#anything to avoid dressing the problem

[take2me5back9to9hell1]

Change your fucking car

[happywitch416]

The snow is beautiful, I am making coffee and I am going to spend the rest of my day enjoying it and playing video games.

Because I started my morning with my mother going hey I will be there in 15 minutes and heres a list of things I need from your basement and then was trapped for two hours.

[madamechrissy]

Brooklyn Baby

art in the banner is by @e0308r on X

pairings - dad's best friend! Satoru x F! reader

summary - you've got the opportunity of a lifetime for an audition for Julliard, your dream, but there's just one problem, the hotel in New York has booked your room and has nothing available. Good news, your dad's best friend Satoru Gojo shows up and offers you to stay in his suite since he's in town on business. But there's two big problems - one, you've wanted him since you can remember, and two, he can't stand how fucking pretty you are. He can't want you - and nothing can come from it - imagine what your dad Suguru would do if anything ever happened between you!? So nothing will happen - right?

warnings- MDNI- taboo tropes, age gap (Satoru is 41, reader is 22) reader is Suguru's daughter, forbidden relationships, obsessive Satoru, mutual pining, sexual tension, explicit smut and light angst- this chap - masturbation (Satoru) a fuck ton of tension, reader having a lifelong crush on him, mentions of past relationships, self loathing as they both want each other, drinking and kissing -WC- 8.3k

This will be Four parts! comments/rbs appreciated if you enjoy!

part two>>>

part one

Satoru Gojo has never had his cock twitch from just looking at someone's back, not even your ass - though fuck that was nice - but something about the bare back in the slinky little dress was fucking him mentally. The gentle curve of your spine, a little birth mark along your shoulder blades has him - a man who's in his early forties and very experienced - leaking precum.

The fuck was that?

He clears his mind, blinking a bit then, he's checking into his favorite suite as he does every couple of months for various business events that he has to attend. Running the Gojo corporation is a never ending list of bullshit he's got to do, and events and speeches were just one of the many.

He sighs as he takes in the immaculate bustling lobby, trying to divert his attention from this girl's back and look like some creep when he's literally Satoru Gojo. He brushes his silken white locks back, walking up to the tall counter then with an easy smile, as the three receptionists rush to him, and leave the girl with the pretty spine behind.

"I can wait my turn, no worries ladies." He winks and they all swoon, and when you hear that voice, you know it's him.

"Gojo?" Satoru blinks at the familiar voice, turning to his side to look down at -

Suguru Geto's only daughter.

Fuck.

He swallows just a bit nervous, how does he explain he just leaked pre looking at his best friend's daughter's spine exactly!? About the ways he would have to explain how your instagram photos haunt him at night, and how he can't help but have glimpses of you in your bikini when he cums.

There's a big reason he's avoided Suguru as of late, and that's because he can't handle how beautiful you are - it's like you fucking just do something, and he refuses to accept it or acknowledge it consciously. Now you're smiling up at him, before you come over and hug him tightly around the waist, your breasts pressed against him.

It takes everything not to either shove you off or give in and pick you up and prop you right on this fucking counter. It's some miracle he just pats your back instead - your bare pretty back that he shouldn't touch because it makes it worse.

"Hey sweetheart, what're you doing in town?" He manages to act normal, putting on an easy smile as he sees now your eyes glimmering with tears. "What's wrong?"

"They gave my room away, and I have the audition for Julliard this week! Everything is booked except shit way out of my price range. I don't wanna bug dad about it." He sighs then, remembering Suguru telling him about your opportunity, he'd been so proud every time he watched you play piano.

It's originally why he followed your IG, but whatever happened your junior year of college made you start posting those damn pictures in your bikini or slutty little outfits. He shoves that all back, focusing on your worry, and then eyes one of the receptionists, backing away from you just a bit.

Not like your scent hasn't already filled his senses.

You're important to him, just like Suguru is, and he'll not let his dumb fucking thoughts ruin your opportunities. "Surely there's a room available, I'll pay."

"You can't do that! It's too much." You're a flustered mess, as he flashes that pretty smile of his that makes your tummy clench.

"It's nothing," he pats your head and smiles down at you, and you try to ignore just how fucking good Satoru Gojo looks then. Try to ignore his cologne in your senses, ignore how the man just gets more attractive every fucking year, a little crinkle on the sides of each eye the only lines on his face.

You have been trying to ignore your crush on your dad's best friend for as long as you can remember - fuck they're so close too, and you hoped it was some childhood idolization. But as a twenty two year old woman, it's as bad as fucking day one - worse maybe, when you study the way his hands move as he speaks, long fingers that give you the worst thoughts you wish would go away.

"Nothing at all open but the presidential suite you said?" He asks softly, you're still too close to him, fucking up his senses, as the receptionist frowns, clacking away at her keyboard.

"They just booked the last one online, Mr. Gojo."

"Shit, then..." He eyes you, blue eyes glinting as he takes in your distraught, pretty little face.

He can compose himself, can't he, hasn't he always?

"She'll stay with me, give her a key card," you hug him once more, he's chuckling and pecking a kiss on your head. "You're clingy still, remember you always were."

"Maybe, oh Gojo, thank you! I didn't wanna have to ask dad for money..." You're independent, Satoru loves that about you, Suguru is well to do - not rich like Satoru, but well off. But he's mentioned you never ask for a thing.

"No worries, the room is huge, we won't even be near each other much." He's pressing the button to the elevator soon once you all get checked in, and the silver automatic doors close, leaving you two alone, nothing but the soft sounds of your breaths and stupid elevator music.

And there's just one problem.

Satoru Gojo can't help but picture pressing you against those elevator walls, sinking to his knees and slipping up your slutty black dress, the one where he can so clearly see your breasts rise and fall, a nipple daring to slip out. Can't help but picture fucking you better than surely any of your dumb little college boys could.

He can't think that way.

He hastily tugs off his jacket, laying it over your shoulders as the elevator dings on each floor.

"Thanks, it's a little chilly." You say softly, tugging his jacket close on you, he exhales in a mix of relief and hot desire at how good you look in his armani suit jacket. "You're a life saver, really."

"It's nothing, kid."

"Kid! I'm not a kid." Your pout earns his chuckle, the two of you walk through the halls, decked with cream colored walls and fancy paintings, it's fancier than even you were used to. He presses the card against the hotel door and it opens, and that's when you both realize just how alone you were.

Satoru had been a part of your life for all you can remember, him and your dad would go off on the silliest adventures, and your dad’s other best friend Shoko would watch you at times. You don’t remember your mom that much anymore, she has been gone since you were young, and Satoru and Suguru had always been inseparable, especially since she left.

Satoru had taught you how to swim, Suguru had taught you how to shoot a gun, Satoru taught you how to throw a ball into a hoop, and Suguru taught you how to hit one with a bat. Every time he came to visit during the summers, you’d be so excited, he always had some new gift and an easy smile.

Until you got older.

You remember the first time he brought over one of his girlfriends, she was beautiful, and you’d still been young, hopelessly staring in the mirror at yourself after, wondering if you’d ever be pretty like that. And when he came for your high school graduation with another girl on his arm, when he told you that you looked beautiful and bought you the necklace you still wear today?

You’d been insanely jealous.

You try to explain it away as being eighteen, you were still a baby then, and the crush had been raging. So badly you found yourself comparing every boy you dated to the man Satoru was, and every single one fell hopelessly short. You both get settled, taking in the opulent surroundings, it’s surely big enough he’s right, there’s an entire other room, a kitchen, spacious furniture and beds.

Satoru sets down the luggage, as he eyes you in his suit, and you start taking some of your things out. It’s quiet, the sense of unease filling the two of you as you both busy yourselves, little friendly smiles are the only passages between you as you two live in your own minds.

“You can take a shower first,” he offers softly a bit later, slipping that tie down just a bit to loosen it, and then rolling up his sleeves, revealing those muscled forearms, light blue veins wrapping up them from his wrists. Your mouth goes dry as you look at them, while he slips off his silver rolex, smiling at you a bit. “Do you want me to hog all the hot water instead?”

“Huh? Oh…” you blink a bit, it’s not like you’ve never been with anyone, never seen a man naked, but Satoru’s forearms were taking you the fuck out.

He is effortless with his little movements, he must do this almost every day, freeing himself from the confines of his perfect facade, the buttoned up business man who you’ve never seen in the same suit twice. You’re sure he wears them again, it’s just you haven’t seen him enough to have ever caught it, the only thing you’ve noticed is he wears the same cufflinks.

The ones you saved to buy him when you were in high school, storing up all your extra funds where you worked as a waitress to purchase them for his birthday. You eye them now as you still hold the jacket close, fingers brushing along the bright blue sapphire of one of them. You’d walked by a jeweler in the mall with your friends and thought they matched just one shade of his eyes.

“You still wear these?” You ask softly, his attention goes to your little fingers brushing over the gem carefully, and he nods a bit. “Why? Aren’t they kind of not up to your… standard?”

“They’re my favorite, and they weren’t cheap either,” he walks up then, touching the other one, his nearness fucking your senses. “I remember you buying them, I think it was my thirty-sixth birthday. I was having some existential crisis and they really cheered me up.”

“You, a crisis? No way,” he hums a bit, gently tugging the cuff links out now, one by one, setting them next to his Rolex on a little black glass tray he’d brought along with him, the lights catch them and make them glimmer prismatically. “You were young though, still are.”

“Yeah no, I’ll be forty one in December, yuck.” You laugh with him, shaking your head then.

“That is not ‘yuck’ or old, you and dad are super young. Dad was always like the youngest at any parent event, shit usually the only dad altogether. I remember him going to Moms and Muffins.”

“Yes, you put bows in his hair, he showed me.” You both laugh then, Satoru stands against the dresser, his mind racing then.

He can’t want you like this, and it has to stop, the way he keeps thinking of having you naked and his jacket splayed under you, if you could stop looking at him like that!? Your lips parted, your pretty eyes lidded, making him tortured by the thoughts of fucking you so good they roll back, so good you drool. He’s clenching his hands into fists at the thought, almost twenty years between you.

Maybe if he keeps saying the number, it’ll fucking matter, the fact that he’s never even been with a girl ten years younger, Satoru just wasn’t a man to do that. He enjoyed intellect, experience, someone who got his references and shitty jokes - but the problem was you did check all those boxes. You’ve been kicking his ass at chess since he could remember, you laughed at all his dumb jokes.

You were a brilliant girl with your life ahead of you, you’re right, he’s not ‘old’ but he just is ‘older’ than you. Having already had a divorce and two broken engagements, he also was tired of trying, he’d settled on some regular girls for sex and focused on business fully now. Something a young Satoru who hated his parents and the Gojo name altogether would gasp at.

“You’re not old, you look my age you know.” You break his thoughts up, he chuckles a bit at that, before sucking in a breath, when you walk closer, slipping his jacket off to hand it to him.

“Yeah, genetics and Korean skincare products.” You giggle, as he keeps his eyes affixed on your face, not the strap that’s fallen down the gentle slope of your shoulder, he takes the jacket instead, your fingers brushing against each other for the briefest moment.

“Well, they work, I don’t think you’ve ever changed. I hope I look super hot when I’m your age.”

“You will, you already are beautiful…” He trails off, your eyes meet then, as he realizes what he said, and the tone he said it. He smiles to break the tension. “Thank god you don’t look like your dad.”

“Oh whatever! He’s pretty, you know.”

“Psh, okay.” He rolls his blue eyes, and you both laugh then.

“Thank you, that’s nice of you Satoru.” When you say his first name it’s like testing it, you’ve always called him Gojo, aside from when you made him birthday cards, and you’d write Satoru on them.

“Not being nice, you know you’re a gorgeous girl.” He’s clearing his throat now, looking away as he hangs his jacket up, next to the other suits he’d brought, smoothing it out.

“It’s kinda nice to hear from the Satoru Gojo.”

“Uh huh, flattery will get you everywhere.” He pats your head then, ruffling up your hair, you blow a thick strand off your brow. “You go take a shower.”

“Yeah, thank you again.” You smile and head into the bathroom, finally leaving Satoru to exhale in relief after he glimpses your back again, like pure torture, he’s curious just how the fuck he’ll handle a week alone with you.

Hopefully a room would open up or something by then.

The sounds of hot water pounding on the tiles below fills the room now, mixed with some light singing echoing from the bathroom, he can’t help but smile a bit at how pretty your voice is. If anyone should get into Julliard, it’s surely you, talented and just a natural at everything, the sound fills the room and ignites something in him he’d rather not think of.

Comfy, homey, it’s how you make him feel, and maybe that’s worse than wanting to bend you over the bed, worse than wanting to lift you and slip you against that shower wall. Much, much scarier than the thoughts of filling you up with so much cum your tummy is full of him, watching his fucking cock bulge that tummy as he’d make sure your cunt was ruined for anyone.

No, homey and comfy were worse by far, they were things he absolutely never thought before, even during his marriage - and what a disaster that was. Women all wanted him for his looks, his money, what he could do for them, but no one really knew him deep down, just the facade he’s tired of putting on.

Picturing you naked in the shower is his fucking downfall, picturing your pretty body with water dripping down it, his cock is hard by the mental images, he scowls down at it. He’s just in his slacks now, putting up his dress shirt, luckily this suite always had good hot water and pressure, it’s why it was one of his favorites, and he could surely use a shower.

Jerk off in there to act normal.

He’s like some pathetic teenager around you rather than a grown man, and it irritates him to no end. He hears your singing stop after a bit, as he is typing some notes for tomorrow’s presentation on his laptop, slipping on his glasses to see the screen just a little better, when he sees you from the corner of his eye, wrapped in a soft terry cloth towel.

He almost whimpers at the sight, clenching his teeth together to focus on the screen as you walk out. “Okay I feel a million times better.”

He looks up then, and it’s his downfall, as he has to see the way the towel is tied right at your breasts, pushed up and glistening, skin dewy and flushed from the shower, making him want to kiss every inch. “I bet, the plane ride was a long one.”

“It was, for sure, and then to get a ride to the hotel was hard, I’m not used to a city this big,” you’re adorable with your little pout, your own gaze taking in his bare chest then, like a caress. “I failed my drivers test again by the way.”

“Again? Shit,” he’s snorting in laughter, even as you cross your arms and glare just a bit, you play along with the motions, but your gaze can’t rip itself away from his chiseled body. “Do I gotta teach you?”

“Do you drive anywhere, Gojo?”

“Hush.” You giggle at his own glare, he looks too fucking hot in those glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, his body shifting a bit to face you now.

It’s not like you haven’t seen him shirtless constantly, Satoru had helped you swim after all, and Gojo and your dad were always taking you to the beach. You’d always known how perfect he was, sculpted within an inch of his life, lean defined muscles that begged for your fingertips to brush across them, lines and shadows cast as the bathroom light filters into the now dim room.

You wish you felt bad about how badly you want him, but you only feel bad it can never happen, feel bad he couldn’t have been your first, like you’d dreamed over and over, until you knew it couldn’t happen. It wasn’t like Gojo ever saw you that way, the times you think he looked at you as more than a ‘kid’ you feel it was just your imagination.

You feel this man could fuck, you just feel it.

But no, stuck with losers who couldn’t care less if you cum - in fact, the last guy you fucked asked if you did after not touching you more than a minute and cumming pathetically quick in a condom. You’d smiled and said ‘of course’, making him grin and kiss you all happy, and that’s about the time you just gave up on ever liking sex either, too far in your fucking delusions.

It wasn’t a healthy desire, or okay, but usually with Gojo not seeing you much, and you having moved out of your dad’s, it was better. It was just elusive memories and fantasies that you could lose sight of, you could focus on school and your music, focus on your dream — but part of you wanted him in the front row.

“You’re gonna catch a cold if you don’t dry your hair,” he teases, standing then, you watch how his muscles flex as he moves, with ease, his long legs making strides so close to you now, when he touches your damp strands with a sigh. “Wasn’t there a blow dryer in there?”

“There is, but I needed to grab some clothes first- ah!” Your towel threatens to fall then, you gasp, but Satoru’s got it bunched together in a fist quicker than you can blink, bringing you right against him.

The only sounds in that moment are your breaths, and your heart pounding in your ears, when your eyes lock together, and you see the way they dilate, almost black in that moment. Your own hand comes over his balled fist, when he leans down, and for some insane fucking moment you picture it - a kiss from him, from Satoru Gojo, his glossy lips and how they’d feel.

Something you wrote about in endless diaries, it can never happen, it would never happen, he’s making sure you’re not naked if anything, you have to remember it, have to hold back. You smile nervously then, hoping the shower will explain away the flush of your cheeks in front of him, as you take the towel from his hold, holding it together now.

“Thanks, I’m so sorry…”

“No, it’s fine,” his voice is darker, huskier than you’ve ever heard it, making your thighs press together, still slick from the water, in need. “I’ll go take one now.”

“Yes,” he stomps away quickly, leaving you to catch your breath, looking in the mirror over the dresser at how badly his nearness affected you. Your own eyes are so dilated you can’t see your iris anymore.

Soon, Satoru’s leaning against the tile wall, stroking his cock in the hot shower, his eyes fluttering shut in a mix of self loathing and need. He has had you pop up in his mind the past couple years, when he’s hitting a girl from the back with your hair color, when he’s fucking one in a spoon position, and her tits are about your size, he’s shoved them all away though.

He’s never jerked off to you specifically, but there’s no denying it, he’s jerking his thick, veiny cock to his best friend’s daughter in the other room. He feels filthy, as filthy as the sick thoughts he has, of making sure he fucked you so good you’d never even look at one of your stupid college boys again. Showing you what cumming really is, because he’s sure no one has done it right.

You’d be so pretty full of him, leaking his cum for him to shove it back inside your cunt, fuck he’d stock up on plan bs if he could do it every night, if he could watch it pour from your perfect pussy. He hasn’t even seen it, but he just knows it’s as beautiful as the rest of you is, god even your thighs in that towel had him leaking more pre, so hard it hurts.

His tip, usually a blushing pink, is now a mean red with how badly it’s been stuck in this fucking state, he hisses a bit as he runs his fingers along it. He’s picturing it all, that towel falling at your feet, and him slipping his hands across that dewy skin, sucking on that delicate neck he’d like his hand around. It’s pathetic, really, he is better than this surely, but he can’t not touch it.

He’s jerking it faster, fisting his long, curved cock, when the fucking door opens, and he tenses, glaring into the shower curtain that thankfully covered him. “I forgot my phone in here, sorry Gojo.”

“Ah, no, it’s f-fine…” he’s sick, he’s sure of it, jerking it even while you’re in there, in fact knowing you’re there has him feeling closer to cumming, hoping you don’t notice the sounds of his fist on his cock.

“Is there still hot water?” You tease, swiping a little bit of the condensation left on your phone with a towel, already wearing your little shorts and a crop top.

“Yeah, plenty, you didn’t hog too much.”

“See!”

“You left strands of your hair on the wall though.”

“Shit, it fell out!” He laughs softly, as if he’s not still stroking it, and you sigh a little bit then. “All right, I’ll leave you to it.”

Why do you fucking think of offering to jump right back in there? Why do you hesitate, wondering just how perfect he looks under that spray? You shut the door gently with a click that echoes, resting your back against it and shutting your eyes, sighing.

You’re already so stressed about the Julliard audition, the last thing you need is this pounding in your head, an impossible fantasy.

When you’re snuggled up in the main bed out in the entryway, Satoru comes out with a towel slung on his hips to grab his clothes, you can’t help but eye the white happy trail, the little v cuts on either side of his hips begging for your tongue on them. You tug your blanket up a little bit, avoiding the sight of the tenting in his towel, and how badly you’re curious about it.

“Feel better?” You tease, he smiles and nods a bit, grabbing his boxers then, hesitating as he realizes he didn’t bring shit else to sleep in.

“Much better.” He’s gone back to the bathroom, you’re exhaling and leaned back, head on the plush leather headboard, fingers tapping in the rhythm you’ll practice tomorrow, focusing.

He finds you like that when he’s back out, sitting down on one of the chairs to tap back at his keyboard once more, and your lips are pursed, fingers tapping along the red silk comforters. You’re beautiful like that, lost in your own world, surely composing some masterpiece only you can hear, a beauty that tugs at his chest.

It’d be one thing if you were just hot, but to be truly beautiful seemed one of life's meanest jokes to him.

Your phone rings, your eyes open and you catch sight of him. “Shit, you saw me like that?”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine, ya gonna get that?” You look at your phone on the nightstand, tugging off the covers just to make him hard again.

Do you wear clothes!? Or just scraps?

“It’s dad!” You’re giggling, picking up the phone, legs dangling high off the floor as he tries not to imagine slipping his fingers across them. “Hey dad!”

“Hey sweetie, you didn’t check in with me, how’s my girl?” Your dads voice instantly makes you miss him, you two are as close as you can be, and you wish he could be here, but he’s out of the country stuck right now because of some stupid customs issue with a pet he and his new girlfriend bought.

She was actually cool as fuck, but you don’t know if your dad really will ever get over mom, though you’d love to see him happy.

“Wishing you were here,” you say, hearing him sigh over the phone.

“I know, shit, I think we should be able to fly out in the next couple days but I’ll miss the audition for sure.”

“Ugh! I’m okay though, actually… Satoru is here.”

“Satoru? Shit, put me on speaker,” you bounce up then, making your tits jiggle as you hop down, Satoru almost chokes when you run up and stand right next to him, popping on the speaker. “He’s here!”

“Satoru, what’re you doing there?” Suguru’s voice is friendly, relieved even. Thank god he can’t sense the dumb fucking thoughts in his head.

“I was actually staying here for business, when the hotel booked her room, so I offered her to just stay in the suite with me.”

“He saved me!”

“Psh.” He’s chuckling as you smile, leaning across his table a bit, tank top slipping off your fucking shoulder, as if the straps were mocking him.

He sure couldn’t stare at your tits while he talks to your dad!?

“Thank you, Satoru, I feel so much better that you’re there with her,” he almost laughs at that, because he sure the fuck wouldn’t want himself around, with what’s brewing in his mind. “I worried about her alone in the city.”

“Dad, I'm a big girl now, you know.” You’re pouting too fucking cute, Satoru can’t drag his mind off your plush lips for a moment as Suguru speaks.

“You’re still my little girl, anyway I am glad it worked out. By the time I even get back you’ll be in Julliard!”

“You have too much faith in me,” your voice is quiet now, and Satoru puts his hand over yours, smiling at you, earning your little smile back.

“She’ll kill it.”

“Exactly, see we both believe in you.” You tear up a bit, sniffling now, it’s been months since you saw either of them.

“I miss you so much.”

“Aw, me too baby, I’ll be home soon okay?” You sniffle as Satoru caresses the back of your hand. “Take good care of her for me, Satoru.”

“I will.” You hang up the phone then, the exhaustion of the flight and your self doubt creeping in, Satoru tugs you close then, hugging you gently as you’re between his thighs, and your arms wrap his neck.

“Hey, hey, you’ll do great. He’ll be back soon,” you’re taking several breaths, burying your face against his neck as the tears fall, and his big hand splays the small of your back, so warm and soothing. “It’s okay.”

“I missed you too.” You say it softly, like a secret, making Satoru pause, his hand still gently running up and down your back.

“Missed me, why?” You just shake your head, hugging him tighter, as his blood rushes to places he wishes it fucking wouldn’t. “Miss me teasing you?”

“Maybe I do,” you pull back, and Satoru swipes your tears, streaking down your pretty cheeks. “You haven’t visited in a long time.”

“Yeah, I know…” He can’t admit why, he eyes your tears still falling, your glassy eyes, it’s too intimate then, too close, your lips a breath away. “I guess work got the best of me, and my nasty break up.”

“She was a bitch.” He snorts in laughter then, swiping more tears as you stand there between his long legs, like you belong there. “I didn’t like her.”

“You didn’t, huh? She was pretty bitchy, it took a lot for me to get her out of the house. I think I considered an exterminator.” You both laugh then, before he realizes he’s still cupping your face. “Why didn’t you like her? She played nice pretty well to others.”

“She wasn’t in love with you enough,” he pauses at your observation, tilting his head, the lights catch the lavender hue on his hair that falls over his brow, still a little damp, the scent of shampoo filling your nostrils. “She didn’t look at you enough, notice you enough. So I decided I didn’t like her.”

“I see, you’re pretty observant huh?” You shrug a shoulder, hand on his wrist now, your thumb brushing over the veins that dance along it. “She wasn’t in love with me, more the idea of being a Gojo I suppose.”

“Well I’m glad she’s gone. I haven’t liked any of your girlfriends.” He laughs now, but you’re dead serious.

“None of them? Now that’s silly, some of them weren’t that bad.”

“Hmm, nope they all sucked.” He’s laughing harder, his hands finally falling, but one of them remains in yours, he looks down at it then, at how small your hand is compared to his. “You deserve someone that really loves you.”

“Yeah, well, I think I give up.”

“What now?”

“Yeah, I’m ancient.”

“Shut up!” You shove at him, he’s chuckling more but you’re very serious. “Stop saying that. I won’t be old at forty.”

“No, you won’t be able to drive then either.”

