

“No. No, you were never going to,” you agree, nodding. “But you were always off and on the planet, doing what you had to for everyone else. If I didn’t cut Ferrix out of my life, then I wonder if I would have had the same fate as my parents or my friends: getting stuck there. And not just getting stuck, but waiting.”

“Waiting?” Cassian asks with confusion, brows knit.

You relax against the wall with a humorless laugh. “How did you not see it? The way I always waited for you.” Anxious, you turn your cheek to check the main door as you mull over your next few words. “I would have waited my whole life for you.”

The air in the room shifts.

Although he remains in your peripheral vision, the man stays staring at you without a discernible expression. The gravity of what you’re admitting drags lower, lower, until he says something that forces you to look at him head-on:

“I thought you were indifferent to me.”

Your eyes widen. “Indifferent?”

Cassian nods, short and quick. “You had all these big plans. I listened for hours. Not one of them involved me.”

“Because I didn’t think you’d want to be a part of those plans.”

“Maybe I didn’t think I couldn’t make a difference, not in a… rebellion, though the irony is not lost on me now,” he admits with a huff of a laugh, “but I wanted to be a part of you. I didn’t care what it was, so long as I still had you.”

You stare at him as he stares back at you, totally dumbfounded with this brand new information. Cassian swallows thickly, shifting his weight yet again from one leg to another. The loud party continues outside of your room, drowning these confessions in the excitement for a nearing midnight.

You had all these big plans.

Memories warp at a second’s notice as your brain tries to understand what he’s laid at your altar.

Not one of them involved me.

He shouldn’t be saying this.

He shouldn’t be saying any of this.

Closing your eyes to find a pause in your racing thoughts, you try — try to find where perhaps this is fabricated, designed to see if you’re easily swayed by the past that you so desperately let die in this rebellion.

Slowly, your eyelids flutter open. Cassian is watching with something close to concern.

(Something, maybe, closer to fear.)

You gently shake your head. “This is a test.”

“I know.”

“Luthen did this—”

“Fuck Luthen,” he breathes out, eyes dropping to stare at your lips, and your heartbeat quickens.

His brows meet in the middle, concentrated yet lost — as if he’s back on Ferrix, scrawny and scrappy and calculating the gravity of the risk should he decide to steal or trespass —

Or do something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Cassian.”

Your voice is gentle with a warning. His eyes do not raise, but he does answer.

“What?”

“You have that look on your face.”

“I have a look?”

“When you’re contemplating doing something stupid? Yes.”

He snorts, amused. “You remember what that looks like after fifteen years?”

“It's very hard to forget it.”

He mulls the moment over, flickering his attention back up to your eyes and nodding.

“You’re right. I am thinking of doing something stupid.”

“How stupid?”

“Incredibly.”

A beat passes.

Finally he blinks up to your eyes, searching for an answer to a question he hasn’t asked yet. You wait, just as you’ve always waited, to hear his voice.

“It’s almost midnight,” he says, flexing the leather gloved hand at his side. “I should go.”

Everything sinks.

The crowd outside grows louder as people depart from their private rooms to celebrate in the middle of the casino. Everyone begins the unison countdown of the final minute until the new year rings out.

The device in your hand grows heavy — a reminder of why he’s here in the first place, what Luthen will be looking for, yet your arm cannot rise to give it over.

(A few more minutes and he’ll be gone.)

To find a reason to keep him here with you would be selfish.

Instead of protesting, you nod.

“Yeah. You should go.”

He nods, too, and his throat bobs with a swallow.

Outside your door, their laughter and shouts reach a collective ten, nine, eight, seven…

Yet he doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

Six, five, four, three…

“Cass?”

Two.

Cassian speaks with broken finality, rushed and wanting. “I can't go without—”

You beat him to it.

Canto Bight’s cliffside casino roars with excitement of the new year while you grab the lapel of his Imperial uniform, dragging him in as he simultaneously launches his lips to yours.

The force of him smacks your head into the wall, but the stars behind your eyes aren’t from impact. It’s from the way he presses his mouth to yours, desperate to pour years of frustration and wonder into a long-awaited kiss. You whimper into it, eager to dissolve any space between you.

Cassian Andor cages your head into the palms of his gloved hands, holding you with a tenderness and strength only he can have. He groans into your mouth when he tastes you, tongue dragging along your lower lip — the neediness of it is enough to make your knees give out.

Except he drops his hands to your shoulders and spins you, pressing your chest into the wall. Using your hands to balance yourself, Cassian wastes not a second more to place his hands over yours, pinning you in place.

“We should have — opened with a fight,” he murmurs breathlessly into your ear, kissing your earlobe before bringing it into his mouth.

