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23victoria · 2 months ago

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just friends…right?

pairing: 𝒐𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓 𝒑𝒊𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒊 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

word count: 1.4𝒌

synopsis: 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔...𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕?

warnings: 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇, 𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒐𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔, 𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒆,

authors note: 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏. 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒕 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒕𝒚𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒐 𝒍𝒎𝒌 𝒊𝒇𝒖 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕! 𝒊 𝒂𝒎 𝒔𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒃 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆! 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈! 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚!!!

𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕?! CLICK HERE!

✰ F1 MASTERLIST ✰

You’ve been to plenty of races, but there’s something about coming home to Melbourne that feels different. It’s the first race of the season, and the familiar skyline, the smell of eucalyptus trees in the breeze—it all reminds you of when you and Oscar were just awkward teenagers in boarding school, dreaming big.

Now? He’s living his dream. And you’re standing trackside with a Paddock Pass clipped to your belt loop, his spare McLaren jacket drowning your frame because you forgot your own.

“Hydrate,” you say, pushing a cold bottle of water into Oscar’s hand as he’s pulling off his helmet after FP1.

He takes it, and without thinking, leans forward to press his forehead against your shoulder for just a moment—just a breath of stillness. It’s instinct now, the way you wrap an arm around his waist without blinking.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he mumbles into your shirt. His voice is muffled, but it sends butterflies into full flight.

Lando walks past, smirking. “Y’know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you two were secretly married.”

Oscar pulls away, rolling his eyes but grinning. “We’re not.”

You’re already used to this. Everyone assumes. How could they not? You’re always there—making sure he eats, making sure he sleeps, fixing his collar, hugging him before every quali.

You and Oscar in the same sentence always sounds like a love story.

And maybe… maybe you’re starting to wonder if everyone else knows something you don’t.

You’re pressed into a hug by Alexandra when Oscar appears at your side. He’s glowing—P3 today, his first podium of the season—and you beam as he walks up to you like you’re his finish line.

His hands immediately go to your waist like they always do when he lifts you up after a good result.

“I told you!” you shout over the noise. “P3! I called it this morning!”

Oscar spins you around like you weigh nothing and then sets you down, too close, forehead nearly touching yours. “You’re officially good luck,” he grins.

Ollie's nearby with Kimi, the two of them laughing as they watch the interaction unfold.

“Just friends, right?” Kimi teases, nudging Ollie who tries to look innocent.

“Very convincing,” Ollie snorts. “If my best friend looked at me like that, I’d be questioning everything.”

You shoot them a glare, cheeks hot, but Oscar doesn’t even look flustered. He just shakes his head with a tiny smirk.

“You guys are unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath.

But you see the way he’s still holding your hand.

It’s pouring rain. The race is delayed. You’re wrapped in Oscar’s spare hoodie because your suitcase got lost in transit, and you’re curled up in a hospitality room on the floor, your legs over his lap as he scrolls through his phone.

Outside, the track is flooded. Inside, it’s warm. Safe.

He taps on a post and shows you.

It’s a fan edit. Of you and him.

Clips from the paddock, your hugs, the way he looks at you when you’re not watching, a slow-motion shot of him tucking your hair behind your ear.

“‘Just friends’ my ass,” the caption reads.

“Oh my god,” you groan, burying your face in a pillow.

Oscar just chuckles, low and fond. “They have better footage of us than F1TV.”

You peek up at him, suspicious. “You’re not embarrassed?”

He shrugs. “Nah. It’s kind of flattering.”

“Kind of?” you tease.

Oscar looks down at your legs draped across his and then gently squeezes your ankle. “I mean, I don’t blame them.”

Your breath hitches.

He doesn’t elaborate.

You’re wearing that black silk dress he once said made you look “dangerous.” You’ve forgotten about the comment—until you catch Oscar staring across the dinner table a little too long.

“So,” Lando says, raising a glass, “how long have you two been secretly dating?”

You sigh.

“For the hundredth time,” you say patiently, “we are not dating.”

“That’s what all secretly dating people say,” Charles jokes, grinning into his wine.

Even Max leans back with a raised brow. “You spend every weekend together, wear his clothes, and you call each other before every quali. But sure. Best friends.”

Ollie raises a hand. “I’d just like to point out she kissed his helmet before Quali in Hungary last year. You’re telling me that’s not love?”

“It’s tradition,” you protest.

“Your face was red for an hour,” Kimi deadpans.

Oscar laughs, shaking his head. “You’re all insane.”

But his voice is too fond. Like he doesn’t actually hate the teasing.

And his hand brushes yours under the table for a second too long to be accidental.

It’s scorching, and Oscar’s nearly melting in his race suit. You show up to his garage with a small handheld fan and his favorite electrolyte drink, holding them up like a peace offering.

“You’re going to owe me foot rubs for this.”

He chuckles. “Foot rubs?”

“I’ve walked, like, four kilometers today.”

Oscar takes the drink and the fan, then grabs your wrist and pulls you toward the garage. “Come sit down. You look like you’re about to faint.”