“Excuse me!?” He’s grinning as you smack playfully, until you smile and sniffle a bit. “You’re such a jerk!”

“Thought I deserve all this love, what now?” His hands found their way to your hips, as he leans forward, before he can think about it, and you suck in your breath, your heart hammering as he pulls back, realizing how natural it felt.

“You do, but you also deserve a few smacks.” You stop his hands before they leave your waist, and he stares right at them, before the gaze drifts to your nipples, glaringly apparent in your top. “Satoru…”

“You should get some sleep,” he barely manages to speak, standing then, towering over you. Your head falls back when he brushes a strand back behind your ear, leaning over to press a friendly kiss on your head, the one that you’d die if it slipped lower. “I’ll have a car ready to bring you in the morning, okay?”

“You’re the best, Satoru, thank you.”

You keep saying it - Satoru - like you’re testing it on your tongue, and it’s never ending hell to hear it, but he plasters on a smile, patting your head like he always does and walking into the room off to the side. Thankful for the privacy and distance, he shuts the heavy cream door and rests his head against it.

He can barely handle looking at you, inhaling your scent, feeling your skin against him, but you saying he deserved love fucked him up completely. He swallows that down, grabbing a water out of the little fridge in there, swallowing it in needy gulps, before finally laying in the bed, forcing himself to fall asleep.

*****

“Good morning, sweets,” Satoru’s bright and cheery as he comes inside the room with two bags full of donuts, muffins and treats, along with two cups of coffee in a carrier. He’s already fully dressed in his suit, looking like a million bucks, so pretty with his smile as bright light filters in the floor to ceiling windows. “You need to eat.”

“Oh, thank you so much.” You yawn and stand, stretching just a bit, when he sees your tit is precariously close to falling out. He flushes and averts his eyes, when you bounce over to him. “You’re so sweet!”

“It’s nothing, all included. You need something in your system so you don’t get shaky,” his thoughtfulness chokes you up for a moment, you just stare at him with a muffin hovering in your hand. “Want a different flavor? I can go grab more.”

“No, no it’s… you remember me getting shaky?”

“Yeah, you were shaking insane at that pool party last year because you were silly and didn’t eat, knowing we were out in the sun all day.” He taps your nose, as you giggle and peel the wrapper. “Bad girl.”

Jesus fuck, does he not know what that does!?

You stare at him, he’s smirking just a bit like maybe he does fucking know, but then he gets to sipping on his sweet coffee, sighing as it hits his tastebuds. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“I remember a lot of shit I guess,” he shrugs a broad shoulder, taking a donut and starting to devour the sweets, you can’t help but smile as you nibble on your muffin, and he’s sucking on his thumb to lap up icing. “What is it, brat?”

“Brat!? Hey now,” he’s licking his other finger, your body responds almost violently at the sight, picturing the most obscene fucking things. Like him licking you off him instead. You hastily look away, blushing, god is that all you do around this man now? “No, just how you keep that body perfect and eat more than Goku.”

“No one eats more than Goku,” you giggle again at that, as he laughs softly, now tearing into a chocolate chip muffin. “Genetics and working out I guess.”

“You have won the gene pool, this will go to my hips.”

“Nice hips,” he trails off then, clearing his throat, and your tummy clenches as his eyes dart across your body. “I mean to say… you can eat a muffin, you look great, okay?”

“Thank you, Satoru.” You smile and do just that, taking another bite, as the tension in the suite grows with every fucking breath, until you can’t breathe, not with how he looked at you just now.

It has to be your fantasy brain again, he was probably being nice, he’s always been supportive and sweet, someone you could come to. It’s you who is the problem, who can’t stop thinking of fucking your dad’s best friend, something he would never forgive either of you for. Something that will never happen.

You have a huge opportunity, you have to focus.

“Tell me you brought something like… not as… revealing for this? Or do I need to buy you an outfit?” You laugh a bit then, and his thin brows lower. “I’m serious.”

“Are you saying I dress slutty!?”

“What!? No… just very revealing.”

“Maybe you are old.”

“What now!?” You’re biting your lip to stop laughing as he stands up, and you find your back pressed against the table, his arms on either side of you. “Do I look old to you?”

“No, you’re the one that says it silly! You’re old fashioned.” You shove at his chest and he smirks a bit.

“I am not old fashioned, but you do have something professional, yes? I don’t mind taking you shopping.”

The visions flash then, shopping with Satoru, on his fucking arm, god it’s too much, you look down a bit nervously, at his neck, the tie just a bit askew. You fix it carefully, watching his adam’s apple bob up and down. “I have something professional, I’ll put it on and show you.”

He eases back and you come out a few minutes later, a pretty white dress shirt and a cute little bow tie, along with a black little skirt and suspenders, you look fucking adorable. He can’t help but melt a bit as he sees you do a little twirl, black tights and pretty black heels finishing it off.

“Now that’s perfect, you look…” Beautiful, fucking beautiful. “You look like you’re going to nail this.”

“Yay! Thank you!” You kiss his cheek and smile against it, on your tiptoes, a hand over his jacket, burning his skin. “I’m so nervous.”

“Don’t be, you’re going to do amazing. Are you ready to get going? I have to leave a little early for this meeting and the traffic is terrible here.”

“I’m ready!”

Satoru’s in the back with you on his phone, talking to this person and then that person, negotiating a multi million dollar deal while you’re tapping your fingers, an ear bud in with the three songs on rotation that you’ll be performing. You keep tapping them, shutting your eyes, lips murmuring the notes silently. You don’t realize your thigh is shaking until his huge hand covers it.

“You’re a nervous wreck,” his fingers press gently right above your knee, you’re taking several breaths, eyes locking with his as the car stalls through the heavy traffic, slowing to a crawl. “How much are you gonna jiggle it?”

“A lot,” he’s rolling his eyes now, hand falling off, and you instantly miss its warmth, its presence. “I’m gonna fail it.”

“Don’t go in with that attitude, stop that.” He frowns at you, eyes hiding behind those dark shades, just a hint of blue shimmering as they slip down his straight nose a bit. “You’ll do great.”

“Right…”

You wish Satoru was right.

You’re so nervous, so stuck on your insane desires and thoughts, that you keep missing keys you would never. You’re such a fucking mess, every time you hit a sharp key the sickness sinks in deeper, until you’re fucking it all up. You try to save face, the judges are shocked considering all the references on your lists, all the videos that have gone viral of you.

You can’t perform for shit today, and you’re shaking and sobbing by the end of it, heart sinking as you realize what has happened. Instead of waiting for Satoru, you’re walking blocks until you find the nearest bar, and drinking until you’re a mess, all while you picture the disappointment.

All your life living for this dream, for what. What was any of it for?

A few guys are hitting on you as you sit alone at the bar, you let them buy you drinks, but you don’t speak to them, hardly notice as one of them whispers something in your ear and hands you his info, as another touches your back. You barely remember texting Satoru where you are later on, when he was heading to get you from his meeting.

He’s furious when he does walk into the bar, it’s filled with college people probably partying for the summer, he walks through hoards of them when he sees you, two men on either side of you as you down a shot. You’re not smiling or enjoying yourself, he feels the upset from across the bar, your shoulders slumped when one of them dares to touch your back.

He loses any control he’s had, losing it all for the frustration you’ve just put him through, an enigmatic - ‘i’m getting drunk’ and nothing the fuck else at five pm. He’s stomping right over, clearing his throat and getting the two men’s attention, both trying to shoot their shot at a girl who shouldn’t give them the time of fucking day.

He says your name, and you turn to him, skin flushed and eyes glassy, clearly drunk as fuck. He just hopes you had the good sense to only take drinks from the bartender rather than these creeps, as he snatches you right off the barstool, and you almost lose your balance.

“Who’s this, baby?” One asks, Satoru narrows his eyes at the fuck boy.

“It’s Satoru,” you’re hiccuping then, swaying even though you’re not even moving, about to fall if he doesn’t catch you. “Satoru Gojo.”

“Come have another, we can hit a party,” the other says, and you just bury your face against Satoru’s chest, as he carefully holds you.

“She’s going home.” Satoru’s words ring through your drunk ass brain, he lays a tip for you on the table, snatching up your bag and wrapping an arm around your waist, leading you out into the cool night air.

You’re sobbing when he gets to the sidewalk, concerning him to no fucking end, the sun is setting as he guides you gently into the back of the sleek black car, isntantly grabbing a bottle of water from the cooler installed. He twists it open and tilts your chin up gently.

“Drink some water, yeah?” You shake your head, and he scowls. “I said drink some fucking water.”

“Okay, dad.”

“I’m not your fucking dad,” his voice is clipped and harsh then, your eyes try to focus on his angry, handsome face, he swirls just a bit as you let him put the water to your lips. “Drink.”

You do as he says, swallowing greedily then, body craving anything other than the endless shots you’ve just fed it - nothing but a muffin this morning in your body to soak it up. He sighs as he eyes you, unreadable in his gaze, slipping a thumb over your chin as a little bit falls along your chin, before snapping the cap back on.

“Celebrating like this is dangerous, you could have been taken advantage of by those douche bags.”

“Celebrating!” You’re laughing then, until you’re crying, a whole fucking mess as he watches you, swallowing the tightness in his throat. Celebrating, what a joke that was, he looks at you in concern, brows lowering now, the sky is dimming outside, darkening the seat as you try to breathe, try to focus.

“Will you just tell me what’s wrong, what’s going on?” He asks quietly, you sigh then, looking at him, as he gently cups your face.

“I fucking failed, Satoru.”

“What now!?”

“I fucked up, I ruined it.” You’re sobbing again, he holds you against him, as your hands ball his jacket into your fists, tears soaking the expensive material, he exhales and shakes his head. “I did, I did all of this to just fuck it up, dad’s gonna be so d-dissapointed… and you are…”

“Fuck this, I’ll go demand a redo.”

“You can’t!” You pull back and look up at him, the alcohol warming your body, spreading as he’s right near you. “Satoru they will never.”

“The fuck they won’t, you’ve never seen me negotiate shit, have you?” He raises a brow, you swipe at your tears, lip trembling.

“You can’t just fix it for me.”

“I can give you another chance, okay? I’ll meet with them tomorrow, you’ll find I can be very convincing, yeah?” You sigh then, nodding as he brushes back some of your hair. “You’re a mess, ya know?”

“I know.” He frowns contemplatively, as you lean closer, he can taste the liquor on your breath, as your eyes dart to his lips, and the tension coils in your tummy. “You think you can really talk to them?”

“Of course I can, but you better be ready this time. I’ll come watch you, would that help?” You nod then, so quickly it makes you just a little dizzy. “All right then, just let me work my magic.”

You love him.

Fuck you almost say it, the alcohol threatening to loosen your tongue, but you swallow instead, a hand on his chest, and his own eyes lower, snowy lashes casting shadows over those baby blues, the proximity making you both heat up in that moment. He pulls back just a bit, realizing how precarious the moment is, he needs to comfort you, not fucking kiss you, or worse.

Especially drunk off your ass.

“You need more water-” You’ve pressed your lips on his before he can finish his sentence, too far gone to hold back, to stop the motion, pulling back just a bit to look up at him.

He says nothing, eyes wide, and you would apologize if you cared enough to, if you felt bad enough about it, but in that moment it’s all you want, to kiss him, even if it’s only once. You lean back a bit, you want to form the apology you don’t mean on your lips, form it into words, as it’s so silent in the back of that car, all you can hear is your blood rushing in your ears.

“Sorry,” he scoffs then, eyes narrowing, hand slipping into the nape of your neck, tugging your hair just enough to make your head fall back.

“You’re not sorry, are you?” You smile, you can’t help it, you’re too drunk to lie to him.

“Kind of sorry,” he tightens his hand, tugging at the delicate strands of hair, you’re whining out, the sound fucking him completely. “Satoru…”

“You’re forgetting this, okay?” You nod then, understanding him, when he slams his lips on yours, the release so fucking good he can’t stand it, drinking in your cries as your arms wrap his neck.

He’s lost then, letting himself have one moment, where he devours your mouth with his practiced tongue, where his other hand slips up your thigh, up your hip, to your ribcage, brushing right under your breasts. You’re clinging to him, closer and closer, until you’re straddling him, even as he shoves at your hips, you roll them, whining out when you feel him.

“Fuck, you’re a brat…” he’s huffing, biting back a moan as he feels your heat, soaking wet even against your tights, pressing you down for just a moment to torture himself, kissing you deeper, hungrier. It’s messy and desperate, you’re kissing him sloppy, saliva dripping, as you roll your hips against him.

“Please…” He wants to give you it, fuck he wants you to have all of him, but he yanks you off him, holding you up by your hips, kissing you one more time.

“No more, you’re drunk and… this is a terrible fucking idea.” He sits you right next to him, you’re dizzy and breathless. “Forget that happened.”

“Right, sure Satoru.” You glare at him, he glares right back, leaning over and hating himself, he wanted to rip your fucking tights at the crotch, slip his fingers inside your wet cunt, stretch you out on him.

Shit that can never, ever happen.

“You’re upset and drunk, and I’m fucking stupid.”

“You’re not-”

“Drink.” He orders, and you do just that, he’s back to being caring and distant, as you ache for him, more and more as the water sobers you up just a bit.

He’s helping you up into bed later, he puts your hair up off your neck carefully in a pony tail, he makes you eat food that he orders. The alcohol has lost its effects mostly as you lay in bed, and he’s typing over on his laptop, the glasses looking unfairly handsome on his face as you study him.

“Will you really help me get another chance?” You ask softly, his eyes catch you across the room.

“Of course I will, but it’ll be up to you to show them what you can do, show them how good you are. Okay?” You nod then, snuggling against the pillow, eyes drifting shut, neither of you mention the kiss, neither of you breathe a word even close to insinuating it happened.

“Thank you, Satoru. Good night.” You murmur, he sighs, nodding then.

“Good night.” His clicking of the keys drifts you off to sleep, the vivid images behind your eyes of him overtaking your mind, wondering if it was all some fucking drunk fever dream.

But it wasn’t.

When later he closes the laptop and brushes your hair back, studying you for a moment, he tries to make a promise to himself - that it will never happen again, he’ll never let his control slip like that. Even if all he can think of now is slipping into bed next to you and holding you against him, he shoves it all down, going back to his room, and staring at the ceiling.

What had he been thinking?

He can’t feel this way.

He shuts his eyes, failing to sleep as he knows you’re in the next room, while you dream the filthiest things about your dad’s best friend.

Kofi link if you wanna buy me a glass of wine 🍷

tags- @valentinegab3 @vinnababy @sakisworld @satorupied @lolliibunny @coralbae @lnette04 @delightfulstay @zephyairies @flowerymenendez @yomama2089 @chocoyanchan @hargun-s @ic-slxt @lovelytwixx @lily-bisque @sirencholia @etosh0e @yesdere @luciferlikesducks @frankoceanfan9911 @sukunaslilsocks @dientesdefresa @maah-sama @amesenseii @lem-hhn @keiiate @ttrinity @monster-effer @coffinboy666 @neliislost @thequeenofcurses @inzanekillian @gojoswaterbottle @melotter @buckturd @artbligh @msniks @shibataimu @macchianikato @neohoestechnology @levislug @trsh-kitty @satsattoru @erisfayred @gh0stgirl333 @silverfangmarks @smashlyn89 @hwngez

[yuramour]

★ IT'S TRUE LOVE — F1 GRID

synopsis. f1 grid as different romance tropes pairing. f1 grid x reader (ft. mv1, yt22, ln4, op81, gr63, ka12, cl16, lh44, dr3, aa23, cs55, ob87, ih6, jd7) genre. fluff, angst??, headcanons warnings. mostly fluff?, some of these are angsty tho, some brief mentions of suggestiveness, not proofread wc. 7k (about 500 per driver, 2 paragraphs each)

a/n. ollie's is based on a dream i had that i woke up CRYING from. also, i think isack's is the longest, but like...that's my man stfu. also, very much not proofread. soz!

MAX VERSTAPPEN

☆ strangers to lovers?

you and max met when you first moved to italy. you were working the front desk at a fancy hotel in monza that served as a temporary home for some of the richest people in the world. he hardly paid you any notice at first- just a simple smile and wave whenever he passed by the front desk. you didn't really know anything about formula 1- or really care. but something about the man stuck with you. after a few months of working at the hotel, he finally approached. asking if you wanted to go for a drive. of course, you said yes. he took you to a secluded lookout point at the edge of the city. you talked for hours, the conversation winding down after the sun had long since set. it was clear he just wanted someone to talk to, confide in. someone who didn't care about who he was. he took you back to his hotel room that night- and in the morning, he was gone. it turned into something of a routine for you two; every time he would visit monza, he'd stay in your hotel, take you out for a drive after your shift, and invite you to stay the night with him. every time, he'd tell you he missed you. those words awakened some sick satisfaction in you every time he uttered them- he missed you. he thought about you.

you knew nothing would ever come of it. he was rich, powerful, at the top of his game. everyone knew him. everyone loved him. and you? you were nothing. barely even a character in the background of everyone else's life. but every night you got to spend with max, you felt like the world revolved around just the two of you. then came the night he told you he loved you- you thought he'd said it as a mistake, just a slip of the tongue as his hands wandered your body. but he said it again the morning after, when he thought you were deep in sleep. maybe nothing would ever come of it. you were from two different worlds. your paths only crossing when he had business in the city. but you held on hope that next time he came, he'd whisk you away from the monotony of your life and tell you he loved you with his chest. but until then, you reveled in the fact that he thought of you when he was gone- the image of you at that lookout point in your pretty red dress staring out at the sunset was burned into the back of his mind.

YUKI TSUNODA

☆ forced proximity

you would've liked to be friends with yuki, as everyone else seemed to be. but any time the two of you were left in a room together, he'd leave as quick as he could. it was like he was avoiding you. in the heart of winter, the red bull racing team informed you that you'd be going to a conference in switzerland with the team. you were excited to be getting out of the country for a while. you'd been going through a bad breakup- the type of breakup that practically crippled you with misery. so you were willing to take any opportunity to run from your problems. the night you arrived at the giant house the team had rented for the weekend, you decided to stay in and take a nap while the rest of the team went out to explore the town. you woke up a few hours later to a dark house, the wind howling loudly outside your window. you stumbled down the stairs- nearly jumping out of your skin when you ran into (literally) none other than yuki tsunoda, who told you that he opted to stay behind and rest as well. at first, the tension in the house was palpable- the awkward air between you and yuki thick as you waited for the storm to pass. the blizzard outside lasted for two days- the rest of the team unable to come back up to the house, leaving you and yuki alone the entire time. the first several hours were awkward, his apparent aversion to you still going strong. but slowly, very slowly, you managed to wear him down- getting him to crack a few smiles, joke around with you a bit, and by the second day, you would even call yourselves friends.

the team eventually got back up to the house, apologizing profusely for having to leave you and yuki alone during that time. but neither of you minded. for some reason, the next few days at work, you avoided yuki like the plague. now it was your turn to flee the room whenever you were left together- the tension in the room immediately turning up to 100 every time you were alone with him. it was too much for you. you didn't expect yuki to show up at your apartment on a random friday night. but by the time morning came, you couldn't find it in yourself to complain. that same day, you threw out everything of your exes that you'd kept for some stupid sentimental reason- expelling his memory from your home. while your heart was heavy when you saw his coat in your closet, you grinned like a lovestruck teenager when a few days later, you saw the toothbrush yuki had left in your bathroom. just a few weeks ago, you never would've guessed that yuki tsunoda- the man who was seemingly determined to keep you as far away from his as possible- would be the one to help you finally get over the man whose memory had been holding you back.

LANDO NORRIS

☆ enemies to lovers

you hated lando norris. and lando norris hated you. despite having so many mutual friends, you always managed to rub each other the wrong way. especially recently. you'd been going through a bit of a hard time- you were an american fashion designer and stylist. that's how you and lando first crossed paths. you were the personal stylist of carlos sainz back when he and lando were teammates. you were young, eager to prove yourself, and you did just that. your styling on carlos had opened a lot of doors for you in the fashion industry- and you took every opportunity you got to move up the ranks. you kept in close contact with carlos, having become close to him over the two years you were his stylist, and even becoming close to some of his own friends. you'd been having a rough few months- a well respected fashion journalist had given your new line a horrible review, which led to half of your contracts dropping you, and hardly anyone in the industry willing to even interact with you. carlos invited you to a party one night, just to get you out of your apartment that you'd been sulking in for the past couple weeks. unfortunately, he didn't tell you that the party was a celebration. for lando. of course.

you spent the whole night avoiding him as best you could, not wanting to hear him jeer over you potentially losing your career. you ended up standing outside, the cool air helping clear your mind of every horrible thought that ran through it. you were having a pleasant time until none other than lando norris sidled up next to you, you rolled your eyes and made a move to walk away, but he reached out for you, and for some reason, you stayed. and maybe it was the alchocol, but, you confided in him, telling him your fears, your hopes, everything that you'd never thought you'd say to him. and he listened. and he didn't judge. he told you about his own life, how he felt he was on a downward spiral, the confident cocky facade he'd put on around you slipping away until all you saw was him. the real him. you blamed it on the alcohol, but something in the both of you shifted. you couldn't deny that the kiss you shared that night made you feel something you'd never felt before. you kept your relationship a secret- not wanting the tabloids and media that seemingly hated the both of you to take the knowledge of your relationship and run with it. the more time you spent with lando, the more you saw of the real him, who held you so gently, treated you like you hung the moon and the stars, instead of the lando who criticized your every move, making you want nothing more than to scream at him (which you often had). you realized that he was just like you. hurt by the world, and by himself. and now, you were helping each other heal.

OSCAR PIASTRI

☆ opposites attract

oscar wasn't a party person. hell, he wasn't even really a people person. but you were. so he forced himself to be. you had met at an afterparty that you were dj-ing years ago. neither of you ever thought that you'd end up where you were- you were loud, excitable, a total social butterfly. and he was anything but that. he liked to keep to himself, holding his real thoughts and feeling close to his chest. but you took pleasure in breaking down walls, getting people to say what they really felt. he didn't like partying- but he loved watching you have fun. he was content to watch from the sidelines as you danced with your friends, approached complete strangers to strike up conversation, enjoying being the center of the universe. at the beginning of your relationship, it took you a while to understand each other- you didn't really get why oscar preferred to stand in the back of the room, just observing, and he didn't really understand how you had the energy to party so long, how you were able to talk to anyone and everyone so effortlessly. it took a lot time time and patience, but you grew to love and appreciate those differences.

both of your favorite moments together were in the back of the cab after the parties- your head resting on your shoulder, his hand on your knee. you were always so tired after the parties, just wanting to go home with oscar, take a warm bath, and sleep soundly wrapped in his arms. and he loved to take care of you, washing your hair, setting a big cup of water and bottle of aspirin of your bedside table for your inevitable hangover. or the aftermath of the parties you'd throw at your shared apartment; the quiet music still playing through the speakers as you cleaned up the half-empty discarded bottle on the tables. oscar taking your hand and pulling you close, taking his turn to dance with you now that everyone else had left. everybody questioned how the two of you managed to stay together- your lifestyles seemingly complete opposites of each other. they didn't see the way you brought oscar out of his shell, bringing out the goofy personality he hid under that nonchalant persona. and they didn't see the way oscar taught you to appreciate the quiet moments, like cooking together or staying in and watching tv. they didn't understand that if you really love someone, you find a way to make it work. and you and oscar definitely made it work.

GEORGE RUSSELL

☆ high school sweethearts

you couldn't count on both hands the years that you and george had been together. your relationship was practically perfect by almost every mean. you started dating when you were both sixteen. going from sitting next to each other in biology to cheering him on at his races. you supported george through every step in his racing career, form f4 all the way to f1. through all the traveling, stress, and high emotions, you and george stuck together. you often felt out of place amongst the people that had become george's peers; the billionaires, the models, the politicians- but george never made you feel like you didn't belong with him in his world. it wasn't like you needed constant reassurance that he wouldn't leave you for some model- but he gave it to you anyway. telling you that there's no one else he'd rather come home to. you shared a pretty apartment with an even prettier view, often spending your evenings on the balcony with a glass of wine, watching the sun set over the water. it was simple. it was lovely.

of course, no relationship comes without its ups and downs. and while it was mostly ups, the downs were...pretty down. you knew george supported you in your career just as you did him. always cheering you on during your final exams or whenever you got a promotion. you knew he supported you. but he said something in a post-race interview that just made you feel distinctly unimportant. like he didn't even care about you or your aspirations. you knew that he could say some pretty dumb stuff due to the post-race adrenaline and general stress of race week. he'd said a lot of things he didn't mean over the years. but this really set you off. you were packing your bags in the hotel, getting ready to go home early. you didn't want to be around him at the moment. but you never could stay mad at him for long. he was practically (literally) in tears as he explained himself- the shame of his words flooding over him as you begged you not to leave. of course you would never leave him. the two of you went home together early, dodging the parties and interviews for the comfort of your home. at home, he listened when you told him how his words made you feel, and he explained what he really meant by his words. as the two of you ended the night as you always did- sharing a bottle of wine on your balcony- you found yourself counting your blessings. you didn't know what you did to deserve such a beautiful, healthy, perfectly imperfect relationship, but you knew you'd never take it for granted. and neither would he.