You bite back a moan, dropping your forehead to the wall. “If I'd known you wanted to kiss me after all this time, Cass, then I would have — gone straight past a fight and went for it.”

He chuckles behind you, letting go of your earlobe to travel kisses down the side of your neck.

“There is a lot I wanted to do back then, but I was too chickenshit to try it.”

The imagery of a lot burns into the back of your skull.

“And now?” you ask, but it’s wavered.

Cassian slows down, but his lips remain against the crook of your neck. You mourn the loss of speed, pushing your hips back to connect with his.

A hand shoots down to still your waist as his thumb runs soothing strokes into the skintight dress.

“Not here,” he decides, but it isn’t regretful. It’s determined. “When I see you again—”

“When?” you interrupt.

“When,” he enforces, squeezing your waist, “I see you again, I’ll do what I’ve been too chickenshit to do and it won’t be under a watchful eye.”

When I see you again.

You smile small, delirious in the haze of him.

“Is that a promise?”

“As good as I can make one,” he responds in earnest, turning to leave a small kiss on your cheek. “You’re not losing me so easily this time.”

And you believe him.

Misunderstandings, miscommunications — all of that hardship to end up here, of all places.

You have so much to learn.

(He has so much to hear.)

Even if this was Luthen’s doing, even if this was a test of faith, you cannot find a reason to care. Not when your lips still tingle with the kiss you’d only dreamt about your entire life.

Reaching for his arm, you gently bring his free hand to yours and place the small drive in the middle of his palm. Cassian’s chin drops to observe the tiny metal, jaw setting to its unreadable clench.

Because at the end of the night, you both still have jobs to do.

A new year.

(A new horizon.)

“Until next time,” you say, removing your hand from his.

Cassian curls his fingers over the drive, shoving the small device in his coat pocket. He flexes and raises his hand to bring it up to your cheek, cradling your face once more as he leans in for one final kiss. This time it’s softer. Timid.

The closest Cassian Andor can ever get to a promise.

He pulls away, nose to nose, and mirrors in reply.

“Until next time.”

#andor #cassian andor #cassian andor x reader #cassian andor x you #cassian andor x female reader #cassian andor x f!reader #andor tv #andor tv series #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars #andor fanfiction #cassian andor fanfiction #luthen rael #female reader #reader insert #new years eve #about you #amywritesthings

669 notes · View notes

smilingformoney · 5 months

Text

Rickmas 2023: Day 15. Cards and Coals | PL/Reader

AN: This one dedicated to @serenanight87 who keeps begging for more smut and is definitely getting coal in her stocking this year 😏

Content warning: set in a rehab clinic, mentions of suicide

Read now on Ao3 or below the cut:

You had been in the rehab clinic for a little over three months now, and it was starting to look like you were going to be there over Christmas too. You could always discharge yourself, of course, as you were there voluntarily, but really you knew it was the right thing to stick around.

You were alone in the rec room, writing out a Christmas card to your family with a cigarette between your lips, when you heard the voice of one of the orderlies showing a new patient around.

“Oh, and there’s [Y/n]! Her room is right across from yours. [Y/n], you’ve got a new neighbour! This is Paul.”

You looked up to see that your new neighbour was a man in his late forties and strikingly handsome with a mop of blonde hair.

“Everyone calls me PL,” the handsome man said. He seemed stable enough, but then again so did a lot of people in this place until something went wrong.

“Well, how about I leave you two to get to know each other?” the orderly said before scurrying off, leaving you alone with PL.

You leaned back and looked him up and down as he sat down across the table from you with a sigh.

“Let’s see…” you said thoughtfully. “Suicide attempt?”

PL raised an eyebrow at you. “What makes you think that?”

“I have a radar for these sorts of things,” you grinned. “What’d you do?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was innocent?”

You laughed.

“Go on, you can tell me, it gets out eventually. I’ll show you mine, look.”

You pushed back your hair slightly to show him an angry red mark on the side of your head.

“My mam always did say I had a thick skull. Can’t even shoot myself right.”

PL stared at you, flabbergasted. “You shot yourself and survived?”

“Bullet couldn’t get past my skull. Rubbish bullet, if you ask me. Go on, then. I showed you mine, you show me yours.”

“I really didn’t try to kill myself,” PL insisted. “I slipped and fell into the bay. Doctors wouldn’t listen when I said it was an accident.”

“Ah… so you’re here involuntarily. Good luck with that! You’ll never get out.” You took a last puff from your cigarette and stumped it out. You glanced down at his hands, which were fidgeting slightly on the table. “Got a wife outside?” you asked.

“No. Got a husband?”

You scoffed. “Nope. Wanna fuck?”

“Do you proposition every newcomer here?”

“Nah. Just the hot ones. How about it? It has been a very long three months.”