“I’m fine.”

“Y/N.”

He gives you that look—the one he only reserves for you. Stern, sweet, worried.

So you sit, and his hand doesn’t leave yours for at least ten minutes.

When Andrea, his engineer, comes by, he raises a brow. “You’re attached at the hip. One day I’m going to find you two fused together.”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “We’re just friends, mate.”

“Right,” Andrea replies dryly. “And I’m Batman.”

You can’t sleep.

The hotel room next to yours is Oscar’s. You knock lightly, and he opens it almost immediately, like he was waiting for you.

“Can’t sleep,” you whisper.

He nods, steps aside.

You both lie on his bed in the dark, facing the ceiling. Eventually, you roll to your side to look at him. “Do you ever think about how long it’s been?”

He turns to you, brows raised. “What?”

“Us. Being like this.”

Oscar’s quiet for a moment. “Since we were thirteen, yeah?”

“Boarding school. The cracked dorm windows. You stealing my notes.”

“Hey, you stole my snacks.”

You laugh quietly, and he’s watching you now, really watching.

“You were always there,” you murmur. “Every big moment of my life, you’ve been there.”

Oscar nods. “Same.”

The silence is thick. Heavy.

“You ever think about what that means?” you whisper.

He blinks slowly. “All the time.”

It’s raining again. Because of course it is.

You’re in the back of the garage, watching the screen, heart in your throat. Oscar’s fighting for P2. You’re squeezing a McLaren stress ball so hard your fingers hurt.

When he crosses the line in second, you scream. Literally. Everyone around you cheers, but you run.

You’re there before he even pulls off his gloves. You wait until he’s past media, past team debrief, and then you throw yourself into his arms, nearly knocking him off balance.

“You were incredible,” you whisper, voice breaking with pride.

He holds you tighter than he ever has before.

“You always believe in me,” he says quietly.

“I always will.”

And when you pull back, his hand finds your jaw like it’s second nature. His eyes flick down to your lips before returning to your eyes.

Neither of you says it. But you both know.

It’s late. Everyone’s left dinner. You and Oscar are walking towards his car.

You’re laughing about something—the memory of some dumb joke that Ollie and Lando were bickering over dinner—when Oscar suddenly stops walking, going quiet.

You look at him. “What?”

He swallows. “Do you ever wonder what would happen if we stopped saying we were just friends?”

Your breath catches.

“What if we stopped pretending?” he continues, voice low. “What if we just… told them they were right?”

You stare at him. “Oscar…”

“Y/N. I’ve been in love with you since I was seventeen.”

The world stills.

And then, before you can panic or think or overanalyze—

You kiss him.

It’s soft, warming, familiar, and long overdue.

When you pull back, he’s grinning like an idiot.

“Took you long enough,” he whispers.

You smack his shoulder, giggling, with slight tears in your eyes. “Shut up.”

His fingers are laced with yours. And you don’t let go. You rest your head on his shoulder, looking up at him lovingly—like he’s the only thing in the world that makes sense.

✰༞𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!࿎✰@ham1lton @ietss @animeandf1lover @nelly187 @heartsfromtaeyong @bloodyymaryyy @nor-4 @zacian117 @mel164 @uhhvictoria @hadidsworld @zabwlky1999 @sya-skies @lillysbigwilly @avengers-assemble123456 @santanasaintmendes @km-23mr @hookhausenschips @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @Ronpho @minekarina @aeongism @Formula1-motogpfa @slagclarens @aleexvqa @f1updates4you @booksandflowrs @chaostudee @winkev1 @strawblueberrys @Blakesbearblog @cel-b @perfumejamal @aykxz98 @pandora-08 @teti-menchon0604 @bxtosa @fadingcloudballoon @whatevenisthisxxxxx @anamiad00msday @luula @tellybearryyyy @exotic-iris13 @magixpracticality @eoduuung @eternoangel @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @flowerpetalk @oledoledoffen @jimcarreyfann42 @revolutionsingingintherain @acesbakery @oliviah-25 @matcha—-matcha @unkownmystery_22 @sophienorris18-blog @armystay89 @paucubarsisimp

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megumiluvv · 11 months ago

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Cutie pie

#this chapter was worth the yap #he’s so cute #BABY YUJI IS SO ADORABLE #ꨄ zero yaps a lot #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk spoilers #jjk leaks #jjk 265 #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #yuji itadori #yuuji itadori #itadori yuji #itadori yuuji

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fataleliebe · 20 days ago

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𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 — ♥︎ a jackson!Ellie & fem reader story. (Part II)

This work is +18. Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked.

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Content Warnings: smut, top!Ellie, angst, mentions of alcohol & weed, tension, subtle jealousy, cheating, if you close your eyes you might feel the concept of fluff! (You literally will not!), word vomited & now this is way longer than anticipated. Oops! Enjoy! #FirstFanfic #Sorry

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Ellie can’t escape you.