KIMI ANTONELLI

☆ fake relationship

you swore it started as a joke. ollie had made a stupid bet that kimi wouldn't be able to find a girlfriend before the summer ended- he was right, of course. which is why kimi asked you- one of his oldest friends- to help him out. was it cheating? sure. but kimi couldn't let ollie win that bet. it was fun at first; trying to trick ollie into believing that you two were actually dating. you and kimi went on "dates" so you could post them on instagram to make it more believable. you held hands in public, after every race, kimi would rush over to you first, and you'd hug him tightly, leaning your forehead against where his would be under his helmet. you giggled while reading the comments about how cute of a couple you were. because there was no way you two would actually date. you were friends. best friends. and this was all just an elaborate joke.

and then came the night at the bar. kimi and ollie had a couple of weeks before their next race, and wanted to celebrate their break along with some of the other rookies and their girlfriends. you, being kimi's "girlfriend" were invited along as well. it was all fine. really, it was. even though kimi was seemingly flirting with another girl right in front of you and all your friends. it hurt. you knew it shouldn't have, but it did. and you knew why. you always knew. but as soon as the tears in your eyes started shedding without warning, kimi noticed immediately and whisked you away. you cried the whole drive home, continuously telling him that you were fine- but of course you weren't. you didn't remember asking him to stay- or maybe you didn't ask. but when you walked into the living room of your apartment the next morning to find kimi asleep on the couch, you knew you needed to talk. you thought he'd leave the second you told him you loved him- but he stayed, and told you the same. guess it never really was a joke, after all

CHARLES LECLERC

☆ starcrossed lovers

it seemed as though no matter how hard you tried, things never seemed to work out between you and charles. schedules never aligning, families never approving, media never leaving you alone. you'd been with charles for six years- more or less. it felt like fate when you first met. despite your drastically different lives, it seemed like the universe just kept drawing you two together- bumping into each other in the most random places. you first met while you were working at a coffee shop in your final year at university- and then again while you were vacationing in italy during your celebratory graduation trip- and he remembered you. you didn't know anything about him, or who he was, but it just felt right. the first several months of your relationship were difficult. you'd just started grad school, and were fully committed to continuing your education- which he understood. and your parents were vehemently against your relationship, stating that he was a distraction from your studies, that you two were rushing into things, and that given his career, he'd surely be unfaithful to you. things only got harder after you went public with your relationship. you'd been together in private for a little over a year- flying out to see each other whenever you could, nightly video calls, and constant texting had long been the norm in your relationship. but charles wanted you to really be a part of his life. so you agreed to attend one of his races, and make your first public appearance as his girlfriend.

the articles were written practically the second you stepped foot in the paddock. tabloids digging into your family history and questioning why charles leclerc- the prince of monaco- one of the most famous men in the history of the sport- would be with you, who was by all means, nobody. it felt as though things were on a constant downward spiral after that. of course, you and charles loved each other, there was no doubt about that. but you weren't used to this life. you weren't used to people with cameras waiting for you outside of class, customers taking pictures of you working to post online, stumbling across random hate posts while peacefully scrolling through social media. despite charles constant reassurance that he loved you, tha he supported you, that you were all he ever wanted, you just couldn't handle the pressure. that was the first time the two of you broke up. but like i said earlier, it was as though the universe was intent on making your paths cross. maybe it was intentional on his part- the panel he held at your university one year after your breakup, and of course, you just couldn't stay away from each other. but that didn't last for long- your second breakup came not long after. you'd gotten your masters degree, and wanted to focus on your career. you somehow managed to stay away from him for two years after that. until you were invited to speak at a conference in monaco, that charles was the guest of honor at. there was no denying that you missed each other. and when you ended up going home with him that night, you were determined to stay this time. fuck the tabloids, fuck your parents. he was yours. always had been, and always would be.

LEWIS HAMILTON

☆ second chance

ten years. that's how many years you'd dedicated to lewis hamilton. you started dating right out of high school, after having been friends for years. you supported lewis throughout his entire career, all his ups and downs. you were always there, cheering him on no matter what. when lewis signed to mclaren for his first ever f1 season, you couldn't have been prouder. he'd been working towards formula 1 for such a long time, and it was finally happening. at first, you loved going to all the parties with lewis. you were never much of a party person, but you went for him, just proud to see him being recognized for the talented man you always knew he was. but after the first couple seasons, his new lifestyle had just gotten to be...too much for you. you of course were so proud of him in all his success, but all the parties, the practices, the traveling, all that was enough in and of itself. but you just felt so...out of place in his life. now instead of celebrating his wins with his friends from home, he was celebrating with celebrities; models, actors, musicians, all the people you saw on tv that seemed so unattainable were now falling over themselves to talk to your boyfriend at the afterparties. you were never an insecure person- but that realization made you feel so small. when you first shared your feeling to lewis, he assured you that those people meant nothing to him- that all he really wanted at the end of the day was to come home to you. that he'd miss every single party if it meant being able to watch tv on the couch in your shared apartment. but the question burned in the back of your mind; if that was all he really wanted, why was he even at the parties?

the breakup was gradual. lewis would come home from the races and accuse you of being unsupportive, and you'd accuse him of not caring about you now that he was famous. you weren't really sure who was in the wrong, but after ten years of commitment, ten years of love, of support, of being family, you were done. he was the one to tell you that it was over, but you both knew it was only a matter of time. and now, almost a decade later, you were certain you'd fully moved on. you were sure that lewis had forgotten all about you. he went on to date models and actresses, while you focused on your career. you certainly hadn't expected to see him at the charity gala that your boss had invited you to, but here he was. he'd somehow changed so much in the past ten years, and not at all. he was older, more poised, but his face was practically the exact same. like he hadn't aged a day since you last saw him. he was talking to some politician when he saw you, jaw immediately dropping once he noticed your presence. you don't know why you followed him when he silently asked you with a tilt of his head to meet you out on the balcony, but you did. the conversation flowed as naturally as it always had, and the tearful apology followed soon after. you took his offer to take you out for dinner the following night. it was like you were meant to follow him up to his penthouse with how naturally it felt. you stayed the night with him, and the night after, and the night after, when suddenly, you realized that weeks had passed without even realizing it. falling so easily back into your old routine that you'd broken out of over a decade ago. it all just felt so natural, so right, so perfect. maybe time really does bring you closer.

CARLOS SAINZ

☆ unrequited to requited love

you were everything to carlos. his oldest friend, his closest confidant, his lifeline. you'd known each other for almost as long as he could remember- you karted together as kids until an injury prevented you from furthering your career. after that, you just kind of stuck with carlos, which he was thankful for. he loved having you around, always there to cheer him on for every win, and pick him back up after every loss. as you got older, you followed him less and less, focusing on your newfound passion in journalism- but the bond between you remained stronger than ever. a few years after he joined the formula 1 grid, you became a presenter for the sport, your previous experience in karting and constant exposure due to your best friends career coming in handy. carlos had always admired your way with people, with speaking, able to speak to eloquently even under intense pressure. truth be told, carlos could listen to you speak for hours and never get bored. he had listened to you speak for hours and not gotten bored. carlos loved everything about you, really. always had. in fact, he'd been in love with you for nearly as long as he could remember. he'd drunkenly confessed to you the night he finished his first f1 race- and you let him down easy. because you didn't love him the same way. he pretended to not remember what he said the morning after, and you were content thinking he really didn't.

before that night, you somehow hadn't picked up on the fact that carlos was in love with you- despite it apparently being painfully obvious to everyone else. maybe you just didn't want to think that your best friend saw you in that way- because you really didn't see him in that way. at least, you didn't before that night. but after his confession, you started seeing carlos in a new light- the way his big brown eyes focused on you so intently whenever you spoke, the way he ran his hands through his thick hair whenever he was frustrated, the way he would squeeze your hand before the two of you parted ways for your separate jobs on the track. they were all habits you'd noticed before, but for some reason, your started stuttering whenever you met his eyes when you spoke, your stomach fluttering whenever he ran his hands through his hair, your hand felt empty as his left yours. you pushed those feelings down- thinking that surely after his drunken confession wasn't how he truly felt. it had been a couple years, after all. surely if it was real, he didn't feel that way anymore. until one night, the two of you were celebrating his first win with ferrari- a huge achievement for your friend. something about the way the dim lighting of your apartment made his skin glow, his eyes soft as you drunkenly giggled at a lame joke he'd made. he just looked so perfect. you hadn't intended to tell him you loved him- but you did. immediately regretting it when he froze, telling you that you'd had too much to drink. he helped you into bed, pressing a kiss to your forehead before leaving your room. the following morning, you went into the kitchen to find him leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee. you attempted to explain yourself, but he stopped you. simply asking if what you said was true. of course, it was. and of course, he still loved you. as he always did.

ALEX ALBON

☆ soulmates

somehow, it had always been you and alex. it was like your lives were intwined from the moment you were born. there were so many coincidences throughout the course of your lives- somehow often being in the same place at the same time without even knowing. you were literally born at the same hospital, two years apart, delivered by the same doctor. him and your brother had karted together for a brief time as kids- alex had even found a picture of the two of them together, with you looking on in the background, buried deep in a box in his parents basement. you wouldn't realize it until years later, but the two of you even shared a math tutor, occasionally passing by each other as your sessions ended and his began. when you got older, you and your brother decided to move to monaco- your brother had long retired from karting and turned towards engineering, managing to snag a role as an engineer for none other than the atlassian williams formula 1 team. you were really just along for the ride. you'd always followed your brother wherever he went, and he hadn't led you astray yet. his work at williams was enough to cover the rent for your little apartment, but you decided to pick up a job on the side as a barista at an aesthetic little cafe while you did online university classes.

you loved your job as a barista. especially since you were in monaco. all the random celebrities and politicians you met in your day-to-day life was something you never even dreamed of. and now you were a background character in their lives. it was fun! you enjoyed being an observer, watching these seemingly untouchable people live somewhat "normal" lives, ordering coffee like your average person. your cafe was right on the route of alex's morning runs, but he didn't ever go in. not until over a year of you working there. you had no idea who he was. despite the fact that your brother worked closely with him as an engineer for his team, and the fact they they karted together as kids (a fact that neither of them remembered), you didn't even really watch f1. only really knowing the most famous racers. your interaction at the cafe was like literally any other- no more than a few words on each side exchanged, and then he was off. but you would see him again just a few months later during the monaco grand prix. your brother had managed to snag you a pass for the race, able to get you inside the williams garage for you to see his job up close. when he introduced you to the racers, the chemistry between you and alex was immediate. it was like the two of you had known each other your whole lives (totally unaware that you sort of had). he asked for your number as soon as your brother was out of earshot, and not even a week after that, you were officially dating. the realization of how entwined your lives were came slowly, childhood stories lining up weirdly perfectly, joking about how odd it was until realizing that you were telling the same story. you never felt a connection with anyone else the way you felt it with alex. it was as if there was an invisible string that had been drawing you together your whole lives- and you wouldn't have it any other way.

DANIEL RICCIARDO

☆ meet cute

you weren't quite sure how you ended up alone at a wine-tasting event at a winery in australia- several thousand miles away from home. you knew nothing about wine. or alcohol in general, really. but here you were. you weren't the type to go to events alone- or to go to events at all. you were a bit of a homebody, but you'd made a new years resolution to go on a spontaneous solo trip. which you were starting to really really regret. despite almost regretting the thousands of dollars and time that you'd spent to come here, you decided that if you were going to be here, you were going to get at least a little bit tipsy. you were a big introvert, and you were completely content just standing in the corner not talking to anyone, and not having anyone come up and talk to you. but as you got your third fourth glass of wine and went to retreat back to your corner, you found yourself colliding with what, in your inebriated state, felt like a brick wall. looking up, you quickly realized that it was not in fact a brick wall, but a very handsome man, in a very expensive looking suit- that you had just spilled red wine all over. you stuttered out an apology, embarrassed tears threatening to spill from your eyes before you looked up and saw the man...grinning? a chuckle escaping his lips as you fumbled over your words. he told you it was no big deal, that suit was old anyway. he helped you dust yourself off, inquiring about where you were from, your accent piquing his interest.

you weren't quite sure how you ended up spending the rest of your trip to australia with daniel ricciardo- but here you were, in the passenger seat of his car, singing along to an american country song. daniel was almost your complete opposite; he was charismatic, cool, friendly, practically magnetic. you were...definitely none of those things. fumbling through life as an awkward introvert, letting people walk all over you- until you met daniel. he clocked you immediately, from the second you met. he was determined to get you out of your shell, make you live life a little, and just enjoy the little things. he was dead set on making sure that your time in australia was the best time of your life. and it definitely was that. he took you sand duning, rock climbing, cliff diving, salsa dancing- things you could never see yourself doing in a million years. things you never would have done without daniel. at the beginning of your trip, you almost immediately regretting going in the first place- but as daniel drove you to the airport on your last day, you found yourself not wanting to leave. sitting in the parking lot of the airport, you and daniel sat in silence, just looking at each other. no words were exchanged, but the look in his eyes begged you to stay- and so you did. you didn't have much keeping you in your home country- your job was remote, your family lived across the country anyway, you had few (if any) friends. and if you went back, you wouldn't have daniel. maybe you were making a mistake, leaving your entire life behind for a man you met two weeks ago- but you weren't leaving your life behind, because your life was just starting.

OLLIE BEARMAN

☆ friends to strangers to lovers

you missed him. you had been best friends when you were kids- practically attached at the hip since you were born. you grew up right across the street from each other. your parents were best friends since before you were born, so naturally, the two of you were inseparable growing up. you of course supported ollie through his whole career, you were his most avid fan. it was blatantly obvious to everyone except him that you were completely in love with him. you should have told him. the night before he left, before he moved to italy forever, leaving everyone and everything behind for his career, the two of you were walking down the old streets of your neighborhood as you always did. you were looking up at him- he'd just gone through a growth spurt, you weren't quite used to it yet, and he looked down at you. you knew you should've told him then, but you didn't. you just let him go. you didn't know if you'd ever get to say it to him. after he moved, he was busy nearly 100% of the time. you tried to keep in contact at first, but it was hard. slowly but surely, the two of you fell out of contact. you kept an eye on his career, watching all his races, no matter what odd hours of the night you had to wake up for them, reading every article about him, practically stalking the instagrams of all his new friends. you wondered if he did the same for you. while you were proud of him, it sucked to see him living such a cool life. rather, it sucked to see him live such a cool life without you.

you weren't surprised at the people that ollie ended up around- especially after he managed to get the second haas seat. now that he was in f1, he was going to fancy parties, surrounded by the most rich and glamourous people out there. you didn't expect his parents to bring you out for one of his races- you weren't sure if you even wanted to go. you hadn't seen him for years, now. hadn't spoken to him for almost as long. you really wish you hadn't gone. it was so painfully awkward seeing him again- the weird side-hug, the fact that he'd gotten even taller, his accent had even changed. he didn't even sound like the same person you used to know. the next few days weren't much better; the weird tension between you two hadn't dissipated at all. it broke your heart that the boy who used to be your favorite person in the world now just felt like another stranger. the night before you and his parents went back home, you and ollie were alone for the first time in literal years. you hadn't really made much conversation in the past few days, the tension in the air between you too thick for much of that. the awkwardness came to a head when you realized that the two of you were sitting on complete opposite sides of the room from each other, staring at your phones. you were sick of it. you used to be best friends, you could talk about anything, literally anything. and now, it was like you didn't exist to each other. you were done with it. you crossed the room, stopping right in front of him, his brown eyes looking up to meet yours, confusion evident in his face. you laid it all on him- all your frustrations over the past few years and come spilling out without filter- and in those frustrations, was your confession. he sat still, mouth agape. you regretted it immediately, turning around to leave the room and hide from your shame- but he grabbed your wrist and turned you around, you both stood still for a moment, eye contact unwavering before he pulled you in. all those years spent thinking he'd forgotten about you, he was thinking the same about you.

ISACK HADJAR

☆ childhood friends to lovers

everyone you met thought that you and isack were a couple. he brought you practically everywhere with him, his hand a constant presence in yours. you always laughed at them, at the way everyone was so sure that there was something more between the two of you. clearly the two of you were best friends- practically since birth. obviously there was nothing more between you. you were just close. very very close. you never batted an eye the way you were the first person he ran to after a race, the way he placed his hand on the small of your back while walking through a crowd, or the way he took every opportunity to touch your face; brushing your hair behind your ear or wiping some invisible food from the corner of your mouth. and he never minded the way you would plant a kiss on his cheek- dangerously close to his lips after every race, good or bad. he never minded the way you not so subtly admired the slope of his nose and the freckles that adorned it, or the way your face flushed whenever he helped you with your bags, his biceps showing clearly through the fabric of his shirt. and neither of you paid any mind to the way you got a little too close while watching tv in your apartment, his arms wrapped tightly around your back as you both laid on the couch. or the way your lips got as close as they could without actually touching when you would turn in his arms to face him. you were friends. best friends. of course you were close...

you loved isack. of course you did, how could you not? he was funny, determined, passionate, yet so gentle and sweet. of course you loved isack. the two of you were at a party- he was never much for parties, but all the other drivers and their friends would be there. you figured it'd be good for him. you got a little drunk- not drunk enough to be delirious, but drunk enough to become the most confident you'd ever been in your life. and you were jealous. very jealous. you were proud of isack for fulfilling his lifelong dream of becoming a real formula 1 driver, but that meant he was getting a lot more...attention. normally, you'd cheer him on, be proud of him, maybe tease him a little bit in the car after the event. but tonight was different. there was a pit in your stomach eating away at you. all because of the way he laughed. you were across the room, standing between kimi and ollie, no longer paying attention to the conversation. because your attention was on him- or rather, on the girl that was making him laugh. you didn't even realize you were glaring at the pair until ollie asked if you were okay. you didn't answer- instead, you marched across the room with purpose, stopping right in front of the two. isack turned to you with a smile that quickly faded as soon as he saw the look on your face. you told him you were going home. it wasn't a question. he nodded and apologized to the girl, who, on any other day, you would have felt bad for. but you took isack's hand and marched him outside to his car. he drove you home without question, and when you turned to him after he stopped outside your apartment building and asked him to come in, he said yes without hesitation. nothing happened after that, you both just laid atop the covers on your bed, eyes gazing over each others features as if you were trying to memorize the placement of every freckle, every line, every perfect imperfection. you woke up the next morning to a headache and the smell of eggs wafting in from the kitchen. when your eyes landed on isack standing over the stove, cooking breakfast for you so dutifully- you felt it. you didn't remember telling him you loved him the night before, and you didn't remember him telling you the same- but you felt it in the way he looked up at you with that pretty smile, and that little gleam in his eye. it didn't need to be said with words, you could both feel it in the way you wrapped your arms around him from behind. you loved isack hadjar. and he loved you.

JACK DOOHAN

☆ best friend's brother

you never saw jack coming. his sister had been your best friend since you started school, so jack was always just kind of...there. he was your best friend's annoying older brother- that was really it. whenever you'd stay at the doohan's house, he would barge into his sister's room just to annoy the two of you- laughing when you both yelled and pushed him out of the room. whenever you were at their house sitting on the couch watching tv with your friend, overpriced smoothie in hand, he'd descend from his upstairs room and plop down next to you, snatching your smoothie from you hand and taking a sip before you yelled at him, taking the drink back and attempting to lay a hit on him. he'd just laugh and swat your hands away before going into the kitchen and returning with snacks for you and his sister. it wasn't like you had a crush on him growing up- you really didn't. you just couldn't see him that way. he was jack. your best friend's older brother who stole your food and made fun of your clothes. you could never like jack. that was at least, until you started university. you decided to go overseas for university- leaving australia and all that came with it behind as you started this new chapter of life. italy seemed like the best bet- far enough away from home to basically start fresh, but italy was a hub for both formula 1 and motogp, so you'd still get to see your best friends whenever she'd come to the country to support her dad and brother. you'd rarely seen jack over the past couple of years, his racing career had started taking off and consuming all his time. not that you minded, of course. you were friends with his sister anyway, not him. but something shifted the first time you saw him after your big move. something was different about him- or maybe about you. either way...it was weird.

you'd come home for christmas break, excited to see your family and friends after months of awkward communication through time zones and differing schedules. you decided to visit the doohan household. like old times, you let yourself in, calling out to see if anyone was home. the house seemed empty so you kicked your shoes off and made a beeline for the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of juice that you knew your friend always had stockpiled. you nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard jack's voice behind you. your jaw dropped as your turned to look at him- he was different than last time you saw him. not even really in looks, just his energy. you held an awkward conversation in the kitchen before jack rolled his eyes and invited you to his room to watch a movie until his sister got home. you swallowed the lump in your throat and followed him without question. the tension in the air was thick as you both sat stiffly on opposite sides of the bed, determined to not look at each other. it was an accident when you did- but once your eyes locked, neither of you could look away. you never saw it coming- jack doohan; your best friends brother, who poked fun at your haircuts, rolled his eyes whenever you spoke, and ruffled your hair when he passed by. somehow, at the drop of a dime, you were in love with jack doohan. if you'd have told your middle school self that you'd end up making out with jack- your best friend's older brother, jack- on his bed, you'd have wrinkled your nose in disgust and called yourself a liar. but here you were, with your hands in his hair and his on your waist, and it was no lie. you loved jack doohan.

taglist: @revelauver @bear-yawns

[landoughnut]

Bad Idea Right? - LN4

masterlist - request

pairing: lando norris x piastri!fem!reader

summary: lando hadn't expected to fall in love with his teammates sister, and they can only keep it from him for so long

w/c & a/n: 3.8k | it's friday again, then saturday, sunday what?

Being Oscar Piastri’s sister was definitely an experience. 

It was amazing travelling with him around the world and seeing so many different cultures. 

Oscar had always been protective over you, since you were little kids. Though you were both quiet and shy, he wouldn’t stand for someone mistreating you, or making you feel like you were any less than him. 

You had never actually met your brother's teammate, Lando. You tried your best to avoid the paddock. Large crowds of people made you nervous and you preferred to watch it from a more secluded area. 

You had heard a lot about him, that he was a partier and very energetic, but just from that you were sure you too wouldn’t make good friends. 

Up until now, you hadn’t planned on meeting him, but now you see a message from Oscar telling you to come to the garage with Lily tomorrow to officially meet the team.

You felt your stomach squeeze, what would they think of you? You didn’t fit into their chaos, and what if you made a fool of yourself, or if something went wrong? 

You didn’t get much time to stress about it, because a second message from your brother appeared. It reads, “Stop worrying, everything will be great, they’ll love you. Lily will be there with you too.” Of course, he follows that up with a thumbs up emoji.  You roll your eyes, classic Oscar. 

Though his message did help relax your nerves slightly, Lily was your best friend. Seeing as how you were more of a homebody, you never really got out enough to make friends, and with Lily dating your brother, and she was similar to you, it was like your friendship just fell into place. 

You respond to Oscar saying that you’ll be there and afterwards you quickly message Lily asking if she would come to your hotel room to get ready together, to which she answered with an “Of course!”

The rest of the day flew by with you exploring around the area of your hotel. Tomorrow was the Hungarian Grand Prix, and you were excited to watch the race with the team tomorrow. 

Tomorrow arrives and you wake up and get your morning checklist done with things such as brushing your teeth, showering, and doing some skin care. 

You throw on your robe and slippers just in time to hear a knock at your door. You peek through the peephole and see Lily’s eye up close to the hole on the other side of the door, making you yelp and jump back. 

You open the door to her laughing. “I got you good,” she pokes your cheek and steps in the room, pulling you into a hug. 

“That was not funny, Lily, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” You huff and lock your door. 

She rolls her eyes at your dramatics, “Yeah, yeah. Now, time to get you ready! I’m already dressed but we can do our makeup and hair together,” she grins. 

You sit on your bed, “I don’t think I have anything good to wear,” you sigh. Lily thinks for a moment before going to your suitcase. 

She rummages through it for another minute before jumping up and holds a dress out to you. “This is perfect!” 

You look at her like she’s crazy, “That dress is way too tight! I can’t wear that!”

She tilts her head at you, “Why not?”

“Well, I… It’s not… formal?” You try to think of reasons but she shakes her head. 

“Don’t be silly! You’ll look like a supermodel! Plus, you’re going to meet Lando! Maybe you’ll get along, if you know what I mean,” she winks at you. 

You gasp, cheeks flushing, “Lily! Absolutely not,” you scold. 

“Oh come on! You’ve told me that you found him handsome, and you are more than beautiful, so I don’t see a problem,” she shrugs like it’s obvious. 

“You don’t see a problem? From what I’ve seen, Lando doesn’t really do relationships, and Oscar would kill him,” you cross your arms and look away from her. 

“Well, don’t trust everything you see in the media until you see for yourself, maybe he has a reason. And Oscar would probably be upset at first, but he’d come around.”

You think for a moment before nodding, “Alright, well, enough talking about a made up scenario, let’s get ready before Oscar starts complaining.”

