#There's work to be done and features missing but

[piastriprincess]

sometimes all i think about is you  ⸻  oscar  piastri  x  reader  .

featuring  oscar  piastri  ,  roommate!au  ,  friends  to  lovers  ,  smut  ,  use  of  fahrenheit  (im  american  sorry deal  w  it) , unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it bbys !) word  count 4.2k author’s  note 18+  MDNI  !!!  once  again  (and  probably  every  time  i  write  smut)  i  will  say  i  have  no  excuse  for  this  one  .  if  oscar  piastri  doesn’t  want  me  to  write  smut  about  him  then  maybe  he  should  stop  posting  slutty  little  photos  where  he’s  all  tan  and  sweaty  !!  like  really  …  what  was  i  meant  to  do  with  that  .  anyway  let  me  know  what  you  think  ,  i  hope  you  all  enjoy  <3  title  is  from  heat  waves  by  glass  animals  !

You’re halfway through your research when you notice the silence. 

It’s not the comfortable, productive kind of quiet that tends to fall over the apartment while you work. This feels different. Ominous, even. Like there’s something you’ve gotten used to that’s suddenly gone missing. 

You sit up straighter in your chair, frowning down at your laptop as you blink sweat out of your eyes. The cursor blinks back at you like it knows something you don’t. The air feels off — heavier, a little more stagnant, pressing down on your skin. Something about it makes your stomach twist nervously.

You push back from your desk and open your bedroom door. Your roommate is exactly where you expected him to be: sprawled on the couch, laptop balanced on his thighs as he types relentlessly away at the coding project he’s been “almost done with” for the past two weeks. 

“Hey, Osc?”

He pulls out one AirPod, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he turns to look at you. You can hear his music even from your doorway, the house beats bumping through the tiny speaker. “What’s up?”

“Do you…” you pause, stepping fully into the living room. “Does it feel kinda hot in here to you?”

He presses up on his elbows, tilting his head slightly like he’s registering the temperature for the first time. “Yeah, actually. Weird.” He tosses his laptop on the coffee table, exchanges it for the air conditioner remote. When he points it at the unit and presses a button, nothing happens. 

Your eyes flick to the AC unit. There’s no air moving above it. No breeze blowing through the leaves of the plants you’ve stacked across the windowsill.  

Oscar tries again, pressing the buttons more frantically as you’ve ever seen him (which is to say, slightly harder than he did before). “It’s not working.”

“Shit,” you say, dread rising in your stomach. “You’re kidding.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, deadpan. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

He doesn’t. He looks mildly concerned at best, cheeks flushed and sweat starting to dampen the hair at his temples, brow furrowing in that calm, clinical way of his. You can tell he’s already cycling through possible fixes in his mind; to him, this situation is just another puzzle to be solved, an amusing diversion to take up his afternoon.

You, on the other hand, are spiraling. 

“Oscar,” you say, words dripping off your tongue, “it’s nearly a hundred degrees outside. There’s been an extreme heat warning this entire week. I saw someone on TikTok this morning fry an egg on the sidewalk. And you’re telling me our AC is out?”

He points the clicker at the unit one more time for good measure. Nothing. Your chest tightens, as you glance down at your phone. 98º, the weather preview reads, next to a bright little sunshine icon. 98 degrees, and it’s barely 9 AM. 

“Oh god,” you whine, pressing the heel of your hand to your forehead. It comes away damp. “Oh god, we’re gonna get heatstroke and die in this tiny shitty apartment.”

“Whoa. Okay. Don’t panic,” Oscar says softly, eyes wide, like he’s not quite sure what to do with the freaked-out version of you. He walks past you into the kitchen, filling a glass with water and handing it to you. “Drink this. I’m gonna check the breakers, yeah?”

He disappears down the hall to the fuse box, and you collapse onto the couch where he’d been laying. It’s still warm from his body heat, which somehow makes everything worse. You can already feel your hair sticking sweatily to the back of your neck. The water is lukewarm, but it helps a little.

Oscar’s back a few minutes later. “Did it work?” you ask hopefully, but he’s already shaking his head, holding his phone out to you. You can read the giant, size 128 font your super always uses in his emails from across the room: Building-wide HVAC outage. No ETA for repair. 

“Okay,” you say slowly as you sit up, trying to channel some of his calmness. “Okay, we can figure this out. Ice packs. Cold showers. We can handle this. It’s gonna be fine.”

He nods uncertainly. There’s sweat starting to bead at his hairline. “I think there’s a fan in the closet that the people who lived here before us left. I’ll grab it.”

When he returns, he’s carrying the fan under one arm, biceps flexed around the frame. It’s an old thing — white plastic going yellow at the edges, wide square cage locked around three dusty blades, power cable frayed from use.

“That thing looks like it’s going to electrocute you,” you say, eyebrows raised. 

He grins, plugging the cord into the wall. “C’mon, it adds character. Ready for sweet, sweet circulation?”

You scramble to the floor, sitting cross-legged directly in front of the fan. “Hit me, Piastri,” you say decidedly, and he flips the switch. 

The fan wheezes to life, sort of. The blades creak into motion like they’ve woken up from a decade-long nap, and it only takes a moment before the first gust of air hits your waiting face. 

Hot air.

“No,” you moan, and Oscar crouches next to you, hand in the corner of the frame like he’s trying to run his fingers through the breeze. “I thought this was gonna help. It feels like sitting in front of a fucking hair dryer.”

“Maybe it just needs a second to warm up?” he tries, but you’re already shaking your head. 

“It is warm. That’s the problem.”

He sighs and sits on the floor next to you, knee brushing against yours. The fan keeps pushing the stifling air at your faces, like it’s mocking you. “Verdict: the fan is shit.”

“The fan is worse than shit,” you groan, letting your head loll against his shoulder. You can feel his skin even through his shirt, warm beneath your cheek. “The fan is actively taunting us. The fan is betraying us.”

“Okay, drama queen,” he says fondly, pulling the cord out of the wall. The fan stutters to a stop and silence falls again, the air feeling even swampier than before. 

“We’ve got other ways to beat the heat,” he says, like he’s trying to convince himself and you. “It’ll be fine.”

It’s absolutely, completely, one hundred percent not fine.

“This is hell,” you moan, fanning yourself with an old takeout menu. “Actual hell.”

Oscar swipes lazily at the menu, pulling it out of your hand. “Give me that.” He fans it at himself a few times, before letting it drop out of his hand with a groan. 

For a while, it had kind of felt like an adventure. The two of you had dragged your stuff into the living room, worked side by side with bags of frozen peas pressed to your heads, cold beers sweating on the coffee table. The day dragged on, temperature climbing higher, and you’d been forced to get creative. On one trip to the kitchen, you’d figured out it was the shadiest place in the entire apartment, and promptly moved to lay out on the floor, tiles cool beneath your skin. The two of you took turns sticking your head in the freezer, too hot to be self-conscious about how stupid you looked. At least you’d gotten an ancient, frostbitten box of Bomb Pops out of it, long forgotten behind your ice tray. You’d spotted it, pulled it out and split the entire box between the two of you, rationing them like wartime supplies. 

But now the popsicles are gone, the last of the beers going lukewarm, and you’re both pleasantly tipsy and running out of ways to keep yourself entertained. Judging from the way the sun is slanting golden through the window, you’re guessing it’s late afternoon, but you don’t dare get up and check your phone. That would mean expending energy and leaving the cold tiles behind, two things you are very much not prepared to do.

“This is such an undignified way to die,” you mumble instead, cheek flat against the cool floor. Your bottle is dripping with condensation, pressed into the skin of your neck. 

“We’re not going to die,” Oscar says automatically, sliding down the cabinets until he’s on his back next to you. His hair is plastered to his forehead, cheeks flushed. 

You roll your head to the side to look at him. “I’m pretty sure this is how we go out. I’m wilting. I can feel my brain literally melting. Dripping out my ears.” 

“Nah, I think that’s just sweat,” he grins, eyes sparkling. 

“Ew, Osc.” You wrinkle your nose. “Gross. And also not helping.”

He lets out a laugh, lazy and breathless, forearm thrown over his eyes. “At least we’re going out together.”

“Yeah, put that on the tombstone,” you snort. “‘Here lies two idiots who died because they were too cheap to rent in a building with a competent super.’”

“We’re not cheap,” he protests weakly. “We’re… financially responsible.”

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s so financially responsible to just die of heatstroke.”

Oscar sighs, taking a long swig and then setting his beer down. The glass clinks against the tiles. “Okay. Well, we’re definitely not gonna survive if we keep wearing this much.”

You blink, propping yourself up on your elbows. “What?”

But he’s already shimmying his shorts down his legs, kicking them across the floor to the corner of the kitchen. “It’s basic heat management. Less layers means our skin’ll cool off faster.” He pulls his shirt over his head next, one clean, graceful movement. 