She discerns the faint melody of your voice in her guitar. You haunt her mind whenever she glances at the dusted, piled collections of her interests—those nights replaying like a film she never should’ve lived. She’d go off on awkward tangents, talking without a moment of breath when Dina and Jesse would fade off into the background. Your eyes would never leave hers.

You’re in the poems she writes. The curve of her letters always, without fail, morphs into the delicateness of your irises, the curve of your nose, the mercy your lips never dared to spare. All consuming, intense and sickening.

She was selfish for keeping you in her life for so long.

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“Come on. It’ll be fun.”

She knew Jesse was just trying to be a friend, tossing around the idea of a party for the past week. And yeah, Sure, maybe sitting in the isolated corner of her garage until kiss of the morning glow invited a new, unwanted day—articulating every thought and fucked-up feeling as scribbled poetry and unfinished songs, only to tuck it all away like she did with everything else—was not an ideal way to spend the night. Especially when she’d need to get ready for patrol the moment her eyes started to feel a little too heavy.

“Ellie,” Jesse’s voice was low, a small smile playing on his lips. “Listen,” he started, taking the joint from her. “If you wanna ditch after a while and just go smoke, we can do that. But you, me, and Dina? With alcohol? Don’t really see anything wrong with that.”

Ellie looked down, her eyebrows furrowed, lip caught between her teeth. She didn’t need to—couldn’t—think about it; she knew Jesse would not let up until she gave in. She sighed, ran a hand down her face, and glanced at him—his smile all pearly whites. “If I go, will you please shut the fuck up?”

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She hated Jesse.

You stood with Dina at the bar, drinks in hand, eyes wide and bright as the two of you caught up. The soft strains of music and laughter surrounded you, but withdrawn from the groups and brashness, it was just the two of you.

“So…” Dina tapped her fingers against the mahogany, eyebrow arching slightly. “How’s it going with… you know who?” She gave a knowing smirk, gently swaying into you.

With a titter and a nod, you looked down at your half-filled glass, swirling the liquid absent-mindedly. “I mean… y’know… It’s good. It’s really new,” you said softly, the remnants of whatever smile you had managed now faltering.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, setting your glass down after a numbing sip. “She’s nice to me… and, uhm… she gifted me a bracelet yesterday. I like her.” The words came out frigid, awkward—not at all how you’d anticipated. But Dina, the angel she was, didn’t make anything of it. Her hand moved to squeeze your shoulder, a small gesture filled with an understanding you refused to acknowledge.

“That’s good to hear,” Dina hummed, attention focused on the lively gathering. “I mean, I’d call myself a pretty good matchmaker.” She hesitated, then her expression shifted. “Does she—uhm. Oh shit… Ellie?”

Ellie?

It took everything in you to not follow Dina’s eyes—to not turn your head. Even stealing a glance, you knew that whatever this was, was not good for you. That every time you saw her in passing, for the past six months of sidestepping unspoken words and assumptions, it destroyed you.

It was harmless that night. When Dina and Jesse had decided to turn in, yawning loud and stretched in ridiculous fashion. And then it was just the two of you, sat at a comfortable distance on her bed—shy eyes refused to meet one another. It was harmless when she pulled out the joint, smirk tugged on her lips. She waved it in the air with all its glory. It was harmless.

It didn’t hurt anyone when you both laughed at the dumbest things—you remembered gossiping about your coworkers in heated passion, while she nodded along. Ellie lazily cracked jokes, just to shut you up about people that weren’t her. Paired with that lopsided smirk and the tease of teeth, she played the fool until you were nudging her shoulder and snorting. And Ellie? She invited those touches. Craved them. And you? When her hand lingered a little too long on your thigh. You burned with desire.

When the laughter had eventually died down and the taut eroticism in the solitude of her garage—ensconced to her bed—grew feverish, she didn’t pull away when you started to lean in.

You were distraught.

“What’s up, guys?” Jesse said, arm slung around Ellie’s shoulder as they walked over, using his limb like a leash. “Hope you guys don’t mind, but we had a few drinks before we came,” Jesse said to Dina, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. Dina chuckled, rolling her eyes with a playful ease. “Mhm, sounds like fun,” she started, eyeing you before looking between Jesse and her.

“We were actually just talking about how,” she stretched it out for dramatic effect, taking a quick sip of her drink, then pointing the glass towards you. “Well, how I got my dearest friend here, a girlfriend.”

It grew too quiet much too quickly, the air heavy with Dina’s admission.

For the first time since that night, she broke the silence between you.

“Congratulations.” What the fuck?

When you finally looked at Ellie—and really looked at her—she wasn’t smiling. Her eyes were heavy with intoxication, gaze intense and unrelenting despite being completely unreadable. Her shoulders were tense, carrying baggage drenched in caramel whiskey. Her flannel was smoothed out, de-wrinkled, adorned by black ink that stretched up her arm to where she’d rolled the sleeves. She looked so good it made you angry.