Lily agrees, “Here,” she puts the dress in your hands, “Go put it on.” You look at her for a moment before going over to the bathroom to change. Once it’s on you look at yourself in the mirror, it’s safe to say that you were rather happy with what you saw, maybe Lily was right.

You step out and she gasps, clapping her hands. “I knew it! You already look heaven-sent, and we haven't even done hair or makeup,” she beams at you. 

You blush, “Thank’s Lily.” She then tells you to follow her as you two go to the vanity. “We can do you first, but I want to do it.”

“Go ahead,” she smiles and sets up your speaker to play the playlist you made together. You first blow dry her hair and straighten it like how she requested. Then you clip it back and begin doing her makeup, she usually didn’t put on much, so it didn’t take long to finish up. 

“Voilà!” You spin her chair around, “Gorgeous.”

She nods in approval, “It looks great! Your turn!” She jumps out of the chair excitedly. She starts by drying your hair, and then puts some of the oils you use to make your hair smooth, shiny, and soft. She then goes in with a hair curler and does it just enough so that they are very loose and just add some volume. 

Next Lily spins your chair to face her as she does your makeup, somehow doing a very detailed process that you didn’t even know how to do. “When did you become a makeup professional?”

She smiles, “Since I had such a stunning client.” 

“You flatter me too much,” you giggle. She finishes soon after and spins you. 

You blink for a moment, “Wow, Lily, you outdid yourself!” You look at some different angles of yourself in the mirror, “Thank you!” 

“Before we head out, do you want to put on your jewelry while I find you some shoes?”

“Yes, please.” You go to and put on your gold necklaces, rings, earrings, and bracelets. You loved having a lot of jewelry on, you felt an outfit was never complete without it. You quickly spray on your perfume and head back towards Lily, who was holding out a pair of short heels that perfectly complemented the dress. 

You take them and thank her while putting them on. 

She checks her phone, “Time to go! Oscar is waiting in the lobby,” she shows you his text. You shut off the lights and step out of the room, making sure it's locked before heading down where your brother was waiting. 

“Hi, Osc,” you smile and pull him into a tight hug, “are you excited for today? I have a good feeling about it.” 

He brightens, “I am, and I’m excited for you to meet the team!” You let go of him and he hugs Lily next, kissing her head before telling you both to follow him. 

About twenty minutes pass before you arrive at the paddock, your nerves come back seeing all the people, but Lily just puts a comforting hand on your arm. 

Some people take pictures of the three of you on your way to the McLaren garage, but you pay no mind to them and instead focus on your brother who gives you comforting smiles. 

You arrive after a few more minutes and Zak greets Oscar with a pat on the back. “Oscar! Who’s our special guest today,” the man says looking at you. 

“This is my sister, she’s been to the races just too shy to come here,” he chuckles. 

“Oscar,” you drag his name out in a now shy mumble, looking down at the ground, your face now turning pink.

Zak senses your discomfort, “No worries! We’re happy to have you, really,” he smiles at you holding out his hand to shake. 

You look up and feel yourself untense at his kindness, you shake his hand and he pats it before telling you he has to go and that it was nice to meet you. 

Oscar happily introduces you to some of the engineers and mechanics, who you had some longer conversations with. Many compliment you and seem genuinely interested, which makes you feel a lot more comfortable. 

Now you were walking with Oscar and Lily towards the lounge area, where you would be staying to watch the race. 

However you see a blur of papaya and your eyes widen a little as you realize it’s Lando rushing past you all. Though he doesn’t get very far before Oscar calls out to him, “Lando! Come meet my sister!”

Lando turns around and his eyes get wide as he looks at you. Oscar beckons him over with a hand wave and Lando starts to make his way to you all - his eyes never leaving yours - when he trips. 

Luckily he saved himself but now as he stood in front of you, cheeks and ears bright red, he seemed to forget how to speak.

“Lando?” Oscar tries. Lando seemed to have not heard him and you looked around trying to avoid the Brits eyes. “Hellooo, mate,” Oscar snaps his fingers in front of his face, narrowing his eyes at the way Lando was looking at you. 

That seems to grab his attention because now Lando turned to look at him. “Oh! H-hey, uh- the floor’s a little, uh, wobbly, you know, uhm, tripped me there,” he laughs nervously, looking embarrassed. 

He could slap himself. 

First he trips and humiliates himself in front of the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid eyes on, and now he’s said the floor is wobbly. 

What an idiot. 

Lily smiles and looks at you, who’s flustered from his gaze, and then she looks at him blushing while glancing at you, “The floor is wobbly?” she asks. 

Lando looks down at his hand, “Uh, y-yeah, they should probably fix that. So.. you’re Oscar's sister?”

You nod, “Yeah. It’s nice to meet you,” you look at the boy in front of you, now seeing him up close you realize he’s hotter than the cameras capture.  

Oscar looks back and forth between you two, “Yeah… I don’t like this. We’re going to the lounge now. Bye, Lando.”

Lily smacks his arm but he starts walking away. You sigh and give Lando a small smile before following him. Lando’s eye’s followed your back, maybe a little lower, as you walked away. 

Lily stayed just long enough that she caught his gaze and heard a quiet “Wow,” while leaving. 

Oscar won the race. 

You swore your throat was going to be sore from your excited screams, and your makeup must have been smudged from how much you were crying, but none of that mattered right now. 

Once Oscar makes it back to where you are you jump into his arms and squeeze him, crying on his shoulder. “I’m so so proud of you!” you somehow manage to say in between sobs. 

He hugs you back tightly, “Thank you,” he whispers. 

The next race was Belgium and you were back in the garage before the race. You were sitting with Lily when Lando came over and sat in front of you. “Hello. I promise I won’t embarrass myself this time,” he smiles at you.

“Hi, Lando. What are you doing here?” you ask him and Lily nods her head at him in greeting. 

“I’m here to, uh…” he pauses for a moment, his confidence leaving him, “get your number?”

You laugh, “Is that a question?” Lily excuses herself and you glare at her. 

“Um, yes? Or no- wait, no, you don’t have to, I just-” Lando stumbles over his words. You found it cute, he wasn’t like what you had expected of him. You thought he would be rather cocky and stuck up, but you were pleasantly surprised. 

You cut him off by handing him your phone, the contacts app pulled up for him to put in his number, “Here.” 

He looks surprised but takes the phone and puts his number in, making his contact name “Lando :)”. You smile as he hands your phone back, “I like it.”

You found yourself texting him more often, even facetime some nights. You’d become good friends, but you hadn’t told your brother about getting closer to Lando, you know he’d start assuming things. 

Though you did keep Lily up to date with everything, and she promised not to say anything to your brother.

A few weeks later at the Singapore Grand Prix, you were walking in the paddock to meet Lily in the garage when Lando came up from behind you. He takes the sunglasses off of the top of your head and places them on. “Lando!” you laugh as he does some silly poses with them on. 

He grins, “I think they look better on me, no?” You shake your head and reach out to take them off of his face. As you do you notice his eyes were fixed on your lips, making you blush as you put them on yourself. 

He reaches out and fixes a piece of your hair that the wind blew to the other side, “There you go,” his smile softens, “I have to go now, but I’ll see you soon.”

“Sounds good.”

Lando won today's race, and you were overjoyed for him. He’d met you when he was done showering after the celebration. You were currently on your hotel balcony. “Why aren’t you out celebrating with everyone? You did win the race after all,” you ask him looking out at the night sky.

“I don’t want to celebrate with anyone else,” he shrugs. Looking over at you. 

“I’m flattered, that’s really sweet, I didn’t take you as the sappy type,” you smile. Turning your head, you realize just how close you are. 

Lando looks at your eyes for a moment, before his eyes drop. He leans towards you, eyes fluttering, but at the last moment you turn your head to the side. 

He backs up, embarrassed, “I-I’m sorry, did I read this wrong? I though-”

You quickly shake your head, “No! No, Lando. It’s fine, really, you read right, it's just that I don’t know if this is a good idea… Oscar might-”

“I think Oscar is his own person,” Lando says. He takes a strand of your hair and twirls it around his finger, “You, however, are also your own person. I really like you, and I’m pretty sure you like me. If you don’t want-”

You cut him off by pulling his shirt collar down and kissing him. He lets out a surprised sound but quickly reciprocates and kisses you back. You slide your hands up his neck and into his curls, as his hands go around your waist pulling you closer. 

He lets out a pleasant sound when you tug on his hair. 

He feels like he’s dreaming, the taste of you, the scent of your perfume, your hands in his hair, your mouth on his, he thinks he might pass out. He’d never admit it but he had scenarios in his head of how your first kiss would go, but this is better than all of them 

You break apart, breathing heavy and swollen lips. Lando chases your mouth, kissing you once more, “Oscar’s going to kill me,” he whispers against your lips. 

“Maybe. But this is worth it,” you whisper back, kissing him again. 

That night was a turning point for you both. Lando had been almost stuck to your side in the paddock and at events you went to. 

You tried not to display anything that wouldn’t look platonic, but Oscar had suspicions. Especially after he’s seen the love sike look on Lando’s face when he looks at you, or when he would guide you around the garage with a hand on your back.

One time he even entered the lounge where you were sitting with Lando and could have sworn he saw him quickly take his hand off of your thigh.

Lando tried to take every opportunity there was to give you kisses during race weekends. Whether you’d be hiding behind tires or the back of a building. You felt the line between liking him and loving him blur.

He’d also sometimes send you a message if he couldn’t be with you because you were with Oscar. It was usually something like, “Baby, you look way too beautiful, I might crash the car,” and every time it made you blush without fail, which he seemed to take too much pride in.

After another time period passes, people start to question whether you and Lando were friends or dating. Oscar had sent you some articles about it and you tried your best to cover up the stories, which surprisingly worked. 

“I think I want to tell him soon,” you mumble to Lando. You were in your hotel bed, laying on top of him, on the brink of sleep. Your head rested on his chest with one of his hands tracing shapes on your back and the other playing with your hair. 

He pauses for a moment, “Are you sure? I don’t want your relationship with him to get ruined because of me.”

You nod your head, “It won’t, he’ll understand I think. I love you,” you whisper. 

You felt him tense under you, “I-I’m sorry, I don’t know why I-”

He cuts you off, tilting your head towards him to place a soft kiss to your mouth, “I love you, too.”

When you said you wanted to tell your brother, you didn’t plan for it to be like this. You were in a hospital bed after passing out from the heat when you and Lando were going on a walk.

Lando had panicked but was thankful you two had only gotten about a minute's walk away from the car. You hadn’t woken up yet, so he picked up his speed even more on his way to the hospital. 

After some time and medication you woke up to see Lando’s worried expression while he was on the phone with your brother. He was pacing in and out of the room, “Oh! Oscar, I have to go, she just woke up. Yeah. Mhm. Okay. Bye,” he hung up and sat down on the bed. 

“Bloody hell, never do that again baby, you scared me terribly,” he kissed your forehead. “Do you need anything? Water, food, more pillows? Is it too cold in here? I can-”

You put your hand over his mouth, giggling, “I’m alright, thank you, if I need anything I’ll let you know.” Lando seemed pleased with your answer so he nodded. “What did my brother say?”

“Well, he was too worried to ask about why I was with you so he just said he’ll be here soon,” he replies, kissing you gently, in fear of hurting you.

You must be cursed with bad luck today because Oscar came rushing into the room just before Lando could back away. 

Lando feels his stomach drop and Oscar’s mouth opens and he looks between the two of you. 

You watch as your brother’s face goes through about ten different emotions, “You- he- him?! He was just… kissing you.. and… I don’t feel so good…” Lando hops off the bed and catches your brother before he hits the ground. 

Lando places him on the bed, and you would be laughing about the situation but you wanted to wait for your brother to wake up first, which he does after a few more moments. 

“Oscar! Welcome back mate,” Lando pats his head. 

“Get your hand off of me. Why were you kissing my sister,” Oscar glares at the boy. 

“Whatttt?” Lando chuckles nervously, “I think that faint really had you seeing-”

Oscar cuts him off, sitting up, “I know what I saw, and it was disgusting. Now answer my question.”

You sigh, “We’re dating.” Oscar looks away tense, but then he relaxes a little and looks at you with a face as if asking for how long. “For a couple of months now…” you trail off. 

Oscar’s mouth drops, “Months?! Why haven’t either of you told me?”

Lando chews his bottom lip nervously, “We were going to, I swear. But then you were stressed about the constructors championship, and it seemed like each time we planned to something happened, and I-”

Oscar cuts him off, “I don’t like this. She’s my sister and you’re… you.” Lando makes an offended face at that, making you chuckle. “This will take time for me to get used to, and I’m upset that you guys didn’t tell me, but if you’re both really happy I have no right to not support you.”

You go towards your brother and pull him into a tight hug, “Thank you! I love you.”

Oscar rolls his eyes but smiles nonetheless, “Yeah yeah, I love you too.” He looks over your shoulder, narrowing his eyes, “I’m watching you,” he mouths at Lando, making the boy gulp. “You treat her right, understand? Or I’m running you off the track.”

Lando nods, “Of course, I wouldn't dream of otherwise.” 

Though Oscar had accepted you two, it doesn’t mean he wasn’t a little salty. For the next week he would glare at Lando like a child who’s gotten his toy taken away. He can’t be mad for long though, not when he notices how happy you are with him. 

That brings you to now, the final race of the season, Abu Dhabi. There was only one lap left and you were standing outside with the team as you watched Lando finally cross the finish line, winning the constructors championship and his fourth race. 

When Lando finally puts the car in the first place spot, he jumps out and takes his helmet off as he runs towards you. You barely have time to question anything before he’s picking you up over the barrier, and smashing his lips to yours. 

The team hollers around you, wolf whistling and cheering. Cameras flash as well but it’s all a blur to you. You hold Lando just as tightly and kiss him back. Your kiss is unfortunately interrupted by a gagging sound from behind you. 

Oscar looks at you two, “I know I said I supported you but please, I don’t need to see this, I might puke.” 

Lily comes up next to him, “Leave them alone, they’re adorable!” You gratefully smile at her and Oscar lets out a dramatic sigh. 

You laugh and go to hug him, “Sorry. Good race, Oscar, I’m proud of you.” 

He thanks you and walks to Lando, patting him on the back, “Congratulations, mate, you were great.” 

Lando brightens, “Thanks! And we’ll keep the PDA to the minimum.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, “Really?”

You and Lando glance at each other, shaking your heads and speaking in sync, “Nah.”

[starksweasley]

hotel mishap

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: you and bucky can't go five minutes without wanting to slam each other into a wall, so when you're forced into a hotel room with only one bed, years of unresolved tension and bruised pride boil to a breaking point.

wc: 5.1k+

The mission hadn’t been complicated, at least not in theory. Intel retrieval. Get in. Get out. Don’t burn the place down. But when Tony Stark sent you and Bucky Barnes of all people together, the team should’ve known better than to expect anything to go smoothly.

You and Bucky had a history. Not the good kind, not the romantic kind. The infuriating kind. The kind of history carved out of too many close calls and too many missions where one of you almost got the other killed. The kind made of bruises from sparring sessions that always went too far. The kind of history built on snapping at each other across briefing tables, over comms, even in the middle of firefights just to prove a point. It wasn’t that you didn’t work well together. That was the problem: you did. Too well. You always knew what the other was thinking in the field, could fall into rhythm like muscle memory. But the second the mission was over, you were instantly at each other’s throats. You paid too much attention to each other to be indifferent. Your interactions sparked like flint and steel. Every word was a challenge. Every conversation had teeth. And you hated it.

You hated how your eyes always found him the second he walked into a room. How your breath would catch when he rolled up his sleeves or ran a hand through his hair. How his voice, low and rough, always managed to get under your skin no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. You hated how he always found something to criticize. Your gear wasn’t secured tight enough. Your timing was off by two seconds. Your punch was too telegraphed. Your attitude was too cavalier. He always said it like it was tactical, but you could practically taste the irritation that seemed personal.

You told yourself it didn’t matter and that it was mutual loathing. But then there were those other moments: brief, disorienting, soft. The ones where you caught him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking. Not with annoyance. Not with scorn. But with something unreadable. His expression quieter and his eyes gentler, curious, as if he was trying to figure you out. Sometimes it felt like maybe he already had. There was the time on the quinjet when you fell asleep, leaning slightly toward him, exhausted from back-to-back missions. When you jolted awake, you found the blanket he’d sworn had been tucked away now draped over you. He looked away before you could ask. Pretended he was asleep.

Or the time in Bucharest when you'd been limping, your leg aching from a bad landing, and you told him, firmly, that you didn’t need help. He didn’t argue. But you realized later he'd adjusted the whole route back to HQ to avoid stairs. And that night at Stark’s compound, after a celebration mission debrief, drinks flowing, music playing, when the lights were low and you were laughing with Sam. You could feel Bucky's eyes on you from across the room, the way he went quiet, jaw tight. And when Sam leaned in a little too close, you felt the tension spike from across the room like static. You hated that it meant something to you. That he meant something to you. And worse, you hated that part of you was starting to wonder if he hated you, or if he just didn’t know how else to act around you.

Like last month, when you’d gotten grazed by a bullet. You were fine, quickly regrouping after just a scratch. But he’d snapped at you so hard afterward, yanked your arm so fast to check the wound, that you’d ended up shouting at each other for five whole minutes in front of a target that was halfway bleeding out. Or that time in Prague, when you’d both been undercover at the gala. He’d glared at you the whole night because of the backless dress SHIELD made you wear, muttering something about how it was “disrespectful to combat protocols.” You’d glared right back, told him to go marry his tactical gear if he loved it so much.

So now, after a long day of hauling equipment through rain and muck, when you stumbled into the hotel Tony booked for you, it wasn’t surprising that Bucky was already picking a fight before you even reached the elevators.

“Next time, maybe don’t toss the tracker directly at the enemy’s feet,” he muttered, pressing the elevator button with a little too much force.

You whipped your head toward him so fast your hair caught on your lip gloss. “Next time, maybe don’t shoot at the same wall I’m trying to scale, Barnes. It’s called spatial awareness.”

“Maybe if you actually gave a damn about formation, I wouldn’t have to improvise,” he shot back, eyes fixed on the elevator numbers like they’d save him from you.

You scoffed. “Oh, so you playing cowboy with a sniper rifle was improvising? Cute. Let me guess—lone wolf, no attachments, brooding as a personality type?”

“Maybe if you pulled the stick out of your ass, we’d finish a mission without you rolling your eyes every five minutes.”

“Maybe if you didn’t deserve it, I’d stop.”

He turned to look at you finally, brows raised. “You really think you’re the easiest person on this team to work with?”

“I know I am. Ask anyone not named James Barnes.”

He huffed out a dry laugh. “Yeah, maybe I will. Pretty sure Sam has a running list of the ways you drive him insane.”

“Good. Then he can laminate it and hand it out as party favors at the next 'I Survived a Mission With Her’ support group.”

The elevator dinged.

Neither of you moved for a second. The doors opened like an invitation—or a threat.

“This is gonna be a long night,” he muttered, stepping in first.

You followed with a sugar-sweet smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “Believe me, I’d rather room with a sewer rat.”

He didn’t look at you, but you heard the sharp exhale through his nose. “Rat might be more cooperative.”

You shrugged, casually brushing dust off your shoulder as you leaned against the mirrored wall. “At least rats don’t mansplain every technical decision I make.”

“At least rats don’t ignore backup calls and then pretend they ‘had it under control’ while bleeding through their damn suit.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Is that concern, Barnes? I’m touched.”

“Don’t be. I just didn’t want to carry your ass out of another warehouse.”

“I never asked you to carry me.”

He turned, stepping just slightly closer. “Oh yeah? Then what was your plan? Bleed dramatically until the enemy got bored and left?”

Your pulse involuntarily kicked up and you dug your nails into the skin of your palm. The elevator beeped again as it passed another floor.

“Well, next time, just let me die. Save yourself the emotional trauma.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Your eyes narrowed, breath a little uneven. “You wouldn’t last a day without someone to argue with.”

He tilted his head, lips twitching with something like amusement. “You think this is arguing?”

You stared at him for one taut second.

And then the elevator dinged again.

You stepped out without another word, not looking back, though you could feel him behind you. 

The walk down the hallway was a gauntlet of mutual grumbling, jabs, and shoulder bumps. He walked too close. You walked too fast. Everything he did grated against your last nerve. When he finally slid the keycard into the lock and pushed open the door, the both of you froze.

There was only one bed.

You cursed Stark in your head so loudly you were sure the walls vibrated.

"Of course," Bucky muttered.

You stepped inside, scanned the room. No couch. No rollout. No armchair. Just one queen-sized bed and the nightstand between it and the window.

"I bet he did this on purpose," you said.

"Tony?"

You nodded. "Sick bastard probably thinks this is funny."

Bucky rolled his eyes and dropped his bag on the nightstand with a thud. "Whatever. I’m not sleeping on the floor."

You walked past him and dropped yourself down onto the hardwood floor beside the bed with exaggerated flair. "Don’t worry. I’ll do it."

He blinked at you. "What? No. I’m not making you sleep on the floor."

"You're not making me," you shot back, already kicking off your boots. "I'm choosing to. Toss me a pillow."

He looked down at the bed, grabbed a pillow, and without a second of hesitation, flung it right at your face. It hit you square in the cheek.

"Ow!"

He shrugged. "You said toss."

You grit your teeth for what felt like the millionth time that day. You were too tired to fight back. Tomorrow. Tomorrow you’d throw him out the window. For now, you laid down, grumbling as the cold from the floorboards seeped into your back.

He climbed into bed with a heavy sigh, muttering, "Stubborn as hell."

"Rich coming from you."

He turned his head to glare down at you. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Talking to you is like talking to a wall. A big, stubborn, bionic wall."

He huffed. "I think you’re forgetting who you’re speaking to."

You scoffed, pulling the pillow tighter under your head. "Oh yeah, the Winter Soldier. Boo hoo. You’re so scary."

"You are an actual menace, you know that?"

"I’m delightful," you replied smugly, shifting your body slightly. And then you mumbled, mostly to yourself, "Fuck, it’s cold. Can you give me a blanket?"

There was a pause. Then the mattress creaked as he leaned over to squint at you. You were clearly shivering. He sighed and peeled the blanket off himself, reaching over the edge and spreading it across your body. "You’re an idiot."

You bristled. "You don’t have to tuck me in like I’m five. I can do it."

"You didn’t seem to be doing a great job whining on the floor like a big baby."

"You’re the baby."

"Real mature."

You looked back up at the bed, at him now lying there with just the pillow. And your stomach sank. He was curled onto his side, arms tucked in close like he was trying to conserve body heat, the thin fabric of his shirt doing nothing to stop the cold. His metal arm was half-buried under the pillow, and the way his shoulders hunched in made him look smaller. Uncomfortable. Still and tense like he refused to shiver.

"Wait. There was only one blanket?"

He didn’t answer. You swore. "Fuck. I’m sorry. Here. Take it back."

He rolled onto his back, waving a hand. "No. It’s fine. You need it more than I do."

You narrowed your eyes and tossed the blanket back on top of him. "Shut up. Take it."

He pulled it up over his chest but muttered anyway, "Happy?"

"No. I’m cold."

He turned to face you, a scowl painting his features. "Oh my God. Just come up here then."

"I’m scared you’ll kill me in my sleep."

"You’re ridiculous. I won’t kill you. I’d be dumb to kill the one person whose job is to watch my six."

"I’m fine," you said, despite the fact your teeth were actually starting to chatter.

He rolled his eyes, clearly done with your shit. In one swift motion, he got out of bed, crouched down, and hooked an arm around your waist.

"Hey! What the hell?!" You flailed, but it was too late. He tossed you onto the bed like you weighed nothing.

He climbed back under the blanket. "Suck it up so we can both be warm."

You shot back upright, indignant, glaring at him. "You caveman! What if I wanted to be cold?"

He didn’t look at you. "Then you shouldn’t have said anything."

You grumbled under your breath, but the bed was warmer. And soft. And smelled like fresh linen and frustration. You both laid there in silence. The tension still sat between you, but the warmth slowly began to bleed the edge off your anger. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was sheer desperation. But lying there next to Bucky Barnes, with the bed radiating more tension than heat, your body rebelled.

You pushed off the mattress, intending to throw yourself right back onto the floor, cold be damned. But before you could even swing your leg off the bed, his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

“What the hell—” you hissed, struggling.

He pulled you back, firm and unrelenting, dragging you against the mattress. “Stop being a brat,” he muttered.

“Get off me!”

“Jesus, woman—will you stop—”

You twisted, kicked back, trying to wiggle free. His grip never tightened, not enough to hurt, but it was firm, anchored.

“Bucky!” you snapped, yanking your arm. “I can’t sleep with you next to me!”

He let out a noise between a growl and a groan, dragging a hand down his face. “I can’t let you freeze to death, don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not being stupid!” Your voice cracked. “I have my reasons.”

His grip softened. He wasn’t looking at you like he wanted to fight anymore. Just…confused. Tired. “Whatever they are,” he said, “I’d still rather you sleep on the bed.”

You swatted at his arm, slipping from his hold and scrambling upright in one defiant motion. “No, Bucky. I just—I can’t be around you this much.”