PL looked you up and down, then shrugged. “Alright.”

***

A few minutes later, having dodged being spotted going back to the same room by an orderly, the door to your room closed behind you as PL pushed you up against it and locked his lips against yours. You opened your lips to let his tongue slip past, and already his hands were on your body, grabbing hungrily at you. You were horny and lonely, and he was hot, so you grabbed at him too, your lips separating briefly as you both pulled your tops off.

PL hesitated, staring at your body, one hand on your hip while the other caressed your breast through your bra.

“How old are you?” he asked quietly.

“Twenty-five. You?”

“Forty-nine. That alright?”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

He bent down on one knee and began nuzzling at your breasts, his nose caressing your skin as his tongue teased along the edge of your bra. He unzipped your trousers and pulled them down to your knees, causing you to gasp as the cold air hit your skin. His fingers danced along the edge of your knickers, then slid past to caress your lower lips.

Not having had sex in three months, you hadn’t groomed in all that time, but that didn’t seem to bother him. PL pulled down the cup of your bra and attached his lips to your nipple, at the same time pushing a finger up into you, easily aided by the liquid that had been pooling down there since you’d first laid eyes on him.

“Oh, fuck - PL…” you gasped, surprised that he was taking his time to explore you before even unzipping his trousers. You’d expected him to just ram it in as soon as he could, like every guy you’d ever been with before, but he seemed to be actually enjoying exploring your body.

Another finger joined the first, and you let out an embarrassing little whine when he scissored open his fingers, stretching your walls out. He let out a satisfied hum when he heard how much you were enjoying it, then with his spare hand he reached around your chest to unclasp your bra, which you promptly tossed aside.

PL released your breast from his mouth with a pop, leaving a shiny red mark behind around your nipple. He looked up at you, his amber eyes alight with mischief, and began thrusting his fingers up into you rapidly.

You cried out, and he had the nerve to shush you.

“Don’t want anyone to hear us, do we?” he said quietly, nodding at the door you were currently pressed up against.

“Bed,” you managed to say.

“If you insist.”

He withdrew his fingers from inside you, helped you step out of your trousers, and chuckled when you eagerly scurried over to your bed, which was hopefully far enough away that any orderlies walking by wouldn’t hear you. They never heard you touching yourself, or if they did they ignored it, but by the size of the bulge in PL’s trousers, you suspected you were going to be feeling a lot more pleasure today.

You sat on the side of the bed, and as soon as he got close enough, you hooked your finger under his waistband and pulled him closer.

“Someone’s eager,” he chuckled.

“Someone hasn’t been fucked in three months,” you replied with a grumble.

“Is that what you want?”

PL grabbed your wrists in his hands, stilling your fumbling attempts to get his trousers off.

“Do you want me to fuck you, [Y/n]?”

You looked up at him, and your cross expression only made him laugh.

“Yes. I think I made that pretty clear. Fucking ruin me, PL.”

“And you’re just across the hall from me…” PL said thoughtfully. He released your wrists from his grip, only to squeeze your cheeks to open your mouth, and he slid his fingers past your lips, and you tasted yourself on him.

“Suck me clean,” he growled. “Go on, I want to see how skilled you are with those lips of yours.”

You obeyed, wrapping your lips around his fingers entirely, your tongue running up and down his digits to lick your juices from his fingers. He watched you with a burning desire in his eyes while you took the opportunity while he was distracted to pull his trousers down, and you couldn’t help gasping around his fingers when his cock bounced out of his boxers. You could tell from his bulge that he was big, but you hadn’t realised he was that big.

PL chuckled and withdrew his fingers from your mouth. You reached for his cock, your mouth already open to take him, but he pulled your head back.

“Ah-ah,” he said, shaking his head. “If you do that, I might well finish before we get started. You said you wanted to fuck, and fuck we shall. Get on your back.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you said obediently, pushing yourself up the bed to lay your head on the pillows.

A strange look crossed PL’s face. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, sorry. Just slipped out.”

“It’s alright.” He pulled the rest of his clothes off until he was as naked as you, then climbed on top of you, crushing you beneath him with his weight, and you felt the tickle of his cockhead brushing against your thigh. His lips grazed against your neck, and he held your body flush against his, as if he knew how much the pressure of lying underneath him turned you on.

“Twenty-five, you say?” he mumbled as he raised his head to look at you.

“Yes,” you replied breathily, wondering why he was age checking you again.

“And you… know your parents?”

“God, I talk about them enough during therapy every week, I don’t want to talk about them now,” you complained, your hips wriggling underneath him as your cunt tried desperately to seek him out.

“But you do know them?”

You frowned at him. He was being completely bloody serious.