But you knew Ellie, you really did. She was your favorite read. You’d known her since Dina first introduced her to you and Jesse years ago, and you had slowly read every page of her—sometimes rereading just to make sense of her.

But what you didn’t get? Was this. Was her, fidgeting with her fingers as she looked off to the side as if you were a damn afterthought.

“Thanks,” you murmur. Jesse and Dina must have been sick of the two of you, because when the song faded into something that wasn’t a melancholic country tune, they abandoned their drinks to dance. They walked away hand-in-hand, sharing awkward smiles and concerned glances.

You had almost forgotten that this was a party.

“Who is it?” Ellie asked after a silence that stretched on, torturous as hours. Both your backs were pressed into the polished wood, your glass refilled while Ellie finished hers. Her voice was low, sensuous with a rasp that made you shift on your feet. She was electrifying, and you hated her for that.

You parted your lips with a disbelieving scoff, turning your head to glance at her. She kept her gaze forward, eyes darting around the room as teens danced and drunken old men laughed.

“No one,” you whisper, eyes shifting back down to your glass.

Ellie nods, lips twitching into an empty smile. “Right.”

You swallowed down the thick feeling in your throat, your stomach aching, the questions you couldn’t voice attempting to claw their way out. Too scared to ask, too afraid to live with the answers.

With another sip, you decided to bite back, welcoming the burn that emboldens. You’re blaming Ellie’s impact on the glass in your hand, turning away your affection. It wasn’t Ellie. The whiskey-warmth that flushed your cheeks wasn’t her.

“Why’re you suddenly so curious about me? As if I were your friend? I mean, it’s not like you completely shut me out for no reason… oh right, you did.”

Maybe that was too much. Maybe, just maybe, it was too mean. It felt deserved. God, did it feel good to say, too—the pulse at your wrists thumping with excitement as you down the burning liquid that was therapeutic to your heavy heart.

“For no reason?” Ellie queried, the question lingering, challenging you. Her shoulders shook with a lazy, hollow laugh. She took the last sip of her drink, setting the glass down with abandon, the clink loud with her growing irritation.

Ellie was disgusted with herself for knowing you were right. You were so painfully right—but also, in a way, so fucking wrong. All she needed was to protect you from herself, from the curse of who she was. But fuck, you got too close, and that was her fault; she knew that. However, if she could avoid destroying you, she would. And she did, because you were alive and okay.

She knew she wasn’t a good person—not after what she had done to you, what she had failed to do for others. Because of him.

She was damned to suffer the consequences, forcing out every breath she wasn’t supposed to be taking—because Joel made that choice for her. And Ellie? She would have to live the rest of her life knowing that with every death, with all the suffering that bedevils this world, it would be her fault. It was her fault, because she wasn’t dead.

She knew it.

But God, there was a part of her that wanted to ruin you. Just for being you, Ellie needed you in ways that terrified her—that left her powerful and powerless. It was selfish, and maybe a part of her could empathize with Joel. To crave and claim the greed of wanting to make decisions for others while simultaneously taking those choices away. She was infected with it: the sickening desire that bubbled beneath and burned into her soul. And she couldn’t give in.

She could keep you safe. That was it. Nothing more.

Your skin burned with the ache of absence, your eyes downcast as you chewed on your bottom lip. Time ate at you and spit you out. Days, weeks, and months of Ellie refusing to look at you the way she used to. Months of only speaking to you in sentences of three words or less, if she even bothered to entertain you at all. She abandoned you; left you to lick at the emotional wounds she’d inflicted.

She acted as if nothing about you mattered—as if every moment you got to see Ellie Williams, every chance to delicately map the labyrinth of her heart with patient hands, simply became a memory. And eventually, those memories became myths.

“I didn’t… nothing happened that night? I don’t get it, Ellie.” It sounded pathetic.

“If Jesse hadn’t walked back in,” Ellie starts slowly, before letting out a frustrated exhale. “Yeah, I'm not doing this…”

Silence ate at you the same way time did. Time, space, silence. She left you to pick up what she broke on her way out. For six months you begged and clawed for revelation. You didn’t know you were stumbling through the crowd until Dina called your name from the dance floor, your eyes stinging and breath shaking.

The darkness of the night greeted you with empathy, and the frost of Jackson’s winter kissed at your skin—inviting goosebumps to clash with the liquor’s heat that ran through your veins. Mindless and broken, desperate to escape yourself and your heart, you walked.

It wasn’t long before Ellie called out your name, but you walked faster, hugging yourself for a sense of reprieve. “Shit, just listen to me!” You stumbled, your pace faltering. When she caught up to you, you shook your head, laughing in bewilderment. “You can’t do this! Ellie… Ellie, you can’t…”

Her eyes were wide, lips slightly parted. Taking you in, analyzing you. It was a sobering sight. “Did I—did you not…?” You didn’t realize you were crying until the shake in your voice cut off your incoherent pleas, until your throat closed and the words got stuck. Ellie’s eyebrows knitted together, her movements hesitant and unsure.