That did it.

His calm, already on thin ice, finally cracked.

He sat up, blanket falling into his lap as he glared at you, voice raised. “What the hell are you talking about? We have to work together.”

“It’s too hard,” you said, arms crossed tight over your chest.

“What’s too hard?” he demanded. “We’re on a goddamn mission. Missions aren’t supposed to be comfortable!”

You shook your head, voice rising now too. “No. I can do missions in my sleep. But doing it with you—I just—I—I—”

He blinked, voice quieter. “You just what?”

You snapped.

“You make me feel horrible, Bucky!”

The room fell to a choking silence. You were trembling.

“You just…you make me feel so small. And I’m tough, I don’t care what people think, not usually. But you—you obviously hate me and you make it obvious every chance you get. Every snide comment, every look, every time you act like I’m a burden—you make me feel insignificant and stupid and just so fucking small.”

You were standing now, arms wrapped around the pillow like it could shield you. Your voice broke, your breathing shallow. “And I wouldn’t care, I really wouldn’t, but I just…”

Bucky had gone still. His hands rubbed at his temples like he was trying to will the moment away, trying to piece together how the hell he had messed this up so badly.

“I don’t hate you,” he muttered. “I don’t think you’re insignificant or stupid. I don’t think any of those things.”

You scoffed bitterly. “I know you do. You don’t have to pretend. Not now.”

“I’m not pretending.” He stood now, too, but didn’t move toward you. Just watched as you gripped the pillow tighter like it was the only thing keeping you from breaking apart completely.

You looked up at him, blinking hard. “And I can’t ignore it because I feel—”

You stopped yourself. Too much. You’d already said too much.

His brow creased. “You feel what?”

Your hand flew to your mouth. “Just…forget it.”

“No,” he said, voice sharp now. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut down on me. Finish the goddamn sentence.”

“Fuck you,” you spat, eyes wide and watery. “Leave me alone, Bucky!”

“No, I’m not leaving you alone.” He was stalking toward you now. “You’re gonna say what you were gonna say. Finish that damn sentence!”

You flung the pillow at him like a shield, full force. He caught it easily (of course he did) and tossed it aside, stepping forward.

You took a step back. “Leave me alone,” you begged, your voice too high, too desperate.

“No.” He was in front of you now. “No, I’m not leaving you alone.”

His hand caught your wrist again with intention. “Finish. That. Sentence.”

You jerked against him. “Don’t tell me what to do!”

His jaw clenched. “Stop being such a pain in my ass,” he snapped, exasperated. “I’m trying to have a conversation with you and you’re being so damn difficult. Why are you like this?”

You cried out, the frustration boiling over. “I said more than I meant to say! Just leave me alone!”

But instead of backing off, he pulled you in closer. His hand still around your wrist, his other now pressed to the small of your back. His voice was lower now, ragged.

“I’m not going to let you go until you finish that sentence.”

Your breath hitched. You tried to pull away again, but the fight was dissolving out of you. The words clawed their way up your throat.

“You wanna know what’s on my mind?” you shouted, voice hoarse. “Fine. Fine. I can’t ignore you hating me because I have feelings for you, god damn it!”

The air sucked out of the room.

His grip loosened instantly.

You pulled your wrist away, free again, but too stunned to move. You couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t do anything except stand there and breathe too fast.

He was staring at you as if he was just really seeing you for the first time. 

“You… you what?” he whispered.

You turned away, face burning. “Just leave me alone.”

But of course he didn’t. 

“You have feelings for me?” he said again, like he couldn’t believe the words.

“Stop,” you pleaded, quietly.

His voice softened, but it didn’t waver. “We’re not done talking about this.”

“Yes we are.”

“No,” he said, and now his hand was on your shoulder, gentle. “We’re not.”

You looked up at him then—eyes red, face guarded. “You’re just going to reject me. I know how this goes, Bucky. Just save me the embarrassment. Please.”

He shook his head slowly, expression shifting—open, raw, almost pained. “Why would I reject you?”

You let out a laugh that was half-sob. “I see how you talk to me. How you treat me different from everyone else. You hate me.”

He gripped both your shoulders now, making you look at him directly.

“I don’t hate you,” he said. “I don’t know how many times I have to say it, but I don’t hate you.”

You flinched at the intensity of his voice. “Your actions say otherwise.”

He exhaled, eyes closing like he needed to collect every ounce of patience in his body. Then he opened them, stepping even closer, and for the first time all night, his voice dropped into something achingly vulnerable.

“I know,” he murmured. “I know, doll.”

Your breath hitched at the nickname.

“I know I’ve been harsh,” he said. “I’ll admit it. But it’s because—”

You don’t wait to hear it. You pull out of his hold and drop back down onto your makeshift floor bed with a soft thud, your back to him. Every muscle in your body coils tight.

He watches you in silence. And then, finally, he speaks, voice filled with something between concern and devastation.

“Will you please just look at me?”

“I’m tired,” you whisper. Your voice trembles.

He lets out a frustrated sigh. “If you’re tired, you’ll sleep better on the bed.”

You flinch like he’s offered violence instead of comfort.

“Bucky, I can’t look at you,” you snap. “Just leave me alone.”

His voice sharpens. “I’m not leaving you alone until you get your stubborn ass up on this bed.”

You don’t move. Not a breath. Not a twitch.

He doesn’t warn you before he steps over, leans down, and wraps his arm around your waist again. “Alright. You asked for it.”

“Bucky—”

He lifts you, but you jerk halfway through, and pain slices up your side.

“Fuck, ouch!”

He stops cold. Sets you down on the edge of the bed, carefully this time. His face folds into immediate concern.

“Talk to me. Please,” he says again, crouching in front of you now. He lowers himself carefully, balancing on the balls of his feet, arms resting on his thighs. He looks like he’s explaining something to a scared kid rather than someone who’s spent years arguing with him. His eyes are so unbearably tender, aching in a way you’ve never seen, that you could sink into them and cry until there was nothing left.

“Just talk to me.”

You turn your head away, blinking hard. “I did. I told you everything.”

“And I’m not going to shoot you down,” he says. “So stop acting like I already have. Just please. Help me out here. Listen to me.”

There’s something raw in his voice. Something ragged. It softens the wall around your chest just enough to make you turn your head. He straightens up, slowly, voice calm but firm.

“I don’t hate you. I don’t think you’re stupid. I don’t think you’re insignificant. God, why do you insist on thinking all this bullshit?”

You stare at him, the words catching in your throat. “Because you never look at me with anything other than a glare. You never talk to me unless you have to. You always jump in front of me on missions like I’m too weak to do it myself. And you treat everyone else so much better.”

His eyes flare. “Are you kidding me?”

You blink.

“It’s not because I think you’re weak.” His tone shifts, full of disbelief. “It’s the opposite. I don’t sit next to you because I get too goddamn distracted. You walk into a room, and my head goes to shit.”

You say nothing.

He inches his chest closer.

“And of course I’m going to jump in front of you on missions. That’s not because I think you can’t handle it. It’s because I can’t fucking handle the thought of something happening to you.”

Your breath leaves your lungs in one soft exhale.

You shake your head. “Then what, Bucky? You just—you make me feel so shitty. And you treat everyone else so kindly.”

“I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again,” he interrupts, eyes shining with something he’s clearly been holding back. “I don’t treat you like the others because… because I’m different around you, okay?”

You’re stunned.

“You make me feel different,” he continues, voice quieter now. “You change me. You get under my skin. You make me feel things I haven’t felt in a really long time. And it scares the hell out of me.”

You don’t move. You don’t breathe. Because if you do, you’ll fall apart.

He’s watching you now. Carefully. Like if he says the wrong word, you’ll bolt again.

You’re looking at him like you’re waiting for him to laugh, to flinch, to take it all back. He doesn’t. He just stares. Silent. Waiting. Heart pounding like a drum in his chest.

“You’re not making any sense, Bucky.”

He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair, then throws it down at his side. “What do you want me to say, huh?” His voice breaks. “I told you that you make me feel different! That you make me feel things I haven’t felt in a very long time! What more do you want from me?”

You yell back before you can stop yourself, “What the fuck does that even mean?!”

He looks down at his hands. His shoulders rise and fall with a slow, heavy breath, like he’s trying to pull himself together before he falls apart entirely. Like this is the most terrifying thing he’s ever had to explain. And then, softly, steadily, he tries again.

“It means that when I’m around you, I feel things I haven’t felt in years. Intense things. Emotions I thought I didn’t have anymore. It’s like—like something in me sparks to life when you’re near. Something that’s been dormant for so damn long I forgot what it felt like.”

You scoff, your voice still shaky, still guarded. “What? More hatred?”

He looks up at you so fast, eyes blazing. “Listen to me right now,” he nearly growls. “I do not hate you. I have never hated you. I’ve been trying to tell you that for so goddamn long, but you won’t listen to me, will you? No. Instead, you just keep deciding what I think. You insist on believing these bullshit stories in your head instead of what I’m saying to you right now.”

You shake your head, eyes stinging. You know you’re being ridiculous but you can’t bring yourself to believe the words flooding out of his mouth. “You’re being so vague, Bucky.”

He throws his hands up, finally snapping. “What the hell do you want me to say? You want me to spell it out for you? Fine. I will.”

His hands fly to grab the sides of your face and you jolt, deeply aware of the way your heartbeat is thudding in your ears.

“You make me feel things I haven’t felt in a very damn long time. You make me feel things like… like happiness. Joy. Excitement. You make me feel alive, and it scares the shit out of me because I don’t know how to deal with it. I haven’t known how to deal with it for a long fucking time. But you? You make me want to try, because I have all these damn feelings for you!” He shook his head slightly, almost breathless. “And for the life of me, I can’t figure out why, because all we ever do is fight, and I’ve never done this before, and you drive me insane, and somehow, still... it’s you.”

Your breath catches. Your hands fall limp at your sides.

He watches you closely, expression taut with vulnerability. “What?” he murmurs. “You’re silent now?”

You bite your lip hard. It trembles. “So I guess you don’t hate me.”

“No, doll. I don’t hate you.”

He pushes his face even closer to yours. Your bodies are just centimeters apart now. The heat between you hums with something quieter than anger. Something real. Heavy.

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but his finger gently presses against your lips.

“No,” he says, voice thick. “Stop being stubborn. Just for one second.”

He drops his hand, but his gaze doesn’t leave your mouth. And you know. You know he wants to kiss you.

You know because you want to kiss him.

His eyes flick up to yours again, and your heart beats so fast you think it might shake out of your chest.

“I-It’s just…” you whisper, voice cracking, “it’s so hard to believe you right now.”

His hands cradle your elbows now. Not pulling. Just holding.

“What do I do,” he asks quietly, “to make you believe that I’m in love with you?”

You blink, shoulders coming up in a shrug. 

“I’m falling in love with you.”

There’s no dramatics in the way he says it. No fanfare. Just truth. Sharp. Clear. Like it’s been there the whole time, waiting for someone to ask. Your knees nearly buckle.

“You’re falling in love with me?” you repeat, dumbfounded.

“I am,” he says, stepping even closer. “I’ve been an asshole about it. I’ve fought it. I’ve buried it under a pile of sarcasm and bad moods and shitty timing, but I’ve been falling for a long time. Since that day you fell asleep next to me on that mission, curled up like you trusted me not to hurt you, and I realized I’d kill for you before I’d let anyone try.”

You don’t know when your hands came up to his chest. They’re just there now, fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like he’s the only thing holding you up.

“I thought you couldn’t stand me,” you whisper. “I thought I was just the annoying one.”

He chuckles, but it’s hoarse. “You are annoying. And smart. And infuriating. And capable. And goddamn brilliant. And you drive me crazy, but it’s not the kind of crazy I can walk away from.”

Your laugh is wet, disbelieving. “I don’t know what to say.”

He leans in until his forehead rests gently against yours. “You don’t have to say anything.”

You close your eyes.

And for a moment, you just breathe.

The warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his chest rising and falling against yours, the sheer weight of everything unsaid that’s finally come to light. It's almost too much.

Then, softly, you whisper, “You can kiss me, if you want.”

He goes still, just for a second. Like he’s checking to make sure he heard you right. Like he’s trying to stop the world from tilting under his feet. And then he moves. No hesitation. No questions.

His mouth crashes into yours, and it’s not gentle. It’s not slow. It’s everything. It’s the snap of a rubber band stretched too far. The break in a storm. The kind of kiss that burns through skin, through bone, through everything you thought you knew about what this was.

His hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing just beneath your cheekbone with a tenderness that shouldn’t belong in a kiss this desperate. He kisses you like he’s trying to memorize you, like the shape of your mouth might slip through his fingers if he’s not careful. Like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

Your fingers tangle in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself to him like you’re drowning. And maybe you are, because this is too much, too fast, too real. Years of biting remarks and furious glances collapse into heat.

You tilt your head, deepen the kiss, and his breath hitches. He responds instantly, his other hand sliding around your waist, dragging you into him until there’s no space left between you. The fabric of your clothes is too thin, too irritating, too in the way. You gasp softly when his lips leave yours for just a heartbeat and trail down the edge of your jaw, his nose brushing your skin, breath hot and unsteady.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your neck, voice hoarse. “You drive me crazy.”

You laugh, a sound that’s shaky, breathless, a little wild. His lips find yours again, slower this time. Deeper. Less fire, more gravity. Like now that he has you, he’s trying to learn every inch of the moment.

And you let him.

When you finally break apart, your breath hitches again. This time not from fear. This time, it’s hope. It’s exhilaration. 

He presses his forehead back to yours, voice a little breathless.

“We’re still gonna fight all the time, aren’t we?”

You grin widely, chest still heaving. “Absolutely.”

He chuckles, thumb brushing your cheek.

“But I love you anyway,” you whisper.

He looks at you like you just saved his life.

And this time, when he pulls you into the bed beside him, you don’t fight him.

[loveluvrs]

the slip up l lando norris x reader

request/summary – lando and reader are in a secret established relationship, until lando accidentally slips up on stream

author's notes – first piece of writing, feedback appreciated!!! this is just my thoughts written down honestly, i didn’t have much idea where i was going with it so enjoy.

Max was streaming with Lando at his place. Lando drags his feet over to the stream room, sitting on a chair next to Max. He was scrolling on his phone, trying to pass the time. 

“Mate, I’m gonna leave, you’re being so boring,” Lando joked under his breath as he ran a hand through his hair. 

“I’ll make things more interesting then. Chat, wanna know something really interesting about Lando?” Max asked with a mischievous smile as he looked back at Lando. Lando watched with suspicion of what max could say next. 

“Lando’s got a secret girlfriend,” Max sings to annoy Lando. Lando’s eyes shot up, his heart pounding as he turned off his phone, the same phone he was using to text you, his girlfriend. “I don’t, chat, don’t listen to him. He’s just trying to piss me off,” Lando says as he shoots Max a glare. 

—————

A few months later, everyone has chalked up that interaction to Max simply trying to annoy and rile up Lando, and no one thought much of it. On a miracle of a night in spring, Lando was in Monaco and decided to stream. He had a hoodie on, his hair all messy, but a smile on his face. About an hour into the stream, I knock on the door of his stream room quietly. Lando immediately turned off his video and mic, telling chat to give him a minute. 

I walk in, a black slip dress on with a cropped white cardigan, my hair and makeup done all fancy. “Hi, baby,” Lando says as he pulls me in by the waist, onto his lap. “Girls night tonight, right?” He says with a soft smile. He always makes sure to pay attention to anything I’ve mentioned to him, including my plans to hang out with Lily and Carmen tonight, Alex and George’s girlfriends. 

I hum in response. “Yeah, we’re gonna get dinner and then take some Instagram photos,” I say as I stand up from his lap, “you like the dress? It’s new.” I give him a little twirl to show off the dress. 

Lando smiles brightly. “I love it, baby, you look gorgeous. Like always,” he says as he leans in for a kiss. “Text me when you’re done and need me to pick you up, yeah?” I nod and smile. 

Once I leave, Lando puts his headset back on, turning his mic and camera back on. He scrunches up his face as he’s met by shouting from Max into his headset. “What’s your problem, man?” Lando asks with confusion. Max sighs. “Lando, you had your mic on the whole time. People heard that whole conversation and I was trying to tell you but as always, you ignored me,” Max says with some frustration in his voice, but mostly amusement. 

“Oh,” Lando says as he realizes what has happened. Not knowing what to do, Lando panics and ends stream. 

When my friends and I reach the restaurant, we find it pouring rain, which was the most of our worries since the restaurant was outdoor. With frowns, we all pile back into the car and drive ourselves home. I arrive home only twenty minutes after I left, my dress soaked. My brows furrow in confusion to see Lando on the couch on his phone when i come back, and not on stream. 

I slip off my shoes. “I thought you were streaming?” I ask softly as I make my way over to him. “What happened to you? You’re all soaked! Here, let me get you a towel and you can get dressed into some of my hoodie and sweats to get comfy,” Lando says, trying to avoid the fact that he had just live streamed his whole conversation with his girlfriend. 

I saw the panic in Lando’s eyes. “Stop,” I say as I stood in front of him, “what did you do?” Lando shoots me a bright grin. “I love you, babe. So so much. And you know I’d do anything for you.” This made me even more suspicious. “Lan,” I say as my eyes narrowed.

“Okay, okay. I might have forgotten to mute my mic when we were talking right before you left. I swear I thought I had turned it off!” He says as he panics before beginning to ramble. “And I called you baby, and gorgeous, and your voice was heard too. And Max was telling me the whole time through my headset, but it was off and even if it were on, you know I don’t think about anything else when I’m with you. And there were thousands of people on the stream and you specifically told me you wanted to keep it private because you didn’t want to get hate crimed by the fans and you wouldn’t be able to handle it and I mean, I wanted to but it just slipped and im so so sorry but-“ He stops in confusion when a giggle escapes my lips. “Why aren’t you upset?” He asks slowly.

I smile as I slip my arms around his neck, his hands instinctively wrapping around my waist. “Well. Number one, you’re cute when you panic. Number two, no one saw me, so it’s okay. I mean, considering how in love you are with me, they were bound to find out at some point that you had a girlfriend,” I tease with a smile tugging at my lips. 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes playfully at me. “Okay, yeah. I am absolutely in love with you. Still, you’re not bothered by this?” he asks slowly, hesitation lacing his voice.

“I promise I’m not. It was a mistake. Plus, that just means it’s gonna be all the more fun trying to watch them figure out who it is you’re dating,” I say playfully with a giggle. 

“That’s true,” Lando says softly with a hum, “I love you.”

“I love you too. Although, don’t make me have to have you on adult supervision every time you stream now to make sure nothing else slips out of your mouth,” I tease as I playfully poke his side. 

“Ah! Okay okay, promise,” he says with a giggle as he leans in for a gentle and loving kiss.

[kiraavi]

banana cream pie

Summary: Joel is heading home after another long haul when he pulls into the travel center for the night. He's been struggling with his attraction to the waitress that works at the diner there, and is tempted to avoid you completely. The promise of coffee and an opportunity to stretch his legs, however, lures him in on a night you just so happen to be working the graveyard shift. CW: smut, pwp, unprotected piv, creampie + related innuendos that may or may not be cringe but I had to commit to the bit, oral f!receiving, a metric fuck ton of dirty talk, implied but unspecified age gap, (Joel is in his 50s, reader's age can really be anywhere from 20s-30s), rough and tough fuckin' with trucker Joel (he's lowkey a bit of a perv), exhibition, dumbification, hairpulling, overstimulation, wee bit of pussy pronoun usage. [No outbreak AU] Note: the demons took over... and I'm gonna be honest, this is 100% pure smut, no additives. It's got the cheesy porno plot and everything. I've been picking away at it for a week, and it's the longest smut I've written thus far!! As always, this was written with my beloved, game Joel (Goel), in mind. Also, reader is written to be plus size/chubby cause I felt like it! Comments, reblogs, and likes are all so incredibly appreciated! I'm always overjoyed to receive feedback. It means a lot to know that people have taken the time to stop by and read my fics. Lot's of love to y'all and happy reading! Word Count: 5.1k Ao3 Link: read here!

For a moment, Joel thinks about retreating into his bunk and winding down for the night, but his eyes dart back to the diner. The welcoming light that pours from the large windows, and the flickering neon open sign. Goddamn does a warm cup of coffee, and the opportunity to stretch his legs after a long drive sound good right about now.

His eyes dart back to the beat up blue hatchback parked around the side. He recognizes it, or rather, he recognizes who it belongs to. He feels like a teenager—you make him feel entirely out of his depth, and he’s not sure why. There’s nothing between you.

You’ve never been anything but friendly and accommodating toward him. You know exactly how he likes his coffee and make for good conversation. The problem lies in what you don’t know—in the moments between a sip of coffee in the diner, and before he passes out in his bunk. The secret between his fist and his cock when all he can think about is you—you in that fucking dress, you with that gorgeous smile, you who treats him with genuine interest. He’s pathetic. As mindless as a moth to a flame. As dumb as a fool to his execution.

When he finally finishes stewing in his guilt, staring blankly at the blinking amber lights of his dashboard, he musters up the courage to leave the comfort of the cab of his truck. He makes the walk across the parking lot a quick one—beneath the light drizzle of rain drops prickling his skin. He forgot his jacket in his truck, but he knows if he returns to his rig now he won’t be able to convince himself to venture back out.

Joel shoulders open the door with a huff as cool air rushes inside with him. The door falls shut and warmth envelops him in its place. He dares a glimpse at his reflection in the smudged glass and cards a hand through his unkempt hair. Turning, he surveys his surroundings for the first time, tamping his boots on the door mat. 

Booths are nestled along one wall, their red pleather upholstery spiderwebbed with fissures that reveal the foam cushioning beneath. Chips and scratches litter the table tops, the varnish worn around the edges where elbows have often come to rest. The checkerboard floor is weathered all the way down the aisle, certain tiles marking the well trodden path. The walls are covered in all sorts of dusty relics; old license plates from various states, road maps, and flags. Posters peel away from the wall at their corners and photographs have yellowed with the years.

He’s certain that this place hasn’t been renovated since its opening. It’s dingy, and unremarkable, and most things here have been wasting away for decades. The diner itself isn’t why he keeps coming back, though. He could just as well head over to the convenience store next door for a quick meal and a drink.

His eyes land on you. You’re standing behind the counter that runs the length of the room, chrome stools with red tops line the other side. You wipe down the surface with a damp rag. The radio crackles, crooning some tune that you’re too busy humming to notice his entrance.

It’s late and the place is empty—as desolated and deserted as the parking lot outside—a far cry from the bustling morning rush on those days when he’s barely able to get a word in while you rush around, topping up coffees or balancing trays of food. But now, you’re lost in your own world, and Joel finds himself hanging onto every second that you’re unaware of his presence because the view is a bit like art; a painting that he wouldn’t mind having hung in his home, or permanently etched into his mind’s eye.

You’re entirely unlike everything else in this tacky, run down diner. You are bright. You radiate warmth. You are something to be admired, cherished, and held dearly, or placed upon some pedestal. And he thinks that he might’ve spent an eternity memorizing every facet of you—every line that makes up your face, every contour that shapes your body—if you didn’t look up just then.

The smile that lights up your face is nothing short of a privilege to witness. He has half a mind to throw a glance behind him because it certainly can’t be for him—he can’t be the reason for something so beautiful. He doesn’t warrant that kind of look, but he’s the only one here and he doesn’t want to make himself look stupid, so he gives a curt nod.

Clearing his throat, he takes a stilted step towards one of the tables before settling into the booth. He watches as you disappear into the kitchen, and return with a coffee pot and mug in your hands. Dutifully, you set the mug in front of him and pour him a cup. The steam curls up into the air and one of his hands wraps around the ceramic mug, feeling its warmth. He glances back at you. You’re still standing there and you look a little antsy. He gets the feeling that he might be your only customer for the night.

“Workin’ the graveyard shift, huh?” He asks, lifting the mug to his lips and taking a sip. He pulls a bit of a face and sets it back down. The coffee is just okay, always has been, but the coffee isn’t why he keeps coming back. Again, his eyes flit to you.

“Yeah, I needed the extra shift,” you say as you set the coffee pot onto the table before sitting down across from him. He feels your knee brush his beneath the table and his jaw clenches. “And you? Heading home or heading out?”

You lean forward, bracing your elbows on the table and resting your chin in your hands, as if preparing yourself to cling to each word he has to say. The angle provides him the perfect vantage point. His eyes naturally snag on the pillowy tops of your breasts and the hidden valley between them. His fist knocks the table as he leans back against the seat, shifting uncomfortably. They look about ready to spill out of that dress with the first two buttons undone. Fuck, had it been unbuttoned when he’d first walked in? Surely.

“Home. Gotta week ‘fore I’m on the road again,” he grumbles, lifting his gaze away from where they definitely shouldn’t be. It means a week before he has a chance at seeing you again. For some reason that thought stirs an ugly feeling within him, twisting and unfolding in the pit of his stomach. The silence stretches between you, and neither of you reach to fill the void. He notices your nails are painted a baby blue to match your dress. Cute. 