And — okay. Okay. You weren’t prepared for Oscar to be shirtless. 

You’ve lived together for almost two years. You’ve seen him before, on laundry day in a ratty muscle tank, on the way into the gym, even one particularly embarrassing moment when you walked into the bathroom before he’d gotten dressed, towel slung dangerously low on his hips. But you’d filed the moments away in your head as normal roommate occurrences, nothing to think twice about. 

Clearly, you hadn’t been paying enough attention. Because now you don’t know what to do when he’s sitting on the kitchen floor in a pair of grey Calvins, skin flushed golden and peppered with moles, covered in a sheen of sweat. There’s a drop trailing down his chest, catching in the grooves of what look like very defined abs. 

You know you’re staring. It’s shameless. You feel a little bit insane, actually. Oscar is… hot?

“You okay?” your roommate says, a little too casually. 

“I —” you stammer, forcing your eyes up to his face. “What the hell, Osc. You have muscles.”

“Humans tend to have those,” he replies dryly. 

“No, but like, I thought you had programmer muscles. Slouch over a computer all day and code muscles,” you try to explain. “But you look like you could be in like, a sexy sunscreen ad or something. When did you get so jacked?”

He laughs, a little breathless, rubbing the back of his neck. His ears look a little pinker than they were before. You’re not sure if it’s the heat or something else entirely. “I’ve always been like this. You just never noticed.”

You shake your head. “No way. I would have noticed that.”

“Apparently not,” he says, voice a little rough in a way that makes your stomach twist. “Your turn.”

“My turn for what?”

He gestures at your sweat-soaked tank top. “Heat management, remember?”

“Right, yeah. Makes sense. Equal opportunity stripping,” you breathe, trying very hard to sound casual even though your pulse is racing under your skin. You take a breath, averting your eyes to the floor, and tug your tank top over your head. 

The air hits your skin first, surprisingly cool. And then, unmistakably, Oscar’s eyes next, trailing down your body, heavy and lingering. 

“You’re staring,” you note, and his gaze snaps back to your face. 

He swallows hard, rakes a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sorry, I —” His eyes flick back to your chest, like he can’t help himself, then quickly back up to your face. “Jesus.”

You raise an eyebrow, tiny smile on your face. “Humans tend to have those,” you echo him, gesturing vaguely at your bralette, and Oscar makes a strangled noise like he’s choked on his own tongue. 

He rolls toward you on the floor slightly, one arm falling lazily over his waist as he looks up at you with those big brown eyes. “You can’t just do that.”

“Hey. You were the one who told me to take my shirt off,” you say, suddenly defensive.

He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Well, I didn’t think you’d do it and look like that.”

“Like what?”

“Hot,” he says lowly, and now it’s your turn to sputter around your own breath.

“I mean — it is the middle of a heatwave,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. 

His eyes find yours. Hold them with an intensity that makes you shiver even in the heat. “You know that’s not the type of hot I meant.”

The air doesn’t feel stagnant anymore. It feels alive between you, some kind of simmering tension that’s using the heat as an excuse to finally, finally boil over. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say, voice pitching high and unsteady. 

His brows knit together. “What do you mean?”

“You’re looking at me like you want to kiss me or something,” you say, breathless. 

A beat. Oscar’s lip catches in between his teeth as he looks at you, and you can feel your traitorous eyes drop to his mouth. His grin spreads slowly across his face, like he’s won something he didn’t know was up for grabs. 

“I do want to kiss you,” he says. And then he leans in, slow, like he’s giving you the chance to stop all of it in its tracks, until there’s no space left between you. 

When his mouth finally finds yours, it’s careful. He tastes like cherry popsicle, lips sticky with the leftover sugar and a salty twinge of sweat. One hand cups your cheek, the other resting tentatively on your waist, thumb skimming at the hem of your bralette like he’s still trying to figure out how far he’s allowed to go. 

You don’t want him to be careful anymore. 

You swing a leg over his lap, straddling him, knees knocking against the tile. His breath hitches as you settle against him, muscles tense beneath you. “You’re allowed to touch me, you know,” you murmur against his mouth. 

He pulls back, chest rising and falling unevenly as he looks up at you. “Just — trying to be respectful,” he says roughly, fingers digging into the skin at your waist. 

You smirk, rolling your hips against the obvious bulge in his briefs, hard and thick and throbbing. The groan he lets out is nothing short of filthy. “Osc, I’m literally half-naked on top of you. I think we’re way past the point of respectful.”

It’s like the permission flips a switch inside him. His mouth attaches to your neck, sucking little bruises into the soft skin, and suddenly, his hands are all over you. One sliding down your back, splaying over your hip and rocking you against him, cock rutting against your wet heat through your shorts. The other palming at your chest through your bra, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide the way your nipples pearl under his touch. 

“So fucking hot,” he breathes into your skin, pausing between words to suck another mark at the swell of your breast. “Driving me insane, you know that? All fucking day with those shorts and that little tank top.”

You don’t respond. Just reach behind you, fingers nimbly unhooking your bralette, clasp damp against your back. The fabric falls away easily, straps slipping down your arms until you’re bare on top of him.

For a second, you think Oscar might have stopped breathing, hands frozen on your hips, eyes fixed on your tits.

“Oscar?” you say, breathless, rutting your hips against his in a shameless attempt to bring him back down from whatever planet he’s on. He blinks hard, shakes his head slightly like his brain is an Etch-a-Sketch he’s trying to reset. His pupils are blown, eyes wide as he stares up at you.

“Sorry, yeah, I —” he mumbles, and then his head is ducking down, mouth closing around your nipple, warm and wet. His tongue flicks sharp over the nub of it, his other hand coming up to palm at your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. 

It feels like he’s everywhere, all hands and lips and tongue, and you gasp, arch your back like you’re trying to get more of your tits into his mouth. He groans around you, teeth grazing against the sensitive area gently. The vibrations go straight to your core. “Osc — fuck — ”

“Good?” he mutters against you, and you nod frantically. His free hand wraps under you, fingers splaying against the curve of your ass, and he picks you up and presses you into the kitchen tile without taking his mouth off you. The move is so absurdly, unfairly hot that the only thought in your mind is why you didn’t let him do it sooner.

He pulls back, and you’re about to whine at the loss of contact until you feel his mouth against you again, pressing messy open-mouthed kisses in a trail down your stomach, tongue dragging against your skin like he needs to taste you. Your fingers weave easily into his hair, tugging loosely at the roots, and he whines.

“Can I —” he breathes when he gets to the waistband of your shorts, looking up at you through his lashes, and you’re lifting your hips in reply before he can even really get the question out of his mouth.

“Please,” you gasp, like he needs any extra confirmation. Like he’s not already hooking his fingers into the elastic and tugging your shorts and panties down your legs. 

“Fuck,” he rasps once you’re laid bare in front of him, hand sliding slick up your thigh to your center. “You’re unreal.”

He kisses the inside of your thigh gently, then again. Higher and higher he goes, mouth dragging just shy of where you need him most. “Taste so fucking good already f’me,” he mumbles to himself, almost reverent. “Can’t believe I get to do this.” 

Your hips kick involuntarily at the vibration from his words, his breath teasing at your cunt. “Then do it, Osc,” you whimper, fingers tightening in his hair. “Please.”

Apparently your begging does the trick. He plants one hand on your thigh, uses it to pull you towards him, spreading your thighs wide enough to keep them apart with his shoulders, and then presses the flat of his tongue to you, licking a long, hot stripe up your center. 

He eats you out like he’s been dying to do it, like he’s trying to figure out exactly what makes you tick, what will make you fall apart the fastest under him. It’s a little sloppy, hot and wet and reckless, but it works — tongue circling around your clit in a way that makes you moan high and breathless. The sound only seems to spur him on, fingers slipping into you a second after that. 

Your back arches off the tile at the feeling of his fingers, fucking you open slowly. Not that it’s doing a thing to cool you down anymore. With his mouth and his hands on you, you feel like you’re burning up from the inside out. 

When he sucks your clit into his mouth, crooking his fingers inside you, the sensation is nearly too much to bear. “Osc, don’t stop — I’m gonna —” you pant brokenly, hips rocking against his face, his hand.

“Let go. Come on, baby, let me taste it,” he murmurs directly into your core, and your orgasm rips through you, thighs shaking around Oscar’s shoulders. He works you through it, tongue lapping at you like he wants to devour you as you writhe beneath him. 

When you finally come back down to earth, you tug him back up your body until you’re face to face. “You good?” he asks breathlessly, looking down at you. He’s so pretty like this — wild-eyed, flushed and panting, hair mussed, mouth shining. 

“Yeah. Yes,” you nod, dazed. “So fucking good.” He grins down at you, obviously pleased, if the way his hips twitch into yours is anything to go by. 