“Let me… dammit. Let me walk you home, okay?” You shake your head, letting out a small sob. “You’re drunk. Let me walk you home.” It wasn’t a question.

The walk back was silent. Time. Space. Silence. It itched beneath your skin and gutted you, leaving you high and dry. The faint crunch of the snow beneath your feet threatened like a ticking time bomb.

You watched the back of her head, gaze drifting down to the expanse of her neck, where baby auburn strands—free from her bun—danced gently in the breeze. Your chest felt heavy with the change Ellie insisted upon your being. How she had completely altered your life. You felt each shift, leaving you alone with your hands up.

And for all that you needed, it was having her back in your life.

Somehow, along the way of surviving, she made it feel like living. That living was worth it. That it wasn’t out of spite for the dead who roamed like roaches. Your face twisted at the realization, guilt sitting low in your stomach—because, goddamnit, you have someone now. Someone who isn’t Ellie.

But when your hand finally lands on the door handle, you force it all away. “Come in,” you whisper, eyes meeting hers. “Please.”

Ellie should say no. Oh, she really fucking should. She should draw the line and respect the person who calls you theirs. But her legs move, and she comes inside anyway—the small house always a sanctuary amid the chaos, a place Ellie knows too well.

The door shut you away from everything—everyone else. Just you and Ellie. You were lightheaded. Silence expanded the room. With silence came distance.

Ellie’s back pressed against the kitchen wall across from you as you leaned against the sink. “If Jesse hadn’t walked in,” you start, and Ellie’s breath hitches. “If he didn’t come back because he forgot the joint we smoked…” a weak smile gracing your lips, but you’re not looking at her.

“You don’t know,” Ellie decided.

You look at her, hurt and confusion adorning your features. She stares back, eyebrows furrowed, mirroring the hurt. There’s a distant gleam in her eyes that keeps you out, though, and longing clashes with frustration. “What do you mean I don’t know?”

She huffs through her nose, arms crossing over her chest. She says your name as if it’s an answer, as if it’s a ‘you know.’ It’s a ‘you know’ as to why you shouldn’t know.

“No, Ellie. Tell me. Why don’t I know? Why don’t I know that I would’ve kissed you? That I would’ve wanted you to kiss me?” As silence expands, the eruption—accusatory and heated—shrinks. You’re standing in front of her, finger pointing at her chest, so close you could count her freckles, smell the whisky on her breath, feel the ghost of her breath. And she’s quick to get away, create that distance that’s been haunting you. Uncrossing her arms and stepping away from the wall, Ellie moves past you, walking toward the door.

“I can’t do this.”

“You can’t do what? Give me fucking answers? Finally recognize that you hurt me?”

Ellie turns to face you, raising her hands in both defense and defeat. Her cheeks are flushed, the tips of her ears red. “I fucking know!” You flinch at her tone—loud and breaking. It pitched with desperation, filled with regret and impatience.

She hesitates, hands falling to her sides as she shuts her mouth and looks down, collecting herself before speaking in a hushed tone. “I know what I did. And yeah—shit, yeah, it wasn’t okay. But you don’t… you don’t fucking get it.”

“Then explain to me,” you whisper, begging. “Please, Ellie. Please tell me what I don't know.”

She looks wrecked: strands of hair loose from her bun, skin flushed, eyes glossy. The emotions flashing across her face represented more than words ever could. She walks back to you slowly, stopping right in front of you, so close she can see the details of your irises—the eyes that she’s immortalized in the pages of her journal more times than she would ever dare to admit.

Her eyes flick from your nose to your lips, your eyes, your cheeks. And your breaths mingle, the first time you’ve been this close since the night you got high. Her voice was a low murmur, as if she was wary of being heard by her heart. As if she shouldn’t even acknowledge it.

“You don’t know what you do to me. You don’t know…” Her hand moves to her face, fingers pressing away unshed tears. She looks away, biting the inside of her cheek. “It wouldn’t—I would never be able to stop with you. You don’t understand that. A kiss? If Jesse hadn’t walked in? Fuck…”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you whisper, and she looks back at you, shaking her head. “Ellie…”

“No.”

“Ellie, I would never want you to stop,” it’s breathless, painfully true—and Ellie is fucking dizzy. She blinks as if hallucinating you, unable to trust herself. Her breath is heavy from her outburst, from you—and God, her hands are on you.

The burn of skin on skin is maddening. You bite your bottom lip to keep yourself together as her fingertips ghost along your wrists, moving slowly up to the cuffs of your sweater. “You can’t,” The words are warm, fanning against your lips, teasing you.

“I don’t want you to stop.” Ellie has to look away, at her wit’s end, her fingers twitching against your wrists. Her chest falls up and down with broken breaths, with shaky exhales. She shuts her eyes—fuck. She can’t do this. You look at her, taking her in as she fights a war in her mind. Your own breaths come fast, lips parted, and you think you’ve forgotten how to breathe. Ellie’s jaw clenches, and she opens her eyes to see you as she’s always imagined during sleepless nights—perverse thoughts of drawing you like this eating at her.