Well, maybe he was nuts enough to be here after all.

“Yeah, yeah, I know them. They’re paying for me to be here.”

“Alright.”

He slowly thrust his hips forward, his cock sliding against you, just missing where you wanted him, and you whined in frustration.

“PL, please, please, oh my god, I fucking need you to fuck me. Please, please…” You begged, almost crying with need, and PL sighed.

“Alright, alright! Jesus.”

He reached down between you and took his cock in his hand to guide it to your entrance.

“Yes, yes, PL, please, fuck - fuck!” You gasped as he finally, finally entered you, his girth stretching you out so sweetly as he sheathed himself inside you.

PL let out a long moan of satisfaction when he bottomed out inside you.

“Oh, that feels so good,” you sighed with relief, feeling that sweet burn you’d missed so much. And was it just because you’d gone so long without sex, or was the stretch even better than you remembered? Then again, PL was definitely the biggest cock you’d ever taken, and it felt fucking fantastic.

He began thrusting inside you, slowly, and he pushed himself up so that he was looking down at you, and all you could see above you was him, his gorgeous hairless chest and his pleasure-addled expression.

“Faster,” you begged, your hips trying fruitlessly to thrust up against him from below, but he had you too trapped to give you any space to move. “Please, faster, faster…”

“Hungry little thing, aren’t you?” PL smirked.

“Yes! Yes, I’m fucking desperate, PL, please. You can fuck me slowly some other time, we’ve got months, but I really need to be railed, please.”

“Alright, then.”

You groaned in relief as his hips snapped faster against yours, finally bringing you the pleasure you’d been craving so desperately. He felt so damn good inside you, just big enough to stretch you out without hurting, and when he sat up on his knees a little more, his angle changed and his cockhead found your G-spot, causing you to cry out in pleasure.

“Thought we didn’t want to get caught?” PL smirked.

“Don’t - care - fuck, that’s so good - god, you’re gonna make me cum so hard, PL…”

“Is that a promise?”

“Yes!”

PL grinned and threw his head back, his eyes closed, and you both lost yourselves in the ecstasy of your violent pleasure. There was nothing else in the world, nothing at all, just you and him and the smacking of his skin against yours, your groans and breathy mutterings of yes and please and so good.

Your groans peaked into a cry of pleasure when you felt PL’s thumb pressing at your clit, rubbing around the juices that were leaking from where the two of you joined. You grabbed at his thighs, desperate for more of him, and your nails dug into his skin as you felt an explosion of pleasure within you, causing your entire body to violently shake as you came harder than you had in what felt like an age.

With a gorgeous girl underneath him, screaming his name as she writhed in pleasure, what else could PL do but cum? Your channel clenched around him as he shot his seed inside you and you milked him dry for all he had. His groan was deep, guttural, animalistic and absolutely fucking beautiful.

He dropped your legs, his energy spent, and had to stop himself from collapsing on top of you, as much as you wanted his body weight on you.

“Fucking hell, [Y/n],” he panted. “I’d have gone to rehab a lot earlier if I’d known this was what it was like.”

You laughed. “A bunch of sad, isolated fucked up people confined to one building - what did you think was gonna happen?”

PL pulled out of you and rolled over to prop himself up on his elbow next to you. “And you say you’ve not fucked since you got here?”

You shrugged. “Doesn’t feel right… like I’m taking advantage of their vulnerability, y’know? But you’re hot, and you’re not supposed to be here either, so I figured it’s alright. Hang on, I gotta go to the bathroom.”

When you returned, PL was unfortunately now wearing his boxer shorts again, but he was still on your bed, so you took that as a win.

“What do you mean, I’m not supposed to be here either?” he asked curiously.

You froze in the middle of climbing underneath the blanket. Oh, damn. You hadn’t meant to say that.

Your hand flew to your scar instinctively, and you sighed.

“I didn’t shoot myself,” you admitted. “I said I did it myself to cover for the person who did.” You looked up at him urgently. “Don’t tell anyone, please. I don’t want him to go to prison.”

“Him?”

“Not the kind of him you’re thinking. We’re related, let’s leave it at that.”

PL glanced away, his eyes looking distant for a brief moment, then he shook his head as if to shake off whatever thought had crossed his mind.

“I should be ready to go again in about ten minutes if you like,” he suggested. “Since you’re so determined to set the speed, maybe you can take charge this time.”

“Are you asking me to ride you, PL?” you asked flirtatiously. “You are a naughty one, aren’t you?”

“Santa’s definitely bringing me coal for my stocking this year.”

You laughed. “Alright. You know, I think we’re going to have a lot of fun here.”

#rickmas2023 #alan rickman #pl o’hara #an awfully big adventure #pl x reader

74 notes · View notes