You reach up for him instinctively, suddenly desperate to taste yourself on his tongue. The resulting kiss is hot and sticky and perfect, even better when you let your hand slip between the two of you to palm at his cock through his briefs. He hisses, jerks his hips forward as you work your fingers beneath the waistband, pulling them down just enough for his length to spring free, hard against his stomach. 

He breaks the kiss just enough to shove the briefs down, past his ankles, kicking them to the rapidly growing pile of clothes in the corner of the kitchen. When your hand wraps around him, thumbing across the tip and spreading the wetness gathering there down his length with one experimental pump, he gasps, hips canting against your hand. 

“Fuck, you can’t — I’m not gonna last if you do that,” he admits, eyes closed and breathing uneven. 

Maybe it’s the heat that makes you bold, or maybe it’s his honesty, saying straight out how badly you affect him. But something makes you grin up at him and say it: “Maybe you should hurry up and get inside me, then.”

His eyes snap open, and he makes a wrecked little noise at that, something between a whimper and a growl. “Fuck. Okay. Condom. In my room, I think —”

You laugh, breathless, hooking one leg around his waist and pulling him down to press his forehead against yours. “I’m on the pill. And I trust you, Osc.”

His eyes flutter shut like that might legitimately be his undoing, cockhead pushing at your slick folds, barely holding himself back. “Jesus fucking Christ. Okay.”

He lines himself up, sinks into you so slowly that it’s torture. The feeling is overwhelming, the stretch, the heat of it. He’s thick, perfect, pressed so deep into you when he finally bottoms out that it nearly steals the breath from your lungs. 

“Shit,” Oscar chokes out, helpless. “You feel — fuck, you feel insane.”

You dig your heels into his back, nails dragging over his shoulders. “Probably feel better if you move,” you breathe, and his eyes go dark, pulling out just to slam back into you with a long moan.

He finds a rhythm fast. Messy, desperate thrusts that echo filthily against the tile every time his hips snap into yours, skin sliding against skin. He’s bracing one hand beside your head, the other gripping under your thigh to keep you spread open, flushed and panting beneath him.

“You’re so —” he starts, voice breaking into a moan as you rock your hips to meet him with each thrust, your cunt gripping him warm and tight and ready. “Fuck. Wanted this so bad.”

“You thought about this?” you manage between gasps, and he nods. 

“All the fucking time. Jesus, you feel so good,” he groans, voice rough and hot against your ear. “So fucking tight, baby — m’not gonna last.”

You’re a mess beneath him already, gasping and clawing at his back as he fucks into you. “Don’t have to,” you whine as he hikes your leg up his waist, opening you up even more for him. The angle has your vision blurring, seeing stars every time his length scrapes that one spot inside you. “Want you to come, Osc, please, need to feel you.” You clench around him on instinct, and he shudders, hips stuttering.

“Fuckfuckfuck, don’t do that, I’m so close,” he grits out, hand sliding between your bodies to your clit, rubbing tight little circles against you. “Need to make you come first.”

You let out a moan, almost incoherent. You can already feel it building, coiling low and tight in your stomach, sparked by the heat and his voice and the frantic way he’s moving inside you. “Osc, I’m gonna —”

“Yeah?” he breathes, eyes fluttering shut as you pulse around him, so close to falling over the edge. “Do it then. Want to feel it on my cock.”

You come with a yelp, back arching and cunt fluttering around him. A moment later, Oscar’s rhythm falters inside you, and then he’s gasping your name, spilling into you with a groan that vibrates against your skin.

He stays like that for a moment, shivering in the aftermath, pressed fully against you, skin slick and sticky, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts.

“...So,” he breathes, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “That definitely didn’t help us cool down.” 

You laugh, breathless. Fucked out. “Not even a little bit.”

“Cold shower together next?” he grins, dazed, cheeks flushed as he waggles an eyebrow at you. You smack him on the arm lazily in response, no real heat behind it. 

But you don’t say no. And when he scoops you up off the floor into his arms and carries you to the bathroom, you get a distinct, giddy sort of feeling that no matter how long the heat wave lasts, whatever is happening between the two of you isn’t cooling off anytime soon.

[meganooregano]

Non-Gallavich-centric Shameless fics

These are in no particular order. Please feel free to add to the list!

Good Brother - 247k, unfinished but so good. Easily my favourite Carl-centric fic. Carl realizes he may not be as incapable of taking care of his family as he thinks. Carl x OFC.

Making Bail (and Other Fun for the Whole Family) - 6k, Fiona returns home in the wake of Debbie's arrest, Mickey steps up as a member of the Gallagher family, and crime may or may not be committed in the process. Has Gallavich in it but i felt it wasn't about them, if that makes sense, so I'm including it here.

Outrageous Fortune - 2.3k, Debbie Gallagher and growing up. S3/S4 character study.

The five times Fiona saved Lip and Ian and the one time they saved her - 5.4k, what it says on the tin.

Familiar Patterns - 2.9k, Missing moment after the events of "You Sold Me A Laundromat Remember?" Inspired by a deleted scene. Fiona finds Debbie crying and does what she's always done.

The Great Gallagher Masher War of 2022 - 1.4k, Mickey steals Debbie’s potato masher and sets claim to it. Publically. Arguably has too much gallavich in it to belong here but it features others enough that I'm leaving it.

Taking Care of Things - 66k, de-aged Fiona. In which the kids are forced to step up, and the truth about Fiona's childhood comes out. Ft. Good brother Lip.

Redheaded Stepchildren - 280k in 2 parts. First part Debbie and Ian's relationship post S4, and then Lip and Ian. Not s5 compliant. Very well written.

Sweetbitter Love - 949, slice of life for cousins Franny, Freddie, and Charlie Gallagher.

Twelve Going On Midnight - 5.1k, Lip is 12 years old when he comes home to his older sister sobbing in the bathroom, pregnancy test on the sink. He's 12 when he finds out the baby is Frank's.

You're Not Alone, Kid - 5.7k, Lip's having trouble at college. Fiona's having trouble at home. They work it out together. Set in S4, sibling feels.

You Can Count On Me (Like 1, 2, 3, I'll Be There) - 3.1k, Fiona comes in to talk to Lip's principal about his plan for graduation.

Who We Become - 2.8k, Mickey and Fiona have a conversation about childhood, being raised by your sibling, and the people we become when we have no other choice. Fiona appreciation!

Mom, Am I Still Young? - 1.8k, Fiona has some complicated feelings about Monica's death. They all come out one night while talking to Ian.

There Is A Place (Where I Feel At Home) - 2.1k, Fiona and Liam, at their new apartment out of the South Side, talk about the Gallagher house and its past. AU s9

Stay For A Year Or Two - 2.3k, The night before Fiona leaves Chicago, she gets the opportunity to talk to Debbie.

Unpredictable - 3.9k, rewrite of Fiona's goodbye visit to Ian in prison.

Sixteen - 2.2k, Ned gets in the wrong bed while drunk at the Gallagher house. Fiona’s not happy. Aka how s3e5 should have gone.

Hungry Mouths - 8.4k, when Fiona is 17 she exhausts herself working to take care of everyone while sick. Her kids turn the tables and take care of her instead.

With the Wind - 2.2k, The kids learn that Fiona never learned how to ride a bicycle. They take it upon themselves to teach her.

Milkovich Siblings - 40k in 21 parts, (unconnected) moments between the Milkovich siblings. Aka (violently) protective big brother Iggy Milkovich.

Allies - 2.6k, Tami and Mickey are the only ones home and Tami takes the opportunity to gab with the only other non-Gallagher in the house. Probably has too much gallavich for here but I like Tami's POV.

we rarely practice discern - 1.9k, the Gallaghers go back to their roots: good old-fashioned fraud. Aka fake funeral 2: Electric Boogaloo

Just To Be Free Again - 25k, Debbie fucks off after Mickey and Ian’s wedding, leaving Franny and Sandy behind. Re-enter Fiona, fresh from Florida, tanned and well-off. Insta-hate between Sandy and Fiona. Hilarity and hate fucking ensues.

[summercreolefanfictioner]

07. of ikebana and messy rouge stains

Valentine's Day came, and Toge rushed to get ready after practice, making sure he was styling his hair in a way that would complement his features. This time, he opted for a simple face mask that he could easily remove when he's eating food (or talking with her—gosh, he missed talking with her). Once he was done with his hair, he looked at himself in the tall mirror. His outfit was a simple long-sleeved white dress shirt underneath a black cardigan with matching dark pants and white sneakers. He didn't seemed overdressed, so he decided this would go.

There was a knock on his door.

"Toge, are you ready?" Gojo asked from the other side.

Toge casually opened his door and nodded, stepping out and pretending he was calm even though he was a nervous wreck. He casually invited Y/N out on Valentine's Day just because it was expected of them (although the elders have no idea they were having this date right now), and now he is thinking of what exactly people do on February 14th. Do they just eat somewhere or walk around? Where do they flirt without getting caught? Are they just gonna watch the sunset? If they kiss, will it lead to something else?