“Fuck,” she rasps, and your lips are so close. It’s hard for her to not take you apart with her eyes, admiring every movement and twitch—every second of it. Of you. She mutters your name, strained and thick. “What about ‘No One?’” And the fact she’s even asking, even considering staying, is enough to have your knees weak.

“She’s not you.”

And, shit—maybe you’re a horrible person, but no one else is Ellie. She’s always had you. That’s something you’d have to think about tomorrow, not when you finally have her.

Ellie almost breaks. The pressure builds up inside of her. And it has been for years, quiet and quick; she feels like she’s going to crack, to explode. But Ellie knew this. She should have realized that the burning desire bubbling inside her for so fucking long, far too long, would eventually erupt. “Yeah?”

You’re quick to nod, letting out a small and needy ‘mhm’ that went straight to Ellie’s cunt. It was heated, confronting months of pent up demand from one another that left you both messy and aching.

You lean in, impatient with a need that has your heart pounding. Her lips softly brush against yours—chapped and plump—and your eyes flutter shut at the touch. It was hypnotic, a divine marvel, as your lips grazed against each other. Teasing each other with taste. “Tell me to stop,” Ellie begs, and you swallow her words. “Please.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

Your eyebrows upturn at the sound she makes against your lips, a quiet moan that reflects her turmoil—her hunger and greed.

Her hand cups your cheek, and she finally presses her lips against yours. It was something that satiated a deep hunger within you, something you always knew you’d need. And you needed her like air, like she was the only thing that gave life in this hell of an earth. She was a fucking life source. And Ellie? She was breathing you in, consuming you.

She ripped noises from you that further frustrate her, her chapped lips rough against yours. You grip her flannel only for her to pull away, shrugging it off. Her eyes are intense, deep with unspoken feelings, ones you reflect; your eyes doe-like from the sheer depth of longing that shucked you.

She was on you again, your back pressed into the wall, her body caging you in. Ellie kissed with fervor. It was wet, hungry, sloppy, and reckless. It was Ellie. When she pulls away for air, your lips are left tingling, the room filled with heavy, short breaths.

“I need you,” you say, breathless and whiny, and Ellie can’t think straight. She has her hands on your sweater, gripping the fabric as she pulls it over your head. It’s hard for her to think she shouldn’t do this when you’re looking at her like that—when she finally has you in the position she’s always craved. Her lips meet your jaw, trailing gently down your neck. Your skin burns beneath her fingertips, her hands gripping and pulling at your hips.

“Ellie.” It’s a plea that’s broken, that shakes when she bites your shoulder. And Ellie can’t hold her own noises back—muffled against your skin. Her hands move to the button of your jeans, undoing you slowly, then slips her hand beneath the fabric that tests her will—plays with her moral compass. Fuck it.

Ellie needs you.

It was that first touch that had you arching off the wall. Ellie’s fingers slid between your folds, her digits soaked in you, your need, and fuck—her own breath is catching. Her hips press forward, as if she could feel it all. And she swears she feels it, your pleasure in her own skin.

She braced her free hand against the wall beside your head, anchoring herself to the moment. Her gaze flicked up, taking in every shiver and gasp that sang the prettiest of songs; every crease of your brow and tremble of your lips. When her fingers found your clit, circling in slow and sloppy movements, she kissed you to steal the sounds that slipped out. Ellie’s ministrations were disorganized, but she was mapping the shape of you. She was memorizing you. “Fuck,” she whined against your lips.

You nearly blackout when her knee slips between your legs, forcing them further apart for access. The stretch of two fingers slipping inside of you left you dazed, your hands grabbing at her wrist for a sense of reprieve. “Oh, my God—” the words tumble out, your eyes fluttering shut and head tilting back. You felt feverish, your legs suddenly feeling insubstantial beneath the weight of your sensation. “Shit—oh… You…” the words fall short from a moan, gets lost with an open-mouthed kiss to your neck, and completely forgotten when you hear her voice.

“D’you want me to stop?” She asks, fingers pressing deeper when you fist at her shirt instead—knuckles whitening as you clench the flimsy fabric. No, you want to scream, but could only manage a weak head shake. Ellie’s exhale shudders against your jaw, mouthing at the skin without intent. To just feel you, to taste you; have you on her tongue and revel in it long after you’ve slipped from her hold.

She curls her fingers inside you, slow and deliberate, before sliding them out—just enough to make you ache for more. Your eyes fly open, and she pulls away to meet your gaze. Only then do you actually see it, and it’s afflicting. The unadulterated captivation, the way she looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. Like she is simultaneously the most powerful and powerless woman who has ever lived, and you’re irrevocably bewitched.

And yet, there’s still the gleam. The one that keeps you out—leaving you at arms length despite holding her in your own. Your mouth falls open in a whine when she presses deep and her pace quickens, her eyes searching and serious and disconnected. She won’t let you in.