The quiet becomes too much and he decides to put an end to it. “What’s the pie of the day this time?” It’s a question that he’s made the habit of asking, but he’s never made the habit of ordering a slice. A little routine between the two of you, and one that instantly has a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

You hum as you think it over, making an effort to recall it, and the moment you do, your eyes light up. “It’s banana cream pie.” “Ah? S’it any good?”

“Oh, um, I’ve never tried it before,” you say and your leg jolts against his, your bare skin grazing the denim of his jeans. “Does my opinion matter? Unless you’re actually planning on ordering it this time?”

There’s something about you then—that glint in your eyes, the subtle curve of your smile, the teasing lilt of your voice. You’re adorable. He wants you all to himself. But he can’t have what’s out of reach. He’s struggling to keep up this act around you. The facade that he’s normal about you because he’s anything but normal about you. There’s nothing normal about his feelings for you at all. He is a beast that wants to swallow you whole and you are too naive to see it. Right? He blinks, eyes catching on the low dip of your top again, and then he feels your leg rub up against his once more. The touch feels almost purposeful, but he tries to convince himself otherwise. His imagination, his desire must be conjuring things—gleaning want where there is none. His throat goes dry and he swallows hard. 

“Nah,” his eyes lower to his coffee, still full, but he stands anyway, and you’re standing up with him, looking confused. “I should get goin’, it’s been a long day.”

“Really? Stay and finish your coffee at least, Joel,” you say, stepping closer. He locks up, muscles going rigid. It’s both a curse and a blessing to have shared his name with you last time. The way it floats from your lips, something wispy and reluctant, and in that dulcet tone. It’s euphonic. It does things to him—terrible, awful, thrilling things. 

He swivels around and you’re mere inches from him, peering up at him all doe eyed. He doesn���t have the bandwidth to deal with this right now, but you look up at him like that—like a lost puppy trailing after him, and he knows deep down that he never really stood a chance. Not when it comes to you. It’s just been a matter of time—of how long he can manage to convince himself of his own lies and turn the other cheek.

”Did… Did I do something that bothered you?” Your voice wavers. It makes him feel like an ass for ever making you question yourself because there’s not a single thing you’ve done to upset him. The only upsetting thing is the way he feels about you, the way want and desire roil in his gut the moment he so much as sees you, or remembers the fact that you exist. It’s purely impulsive and frustrating, and the most blissful feeling. He never wants to feel this way again and he never wants to stop feeling it simultaneously. Two opposing outlooks at an impasse within him.

“No- No ‘course not,” he says, waving his hand dismissively but you still look so unsure, and his hand lands on your shoulder in what’s supposed to be a comforting gesture. His thumb rubs a gentle circle there because he can’t stop himself. “Like I told you, just been a long day.”

You blink, your lip wobbling as you search for your next words. “Oh… it’s just that I was really enjoying your company.”

The last thread of his restraint pulls taut, the flame of tension between you whittling it away, and singeing one tiny, miniscule fibre at a time. You look upon him like he’s something worth a dime—someone of value who merits praise and admiration, but he isn’t. He’s sure that he isn’t anything more than a dumb, pathetic bastard too far ahead of himself to turn back now.

He knows that he’d be a fool to mistake your kindness for interest but, hell, if the way you bat your lashes at him, and worry your bottom lip between your teeth, and sway your hips with every approach isn’t interest, he’s not too sure what is. 

So the thread snaps, giving way to that searing fire and he surges forward, all but stumbling into you. His lips are on yours, clashing with yours—hot and heavy as he licks into your mouth. His breath is hot and laboured, fanning over your face.

You shake in his hold, your hands hovering and unsure of what to do. He pulls away and takes in the sight of you. Flushed and warm with those glossy, wide eyes staring at him in surprise. But you shouldn’t be shocked. You’ve seen this coming, haven’t you?

“You’re just a little fuckin’ tease, ain’t you?” He asks, and you have the audacity to look bewildered, lips parted in a soft exhale. You are good at this innocent act, he’ll give you that. “Knew what you were doin’ the whole damn time, I bet.”

“Yeah, bet you like havin’ that kinda control over a man like me, huh?” He questions, taking a step forward and into you, crowding you against the table. You’re stunned and locked into place, hands falling to grasp the lip of the table. You make no move to push him away. And that’s the confirmation he needs. He’s right. He knows he’s right and it only emboldens him. “Well, are you gonna say somethin’ or just stand there lookin’ pretty?”

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. He’s sapped the air right out of your lungs.

“Bullshit, you’ve had me dreamin’ ‘bout this cunt for weeks now,” he scoffs, spinning you around and pressing a hand firm to your back, bending you over the table's edge. He’s got you pinned there.

“Joel…!” You squeak, gasping out.

“Fuck… been achin’ to taste it,” he says as he sinks to his knees behind you, and flips the back of your skirt up. His hands skim up your legs, lingering on the plush of your thighs in gentle up and down motions before grabbing a hold of them and prying them apart. His fingers graze your cotton panties—they’re that same baby blue, he notes. He clicks his tongue when his fingers come away damp. “Yeah, you’ve been drippin’ since I walked through that damn door, haven’t you?”

Your reply comes out as a weak, wavering sound—somewhere between a whimper and a mewl. Not very talkative, huh? There’s none of that denial anymore. No, he’s worked you into submission in a few measly seconds. But this is what you’d wanted. It’s what you’ve been getting at—been wanting some grizzled, old man like him to fuck you until there isn’t a single thought left floating around in that pretty little head of yours. Blissful oblivion.

“You’ll let me have a taste, won’t you, sweet girl?” He asks, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, and dragging the flimsy fabric down your legs. He smacks the side of your thigh when you don’t reply.

“Mhm!” You hum, not so subtly pushing your hips back toward him. Eager little thing. But he’s not one to make things quick. He won’t give you what you want just ‘cause. He’ll relish in it—in the things he can do to you not only with his touch, but the things he can do to you with the absence of it.

“Gotta use your words f’me…” he coos, his thumb pressing into the tender skin where your thigh meets your most intimate place, parting your lips gently. He exhales sharply at the sight—pink and glistening just for him. Precious. “C’mon, be a good girl.”

“Please-! I need you,”  you keen above him, and he can hear the unadulterated desperation dripping from your words. It feeds into him and into his ego—into the beast you’ve created of him.

“Need what? Oughta be specific. ‘M no mind reader,” he murmurs, moving his hand to slide two fingers along your slit as he asks his next question. “D’you need my fingers?”

“My mouth?” Next, Joel leans in close to press a kiss to your inner thigh, just shy of your pulsing heat. He feels your legs quiver at the daring proximity—so achingly close to where you need him and, yet somehow, incredibly far. “Or does this greedy cunt need somethin’ more…?”

He is rock hard in his jeans, uncomfortably so. His erection pushes against his zipper but he ignores it, keeping his sole focus on you—the object of his desire, already weak and warbling from a few infinitesimal touches.

“Uh huh- please, anything…!” You beg so pretty, and how can he deny that? He has you in the palm of his hand, your muddled mind incapable of making a simple decision. You’ve relinquished control and deferred all choice to him. He relishes in it and he takes the responsibility in stride. 

“Poor thing can’t even make a decision for herself,” he says as he draws nearer to lay a kiss over your dripping folds. He flicks his tongue out and his thumbs part you at your seam. You squirm and a moan falls from you. He can’t see your face right now, but Christ, does he wish he could. He’ll just have to settle for his imagination which is something he’s not entirely unfamiliar with.

“That’s okay. You don’t gotta think too hard when I’m here, just have to sit there and take what I give you, right?” He pulls back to whisper, the bridge of his nose ghosting over the sensitive skin. “Just gotta stand there bein’ good and dumb for me…”

Joel doesn’t bother waiting for a response before returning his mouth between your legs. He marks a trail of kisses all the way back to your cunt. And when he tastes you again, he lets out a languid groan, tongue flattening over your clit. He laps and suckles at it, siphoning shuddering moans from your lips. Your hips jolt and he moves higher, prodding at your entrance, flicking his tongue there.

He doesn’t belong here. Nothing he’s ever done renders him deserving of this blessing, but he’ll earn it. You whimper above him—tiny, bitten-off whines tumbling from you over and over as he licks into you, laving over your clit again and again. The sounds are downright obscene, filling the empty room as he feasts on you like it’s his final meal and he’s to die tonight—his last will and testament. His fingers dimple the flesh of your thighs, wrenching you open wider and nudging your entrance again.

You’re close. He can tell in the way your legs begin to tremble and your knees threaten to buckle. His hands lower to brace you, a silent gesture, as if to say ‘I’ve got you.’ And he does. He’s not letting you go until you’ve reached that peak and then some. He returns all his attention to your clit, swirling his tongue and suckling—working you up, up, up and coaxing you over that crest.

“Oh…! Nghh, Joel-!” You wail. Your orgasm is a wavering, jittering thing. He can feel your muscles convulsing against his tongue. He grunts and works you through it, drinking up every last drop. 

It’s too easy to push you down and wind you up. Your body is pliant, willing, and accepting of everything he gives you. Even as it spasms and jerks, a weak sound of protest falling from your lips as he refuses to let up.

This moment, right here in this empty diner, is limbo—a space between two destinations in which time ceases to exist. He can’t get enough of you. He never will. He’s addicted, so he continues to take and take from you. The pleasure he imparts unto you is his own, his cock twitching in his pants.

Joel mouths at your pussy. He does not stop to breathe. He smothers himself in your wet, messy folds, teasing and licking—pushing and pulling. Raising you up and bringing you back down each time he diverts his attention to another sensitive place.

You are a mess. A heap of shaking limbs, sinful sounds, and babbled words—garbled and disjointed pleas. He doesn’t think you realize your own contradictions. A quiet ‘I can’t-’, a stuttered ‘no more’, followed by a ‘please don’t stop!’

He won’t. He will not stop until he’s torn another orgasm from you. He knows that you’re capable—you’ll give him what he wants and comply with his whims because you’re his good girl. You will give him another whether or not it’s dredged from you weeping and tremoring.

And you do. Your body coils like a spring, his hands move to your hips, tugging you closer against his face. One more pass of his tongue and your body unravels, unwinding and releasing all that tension.

“Oh God! Ah- Joel… fuck!” you cry out. When he pulls away, his face is slick with your arousal, droplets clinging to the scruff of his beard. He stands up behind you, his hands coasting up your sides as he does. You’ve gone limp, still folded over the table.

Shucking off his belt, Joel pushes his pants down alongside his boxers, freeing his painfully erect cock. It’s flushed and leaking, aching to be inside you already. He shuffles behind you, guiding his cock between your legs and dragging it over your seam, and slipping it between your pussy lips.

“You let any man have his way with you?” he questions, tapping the bulbous tip against your clit before sliding it back and notching it against your entrance. “D’you spend weeks practically beggin’ for it? Temptin’ any bastard that happens to pass through?”

“No! No, just you, only you.” you say, breath hitching and eyes watering.

“No? Just me? That’s damn right.” He grins and begins to sink inside, drawing a ragged moan from the both of you. Your pussy hugs his cock as it cleaves you open. “This cunt belongs to me.”

He starts off slow, bringing his hands to rest on your waist as he eases in and out of you, feeling your warm, tight walls clutch and flutter around his shaft, seeming to cling and suck him back in each time he pulls out.

“Fuck yes, baby…” he croons, eyes fluttering shut as he begins to set a faster pace. The mug and coffee pot rattle with each thrust that jolts your body against the table. The mug inches closer and closer to the edge. His hips meet your ass, bottoming out with each drive forward. Opening his eyes, his gaze lands on the window in front of you. The two of you look out onto the empty parking lot.

“Would you look at that, darlin’…” he remarks, giving your hip a squeeze to grab your attention and direct it forward. “Anyone could walk on past and see you gettin’ railed… you like that don’t you, though?”

There’s truth to his words. The looming threat doesn’t take away from it. No, your cunt contracts around his shaft, dragging him deeper at the acknowledgement of such an indecent thing. You enjoy the risk—you both delight in it.

To be caught now would be so easy. You’ve been put on display, vulnerable and exposed, beneath the glaring lights reflecting off the glass. Rivulets of rain water slip down the wide, open pane. All it would take is one lone traveler pulling into the parking lot, or the convenience store cashiers switching shifts, and a singular glance in the diner’s direction. 

Just like that, and they would know that you’ve let this man defile you at your place of work. They’d know what a dirty girl you are. But it’s not off-putting in that way that it should be. It’s exhilarating.

“Mhm, you get off on it, filthy girl,” he teases, rolling his hips into you. You’re a wordless, mindless jumble of nothingness beneath him. Completely and utterly drunk on his cock, and unable to string together a single thought, let alone form a coherent sentence. You speak only in helpless mewls and keening moans. His focus is trained on your dazed, dumb expression in the reflection. You look fucking divine.

“Well, go on, look.” He reaches for your hair, tugging it and forcing you to face your mirror image. “Watch me fuck you.”

Joel knows he shouldn’t be so rough with you. You’re fragile and teetering, but he wants you to witness the sight—to face the image of what you’ve been taunting him with for weeks. You’re a work of art. He wants you to know that and remember the reflection in the glass in case this is the last time he bears the privilege of having you in such a manner. 

“Joel, please!” you whine over the wet plap, plap, plap of his thrusts, your hands grappling with the flat table top. He’s not sure what you’re pleading for and he thinks that you might not even know yourself.

He hums, rubbing his hand up along your spine and then back down to the knot of your apron. He tugs it loose, and pulls you upright and against him, tossing the apron aside. Sliding his hands around you he undoes the rest of the buttons of your dress in quick succession until your breasts spill out. 

“My beautiful, fuckin’ perfect girl,” he whispers, leaning in to press a kiss to the side of your neck and then another one as his hands cup your tits, kneading them and feeling the way you shudder against him. 

Joel tips your head back, running his fingers along your jaw in a tender caress. They curl there as he thumbs your bottom lip, prodding and encouraging you to open up before tucking two thick digits inside. Obediently, your mouth closes around them as though it’s a habitual act. He smooths them over your tongue, unable to stifle the strained noise that escapes him.

The silky heat engulfs them and you practically purr, dissolving further into his arms. Drool pools at the corner of your mouth, and he pulls his fingers from your mouth with a schlick. His hand then slithers down your body and slips between your legs.

He feels the way you’re stretched wide around his girth, wedged open in a way he’s certain you haven’t been before. He continues to rock up into you as he seeks out your swollen clit, fingertips circling the bud in small, vigorous circles. His head drops to your shoulder, feeling that tight, delicious clamp of your pussy. Quiet utterances and muttered curses stashed under his breath flitter over your ear.

“So good… you feel so fuckin’ good, baby…” He drawls, fighting to keep his eyes from clenching shut because he wants to savour this moment and you. Blissed out and empty-headed, taking each inch of him. He adores you—everything about you. Every curve, and dip, and extra bit of plushness.

“You’re so damn perfect,” he moans, his thrusts turning sloppy. If he had the time to dedicate to worshiping every aspect of you he would. He’d spend hours working you through orgasm after orgasm, but you haven’t got the time, and he can feel himself inching closer and closer to his own.

“Shit, I’m close-!” he mumbles, folding you over the table again and following suit. His chest is pressed to your back, and his cock sinks deeper somehow, hips bumping yours against the lip of the table. You slap a hand over your mouth in an effort to suppress your moans.

His arm winds around you, curling beneath your stomach. His hand, large and roughened, fans over the plumpness there—so often hidden by the flared skirt of your dress. He squeezes gently. Groaning, he saws his cock in and out, feeling the unhurried, slick glide as the crown passes over that delicate and sensitive spot inside you. He feels you tense beneath him, another one of your sweet sounds is muffled against your knuckles. His free hand grabs yours and shoves it flat to the table.

“None’a that, darlin’. Lemme hear every damn sound,” he grunts, pressing his palm firmer against your stomach. “Ya feel that? Feel me right fuckin’ here?”

“Yes! Yes, feel you so deep, mmph…!”

“Where do you want it?” he asks, feeling that pressure brim and ache. “Tell me or are you too dumb and drunk on my cock to make up your mind?”

You babble beneath him—a jumbled mess of pleas and yesses, but no definitive answer to the question he has posed. He’s right. You’ve been reduced to a brainless, insatiable, needy thing. Hopelessly keening for more and more even when your body can’t take it.

“It’s alright, baby… I’ll just have to give you a taste of that cream pie you said you’d never tried,” he murmurs, continuing the staggering rhythm of his thrusts.

“Inside’s where ya need it, filling up this greedy cunt, hm?” His voice is hushed, dropping low and husky. The words are like a secret for your ears only. He feels you tense beneath him, a strangled cry is pulled from the depths of you as your walls convulse around his cock. He moans at that sensation. It’s addictive. It’s incredible. You’re writhing and unfurling for him—fracturing into pieces atop quaking legs. “Uh huh, can feel her sucking me in. She’s begging for it, ain’t she?”

“Please, give it to me…” And that’s all the permission he ever needs—that breathless, resigned request.

It’s uncontrollable. The pressure erupts as he bottoms out one last time, nestling deep. His cock swells and twitches, balls drawing tight as relief finally sweeps over him. His hips involuntarily jerk as the first jet spurts inside of you. He sucks in air through his teeth, suddenly feeling deprived of oxygen as his head spins and his mind goes blank. His pelvis spasms, grinding into you. His eyes fall shut and a groan tumbles past his lips. He stays there, shooting warm rope after rope, until he has nothing left to give and then a few moments longer.

When Joel peels himself from you, he slides himself free. Instantly, his eyes catch on your cunt and the way your entrance contracts around nothing. His spend oozes out in what can only be described as an obscene display. 

You lay there panting until you find the will power to stand up and face him. Your legs wobble and you lurch, but he’s there to catch you, propping you up against him. “Easy now,” he mutters, bringing a hand up to brush back a stray hair. 

“Right, sorry,” you say with a giggle, hands braced on his shoulders as you look up at him. You’re damn near delirious. He’s the one who’s brought you to such a state. His stomach churns. His eyes dart between yours and your lips then out the window to his rig in the parking lot. It doesn’t feel right to up and leave, so he makes the decision that he won’t. Not yet.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for,” he murmurs, cupping your face and tilting your chin. You smile up at him. It’s set in stone. He’s set in stone. There’s no pulling him from this moment anytime soon.

“I could go for another cup of coffee,” he says, glancing at the abandoned mug settled right near the edge of the table, its contents now sitting cold, “and I think I’d like to try a slice of that banana cream pie too.”

[wttcsms]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ when they act this way (i know i got 'em) !!

ᝰ.ᐟ kiyoomi sakusa is used to getting what he wants, and what he wants most right now is you. too bad you’re the biggest fucking tease in the world. fine by him, though. because when he gets his hands on you — and he will — you’re going to see what exactly all your thirst traps did for him. ( fem!reader )

pairing kiyoomi sakusa x reader word count 3.6k content contains angry sex/rough sex, overstimulation, semi-public location, pop star!reader, cheeky/bratty to sub!reader 😭, he manhandles you a bit, creampie kinktober masterlist

“What’s his fuckin’ problem?” Atsumu grumbles, tossing his sweaty practice jersey onto one of the benches, mindful of avoiding the bench Sakusa is currently occupying. He takes this extra precaution since he doesn’t want to get yelled at again by Sakusa, who did snap at Atsumu five seconds prior for almost getting his dirty jersey thrown on top of him. 

“Maybe you just stink, ‘Tsumu.” Bokuto’s grinning, but Hinata shakes his head, gesturing for both of his teammates to come closer so he can whisper to them.

“I think Omi’s in a bad mood because he’s mad.” 

“No shit, Ginger!” Atsumu groans. “People who are in bad moods are usually mad. We didn’t need you to spell it out for us.” 

“You didn’t let me finish!” Hinata whisper-shouts. “He’s been looking at [Name] [Surname]’s Instagram since before practice ended.” 

“Who the hell is that?” Atsumu hisses, and Bokuto hits him on the shoulder. 

“Bro! That singer!”

“Yeah, that clears shit up.” Atsumu rolls his eyes, yanking open his locker to find a clean shirt to wear. “Why would Omi be mad at lookin’ at some girl’s Instagram?”

The trio is silent for a moment before a lightbulb practically appears over Bokuto’s head.

“Hey! Maybe she got a boyfriend, and he’s jealous!”

The group ponders this hypothetical. 

“Why would Kiyoomi get jealous, though?” Hinata asks. “It’s not like he’s dating her or anything.”

“Unless they had some weird situationship shit goin’ on.” Atsumu suggests. “Should we ask? Shoyo, go ask him.”

“Why do I have to ask?” 

“Nope. She didn’t post anything with a boyfriend…” Bokuto mumbles, scrolling through your feed. 

“Lemme see.” Atsumu snatches the phone from Bokuto’s hands and lets out a wolf whistle. “She’s hot. No wonder Omi-Omi’s pissed off.” 

“Huh?” Hinata whines. “Let me see, too!”

Atsumu faces the screen towards Hinata. “She’s the type of pretty that makes you mad just ‘cause ya can’t have her.” 

The girl on the screen is you. Posted not even an hour ago but already generating over six hundred thousand likes, Hinata understands what Atsumu means. Your back is turned towards the stage you’re on, but you’re looking back, giving the camera a coy smirk. You’ve got a rhinestone bedazzled microphone in one hand, and you’re wearing the shortest baby-blue minidress in existence; so short, in fact, that because your knees are bent just a bit, the current pose you’re sporting causes the fabric of your dress to rise, giving everyone viewing the image an unfiltered view of the built-in panties of the dress. The caption speaks volumes: too much for you to handle?. 

“You realize I could hear you idiots the whole entire time, right?” Sakusa doesn’t sound very happy, and Atsumu is quick to shove the phone back into Bokuto’s hands. “I’m not in a bad mood, and I’m not mad, and I don’t care about [Name] [Surname].” He grabs his gym bag, making a face at the trio, before storming out of the locker room. 

Sakusa’s upset, and his bad mood only sours more whenever he realizes that his idiotic teammates are more perceptive than he would like. Yes, he was mad at practice the minute he saw your latest post. And why wouldn’t he be? It’s clear that you’re fucking sub-posting him. You would’ve been better off just DM’ing him yourself and asking that stupid question.

Too much for you to handle? 

Fuck you, he thinks bitterly. Before realizing that, yes, that’s exactly what he wants to do to you. 

Everyone knows it, including you, which makes the whole situation even worse. Your mutual friends keep trying to persuade the two of you to finally ease the tension and just get a room, but Sakusa’s always been a touch too prideful. 

The two of you have always been constantly warring with each other; you’ve got the coy, flirty, cocky personality that doesn’t mesh well with his own stoic, cold, perpetually unimpressed one. You always flirt with him, but he’s seen you flirt with everyone — it’s basically your whole brand. It’s precisely what your popstar image is built upon — the fun, flirty idol who’s carefree and the poster girl for no-strings-attached. 

And Sakusa, for what it’s worth, is a very strings-and-all type of man. 

The reason why he won’t pursue you is because you’re the first person to catch him off guard. He can’t get a good read on you. He has no clue what your intentions actually are, and he’s not about to make a fool of himself by asking you if you’re serious when you told him you were.

That stupid fucking party — he knew he shoudn’t have attended. It was another teammate’s birthday, and he was hosting it at his place, and since it wasn’t a nightclub or anything, Sakusa assumed it was safe enough to attend. Too bad he forgot that his teammate was dating some other singer, someone who happens to be one of your friends. 

Everyone there kept pushing the two of you together, and as the night progressed and everyone was getting drunker and drunker, there was intoxicated, slurred commentary on how the two of you just needed to fuck once and get each other out of your systems. 

“It’s true.” Even with heels, you’re still shorter than Sakusa, and you have to get on the tips of your toes to whisper in his ear. “You wanna know the reason why we haven’t had sex yet?” 

“Because I’m not interested.” He tells you flatly. He’s lying, and you know it. 

You pout, your plush bottom lip on display. “It’s because I don’t want you out of my system, and I’m hoping you don’t want to get rid of me either.” 

He snorts, even though his heart jumps at the thought. He wants to tell you to quit playing these games and be serious, but he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps himself guarded. “Like I said. Not interested.” 

“Why won’t you just give in?” You tilt your head. “You scared? Or maybe…” The dress you’re wearing makes your legs look even longer. Every centimeter of bare skin you expose has him spiraling into overdrive. He maintains his facade of nonchalance and looks you in the eyes, looking entirely unimpressed with your antics. “I’m too much for you to handle? Wouldn’t want to go around breaking Japan’s favorite outside hitter, after all.” 

You smile at him, giving a tiny giggle. “Yeah. I think that’s exactly the reason.” 

Sakusa is many things, and you somehow negate everything. He’s blunt; you either leave him speechless or determined to lie to save face. He’s generally unaffected by most people; you get under his skin. He doesn’t like being made out to be a fool; you make him feel like the biggest idiot, and other people know it too. He likes to have everything in his life sorted out properly; you and him have nothing but unfinished business. 