Toge wanted to punch himself.

What the hell! Stop thinking about sex.

Seeing his distressed expression, Gojo slapped him in the back so hard he felt a bone or two crack.

"Relax, Toge. You will do fine!" Gojo barked a laugh as Toge straightened. "Don't want to look pathetic in front of your beloved lady luck, you know."

After that, Ijichi dropped him off at the central park near the mall. "I'll just text you once we're heading back, okay?" Gojo informed.

Toge nodded, saving his number to be sure.

"Be careful!" his teacher said, then leaned down to whisper. "Use protection if you must."

The Cursed Speech user frowned. "Ikura."

Once Gojo left, Toge sat on the nearby bench and ruffled his hair in annoyance. He watched the other couples around him and took mental notes for reference, with some of them either beginning their own journey while some were not on the safer side of things (let's just say Toge thinks they weren't in sync or having problems.) A few minutes after, Y/N ran towards him, panting to catch her breath.

"I'm sorry! I had to run errands with the student council," she informed, sitting beside him as she schooled her nervousness. She scolded herself mentally for not taking a bit of time to make herself pretty for him, seeing how Toge dressed himself up in casual wear.

Why did he have to look so good? she frowned, unaware of how Toge was so fascinated with her at this moment. I should've borrowed a bit of makeup from my friends. No. That won't work. No one can find out about this.

Meanwhile, Toge was taking in her appearance from head to toe. Well, it was such a waste; she was still tying her long hair in her usual high ponytail. Still, this was a win situation for him. She's wearing her school uniform under her jacket, he thought. Furthermore, she covered her legs in black tights. Black hair, black jacket, black tights, black leather shoes—everything black contrasted with her fair features.

The darkness seemed like tainting her purity.

It was an odd thought he kept to himself.

Y/N handed him a small white paper bag. "Here. It's my chocolate for you," she said, her cheeks reddening as she looked away. The more she looked at Toge up close, the more she became aware that his face card was definitely serving.

Toge was confused with her reaction, mindlessly taking the bag, but not without leaning his face close to hers. "Tsuna tsuna." Why aren't you facing me? Look at me.

She will not give in.

She.

Will.

Not.

Give

In.

"I don't know what you like, so I made chocolate truffles," Y/N added as she continued moving her face elsewhere, only for him to follow her much to her dismay. "Inumaki-san, please. Just eat the chocolates and stop focusing on me!" she complained.

Toge chuckled, suddenly getting a hold of her wrists to make her stop, her face snapping towards his direction. He doesn't understand what is there for her to hide when her pouting face and cheeks as red as apples were so cute he could brag it to the whole world. Nah. He took it all back. He doesn't want the world to know now. If they knew what he knew, then they'll also have the same feelings as him. He felt a sudden possessiveness, fully aware he cannot control other people's feelings, yet wanting them to back off if they tried.

It wasn't still love, but it was getting there. Maybe it's a crush. Yes. Toge called it a crush, nursing it like a small bud of flower like the other flowers he watered in the school garden.

Toge let her go, smirking in delight before rummaging through the bag and taking out the box of truffles. Y/N was nervous. She might not cook that much, but if she was given a recipe, she can nail it. Yesterday, she made truffles in secret at school. If her father knew, he might take everything away from her and tell her there was no need for her to act like a normal lovesick teenage girl.

"You are to be Inumaki Toge's wife, and you should act properly. Squash those thoughts about love and other forms of weakness. Everything."

Toge removed his mask and popped one in his mouth, savoring the bittersweet taste as he maintained a deadpan expression. Once he was done eating, Y/N expected a reaction, only for him to bring out his phone and started typing.

"Let's go."

He slipped his mask back on and stood up from the bench, but Y/N tugged on the hem of his sweater to stop him.

"The chocolates!" she reminded. "Did you like them?"

In a normal situation, Toge would have told her that he did like them. However, today, he was having fun seeing a new side of her. He ruffled her hair and chuckled, smirking beneath his mask as he held a finger on where his lips were.

It's a secret.

Y/N understood, blushing furiously at Toge who slipped down his mask slightly and poked out his tongue.

"Inumaki-san!"

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

tags: @enouche @ch3esesoup @bloemrijk (comment below so I can add you to the taglist)

[friendlyrandomperson]

String.

“Do you want to watch a movie together after you are done with work?” Frank takes a sip of his warm tea, patiently waiting for his husband’s response.

“Sure, darlin’! I’d love ta.” Eddie’s cheery demeanor shifts slightly, turning into something more nervous. “Oh… but what if I don’t remember? I don’t wanna upset cha, an’ I know my memory ain’t the best..” Eddie looks at his plate, with about a quarter of his last pancake missing.

“Hmm… oh! Wait right here, I have an idea.”

Frank stands up, walking over to his desk and opening one of the drawers. Eddie hears Frank softly mumbling to himself, eyebrow furrowed slightly as he thinks. “Where did I have put that box? I could have sworn it was— AHA!” Frank’s face lights up, pulling out a box that appeared to be from Poppy’s.

“Poppy recently gave me some of the yarn she has no need for.”

“Did she now?”

“Mhm! It gave me an idea.”

“And what idea would that be, darlin’?”

Frank pulls out a thin, vibrant yellow string of yarn, cutting it when it is about four inches long. He sets the box down, closing the lid with a gentle click, before he picks up the string and walks over to Eddie.

“Here, try this.”

Frank takes Eddie’s left hand, holding it gently as he wraps the yarn around his pointer finger, tying it in a little bow. Frank looks at Eddie’s hand for a moment before smirking and pressing a soft kiss to the back of his hand, smiling at the way Eddie covered his face with his right hand.

Frank taps the string. “This should help you remember our plan for tonight.” Eddie looks at the string, the soft fabric all fuzzy, the beautiful shade of yellow, like his spouse’s bowtie.

“I can remember this. If not for myself, then for Frank.”

Eddie nods, a confident look growing on his features. “I’ll remember, baby.”

The day runs smoothly for both spouses, Frank feeling satisfied that he found a method to aid his husband’s memory, and Eddie getting his work done while the plans completely slipping from his mind.

Eddie sets his mailbag down as he sits at his desk, picking up a pencil and suddenly freezing. He lifts his hand slightly, twisting it a bit as he raises an eyebrow. “Now, when did I put this lil’ thing on?” He examines the yellow string, Frank’s favorite color. A small smile grows on his face at the thought of his husband. Yet he can’t put a finger to why he would have a yellow string of his husband’s favorite color on his hand.

Eddie gently unties the string, cradling it in his hands before he remembers Frank saying something at breakfast.

“Somethin’ for tonight… somethin’ with an M, or he was hummin’… Frank don’t hum unless he’s gardenin’ though… somethin’ with an M… Move… why would he wanna move somethin’, was he askin’ me to help him move a plant? No, no he wouldn’t have done that, he doesn’t let me move ‘em ‘cause I drop ‘em… what could the be move… moo.. MOVIE!”

Eddie perks up at the realization.

His husband wants to watch a movie tonight.

“I better get movin’ for the movie then! Heh.”

Eddie looks at the string in his hand, tying it around his right wrist and walking out of the Post Office with a pep in his step.

The door softly squeaks upon Eddie’s arrival, his husband raising one side of his eyebrow. “Did the string work?” A smile grows at the sight of Eddie, the string tied around his wrist.

“Hello dear, how was your day?” “Wonderful darlin’.” Eddie places his left hand on Frank’s right cheek, kissing Frank’s opposite cheek gently. “How was yours?”

Frank sighs tiredly. “Not anything to be excited about.”

Eddie furrows his brows. “D’aww, I’m sorry ‘bout that baby. You still wanna watch that movie?”

A soft hum comes from Frank as he rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder.

“That sounds nice. Maybe Casablanca?”

“That sounds perfect, sugar. I’ll make popcorn. With caramel, ‘cause I know ya like it sweet.”

“You know me too well, Eddie.”

“Baby… there’s a lil’ problem.”

“What happened?”

“So y’know how those lil’ caramel nugget things tend ta melt when ya leave ‘em out?”

“Yes?”

“Apparently that doesn’t work the same with microwavin’ ‘em… they just— burn.”

Frank snorts, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Oh, sweetheart. Do you want my help?”

“I wanted ta make it fer ya… but I fear I don’t know what I’m doin’.”

Frank’s heart swells.

Eddie’s sweeter than any caramel in the world. Frank walks over, placing a tender kiss onto his lips before he presses their foreheads together.

“I think it’s the thought that counts, my love.”

A little while, a whole lot of burnt popcorn, and a watch of Casablanca later, Eddie and Frank lay on the couch, cuddled up underneath a blanket and wrapped up by each other.

“We should do this more often.”

“Cuddlin’ or watchin’ movies?”

“Mmm, both.”

“Snrk- I like the sound o’ that.”