“Please,” you beg, but it’s for more than just lust. “Please—Ellie, I… Ellie, I lo—“ Her hand covers your mouth, gentle but insistent, fingers trembling against your skin. She won’t let you, refusing to hear it. The words she aches for, yet fears in equal measure. The pace of her fingers didn’t stop, technique disjointed with conflict. “Shhh… I’ve got you, okay?” She whispers, nodding slightly. She ignores the way your eyes gloss over, trying to focus on the rhythm. Ellie didn’t love herself. Fuck, she couldn’t. How could she let you love her?

Her forehead pressed against yours, cheeks flushed and stomach aching with regret. “You don’t get it,” Ellie whispers between the two of you, her vulnerability a confession of her self-condemnation. It was impossible to stop the tears from falling, your eyes squeezing shut as you moaned against her hand.

“C’mon, baby.” It was unrelenting, the power she held over you—and Ellie molded you effortlessly beneath her touch, her fingers pressing in all the right places. The heel of her palm ground against your clit with enough pressure to have you trembling.

Muffled moans and broken sobs vibrated against her hand, each noise a confession that she’d pleasure herself to for months. She was selfish, finally understanding—empathizing with him. The hand over your mouth was replaced by the burning collision of Ellie’s lips, pulling a deep groan from her throat, all teeth and mess.

She fucked like she felt. Kissed like she was running out of time.

She poured every ounce of frustration into it—the tunes of her guitar that sounded like you, the poems that felt like you, and the nights where you’d be the only one who listened. Mind-bending, in a sex-fueled haze, was her—it was her touch and her lips, her voice and her gaze. She bent and twisted you and your heart like a puppet on strings, and you were at her fingertips willingly.

And Ellie knew she wasn’t a good person—not after what she had done to you, what she had failed to avoid giving in to.

Her lips ghosted against yours, breathing each other in, eyes downcast and avoidant. You’re shuddering—tears still wet and skin burning—the touch of her scarred your soul, insisting upon your being. Your lips move but nothing can come out, hesitant. The silence was a revelation that sat low in your stomach as Ellie began pulling away.

It was a moment that stretched into an echoing reminder of what had led to the end of what could have never began. Silence expanded what was. You almost wanted to laugh, bitter and broken and bare. You and Ellie, it was the catalyst for both of your destruction. But no one was Ellie. No one was you. She picked up her flannel, avoiding your eyes, knees weak and shoulders heavy.

She was at the door, back facing you—her hand flexing at her side, to be torn like a handheld from its first love. “I really fucking hope she treats you good.”

Time. Space. Silence.

It’s a strange, cruel thing. When one moment, she could have her hands up, then on you. And the next, she’s gone.

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hrtkis · 2 months ago

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⠀⠀ 🍰 ⊹　 . ⠀ ೨౿ ⠀⠀ 𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓂 𝒸𝓊𝓉𝑒 𝓅𝓃𝑔𝓈

credit is not required! enjoy ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა 𓂃♡ ˖ ࣪

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raitonsfw · 1 year ago

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𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: | 1 | Gojo wanted to make you a mommy more than anything in the world... and he was fucking determined. | 2 | You couldn't even begin to fathom the feeling of Gojo's blindfold shielding you from existence, his hand tracing up your spine and you knew he wasn't going to make this easy for you.

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, fem!reader... | 1 | breeding kink, husband!gojo, positions (doggy style, missionary, over his shoulders), many creampies, dirty talk, praising, begging, slight fingering, body worship, p in v intercourse (obvi), rough sex, feral!gojo, talks of having his children, petnames (mama, babe) lord i have sinned cuz this downright filthy... | 2 | blindfolded reader, bondage, doggy style, fingering, p in v intercourse, dirty talk, teasing, cockdrunk!reader, rough sex, praising, pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess, good girl), mentions of riding and switching positions.

a/n: | 1 | i was posessed writing this one, i swear- wc: 600ish. | 2 | i think i'll make this thirst a staple, think we need to see more of reader wearing his blindfold... wc: 600ish. v-day list | m.list

thirst count: 2

divider credit: @hitobaby & @firefly-graphics

| 1 |

“So good for me… yeah that’s it, mama.” Gojo praised, patting the side of your leg with oomph as you whimpered out his name. He had your legs high in the air, over the mounds of his broad shoulders and you could barely see straight, the entirety of your brain mush as he drilled into you– his cock ramming up against your cervix every time he managed a deep thrust.

Which was every time, mind you.

Gojo had you in so many positions already; doggy had by far been the best for you, your moans muffled by the sheets you were thrown against and you arched your back through every thrust. It was heaven sent, you felt as his hands groped at your thighs, your waist, your ass. But he was indecisive– that fucker, and he wanted to see your face as he shot his third load into you so he flipped you over. His other two had dripped out of you and he cursed under his breath when he noticed, his fingers trying to plug it back up into you.

“Fuck…! –got my dick in a chokehold babe...” He groaned out, his voice breaking at the end of it and you tilted your head back into the feather of the pillows beneath you. He was being absolutely ruthless with you and you couldn’t help but clench around him every time he plunged into you roughly– it made him feral, his bright eyes wide with desire.

“Your body’s so fucking perfect–” He breathed out as your hips started to meet with his own, his eyes rolling back slightly and his love laced words slipped off his tongue with ease. Your breasts bounced prettily on your chest and your back had arched back up towards him, your tummy poking out slightly– which fed his urges. “Need you carrying my kid… Gotta see how sexy you’d look– how fucking gorgeous…”

Your mind short circuited, practically screaming out for him to breed you because, holy fuck that’s all you ever wanted in your lifetime– a kid, his kid. You wanted nothing more than to carry his child, a bond so strong no one would ever threaten to break it and you cried out in ecstasy as he glided his tongue against yours. He swallowed your pleads, rutting into you with pure purpose now and all you wanted him to do was fill you up– again and again and–

“God yes– you wanna have my children, hm…?” Gojo teased in between thrusts, your body trembling as your orgasm crept up your spine. “Can’t get it out of your head huh, with your pussy squeezing me like a vice– shit…! I’ll make you a mama if you ask nicely.”

“Please, Satoru..! Need it–” You babbled, too worked up to care about anything else– you needed his cum painting your cervix white, nothing could sway you out of this now as you yearned out his name over and over.

“That’s right, beg for it.”

And you did, with utmost obedience. Your vision became fuzzy, tiny bursts of color surrounding it as you felt your release harrowing through your body. Gojo’s thrusts faltered, stalled within you and a deep groan filled your ear as he pressed down onto you– trying to bury himself inside of you as he came. He held you against him with his moans panting out against your neck as he lazily rolled his hips into you, fucking his cum as deep as it could go.

“T-Think I’ll stay inside you for a while..wouldn’t want this batch dripping out of you too.” He muttered into your skin as he caught his breath, planting kisses down towards your collarbone. A broad hand laid against your tummy as you reveled in his touch, relaxing into the feeling of being close and full– so full still it made you shiver with anticipation because…

“Think she’ll take after her momma?”

| 2 |

You wished you had the dexterity of his six eyes; you couldn’t see shit through his blindfold as you zeroed in on the shifting behind you against the bed.

Gojo had you pinned, your wrists tied delicately together as your as tilted up against his pelvis. His hands ran down your thighs, spreading them apart with a simple motion and you could already feel the cold air against your exposed cunt. It wasn’t the best position for you– you wanted to see Gojo, you longed for his beauty inside and out. But at the same time, this thrilled you immensely.

The thought of his blindfold holding you hostage and maybe one of his old ones tied against your wrist – you couldn’t tell – but it was intoxicating to say the least. That he’d go to the lengths of letting you wear it, letting you wear something so sacred to him, to the abundance of his entirety. At that moment, you felt his fingers swipe through your arousal and you whined out in frustration.

“Patience, baby. Don’t gotta wait too long– I got you.” Gojo hummed, plunging two fingers in simultaneously and you keened into it. “Arch some more for me– let me see that pretty pussy, hm?”

And you did the best you could, fucking yourself back on his fingers in the process; you were pleased with yourself when you heard his breath hitch behind you. And the precious sound of his clothes shuffling around his knees. God, you were so drunk for his cock– your entire cunt was dripping for it, messing the sides of your thighs.

You whined out again, not realizing how close he was to you. You jumped slightly at the sound of his voice against the shell of your ear. “You’re not very patient. Here, this feel better?” Gojo pressed the crown of his cock against your entrance and a sharp gasp fell from your lips, mixing with his own groan. “Ah– Of course it does... Ass up, sweetheart.”

His hands gripped the sides of your waist, positioning himself at just the right angle to fuck into you. Gojo didn’t give you a chance to breathe, to even slide yourself wider on the bed to take him– he just fucking sunk right in with no remorse and hoped you wouldn’t break underneath him. As he stretched you out, you couldn’t help but moan out his name and clench around him as he bottomed out.

“That’s it, princess. Go on, take my cock.” He huffed out, thrusting into you roughly and you laxed from the pleasure that coursed through your pussy as his cock dragged deliciously against the warmth of your walls. He filled you up so nicely in this position and it took everything in him to not just manhandle you– to not just straight up hold you against him and rut into you.

You could hear nothing but his harsh pants and the wet squelching of your cunt being abused and it fucking turned you on more than it should’ve– his blindfold brought so much more of your other senses that it nearly drove you wild each time his hips snapped into you. His hands roamed each and every crevice of your skin as he leaned over you, pressing his chest flush with your back.

“Such a good girl… sucks you can’t see me, huh? Betcha reallly want to.” Gojo panted in your ear, kissing behind it with a quiet groan overtaking him when you inadvertently squeezed around him– his voice just caught you so off guard, your senses totally obscured and you couldn’t help it.

“Next time, we can switch– you’ll ride me while I’m tied up, yeah? I’ll even close my eyes for you, level the playing field a bit…”

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