[carpxbrina]

She paused, just staring into his blue eyes for a moment. "What if she ends up not wanting him to leave?" The words slipped out so easily. She didn't want to give him false hope . Mainly because she knew herself and sober her would have kicked him out of the house before he had a chance to dominate her. But now that they were here, naked, and made love.... yes, made love, she wasn't sure. Her feelings for him were slowly floating back in. She couldn't take her eyes off of his, and she was sure he could see the love and lust that filled them. "We just made out. Was too drunk and tired to do much of anything else. If I remember right, we got close." She nodded at the mention of her hating it, and she probably would. She never liked anyone else touching him. Someone could look at him and she would get annoyed. She had always been hers, and hers only to touch. Even if he proved that wasn't true time and time again. Her hands rested against his chest, moving down to his abs as she got comfortable on top of him. "You could start giving me good complications to my life, you know. I never cared that you made things hard for me, I love chaos and complications. I just hated the unfaithfulness. I started questioning everything. When you were on your phone and would leave the room, who you would be talking to." she said softly, she moved so her chin was resting against his chest, and she was looking up at him. "I don't know what we're doing either. I don't want to say this means we're getting back together. I don't know if I'm there yet," She said honestly. She was scared if this turned into more that she would eventually get hurt in the process. A small smile crossed her features, and she pressed a kiss against his chest. "I missed you too, Bear. I missed us," she said honestly. She could feel herself sobering up already, she had definietly worked off the alcohol that was in her system. But she wasn't hiding her feelings anymore. She had done that for months now. She did miss him, she missed coming home to him. Curling up on the couch every night to watch a movie. The jokes that they would make to get each other laugh. Feeling loved by him. All of it. "I don't think I could ever hate you the way I should and that's the problem. I should already hate you to the point that I would have walked out of that bar instead of walking to you."

The heat of passion and alcohol can make people say and do things they wouldn't sober and Barry knew that all too well. "For now and so he'll stay until she tells him she doesn't want him here." He listened to her talk about that night and his eyebrow arched upwards. "And then what?" He was curious what happened between the two of them. "I'm not sure. I know I wouldn't want another man touching you but it could be hot. On the other hand, I might hate it and be jealous or you might hate it and things happen we didn't plan." They both knew how he was all too well and he wasn't sure Sabrina could handle him joining in and fucking the other woman in front of her." It was something to think about but right now it didn't matter because there was no guarantee they would get together again after tonight. This was just supposed to be release for both of them and yet he didn't want it to end and she didn't seem to either. He loved making her body shake and moans leave her lips. He kept going till he knew she was spent, just enjoying tasting her and giving her pleasure. As she tugged his hair and came again, he looked up at her and was surprised as she wanted him to come lay with her but she had said she didn't want him to leave. He moved up her body and enjoyed the slow kiss, letting their tongues tease the others and create an intimate moment. He smiled as she got on top of him and ran his hands along her back. "I hate that I make things so hard for you and complicate your life but I won't apologize for loving you." He didn't care that she knew and she was aware that he didn't use that word lightly. His head went back to give her better access to his neck. Both had marked the other as theirs and not cared who would see it. "I don't know what we're doing but I missed you, I miss us." It was unfair to throw this at her right now. His hand moved upwards to play in her hair as he stared into the ocean that was her eyes. "If I need to stay away to make it easy on you, I can. Another six months and maybe you can hate me like you should." His words said one thing but he didn't pull away from her or move his hands from her hair.

[blazingauraheartworld]

Vgen...

:]

Everything on Twitter has always made me avoidant on making an account, but that also meant I couldn't use skeb... even if I stuck to just a blank account I know that could also cause artists to decline requests on that alone (understandably so!) Always felt difficult to submit a request on skeb without doing research and a how-to guide handy.

Vgen is still in development and some people find the UI hard to use (?) But I personally find it much easier to comprehend. Toyhouse, vgen and Kofi might be my next comm go-tos beyond the friend commission sheets I save.

[itstimeforstarwars]

Sometimes I wish ao3 would tell me who subscribes to your works mostly because sometimes there will be one subscription on a story and eventually I turn it into something longer than a oneshot and I wanna go “this one’s for you, MrsDoomguy743” in the author note.

[lesbiangiratina]

[kalloway]

noticing a habit of doing sketch pages in p much exactly the same way every time

bottom right-hand corner always getting neglected cuz I guess I lose my ambition by then lmfao

two of these I've posted already, but now u can get psychic damage from the other sketches >:)c (also by forcing u to click on it to see anything lmfao sorry...)

(also in case tumblr misreads my own sketch - there is a cat-man and that sticky outy bit is a very badly sketched tail, I promise u)

[valaratminaforaldrar]

im actually so done with this group project

[valalice]

ུᩧ MULTI FANDOM TWITTER LINKS .ᐟ

ಇ instructions. before indulging, for the best experience and function of the links already be logged into your account.

features. some of your very favorites from arcane, the last of us, and life is strange.

warnings. these are porn links, viewer discretion is advised. strictly wlw. happy indulging, cuties!

a/n. as promised, here she is! thank you, each and every one of you amazing, beautiful, n lovely people. giving all 1,000 of you smooches on your foreheads <3

CAITLYN KIRAMMAN.

older gf!cait's punishment for you. she makes you work for it. milf!cait lets you ride her nipple. getting you worked up. her fingers reach all the right places. overstimulation & praise & cunt slapping. make her cum and she'll think about touching you later. she traps you. taking her strap. getting her upset, so now she has to fuck you over her desk. she's got you tied up ft. teasing & cunt slaps. her nighttime book got boring.

VI.

letting her pretty gf grind on her and let her grope her tits. mutual masturbation but you guys can't help touching each other. tit sucking & thigh grinding & fingering. she's a moaner. using her fingers. she's not done yet. fingering you while she uses a vibe on herself. you treat her good ft. fingering & cunt slapping. she loves missionary. tempo.

SEVIKA.

she takes it slow with you. she doesn't need to get up for air. big mama. reverse cowgirl. messy makeout. letting her rest after a hard day. strap so good she makes you cream on her. keeping you down. tribbing with sevi. she can be sweet. making you squirt on her strap.

JINX.

she loves to sit on your face. playing with your tits. making you dumb on her strap. shes's obsessed with you. she was being a brat, so you put her in her place. grinding and vibe. she's giddy. putting a plug in her and denying her. the only time she'll ever shut up.

MEL MEDARDA.

strapping her for the first time. sharing a double ended dildo. tribbing. she fucks you and looks good while doing so. prettiest pussy ever. she's been busy with the council lately, but she makes it up to you. making a mess. reminding you who makes you feel this good.

ABBY ANDERSON.

you guys are at it all night. she loves to eat. she loves you so much. you missed each other. riding your face ft. choking & tit play. grinding and feeling up on each other. bouncing back on it. tribbing with abs. she finally has her room to herself. you're not running from it. ass groping. she couldn't wait to get her hands on you.

ELLIE WILLIAMS.

mornings with her. pt2. taking what you want. what she sends you when she's desperate. she loves making you guys kiss. she's a squirter. distracting streamer!ellie. she's a finger banger ft. tit sucking. going on a picnic. maintaining eye contact. tasting yourself on her fingers. she loves having a pretty girl on top of her. you promise gamer!ellie that if she wins you'll let her cum. intimate moments.

CHLOE PRICE.

she's high and all she wants to do is munch . . . on you. hope you guys don't get caught in the woods. fingering you while she's driving. you're supposed to stay quiet. you and her have an agreement. the movie got boring. you don't have any money, so you'll have to repay dealer!chloe some other way. the house is empty.

please, let me know if any links aren't working!

[saltomortal]

sighhhhhhhhhhh

[chidoroki]

more than a week late posting about it but little kona recently turned 3. feels like it’s been so long and yet it hasn’t at the same time. it’s weird but she remains as adorable as ever. and small. love that you can still just pick her up with one hand. i couldn’t imagine having a large dog after how convenient and easy it is to take her places. she’s the best. truly.

[weedlekaart]

agh csp is so much nicer than procreate on my shitty ipad... even while using a tablet without a screen :) i have to cook dinner first but after that >:) back to drawing

[berrryparfait]

shower head ✩⋆｡˚

— ༉‧₊ᐟ featuring: sylus, zayne, rafayel, xavier, caleb x fem-afab!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: feeling curious, playful, and pent-up, you decide to surprise him by stepping into the shower and giving him head. you've never done anything like this before. 「my girlfriend can be quite surprising at times. and bold.」

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: [nsfw] pure smut, lads men being needy while you suck them off, dubcon but deep down everyone involved could not have been more willing (they told me personally)

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: bathroom – montell fish

✧ a/n: hihi!!! wow, it's been a while! this is my first fic on this account—i used to run @.starfellforyou but got a little bored of writing genshin fics and decided to hop right on over to another one of my hyperfixations instead... this also happens to be my first ever nsfw fic (i told myself to stop daydreaming and start writing lol), so please lmk if there's anything i'm doing wrong/missing out on as i'm fairly inexperienced when it comes to tumblr etiquette. hope you like it! <3

SYLUS squints at you, his hands stilling in his hair as the last suds of shampoo run off. "Are you lost?" he drawls, voice dripping with honey. He steps away from underneath the overhead shower and turns to fully face you—he's gorgeous, muscles slicked with running water and face slightly flushed from the heat. You simply stare at him with a mischievous glint in your eye, a teaser for what's to come. "It's unlike you to show up like this, unannounced." He smirks at you, unabashedly eyeing the length of your naked body and tracing your gaze to his semi-hard cock. You return his lewd expression. "I do love to keep you guessing." Slowly, you kneel before him, rivulets of water gushing down the side of your face and between your bare breasts. He leans against the wall as you open your mouth to take him in, his movements lazy. It's a struggle at first, but the low groan that escapes his lips turns it into a challenge. You run your tongue along his length, eyes glistening with cruel anticipation as it hardens to the point of no return. Determined, you begin to push deeper, moving back and forth as he sighs and throws his head back against the wall. With a delicious "pop", you release him from your mouth and begin teasing his tip. You circle his favorite spot and try your best to resist a smile when he squeezes his eyes shut, breaths coming shorter and faster and in white puffs of steam way above you. "Fuck..." His hands find their way to the back of your head, where they gently but firmly grasp your hair and begin to pull. Your mouth is guided back around his cock as you begin to suck him off harder, sounds of pleasure that beckon you to pick up speed echoing overhead. Push. Pull. Push. Pull. His hands around your head get rougher—more desperate—and you reach out to grab his thighs as his tip slams against the back of your throat. Hot spurts of cum fill your mouth, drip down your chin, coat the impressive length of his cock. There's so much of it. You both pant in exasperation, completely spent, only partially satisfied. The look in his eyes sends shivers down your spine. I'm getting fucked tonight. "Get up, we're going to bed."

ZAYNE works hard. So hard that you feel he deserves a little treat. Dr. Zayne may dedicate his life to helping others, but you want to dedicate your life to helping Dr. Zayne. A simple equation, really. The look on his face when he sees a very exposed you enter the shower while he's in it is pure gold. He frowns in shock, his cheeks turning pink as he backs away from you and makes a feeble effort to cover himself and protect his decency. It's endearing, the genuine confusion on his face. Need to make him cum hard. Really hard. "W-What are you doing in here?" He darts his eyes from side to side as he tries to avert his gaze from your breasts, now inches away from his chest. You shut the door behind you and get down on your knees. "You've had a long day at work, Doctor. Let me help you relax..." You gesture for him to sit down on the shower bench, and he reluctantly complies. "I'm afraid this isn't a good idea—" "Shhh..." You cut him off with a devilish grin as you breathe onto his growing cock, and a flicker of uncertainty—and begrudging intrigue—ignites beneath his pretty features. "Be a good boy for me and hold still..." You gently glide your tongue down his length, teasing him with slow, languid strokes as he writhes and struggles to stay silent. It isn't long before your mouth is enveloping his cock, eliciting whines of pleasure from deep within his throat, the small sounds driving you crazy with need. You pick up the pace, and soon his moans grow louder, more desperate. He begins to pathetically thrust skyward, helpless against the blinding pleasure of getting his cock sucked and stroked by a natural talent. "I'm gonna cum—" he whispers, strained, as you stop torturing him with your mouth and white streaks of cum shoot out in every direction, landing on your face, your tits, the walls, his thighs. You almost feel bad for him, the way he's just sitting there shivering with leftover ecstasy. But you know that once morning comes, he'd no longer be deserving of anyone's pity.

RAFAYEL may be a god, but that doesn't mean he's beyond enjoying the fruits of worldly labor. So what if his baths are the most luxurious and elaborate you've ever seen? One has never had a good bath until they've experienced shower head. You've convinced yourself of this much—now it's time to convince Rafayel. He looks ravishing as always as you enter the large shower room, his movements elegant and naturally seductive. He startles slightly at the sight of you. "Oh? Looks like I have company." He drags his eyes up and down your body, a playful smirk playing on his lips—but you know it for what it really is. An invitation. To give Rafayel exactly what he wants. Bubbles fill the room as he spreads himself across a large shower seat in the shape of a clam. Your prince. Your pearl. As if coerced by an invisible force, you gravitate towards him with a dark anticipation in your gut. He's sprawled before you, clearly getting harder by the second. Soon, he's going to get demanding—whiny, even. You need to please him fast. You circle his tip with your tongue and plant wet kisses along the length of his shaft, your way of preparing him for what's to come. His eyes are heavy-lidded, drowsy, drunk on the look in your eyes as you take him in whole, a delicious moan escaping him as you push his thighs further apart. Slow strokes, then faster ones. Repeat. You can tell he's in pain, yet somehow still in control of himself. That just won't do. "Not good enough, Your Majesty?" Your right hand moves to caress his balls, a gesture that sends him into overdrive. "Ugh, this girl—" His voice comes out garbled with a pained groan that makes your heart leap. You back away just before he cums. Can't let him off too easy. The frustrated noise that leaves his lips satisfies you more than it should, and you don't let him wait too long before you're sucking him off again, drawing out his orgasm until he nearly blacks out. He glares at you in petty indignation as his cum explodes into your mouth, both consumed by pleasure and immensely frustrated. You swallow it all down in a single gulp, feeling proud of yourself. "Who has the higher ground now?"

XAVIER jerks away from you as if you were a bad omen, instinctually bringing his arms up around himself in an attempt to block your view of him. It's no use, of course—he's as exposed as you are. "Uh..." A violent blush tints his cheeks as he fumbles for words, vivid blue eyes unable to meet yours. "Can I help you?" How could someone come off as so shy and judgmental at the same time? The thought makes you smile. "I'm here for you, cutie." He doesn't seem to understand, but it doesn't matter—you'll just have to show him. You grab his arms and gently coax them away from his body, baring his semi-hard length to you and making him squirm. Your fingers wrap around the base of his shaft, stroking gently as he gasps and twitches. The expression on his face has shifted, dark and cautionary. "Kneel," he orders, and you obediently get down on your knees. He pushes his length against your lips and groans, any trace of the bashful, reserved boy who'd almost pushed you back out the door completely gone. You lap at his precum, the taste of it salty and slightly bitter on your tongue. He nods once, giving you permission to take him in whole. Oh god. Overwhelmed, he closes his eyes and throws his head back against the flowing water, pure bliss written all over his face. "Just...like...that..." His tortured moans are like music to your ears, a symphony giving you new resolve as you begin pumping him with heightened speed. Your hands are looped around his knees, which you notice are shaking slightly with the threat of release. A spark of excitement ignites within you as you picture him coming undone, wholly and undeniably submitted to you, a beautiful mess of your own creation. He stares down at you dangerously. You look up at him with doe eyes, because two can play that game. Who is predator and who is prey? With one last luscious stroke of your tongue along the base of his shaft, he lets out a strained cry of pleasure, planting a hand on the wall behind you to steady himself. Strings of his seed land on your face and tongue as you smile up at him, already giggling at the adorable change in his demeanor. Back once again is the Xavier you know; introverted, demure, and utterly embarrassed with himself. "No more coming in like this..." He sounds serious at first, but then he glances away and chuckles softly—and your heart explodes.

CALEB doesn't even give you time to explain yourself. One second you're stepping into the shower and the next you're sitting against the wall, your thighs flush against the stone floor. "Interrupting me again?" His tone is intimidating, so different from the way he spoke to other people. For a split second, a jolt of delicious fear shoots through you, settling right between your legs. "What, too scared to speak, Pipsqueak? You're the one who came in here." He takes a step slower, his dick inches from your lips. He's already hard. Too hard. The look in his eyes is ruthless—predatory. You begin to question your capabilities, but it doesn't last long. He slides his length into your mouth, all the way, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut to prevent yourself from gagging. "You look so pretty with me in your mouth..." The thought sends waves of pleasure through you, punctuated by sudden, hard thrusts as he fucks your face with concern for little else but the devastating pleasure coursing through him. This power dynamic, this feeling of being dominated—it's all too much. Don't stop. I don't want him to stop. Your moans are muffled and weak beneath his own savage grunts and he continues to push into your mouth, hands braced on the wall above you as he pushes against his own weight to gain momentum. "Fuck, I'm so close..." Your eyes well with tears as he thrusts deep into you one last time, warm bursts of cum filling your throat and coating your tongue. His breaths are belabored, sweat and water dripping down his chest as he looks down at the mess he created. Your face is streaked with tears, and the sight makes him smirk. For a moment, it's as if he's back to being the kind little boy you once knew. But any semblance of innocence vanishes with the next words that leave his mouth. "I'm not done using you yet, Pipsqueak."

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

[mydearzero]

Bribes | Stiles Stilinski x Reader

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Summary: You get paired with Stiles to write a paper for Coach's class. But when had Stilinski grown into his awkward features? When had he grown out his buzzcut? Why was he suddenly so insanely fuckable?

Contents: NO Y/N, afab!Reader, smut, Stiles is a bit cocky lmao, fucking in the jeep, reader is related to Coach (wether adopted or not doesn't matter), vaginal fingering, p in v sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, clumsy sex, playful banter, oral sex (v receiving), casual sex, coming inside, mentions of birth control, making out if I missed any warnings please let me know!

3.5K words

Had to get Stiles out of (pls into plEASE) my system SOMEHOW, so here you go. This one is dedicated to @uglypastels for indulging my obsession and continuously sending me Dylan O'Brien thirst edits <3 <3

“Just so you’re aware, this paper is as high on my list of priorities as the Pope is in Amsterdam,” Stiles dropped his binder on the table, startling you out of your daydream. He was exactly 4 minutes late, not that you were counting. It was still impressive, seeing as he just came from practice. 

“Believe me, I, too, would rather be hanging around with Isaac Lahey, yet we’re both here. Let’s just get it over with.” Stiles snorted a laugh, but didn’t comment.

You didn’t not get along with Stilinski. You weren’t sure if you could be called friends, exactly. You’d known each other pretty much all your lives, just like the majority of your school. Beacon Hills wasn’t exactly a metropolis. 

You sighed and laid out your notes, Stiles following your example. You raised an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. “Those are your notes?” 

There were only doodles, random calculations and sporadic keywords scribbled on the loose piece of crumpled paper he straightened out next to your notebook. 

“I’m surprised, too. There’s actual words. I don’t usually get that far.” The smirk on his face could only be described as smug. You groaned. This was going to take forever. You divided the topics for the paper amongst yourselves and silently got to work. The ‘silently’ part didn't last long, however. It never did with Stiles.

“Are you still living with your uncle?” He questioned suddenly. You frowned at the question, confused, but nodded either way. 

“So can’t you just, I don’t know, cook him dinner and have him give us a good grade?” The gleam in his eyes nearly made you laugh. Nearly. Instead, you flicked him on the side of the head. He whined something about unnecessary violence, but it fell on deaf ears. 

“I’m not bribing my uncle just so you can slack off, Stiles. Besides, I’m never really sure if he even likes me,” you wondered out loud. 

“You and me, both…” Stiles grumbled. 

You glanced at Stiles as he scribbled furiously, seeming to finally get some of his research done. His knees wiggled excessively as he wrote about the economic effects of pandemics. You wrote down a few key parts of the paragraphs in your book before turning to your laptop and beginning the outline of the paper. Stiles hummed quietly as he read the entry he’d just written, tapping his pen furiously against the table. 

“Can you stop that?” You requested, his incessant movement distracting you more than his general being already did. He glanced up, an amused expression on his face. 

“What,” he tapped his pencil faster. “This?” You contained the urge to roll your eyes and stared at him blankly. He stopped the movement for perhaps one whole minute before picking it back up again. 

You only glanced up pointedly this time. He added a jiggle of his knees in challenge. You rose from your chair, leaned over and snatched the pen out of his hand, throwing it across the library. “Fetch.” 

Stiles gaped up at you in surprise. The timing of it was very unfortunate, but you’d never really noticed how Stilinski had grown into his awkward features. Something must’ve shown on your face, because Stiles now looked just as confused, perhaps intrigued, as you felt. While you’d been confident in throwing his pen across the room in annoyance, having him look up at you like that made it so you weren’t sure if you wanted him to get up. You cleared your throat and sat back in your chair. 

“Unbelievable…” Stiles muttered under his breath as he got up to get the pen. It gave you time to recompose. You didn’t look at him as he sat back down, but felt his eyes burn a hole through the side of your head. 

An unfamiliar tension hung in the air while you worked in silence. You snuck glances at Stiles, who was finally focussed on his writing once more. His hair was longer, still messy and unstyled from practice. The grey workout gear perfectly accentuated his broadened shoulders. He bit his lip after reading a complex entry, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they’d feel like on your own, or on your neck while your hands tugged on his now perfectly tuggable locks. 

A few times his eyes met yours. You’d quickly dart them back to your notebook, pretending you hadn’t been looking, knowing damn well he’d seen.  

Oh my god. Get. it. together.

“Did you finish?” You dared ask after a while, having completed your own part. All you had to do was put your parts together, wrap it up and finish. 

“I’ll give it to you, but you have to give something to me first,” Stiles spoke in a challenging tone. For a split second back there you’d wondered how he was still single after all this time, but now you were reminded. He was insufferable. 

“What could you possibly want from me, Stiles? Just give me your damn part.” 

“A kiss.” 

“What? No!” You sputtered. Stiles’ tongue poked the inside of his cheek cockily as he raised an eyebrow, pointing to his lips. 

“Guess you’ll have some explaining to do to your uncle why you’re only handing in half an assignment, then.” 

“This is coercion, Stilinski! Should I call your dad?” You crossed your arms, refusing to look him in the eye. The librarian shushed you loudly. You could feel heat rush to your face, but didn’t relent. Asshole. 

Stiles leaned closer, running a finger over the side of your face. Your heartbeat increased what seemed about tenfold.

“It’s not coercion if you want me to.” His breath hit your neck as he spoke, sending goosebumps down your arms. “And I’m getting the feeling you really want me to.” 

You jerked away from his reach, coming to your senses. You gathered your things into your bag, mumbling something about your GPA being fine, anyway. You stomped away from the table, heart racing. You were mad, not because he was suggesting something you didn’t want, rather that he’d clocked exactly what you wanted so easily. 

Concerned Stiles would follow you out of the library, you hid behind a few bookshelves in a section nobody usually visited. You caught your breath, placing your palm on your chest. You dropped your bag on the floor, turning to peek around the bookshelf to see if Stiles was still stationed at the table. Relieved, you saw he’d indeed decided to follow you out of the library.

You turned back to grab your bag and head out, but were met with Stiles’ face mere inches from your own. You were startled, but he grabbed your waist before you could fall over. His hold was strong. Your hands instinctively went up to his chest, steadying yourself. Had he always been this tall? 

One of his hands wandered slightly lower, rubbing small circles on your lower back. Your eyes met his, which were just shining with mischief and an underlying sense of self-satisfaction. His tongue darted out, licking his lower lip. 

“Can I be frank? You’re incredibly annoying,” you stated, slinging your arms around his neck, finally giving in. 

“You can be whoever you want as long as I get to kiss you, Frank,” Stiles laughed. You groaned but pulled him close either way. 

“Shut up.” 

Stiles obliged and put his mouth to yours aggressively, tugging your body against his. One of his hands wandered up, cupping the back of your head to bring it closer. You tugged at the small locks at the back of his neck, eliciting a sighed moan from Stiles. 

“You’re so hot,” he confessed when you broke apart for a second. He turned you so you were pushed with your back against the bookcase, a few books falling to the floor. Neither of you cared as your kiss continued, deepening by the second. His hands held your hips as he started grinding against you, sweats low on his hips. His mouth made its way down your jaw, moving to suck hasty kisses on your neck. 

“Stiles…” you sighed blissfully. Heat gathered in your stomach at the soft, breathy noises coming from his lips combined with the sound of them against your skin. He put his knee between your thighs.

“Knew you wanted this as much as I did, fuck,” Stiles groaned. The pressure from his knee was delicious, but not enough. It was almost as if he could read your mind as he slid his hand into your bottoms, working your underwear out of the way somewhat clumsily. 

“God… so wet for me,” he moaned. You could only reply with breathy whimpers, trying to make as little noise as possible. Stiles shushed you, placing his unoccupied hand over your mouth as the other started rubbing small circles over your clit. You closed your eyes and let your head fall against the bookcase. Your knees went weak at the sensation, not much holding you up besides Stiles. 

He slipped his hand out of your underwear, bringing a finger up to his mouth. He casually licked it clean. He hooked his thumbs into your bottoms, seeking eye contact and asking for non-verbal permission to tug them down. You bit your lip and nodded enthusiastically. When your underwear hit the floor, so did Stiles’ knees. Your eyes darted around your environment, but the school was nearly empty at this time, especially the library. 

You had to slap your hand over your mouth when Stiles made contact with your clit, his tongue tentatively licking between your folds. Your breathing was laboured, chest heaving as Stiles took his time exploring. Your bottom lip found itself between your teeth, holding in your moans. Your hands shot to Stiles’ hair. Perfectly tuggable, indeed. 

He groaned when you gave an exceptionally sharp tug, taking the time to look you in the eyes. The vibrations of his lowered voice felt good. You had seemingly no control over your hands, fingers tightening their grip the closer you got to the edge. 

“Shit, baby… So good for me. Gotta stay quiet…” Stiles mumbled. A small, high pitched keen left your lips. You weren’t sure how long you’d be able to keep the silence up. You looked down once more and saw Stiles palming himself over his sweats as he continued eating you out, rhythmically grinding his hips in time with his mouth. 

The sound of a bag zipper closing got your attention. You smacked Stiles’ shoulder to stop, wanting to whine in frustration at just how close you’d been. Stiles paid you no mind, lost in giving you pleasure. You put both your hands on his shoulders and pushed him away, careful not to tip him over. It was only then Stiles noticed the noise of someone packing up to leave. He scrambled to stand up, trying to help you get redressed. 

“I got it, I got it,” you hissed quietly. 

“Who’s there? You can’t be here anymore! Library’s about to close!” It was the librarian who’d shushed you earlier. You grabbed your bag in a hurry. 

“Would you still rather be hanging out with Isaac?” Stiles asked jokingly, wiping his chin. You whacked his arm, storming past him to the doors. He followed quickly, arm wandering over your shoulders as you walked out of the now deserted school. You didn’t speak as Stiles led you over to the Jeep, insisting on driving you home, at least. 

You sat in the passenger seat as Stiles ran around to the drivers’ side. You wiped your hands on your thighs, huffing a frustrated breath. You hadn’t even finished the paper, and now you got cock-blocked on top of it. So not worth it. You turned to Stiles as he put the keys in the ignition. He’d never looked hotter than that very second, lips bruised, hair tousled and still pent up, besides maybe when he looked up at you with his face buried between your legs. Okay so maybe a little worth it. 

“If you keep looking at me like that I’m gonna pull over and we’re gonna have sex in the back seat like right now,” Stiles joked. Or at least, you assumed it was a joke. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, threat or invitation?” 

“Option D? All of the above? I mean, D is definitely an option.”

“Pull over and we’ll see how much of an option it is.” 

Stiles didn’t need to be told twice, pulling over in a small clearing as soon as he saw the opportunity. He took off his seatbelt, scrambling to get out of the car. He opened the door for you, closing it and letting you in the back seat. You laid back across the seats and manoeuvred your top off, throwing it at Stiles. He caught it, quickly discarding it somewhere in the car. He shimmied his pants down his legs, not bothering to take off his shoes. You did the same, leaving you in your underwear. Stiles stopped to take a proper look. 

“You’re gonna kill me. You’ve already killed me and this is my pre-hell Heaven trailer of what could’ve been. God iwantyousobad.” You pulled him on top of you as you laughed. 

“Less talking, more fucking, yes?” 

“Yes, I agree. Wholeheartedly,” Stiles nodded furiously, tugging his shirt over his head with only one hand. Hot. He finally closed the car door behind him before he could forget. 

“I’m going to assume you don’t just casually keep condoms in your car?” You questioned. Stiles closed his eyes and tightened his lips in frustration, mentally scolding himself. He finally had you in his Jeep, half-naked, ready to fuck, and he didn’t have a freaking condom??? He finally shook his head no, sighing and pulling away from you slowly. 

You leaned up on your elbows and whispered in his ear. “Hmmm… Guess you’re just gonna have to come inside of me… Wouldn’t want to make a mess of the car…” 

Stiles pounced at that, kissing you like his life depended on it. He tugged your underwear back down your legs, now very familiar with your pelvic region. He struggled to undo your bra, cursing under his breath. You laughed and lended a hand, undoing it and slipping it off your shoulders. 

“Holy shit,” Stiles groaned. “Promise me to thank Coach for pairing us up.” 

“You did not just mention my uncle as a reaction to seeing me naked,” you complained. 

“I did. Not sorry. He did me a favour.” 

You ignored the comment and decided to kiss him to shut him back up. Him and his mouth… God his mouth. You were still pent up from the library, and if he didn’t fuck you soon you were pretty sure you’d go crazy. 

“Stiles, want you,” you whined impatiently. He was too busy paying attention to your nipples, taking one between his teeth as he made eye contact. “Shit,” you gasped.

Your hands wandered down his torso, stopping at the hem of his boxers. You tugged them down, setting his very hard cock free from its confinement. The tip was red, dribbling with pre-cum. He was obviously just as pent up as you felt. You gave him a few experimental tugs with your hand before lining him up with your entrance. 

Stiles took over, taking his time to slowly push inside you. You put your hands on his shoulders, holding your breath at the stretch. He was so much bigger than you’d expected. You both moaned when he bottomed out. You felt so full, it was insane. You dug your nails into his shoulders and gave him a nod, indicating he could move. 

He set a slow pace, testing the waters. He was enthralled by the jiggle of your tits with every movement. Typical. His hands moved up to hold them, almost as leverage, as he picked up his pace. 

“Fuck, so good,” Stiles moaned. You were about to move a hand down to touch yourself, but Stiles stopped you. 

“Let me make you feel good, let me make you come.” He put one hand on your shoulder to steady himself and brought the other down to where you were joined. He continued to thrust, putting his fingers on your clit. It took him a second, but he found a rhythm where he could thrust and stroke at the same time. 

“Oh my god, Stiles!” You moaned, the added sensation feeling amazing. The sound of his hips slapping against yours was filthy to say the least. You moved to hold onto something above your head as Stiles sped up. Your hands soon found the little ledge, and you gripped it to the best of your ability. 

Stiles bent down to kiss you, pace still unrelenting. The new angle of him bent forward sent his cock exactly where you needed it. 

“Shit, oh my god.” It was all the confirmation Stiles needed to keep it up. 

“So pretty, so tight around my cock. Such pretty tits. You feel so good,” he mumbled against your lips. 

The pace of his hips became more erratic, both of you nearing the edge. Your knuckles turned white with how tight you were gripping the car door. 

“Gonna come inside you,” Stiles moaned. “Fill you up so nice.” 

“Yes, Stiles, please!”  

“Fuck, so good, so good for me,” Stiles was becoming more talkative and less coherent as he lost himself in the pleasure. He was mouthing at your jawline, sucking another hickey where there were already plenty. 

“Fuck, Stiles, gonna come,” you whined. You could feel his smile against your neck. Smug idiot. He then started rubbing your clit exactly the way you liked it. Combined with him hitting that spot inside you over and over and over again, you were seeing stars. 

“Don’t stop, please,” another moan left your lips. 

“Come for me. Come on my cock. So pretty, so good,” Stiles blabbered. 

“Fuck! Stiles!” You keened, tightening around his dick as you came. He kissed you again as his hips stuttered, thrusting a few more times before painting your walls with his cum. His head fell on your chest as you both caught your breath.

When his breathing had slowed, he groaned before lifting himself off you, chuckling as he pecked both your nipples, then your lips before looking for something to clean you with. He settled on the shirt of his lacrosse uniform. 

“Ugh, gross,” you mumbled as he wiped you clean. Stiles shrugged. “It was going into the wash, anyway.” 

Stiles put his underwear and sweats back on, opening the door and getting out so you could have the space to redress yourself. When you reached under the seat for your bra, you pulled out a baseball bat. “Why do you have a baseball bat in your car?” 

“No… Particular reason. Safety. Lots of dangerous animals… out there.” 

“So you settled on a bat?” You wondered, holding the object. Stiles nodded, not meeting your eyes, his locked on your still naked chest. You threw the bat at him and laughed, reaching under the seat again and this time pulling out your bra. 

When you were finally dressed, you got back in the passenger seat so Stiles could drive you home. It wasn’t a long drive, as you’d already been halfway there before pulling over. He drove up the driveway, and you cringed on the inside, hoping your uncle wouldn’t see who dropped you off. You took your bag and got out of the car, walking around to the drivers’ side where Stiles was already leaning out the window. 

You looked at him and gave him a small smile. You leaned forward to give him a kiss goodbye. “You better email me your part of the paper tonight, Stilinski.” 

“You bet, babe,” he winked and gave you a salute, watching as you laughed and turned to walk inside the house. 

You closed the door and took off your shoes, hanging your coat and leaving your bag by the door. “I’m home!” 

Coach took one look at your appearance and frowned. Right… maybe you should’ve straightened yourself out before walking into the living room. Disheveled hair, hickeys on your neck, it wasn’t exactly rocket science as to why you were home later than usual. 

“If you’re gonna be having boys over, do it when I’m not around, please? I have enough of them to deal with at practice and in class. And at least have the decency to tell an uncle who he’s dealing with.” 

You cringed as the Jeep’s headlights very obviously flashed through the window at that very second, Stiles driving home. It was anything but unrecognizable. 

“Stilinski!? You’re sleeping with STILINSKI?! God, kill me now. If I’m now expected to have him over for Christmas dinner you better throw me off a bridge. And you BETTER use protection because I’m NOT gonna have Mini-linski’s running around.”