Let it be known that Kiyoomi Sakusa only came to your concert rehearsal purely because he wanted to get closure. When he walked into the stadium, hands in his pockets, watching you dance on the stage, he did not intend for you to immediately halt practice. He did not intend for you to gesture for him to follow you, and he did not intend to be taken backstage. There’s surprisingly less people back here than he thought, and you explain to him that it’s because rehearsal technically starts two hours later. You just wanted to run through it beforehand, to warm up. 

(Sakusa admires that about you; no one ever seems to acknowledge the hard work you put in, and it’s your work ethic, really, that slowly started to endear you to him.) 

Let it be known that Kiyoomi Sakusa had absolutely no intention of fucking you backstage. Because, in his defense, you have a way of making him act entirely out of character.

The constant teasing, the back and forth, your coy smiles and flirtatious remarks that he can never truly decipher. And here you are, standing all pretty in your sparkly minidress, and you just keep taunting him. Even when he’s trying to have a serious conversation with you, all you do is skate around his questions. It’s like your default mode is set to toying with men. 

“Seriously,” he grits his teeth, backing you into one of the walls. You’re completely cornered by him now. It’s easy to forget how much bigger Sakusa truly is. He towers over you, makes you feel like a little kitten backed into an alleyway by a big dog. “You can’t take me seriously for one fucking second?”

His brows are furrowed, and he’s frowning. Somehow, the sight of him angry only gets you more excited. You like Sakusa. You like him much more than you originally anticipated, and this whole cat-and-mouse charade is just that: a charade. Of course you meant it when you kept flirting with him. But you’re not used to being the one who has to chase after someone, and you refuse to give in now. With both of you having too much of an ego to give in, it’s a battle of individual pride now. 

A battle that you think you might lose once you and him both realize that you’re pressing your thighs together to apply some pressure to the growing need between your legs. 

“Are you—?” He lets out a short, sharp laugh. “Fucking slut. You really did want me to fuck you this whole entire time.” He takes another step towards you; there’s no more space for you to back into. You’re already pressed against the wall, and now he’s looming over you, an impossible obstacle to get over. Somehow, you don’t mind being trapped, as long as it’s Kiyoomi Sakusa that’s holding you down. 

“You wish.” You try to sound snarky, but it’s hard when Sakusa is looking down at you like that. Dark eyes, strands of hair hanging down his forehead, a cold, calculating smile on his face as he watches the subtle rise and fall of your chest as you struggle to breathe normally. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he’s capable of hearing how fast your heart is beating. 

“So you don’t want me to fuck you?” It should be illegal for his voice to get this low, to sound this husky. He’s leaning down far enough to where he can whisper this question in your ear, and your breath hitches as you feel thick fingers toying with the waistband of your panties. 

Right now, you are backstage, and your employees and team could be coming in any second now, and you don’t care. You don’t care, because all you care about is the fact that Kiyoomi Sakusa has you pressed against the wall, and his hand is up your dress, and he’s about to make his way into your panties. 

You gasp as you feel two of his fingers press directly against your clit, before traveling downwards and toying with your folds. There’s no actual penetration, just the tantalizing touch of his fingers rubbing against you, gathering up your slick. 

You make a tiny noise, and Sakusa chuckles softly. “You’re so wet, it feels like you want me, though.” The tips of his fingers prod at your entrance, only for him to abruptly remove his hand altogether, leaving your needy hole clenching and grasping at nothing. You whine as he examines his fingers, separating his index and middle fingers, allowing the both of you to watch closely as viscous strands of your juices coat his digits. He shrugs nonchalantly, leaning away from you. “I’ll let you get back to your rehearsal.” 

“No!” You shut your eyes, cheeks burning with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. You bite down on your lip before opening your eyes, peering up at him through thick lashes. “I-I do want you.” You’re mumbling, but it’s clear Sakusa’s heard you, loud and clear. 

“Sorry, what was that?” 

You’re wet, unsatisfied, and absolutely down bad for Kiyoomi. You’ve wanted him for months now, and he has you right where he wants you: so needy that you’re willing to let him do whatever he wants to you backstage. The thrill of potentially being caught, the excitement of finally just giving in to your desires… 

“I want you, Sakusa. Please.” You beg him, rubbing your thighs together to try and get some sort of friction. “I need you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sakusa might sound cocky, but there’s something equally needy in his touch. He’s back to pressing you against the wall, leaving practically no space between the two of you. He plants his hand right back into your panties, stroking your folds a few times, gathering the slick only to insert two fingers right where you need him most. He watches your expression, the way you try to tilt your head back, your little moans of pleasure as he starts to thrust his fingers in and out. 

“You could’ve had me sooner if you weren’t busy playing coy all the damn time.” Sakusa frowns, as if the memory of how long you’ve had him chasing after you has suddenly been brought back to his attention. When he says this, he picks up speed, pistoning his digits. You’re getting even wetter now, the lewd sound of him toying with your cunt the only noise in this empty backstage. He’s adding a third finger into the mix, now, and your cunt tries to resist, fails to adapt to the thickness of three of his fingers. 

“Mmph — ‘Kusa, slow — fuck!” You whine out, unable to speak properly as your walls clamp down on his digits. He presses his thumb against your clit, rubbing rough, unforgiving circles on the nub, never slowing down the pace of his fingers, even when you beg him to take it easy. “I’m gonna— I’m gonna cum!” You wail out, legs almost failing you from the force of your orgasm. 

The only thing keeping you upright is Sakusa himself. He wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you steady, but even after watching you fall apart from just his fingers, Sakusa isn’t satisfied. You little brat — you’ve been depriving him of seeing your precious, pretty face you make when you cum, and as a result, you’ve also been depriving yourself of all the pleasure that could’ve been yours, that’s rightfully yours, all because you wanted him to chase after you. 

Well, he’s got you now. 

And he’s going to want to give you both what the two of you have been missing out on, plus interest. 

You’re still recovering from your climax, legs feeling like jelly, vision blurry as you try to blink out the haze of pleasure from your vision, when you feel him shove the fabric of the skirt of your dress into your open mouth. 

“Bite down on this.” He grunts out, and you follow his command as if it’s simply second nature to. “Be a good girl, and keep holding it up, okay?” 

You nod weakly, but it’s easier said than done when you almost let out a gasp as you feel the tip of his cock prodding at your soaked entrance. Your eyes go wide, and he smirks at the sight of the country’s most beloved pop star reduced to nothing but his little slut. Your mouth is shoved with the fabric of your dress, keeping it up so he can continue to admire the sight of your wrecked pussy, still sensitive from when he banged you with his fingers. Your panties are pulled down, a crumpled mess around your ankles, and there’s drool gathering ‘round the corners of your mouth, your lipgloss staining the fabric of your dress. Messy girl. His messy girl.

It’s easy for him to slide into your needy hole, and he hisses when he feels the way your walls clench around his cock, squeezing him. There’s no better feeling, he decides, than the feel of your pretty, needy pussy yielding to him with absolutely no resistance. Even your cunt knows who owns it now. 

A soft whine, muffled by the dress occupying your mouth, slips from your lips. Sakusa’s cock is thick. Thicker than anyone else’s you’ve ever taken. It sinks into your snug cunt with a push forward that you feel entirely unprepared for, even though you’re so wet, it’s easy work for him to make himself at home in your pussy. 

His pace is unforgiving. He gives you no time to adjust, and he doesn’t seem to care about the way your pussy is still recovering from his fingers. He wastes no time in pounding into you, and even he’s panting at the exertion he’s exercising. Some tiny strands of his black curls are stuck on his forehead from the sweat, and you can’t help but think that Sakusa is beautiful, even when he’s scowling and fucking into you with a fervor that feels like he’s treating this like the only time he’s going to fuck you. 

You hope that isn’t true. You knew that the minute you’d get a taste of Sakusa, you’d never want to let him go. 

“Fuck.” He hisses, never slowing down his pace. He’s being rough, almost brutal. It’s like he’s chasing after his own pleasure, forcing you to find your release all on your own. But the thing is, it’s so easy to come apart. It’s so easy to come apart when you think about how this is Sakusa’s cock battering into you, how it’s Sakusa that’s panting and groaning from pleasure, how it’s Sakusa that is making your pussy his. You keep clenching down on his length, making it harder for him to continuously thrust in and out of you. “Fuck.” He repeats. “It’s like you don’t want to let me go.” 

You can’t speak, can’t tell him that it’s the truth, that you want him here forever. 

The echoing sound of the entrance of the building opening and then slamming close has your eyes going wide with fear. Someone has just entered. 

You’re now acutely aware of how loud the noises the two of you are making. The constant wet, slapping noises of his skin against yours, your messy pussy making a mess between your thighs and on his dick, his groans, your weak whimpers. All of it is now suddenly amplified as you listen in fear — and excitement — as footsteps echo around the hall. 

“[Name]?” Someone calls out. Your assistant. Fuck. 

You look up at Sakusa, curious as to why he’s still not stopping, but he only holds a finger to his lips, telling you to be quiet. “I haven’t finished yet.” He whispers into your ear, and you shake your head, panicking. 

“No? You want me to stop?” He buries his cock to the fucking hilt, shoving himself so deeply inside of you, you let out a surprised, pleasured squeal. “I’ll stop if you cum on my cock. For a slut like you, that should be easy.” 

You want to protest, you want to snap back that you are not a slut, but it’s hard to prove him wrong when his words, his cock, only have you tightening around him. He chuckles as he feels the pressure of your pussy clamping down on his dick, and he resumes fucking into you. 

Your hips start to buck needily against his, the pleasure making you feel delirious and reckless. You seem to have ditched all common sense, and as the footsteps continue to echo throughout the building, sounding closer and closer to where the two of you are currently fucking like rabbits in heat, you only succumb to the delirious, delicious heat of pleasure. Legs wrapping around his tight waist, you succumb hopelessly and happily to the pleasure he seems to effortlessly wring out of you, your body needily twisting and pushing against him, needing more of him. Your moan is long and would’ve been drawn out had he not pressed a calloused palm against your mouth. The dress fabric falls from your lips, and your moan is silenced as you stare up at him. He doesn’t look angry, just pleased. 

He’s turned you into such a little fucked out mess that he made you cum on his cock, despite the fact that there is someone else roaming this place, calling out for you. 

If only he got here sooner; then, he could’ve played with you for a bit longer, toy with you the way you’ve been toying with him. You’re lucky that he doesn’t plan on getting caught being balls deep in you, even though the idea of announcing to the world that you’re his gets him off. 

Muffling his own moan of pleasure by biting down on the soft skin between your neck and shoulder, Sakusa finishes deep into your wrecked cunt, letting out ropes and ropes of hot, white spurts of cum. He’s panting, removing his mouth from your skin, licking at the bite he left on your soft skin, as if to apologize. 

Both of your chests are rising and falling, the two of you greedily gulping for more air. He pulls out, a few drops of his cum already leaking out of your cunt. 

“This isn’t over.” He mutters, pulling up your panties, a puddle of his cum starting to pool into the seat of your underwear. He fixes your dress, smooths the fabric, and plants a surprisingly chaste kiss on your spit-slick lips. “Unless this really was a one time thing?” 

“As if this was ever going to be a one time thing.” You’re too tired to roll your eyes, but when he smiles, you find enough energy to smile back. “There’s a backdoor over there that you can leave. No one will see you.” 

“I’ll text you later.” He tells you, straightening his back and walking to the exit you just directed him to. “Like I said, this isn’t over.” 

Everyone on your team is worried when, during rehearsals, you complain that your legs are too sore to do the choreography.

[hederasgarden]

In My Veins

Summary: You broke up with Sergei over a year ago, but it seems neither of you can let the other go. Pairing: Sergei Kravinoff x F!Reader Word Count: 1.6K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Explicit sexual content, angst, some light B&E, and reference to stalking.  A/N: I tried to write a 500 word drabble and failed miserably. Based on this ask. Thank you @otaku-girl-ao3 and @crazyimaginations for looking this over. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Aaron Taylor Johnson Character Masterlist ♡ Masterlist

The moment you open the door to your apartment and see the soft yellow glow from the lamp on the entryway table, one you definitely didn’t leave on, you know you’re not alone. Sergei’s back. You hesitate, keys still in your hand. Part of you wants to turn around and leave, anything to avoid the situation you're walking into. But you know he's already heard you, probably been aware you were coming since you stepped off the elevator. Even if you leave now, you’re just delaying the inevitable. He’ll come back another time. 

With a quiet exhale, you step inside, lock the door behind you, and let your purse and keys fall onto the table. Sergei is exactly where you expect him to be—splayed out on your couch like a big, lazy jungle cat. He lifts the bottle of beer in his hand and takes a long pull, his gaze meeting yours. His booted feet rest casually on the IKEA coffee table, the very one he helped you put together before you broke up. He’s dressed simply in jeans and a white t-shirt that clings just enough to show the muscles in his arms. 

“Greg seems nice,” Sergei says casually. 

You don’t bother asking how he knows the name of your date. The one you just came back from. 

“He’s a pediatrician,” you say. “It’s a nice, normal job.”

There’s nothing serious between you and Greg yet, you’ve only been on a few casual dates and decided to keep things light, no strings attached or expectations. But Sergei doesn’t need to know that.

He leans back, and takes another swig from the bottle, his thick neck working as he swallows. You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from the movement of his throat until he’s finished. He rests the bottle on his thigh and smirks when he sees you watching him. Irritation flares hotly inside and you cut across the living room, plucking the beer from his hand. You give his feet a quick nudge, sending them off your coffee table as you walk past him and into the kitchen. He doesn’t even flinch at your gesture, his eyes staying locked on you.

“He sounds boring,” he comments, following you into the kitchen.

You dump the beer in the sink, watching the bubbles disappear down the drain, your back to him.

“Maybe I want boring. Safe,” you murmur. “I bet no one wants to kidnap a pediatrician’s girlfriend.”

You know bringing that up is a low blow, even if it’s true. The resulting silence from Sergei is heavy, and you close your eyes, feeling a wave of guilt. Things between the two of you were never the problem – it was everything else in his life. 

After a beat, you glance over your shoulder. Sergei stares back at you, his eyes dropping briefly to take in the dress you wore for your date. Even though it’s just an old, comfortable sundress, the way he looks at you makes it feel like the most beautiful thing you’ve ever worn. You look away with a soft sigh, your head lowering, fingers curling over the edge of the sink.

“Why are you here?” you ask sharply.

Sergei ignores your question. “Why haven’t you invited Greg up to your apartment yet?”

A short, incredulous laugh escapes you, and you shake your head. “Are you stalking me?”

“I’m keeping an eye on you,” he replies coolly. “You’ve made a few ill-advised dating choices this past year.”

If your earlier comment was a low blow this is something even crueler. It was hardly your fault the first guy you dated after Sergei turned out to be a drug dealer who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“And I really appreciated your help with that,” you tell him earnestly. “Truly, I do.”

“I know,” he says quietly, coming to stand behind you. He’s close enough that you feel the warmth of his words against the back of your head. “I’ll always come when you need me.”

A shaky breath escapes you, and you squeeze your eyes shut. “And that’s the problem, isn’t it? We broke up a year ago, but you still show up at my apartment whenever you want. And I... I let you.”

As you straighten up from leaning over the sink, your back presses against his firm chest. His big hands settle on your hips. The feel of them is warm and comforting. You almost catch yourself sinking into his touch before you force yourself to pull away. You know if you told him to let you go, he would, but you don’t.

Instead, you just say, “I like Greg. I can see a future with him.”

Sergei exhales softly, his fingers tightening around your waist.

“Does he know how to make you come like I do?” he asks, his voice sinking into your skin. “How you like to be fucked?” 

His lips brush over the shell of your ear as he speaks. You swallow, the sound loud in the quiet of your kitchen. 

“Sergei, I–” your words fizzle out as his hand trails down your thigh, bunching the fabric of your dress until his calloused fingers find your inner thigh. 

He taps one of your feet with his boots and your body responds without your permission, widening your stance to accommodate him. Every part of you trembles and you hate the needy sound that builds in your chest when his thick fingers brush your clothed core.

“I know what you need,” he promises, his voice dropping into that low, soothing rumble that makes your stomach flutter. “Will you let me give it to you?”

You should tell him to stop. This isn’t what you want. You want to move on, to find happiness, but when you open your mouth, all you can manage is a thin, breathy gasp as his hand slips into your underwear. His thick fingers slowly drag between your folds, gathering the wetness he finds there. He circles your clit with a steady, unhurried rhythm. 

The counter groans when you lean your weight against it. You roll your hips, and Sergei chuckles, his wide palm settling on your soft belly. He presses down gently but firmly until your body is flush with his. He holds you there while he plays with you, his touch alternating between light, teasing strokes, and firmer, more deliberate pressure.

“Should I stop?” he questions, sounding wholly unaffected.

You can feel his smirk against your neck and you hate that he knows exactly how to make you feel this way with hardly any effort at all. If you weren’t so twisted up by him, you might actually tell him to stop, but God you want this. Want him. 

You shake your head, before you remember that’s not how you’re supposed to answer him. He wants to hear you say it. 

“No,” you moan. “Please.” 

“Good girl,” he praises, sinking one thick finger into your cunt. 

You rise onto your tiptoes when he curls a second one beside the first, hardly giving you time to adjust. It’s hard to remember exactly why you broke up with Sergei when he’s knuckle-deep in you, the rough pad of his thumb caressing your clit. Blindly, you reach back for him, curling your hand around his neck to steady yourself. The only noise in the kitchen beside the quiet hum of your refrigerator is your desperate little pants and the quiet, wet sound his fingers make while they move in and out of you.

Eyes closed, you surrender yourself to the sensations of just how good this all feels, being held in his arms and made to take what he gives you. He groans, sucking a bruise onto the side of your throat and your stomach flips. When you feel him begin to push a third finger inside, your hips stutter. The intrusion burns and you whine. 

“You can take it for me, I know you can,” he urges, nuzzling the side of your face.

You toss your head and gasp, digging your nails into his skin. He grunts in response, his voice dropping an octave as a string of Russian words fall from his lips. The sound makes you clench around him and he chuckles, whispering another phrase in Russian. You ride his hand shamelessly, chasing the beginning of your orgasm that sparks to life in your lower belly. It starts small, a growing pressure that makes you wild and desperate. 

“Please,” you babble, gripping his forearm hard enough your fingers ache. 

You need more and he's quick to give it to you, sinking his teeth into the meat of your neck while the steady pressure of his thumb on your sensitive bud pushes you over the edge. A delirious kind of pleasure descends over your body. Your legs shake and your mouth falls open, ecstasy rolling along every nerve. 

You swirl your hips, grinding on his fingers to prolong your pleasure until it becomes too much and Sergei gently withdraws his fingers, leaving behind an aching emptiness. You sag into his body and he absorbs your weight like it’s nothing. With your cheek resting against his chest, you watch through half-lidded eyes as he brings his fingers to his nose, his eyes flashing golden, before sucking them clean, savoring your taste.

“This doesn’t mean we’re back together,” you tell him, breathless.

He smirks down at you. “Of course not. But what I’m about to do to you in the bedroom later certainly will.”

[polarisjisung]

ꨄ I'M JEALOUS AND I'M GOING CRAZY

BACKSTAGE WITH IDOL BF JISUNG

pairings: park jisung x fem! idol reader genre: fluff wc: 0.9k warnings: jealousy (it's cute tho I promise!) + they makeout notes : found this hidden away in the drafts guys.. no idea if it's proofread 🧍‍♀️| LIBRARY

EDIT!! if you saw the drama mentioned in the notes... no you didn't I DO NOT SUPPORT yk who's behaviour and COMPLETELY forgot to take it out before posting, im very sorry gang 🙏

Jisung is confused. Beyond it in fact.

"Just tell me what it is," his voice echoes, earning a few too many unwanted stares as he runs down the hall.

Oh, the things he does for you

You're not letting up, and he's been trailing after you ever since you decided that running through the multiple empty dressing rooms backstage was a good idea, for whatever reason.

Well, you weren't really running, more so speed walking away from him, weaving in and out of hallways and doors.

Had it not been for your practically fluorescent outfit from the stage you'd just performed, he'd barely have been able to catch sight of you bolting away from him in the first place.

Jisung's certain you'd never been this fast before, practically out of breath from following after you.

Combined with the fatigue from his performance a few minutes ago and trailing after you like a lost puppy, Jisung begins to grow tired

Again he's not entirely sure why you're doing it, or what you're doing really, but if it has anything to do with the small pout on your lips and the slightly puffed out cheeks you wear then maybe Jisung has a few ideas

it doesn't take a genius to figure out something has you upset, not upset in a heartbroken way, or else Jisung would have noticed any tears threatening to spill from your eyes, but more in a way that somethings bothering you.

Though it doesn't matter much to Jisung just how upset you are, clearly not very, all that does matter is that you are.

And usually Jisung was an expert at reading you, knowing what was wrong like some psychic mind reader with a purple globe in his palms with one single glance at you— if you'd just look at him— which you hadn't since the good luck kiss he'd planted on your cheek before you went up on stage exactly an hour ago.

When he stepped off stage today, ready to pull you into his arms and let himself bask in the sweetness of your praise, telling him how well he did on stage, you weren't there and Jisung's big gummy smile dropped at the sight of you, straight faced lying across the couch in his dressing room instead.

Honestly speaking, he had no idea what could have possibly gone wrong in the last hour, but he was certainly determined to find out.

"You guys did great out there" you smiled as the group of 7 piled into the room, genuine but small, congratulating all of his members, as you usually did, only you didn't spend any time gushing over him.

Safe to say your boyfriend had noticed, and now, as you find yourself reaching a dead end with no escape, you know you're going to have to come face to face with Jisung, and the ugly green feeling bubbling inside of you

His arms hang low at your waist when he finally catches you in the middle of your dressing room, a slight smirk across his lips at the victory of stopping you from running away.

"Look at me baby" his two fingers hold your chin to guide your head so it would tilt upwards and face him.

"What's up?"

You shake your head, gaze darting left and right to avoid his eyes. Jisung chuckles to himself

"Tell me what's wrong, come on, please?" he follows your eyes as they change direction, shifting so he's the only thing in your line of sight.

You sigh, crossing your arms, lips protruding outwards, "You'll laugh, Sung."

Gosh, Jisung just wants to smash his lips against yours— but there are bigger problems at hand– like his awfully pouty girlfriend standing sulking in front of him.

"You know I'll never laugh at you," he says, soft and kind. You hate that it makes the ugly feeling inside of you grow stronger.

Why did he have to be so damn sweet?

"Well, uh-" you hesitate "it's nothing, I was just being silly Sung" you nod your head, as if to convince yourself but Jisung pulls you back before you can even attempt to walk away

"If it made you upset its not silly okay, now tell me, what's got my girl like this hmm?"

"Next time you're on stage," you sigh, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. "Roll your sleeves down." Your eyes meet the floor at the request, Jisung staring down at his arms

"That's it?" he holds back a laugh, though his lips can't help but curve upwards, and his eyes fill with adoration at the sight of you so shy.

"Well I don't exactly want everyone staring at my boyfriend and his pretty arms, you're already perfect as it is" you protest, tone completely sincere "you don't need to be perfect for anyone but me" you huff, crossing your arms as you decide you've said enough.

Apparently not.

"You should've heard the girls backstage checking you out every time your muscles flexed." Your eyes roll, and Jisung can't help but find it cute, the disgusted scrunch of your nose.

He extends his forearm out to you, smiling.

"These arms are all for you, okay? so you can roll my sleeves down just as far as you'd like."

"Don't have to ask me twice," you mutter under your breath, just loud enough that he hears, tugging at the material that rested mid way up his arm.

"Yeah?" he chuckles again, "well, next time, tell the girls backstage too, " he smiles. "I'm all yours"

You hum, you could do one better, "let's show them instead."

You practically eating his lips off in the music bank hallway was not part of Jisung's agenda tonight, but he can't help the feeling of content that washes over him as you roughly move your lips over his, fingers interlaced with his, putting on an absolute show for everyone who'd walk past. With his sleeves rolled all the way down, of course.

Couldn't put too much of a show on now, could you?

God Jisung loves when you get all jealous over him

tags: @yizhrt @suzayaaa @nanawrlds @sinisxtea @dearlyminhyung @flaminghotyourmom @jisworlds @jenobubbles @nctdreamchaser @lotties-readings @mystverse @chenlezip @blondemrk @17ericas

[kxsagi]

back again with another idea, don't judge me these men haunt my mind 24/7

bllk boys with a manager gf.

imagine them having a manager in blue lock right? then she yk does what managers do. help with their training, give them water, monitor their plays and even sometimes suggest new playstyle that could improve their game and such.

then, one of their teammates gets injured and yk what that means? gf touches the other member to apply bandage or apply dressing to their wounds. bf gets jealous and accidentally reveals their relationship to everyone.

that's all, have a great day.

“𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐛𝐚𝐠”

a/n: thank you, have a great day as well!

blue lock manager! gf can be the same age as them to make things easier! (reader is too smart for this world and got a full-time job early lmao)

another a/n: i’m stuck between writing angst and writing crack headcanons idk (yes i chose a random header image this is my humor 💔)

ft. shidou ryusei, itoshi rin, kaiser michael, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, isagi yoichi

shidou ryusei

you were just doing your job like the incredible and competent manager you were, wrapping a bandage around one of the players’ thighs after a nasty slide tackle. 

and that was the moment you felt it – a murderous aura radiating from somewhere behind you. 

you turned your head slightly… and there he was, standing at the edge of the field with his hands on his hips, watching you with the most “i am one intrusive thought away from prison” expression you’ve ever seen. 

you weren’t sure if he was jealous of the player or the fact that he wasn’t the one getting manhandled by you. 

but oho, shidou made sure everyone knew exactly what was going through his mind. 

“hey. you got a license for that, princess?” he called out, his voice loud enough for the entire field to hear. 

everyone kinda just… stared at him like “bro what???”

then he casually strolled over and plopped down beside you, practically shoving the injured player away with his knee. 

“i’m next. wrap me up, baby,” he grinned, completely ignoring the fact that he had zero injuries. 

“shidou, you’re not hurt,” you deadpanned. 

“my heart is. you’re out here playin’ nurse with other guys,” he smirked dramatically, holding his chest like he was about to faint. 

that was the moment you realized you were doomed. 

“wait… you’re dating him?” one of the players finally asked, pointing at shidou. 

“dating? nah,” shidou snickered, throwing an arm around your shoulders and grinning maniacally, “i’m her full-time problem. she��s just lucky i’m hot.”

itoshi rin

rin was trying so hard to play it cool. 

but the moment he saw you kneeling on the field, gently holding a player’s ankle to wrap it with bandages, he damn near dislocated his own neck from how fast he turned to glare at you. 

he clenched his jaw, muttering under his breath like, “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

if this scene were in anime, his eyes would be glowing red and his entire body would be surrounded by that ominous black aura. 

he didn’t say anything at first, just stared, so hard that the player getting bandaged started getting visibly uncomfortable. 

when you finally finished and stood up, rin suddenly appeared behind you like a final boss. 

“you’re done, right?” he muttered, staring daggers at the poor, confused player. 

you were like, “uh… yeah?”

but before you could even blink, rin grabbed your wrist in front of everyone and dragged you off the field like a caveman escorting his woman back to the cave. 

“rin, what the hell are you –”

“you were touching him.”

“wha – he was injured???”

rin didn’t care. he just turned around and deadass blurted, “you’re my girlfriend. stop touching other guys.”

there was a brief silence. then someone from the bench went: 

“…wait. since WHEN?!” 

rin, realizing he just accidentally revealed your entire relationship, muttered, “shit,” under his breath and immediately walked off.

he avoided eye contact with everyone for the next three hours. 

but you could still see the tips of his ears turning red every time someone smirked at him. 

kaiser michael

it started with a minor ankle sprain from one of his teammates. 

nothing serious, you just crouched down, carefully assessing the injury with your delicate and professional manager hands. 

kaiser, who was initially ignoring the entire scene, suddenly felt his eye twitch when he saw you applying pressure to the player’s calf with your bare hands. 

and that was it. his brain glitched. 

he stormed over without hesitation, yanked your clipboard out of your hand, and slapped it against the injured player’s leg. 

“here. use this.”

you blinked in confusion.

“kaiser, what –”

“don’t you have gloves or something?” he snapped, his eye twitching again. 

you gave him a blank stare. “… for bandaging an ankle?”

“yes. gloves. anything that keeps you from touching him with your bare hands,” he muttered, scowling. 

the injured player blinked up at him like “bro you good???”

and then, because kaiser had no filter, he added, “she doesn’t touch anyone but me.”

the entire field went dead silent.

one of the benched players went, “uh, excuse me?”

but kaiser, completely unbothered, just smirked, leaned down, and kissed your forehead right in front of everyone before turning back to practice. 

“she’s my personal medic. keep your hands off.”

you, sitting there with wide eyes, realized there was no turning back. 

the next day, you were trending online as “kaiser’s girl” and he was so smug about it. 

itoshi sae

sae was already grumpy after a long practice, and the last thing he wanted to see was you touching some random dude’s calf while applying ice. 

you, being the sweet and professional manager you were, were focused on being helpful. 

sae, meanwhile, was staring at you with the most judgmental boyfriend glare of all time. 

and then the player winced and accidentally grabbed your wrist. 

sae was across the field in 0.3 seconds. 

“get your hands off her.”

the entire field turned toward him like 👁️👄👁️

the player immediately let go of you and started stammering, “s-sorry, i didn’t mean to –”

sae didn’t even look at him. he was laser-focused on you. 

“you. come here.”

you blinked in confusion. “huh?”

“now.”

you stood up and walked over to him, only for sae to grab your wrist again and deadass say, “she’s mine.”

the entire team went, “WHAT???”

and then sae, realizing he just exposed your secret relationship, simply muttered,

“oh.”

he quickly turned around and walked off without saying anything else. 

the next practice, everyone was making fun of him. 

shidou: “sooo… when’s the wedding, lover boy?”

rin: “pathetic.”

sae: “i hate all of you.”

nagi seishiro

nagi was napping on the bench until he heard your voice. 

he peeked one eye open, only to see you bandaging a player’s arm with your gentle, caring hands. 

he didn’t like it. not one bit.

without saying a word, he casually strolled over and collapsed on top of you like a human-sized koala. 

“nagi! what are you –”

“mmm. comfy,” he mumbled against your shoulder, making himself at home. 

you were literally pinned underneath his entire weight, trying to shove him off, but he only clung tighter, his limbs practically draping over you like a weighted blanket. 

the injured player blinked at the scene in confusion. “uh… is he okay?”

nagi, without lifting his head, muttered sleepily, “mine.” 

you stared at him, wide-eyed. “… what?”

“you’re mine,” he repeated, voice muffled against your skin, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

the entire field went silent.

the player you were bandaging glanced between the two of you, brows furrowed. “wait. are you two… together?”

nagi didn’t even lift his head.

“mmm. yeah,” he mumbled. “she’s my girlfriend.”

you could feel your soul leave your body.

the team, now fully aware of your not-so-secret relationship, was staring at you in shock. 

meanwhile, nagi stayed exactly where he was, fully prepared to take a nap on top of you, completely unfazed by the fact that he just exposed the two of you to the entire team. 

later, when you asked him why he did that, he just shrugged lazily and went, “too much of a hassle to keep it a secret.”

isagi yoichi

isagi was in the middle of practice, minding his business, being the good, hard-working soccer boy he was, when he saw you crouched down on the field, tending to someone’s knee. 

at first, he didn’t think much of it, until he noticed just how close you were leaning toward the guy. 

and that’s when his brain started spiraling. 

“wait. why is she holding his leg like that? … wait. is she… she’s SMILING???”

isagi tried to focus on practice, but his passes were getting sloppy because he kept glancing over at you. 

then, as if to personally ruin isagi’s life, the injured player casually rested his hand on your thigh for balance while you were wrapping his knee. 

and that was it. isagi blacked out. 

before he even realized what he was doing, he was storming over like a man on a mission. 

he didn’t say a word. just gently grabbed your wrist and yanked you off the field. 

you blinked up at him, startled. “yoichi? what are you –”

“you’re my girlfriend.”

you: ???

the injured player: ???

the entire field: ???

isagi, suddenly realizing what he just blurted out in front of everyone, stared at you like a deer caught in headlights. 

“…i, uh, i mean –” he stammered, his face turning bright red. 

but it was too late. the damage was done. 

shidou (grinning like the menace he was): “ooohhh. so that’s why you’ve been smiling at your phone like a dumbass.”

kaiser: “figures. he plays like a lovesick golden retriever half the time.”

nagi (half-asleep): “mmm. knew it.”

isagi, face redder than a stop sign, sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

and now every single one of his teammates was planning to make fun of him for the next 10-15 business years. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[madamechrissy]

Brooklyn Baby - Story Preview

pairings - dad's best friend! Satoru x F! reader

summary - you've got the opportunity of a lifetime for an audition for Julliard, your dream, but there's just one problem, the hotel in New York has booked your room and has nothing available. Good news, your dad's best friend Satoru Gojo shows up and offers you to stay in his suite since he's in town on business. But there's two big problems - one, you've wanted him since you can remember, and two, he can't stand how fucking pretty you are. He can't want you - and nothing can come from it - imagine what your dad Suguru would do if anything ever happened between you!? So nothing will happen - right?

warnings- MDNI- age gap (Satoru is in his early 40s, reader is 22) reader is Suguru's daughter, taboo relationships, obsessive Satoru, mutual pining, sexual tension - going to be explicit smut and light angst

it's here

Satoru Gojo has never had his cock twitch from just looking at someone's back, not even your ass - though fuck that was nice - but something about the bare back in the slinky little dress was fucking him mentally. The gentle curve of your spine, a little birth mark along your shoulder blades has him - a man who's in his early forties and very experienced - leaking precum.

The fuck was that?

He clears his mind, blinking a bit then, he's checking into his favorite suite as he does every couple of months for various business events that he has to attend. Running the Gojo corporation is a never ending list of bullshit he's got to do, and events and speeches were just one of the many.

He sighs as he takes in the immaculate bustling lobby, trying to divert his attention from this girl's back and look like some creep when he's literally Satoru Gojo. He brushes his silken white locks back, walking up to the tall counter then with an easy smile, as the three receptionists rush to him, and leave the girl with the pretty spine behind.

"I can wait my turn, no worries ladies." He winks and they all swoon, and when you hear that voice, you know it's him.

"Gojo?" Satoru blinks at the familiar voice, turning to his side to look down at -

Suguru Geto's only daughter.

Fuck.

He swallows just a bit nervous, how does he explain he just leaked pre looking at his best friend's daughter's spine exactly!? About the ways he would have to explain how your instagram photos haunt him at night, and how he can't help but have glimpses of you in your bikini when he cums.

There's a big reason he's avoided Suguru as of late, and that's because he can't handle how beautiful you are - it's like you fucking just do something, and he refuses to accept it or acknowledge it consciously. Now you're smiling up at him, before you come over and hug him tightly around the waist, your breasts pressed against him.

It takes everything not to either shove you off or give in and pick you up and prop you right on this fucking counter. It's some miracle he just pats your back instead - your bare pretty back that he shouldn't touch because it makes it worse.

"Hey sweetheart, what're you doing in town?" He manages to act normal, putting on an easy smile as he sees now your eyes glimmering with tears. "What's wrong?"

"They gave my room away, and I have the audition for Julliard this week! Everything is booked except shit way out of my price range. I don't wanna bug dad about it." He sighs then, remembering Suguru telling him about your opportunity, he'd been so proud every time he watched you play piano.

It's originally why he followed your IG, but whatever happened your junior year of college made you start posting those damn pictures in your bikini or slutty little outfits. He shoves that all back, focusing on your worry, and then eyes one of the receptionists, backing away from you just a bit.

Not like your scent hasn't already filled his senses.

You're important to him, just like Suguru is, and he'll not let his dumb fucking thoughts ruin your opportunities. "Surely there's a room available, I'll pay."

"You can't do that! It's too much." You're a flustered mess, as he flashes that pretty smile of his that makes your tummy clench.

"It's nothing," he pats your head and smiles down at you, and you try to ignore just how fucking good Satoru Gojo looks then. Try to ignore his cologne in your senses, ignore how the man just gets more attractive every fucking year, a little crinkle on the sides of each eye the only lines on his face.

You have been trying to ignore your crush on your dad's best friend for as long as you can remember - fuck they're so close too, and you hoped it was some childhood idolization. But as a twenty two year old woman, it's as bad as fucking day one - worse maybe, when you study the way his hands move as he speaks, long fingers that give you the worst thoughts you wish would go away.

"Nothing at all open but the presidential suite you said?" He asks softly, you're still too close to him, fucking up his senses, as the receptionist frowns, clacking away at her keyboard.

"They just booked the last one online Mr. Gojo."

"Shit, then..." He eyes you, blue eyes glinting as he takes in your distraught, pretty little face.

He can compose himself, can't he, hasn't he always?

"She'll stay with me, give her a key card," you hug him once more, he's chuckling and pecking a kiss on your head. "You're clingy still, remember you always were."

"Maybe, oh Gojo thank you! I didn't wanna have to ask dad for money..." You're independent, Satoru loves that about you, Suguru is well to do - not rich like Satoru, but well off. But he's mentioned you never ask for a thing.

"No worries, the room is huge, we won't even be near each other much." He's pressing the button to the elevator soon once you all get checked in, and the silver automatic doors close, leaving you two alone, nothing but the soft sounds of your breaths and stupid elevator music.

And there's just one problem.

Satoru Gojo can't help but picture pressing you against those elevator walls, sinking to his knees and slipping up your slutty black dress, the one where he can so clearly see your breasts rise and fall, a nipple daring to slip out. Can't help but picture fucking you better than surely any of your dumb little college boys could.

He can't think that way.

taglist is open, this will actually be a short one I'm not lying this time :')

[melanchoire]

OMG- just saw your G!p Yujin drabble and damn. If was too good you really cooked.

We need more of g!p Yujin!! Imagine IVE's manager yelling "IVE's in Five!" But Yujin? She got another problem that only Reader (her stylist) could solve. Coming to reader with that pathetic expression of hers and evident bulge in her pants that could get her in trouble.

BUT- She wouldn't leave without breeding reader properly even though time's ticking.

cw: breeding + creampie.

yujin hating every time her stylists give her tight pants or just pants because because her cock unintentionally ends up hardening and her bulge is prominent against the fabric 😭 although she loves to brag that she has a big cock, it’s not like yujin wants to get a boner before a performance every time she has to put on pants because it’s uncomfortable even for her

so she comes over to where you are putting your makeup in your case, saying a pathetic “unnie, it happened again :(” and looking at you with puppy dog eyes and a stupid pout on her lips… it has happened more than once before that yujin had this kind of problems and you were always willing to help her by changing her outfit by giving her baggy pants or preferring to wear something simpler like a skirt, but today was not an option!

the company had practically demanded that you keep that outfit in yujin because otherwise she would be different from the other members and would be overshadowed, so unfortunately you had to hold back your desire to help her and offer her comfort because thinking about her would mean earning a scolding or losing your job

“i’m sorry, yujinnie. i can’t do anything this time.”

“but it hurts :(.”

until you look down to understand why she seems to be suffering so much and you realize what she was talking about 😳 you might have glanced at yujin’s crotch once in a while, but unconsciously! or not… and you always noticed her bulge pointing out against her pants, in a less noticeable way in those cases, but it was more than obvious that she was carrying something big under those pants

but since you were taking too long to give an answer, yujin has to take matters into her own hands! of course, turning you around and forcing you to lean over the armrest of the sofa in the locker room, not even giving you time to think, she hooks her thumbs in the waistband of your jeans and pulls them down your thighs along with your panties

“it’ll be quick. i promise.”

yujin being so pressured by only having five minutes to finish getting ready to leave the dressing rooms and head to the stage where she is literally slamming her cock into your pussy in a way that could split you in half 😭 ugh she is so frustrated and annoyed at having little time to take care of her problem that she takes it out by hammering her cock into your pussy, without even worrying about whether you can take it all or whether you’re comfortable…

she keeps her eyes on the watch on the wall, seeming more worried about getting told off by her manager than worrying about whether you're feeling okay 😓 although yujin every so often directs her gaze to you to check your condition, noticing how you’re tightly gripping the sofa cushions and burying your face in them to stifle your moans and prevent everyone from knowing that you are being fucked by your “superior”

ohhh and when yujinnie realizes there is one minute and a few seconds left until she has to go to the stage... she goes from having only one hand on your hip to having both, holding your body tightly to push you back against her and make you meet her thrusts, digging her fingers into your skin and digging her nails into your flesh, leaving scratches and crescent marks on the skin of your hip bones 😵‍💫 yujin having to bite her lower lip to avoid moaning as she felt her cock begin to shoot ropes of cum inside your pussy and straight to your womb, closing her eyes and leaning her head back as your walls hug her so tightly, practically begging her not to pull out and keep breeding you…

and this is how yujin’s stylist made sure that she looked presentable for her presentation 💕 and later she and the members are doing a vlog and interacting with the camera as if they were talking to fans yujin takes a moment to showing off her cute outfit of the day, mentioning that her stylist made sure she looked brilliant on stage

[karaeilish]

★ thank u, next; b. eilish & s. carpenter

★ fuckboy!billie x fem!reader x starboy!sabrina

★ smut `

★ wc; 4,7k

★ warnings; dom/sub dynamic; strap (r receiving); oral (r receiving); humiliation; choking; dp; slapping

proofread cr — @dragoneyelashart

it wasn't something your mother taught you as a child. it was a sin, a secret, your secret that you were going to keep in your heart for the rest of your life. a secret that was going to follow you to the grave, to be buried deep underground because it was wrong. shameful.

it shouldn't have happened, but was it really your fault that you couldn't just stop at one?

you knew it was a bad idea. seeing them. kissing them. touching them. fucking them. it wasn't an obligation, you didn't promise each other anything, you didn't say ‘i love you’ when your limbs were tangled together and your bodies were spread out on crumpled sheets. it just happened. just little marks left on your body, just little bites stinging their skin. it was just that simple. it was a problem, but as long as no one knew about it, it was okay.

but all secrets come out.

the aggressively loud bass pounds through the speakers and into your eardrums, occasionally forcing you to cover them just to avoid going deaf by the end of the night. a few dozen drunken teenagers, along with a similar number of adults, filled the expansive area, now so crowded it’s hard to take a full breath without choking on the stench of alcohol or someone's cheap perfume. but nothing around you made muchsense. not when the billie was on you. everywhere.

strong arms wrapped tightly around your body, hands clenched around your waist, your hips, your breasts, grabbing them shamelessly, rolling your milky nipples over the thin fabric of the black lace dress that matched your underwear perfectly. you took care of it, knowing this night would surely end in someone else's bed. and she always liked that. how different you were. how you were always ready for her.

but billie was your complete opposite; wide leg pants, a xl shirt. shirt that you once wore into her kitchen without wearing anything underneath. she became obsessed with it after that moment, constantly reminding you how she'd then bent you over the counter. on her feet, her usual massive high-soled sneakers, making her taller, bossier, hotter. you loved it.

the cold rings contrasted with the high temperature of your hot body, her nails digging into your skin, leaving faint marks on your arms and thighs. the metal belt buckle rubs constantly against your lower back, just like her strap against your ass. she sent you a picture beforehand of the massive bulge visible under the cotton fabric of her red boxers. she just knew you wouldn't rest until you felt her inside you.

"god, mama, you smell divine," she whispered, her nose brushing against your soft skin. her lips found the pulse point on your neck, sucking gently, making you rest your head on her shoulder, biting your plump lips. occasionally, you pressed your ass harder against her front, just to feel what might be waiting for you later tonight. maybe in her bedroom. maybe in her car. or even in a bathroom stall. you never know when the hair tie on your wrist might come in handy.

the tension grew exponentially, as did the number of times she kissed your neck. billie wasn't sweating about who might see you. she just sucked your skin into her mouth, leaving red marks that were sure to remain the next morning. which would remain when you lay back in sabrina's bed, obediently spreading your legs and screaming that she was the one while her strap hit deep into that sweet spot inside you. it happened every time. with every one of them. but it wasn't your fault you always got what you wanted. and you wanted them both. always wanted them both.

maybe it was wrong, and you'd have to pay for everything you did. maybe today was the day.

as soon as billie's hands came down on your waist again, she quickly turned you around, attacking your lips and capturing them in a greedy kiss, forcing your thighs together a little tighter. the air in your lungs runs out too quickly and you slowly pull away, leaving a thin string of saliva between your lips as you feel eyes on you. her gaze. a long, burning one, filled with genuine jealousy. your head turns toward the entrance, spotting sabrina.

"fuck" a curse flies off your lips before you can stop it, and billie notices the trajectory of your gaze, following it. sabrina's presence doesn't really bother her, so her hands come down on your lower back again, holding you very, very close.

"everything okay, princess?" you blink a few times, nodding and pulling a smile onto your face.

"yes, s’all good, bils"

your gaze falls once again to the far corner of the room, where sabrina was standing just seconds ago. but now, there’s only a cluster of other people. this was bad.

before you can even process her absence, you catch the scent of her perfume a sweet, sweet fragrance that stands out among a hundred others. then comes her breath on your neck.

you’re fucked.

“what the hell, carpenter?” billie frowns, her eyes locked on sabrina’s hands resting on your body, fingers gripping the fabric of your silk dress. the music fades into a distant hum, drowned out by the frantic beating of your heart, and their murderous stares, which speak louder than any words. you can feel the blood boiling beneath their skin, pulsing faster with each second.

“hands off. she’s my girl.”

sabrina grins sweetly, falsely, clearly unimpressed. to her, it’s all a joke.was screaming last night. "oh, your girl? that’s not what she screamed last night"

everything around you freezes. your body goes numb, your legs turn to cotton. you have to clutch billie harder just to keep your balance.

but the smile is gone from her face, replaced by a sharp, furious expression and deeply furrowed brows. she pulls back and looks you dead in the eyes. quietly. sternly. authoritatively.

“what's she talking about?”

you swallow hard, now feeling sabrina's fingers running up the back of your neck, rising until she burrows them into your hair, pulling your head back in a rough gesture.

"you sleep with both of us and thought you could get away with it? whore."

the words hit you like a slap, sharp across your face, and just as sharp between your legs. as much as you don’t want to admit it, there was something about the way they looked at each other, like they were ready to tear each other to pieces. or maybe they'll just tear you apart tonight.

“i asked you a fucking question.” billie steps closer, her cold rings pressing into your skin as she wraps her fingers around your chin, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to make you meet her gaze.

“are you sleeping with her? fucking her?” you don’t recognize the girl standing in front of you anymore. this wasn’t your billie. not that you could ever fully call her yours. a lump of fear and nerves rises in your throat, choking your voice, until she jerks your face, squeezing your chin tighter.

“fucking answer me!” she hisses, her voice dripping with venom.

“although, knowing you, you probably beg her every night to give that cock-hungry pussy the fucking it wants.” your mouth opens and closes, and before you can manage to say anything, sabrina answers for you. “oh, look at that, you’re actually right about something, eilish.”

the sneer in her voice makes your knees buckle, your mind going completely blank. all you can register now are their hands on your body greedy, demanding, hot.

“you think your tiny hands can satisfy her better than mine?” billie scoffs, and for the first time, your eyebrows furrow. you don’t consider yourself an angel, but they had no right to talk about you like you weren’t standing just a few inches away. you slip slightly from their grip, listening to the pointless altercation for another second before sighing heavily.

“don’t talk about me like i’m some kind of toy,” you counter, and immediately, two pairs of blue eyes fix on you, burning through your skin. in that instant, you regret opening your mouth at all. sabrina grins, stepping forward. the height of her heels makes her tower over you.

“you’re the last one to have any say right now, sweetie,” she says it so smoothly, so cruelly, that there’s nothing left for you to do but shut your mouth and wait, silently, for whatever comes next.

clearly not what you were expecting.

the world holds its breath for a few suspended seconds. "you know, if you think you can take us both…" billie nestles herself behind sabrina's back, not raising her head as she continues to speak. "...why don't you prove it?"

your eyes widen, pupils dilating, and you can only detect an ounce of surprise on sabrina's face. she was surprised. she liked the idea too much to try to resist. she plays along, as if they came up with it together, on a mental level. it's like you had no choice to say no.

"firstly, and believe me, last chance to say 'no'" you bite your lower lip uncontrollably, already visualizing in your head what their rivalry. will this night even end for you? no. but it was too late to back out. you shake your head, saying a quiet 'yes' under your breath, but it was enough for both of them to grab their jackets and be outside the next minute.

the cool summer air frames your bodies, the loud music coming from the club now seeming like just background noise. billie quickly fiddles with the keys of her phone, hailing a cabwhile sabrina's fingers reach into her bag, pulling out a pack of expensive cigarettes. your eyes scrutinize every movement.

“you’re staring,” she utters almost indifferently, lighting a cigarette as your eyes drift over her manicured hands, perfect nails and a few rings adorning her lower phalanges.

“sorry,” you whisper, shamefully averting your gaze and staring into the darkness of the alley before her warm breath burns your earlobe.

“don’t apologize, baby. they’ll be inside you soon.” you almost choke on your own saliva, involuntarily pressing your thighs closer together to soothe the aching, throbbing heat between your legs. you’re in for a long, long night.

the cab ride feels like real torture, with you trapped between their bodies, unable to feel a single touch. their hands rest on their laps, fiddling with the edges of their clothes or scrolling through their phones. but you tell yourself this is punishment, sitting here and dreaming about what comes next, if they evendecide to touch you at all.

but once all the extra eyes are gone, the game begins.

all doubts dissipate as soon as your feet cross the threshold of sabrina’s apartment, the one you know like the back of your hand. but tonight? there’s something different in the air. something darker that you’ve awakened.

sabrina’s lips crash onto yours, biting and claiming, drawing out all those pathetic moans and whimpers you’d been hiding since the moment you met her gaze. she’s not the gentle girl you’re used to seeing on stage; she’s desperate, raw, greedy. she doesn’t ask permission, sliding her hands under the fabric of your dress to meet your thighs.

you sigh heavily, biting her bottom lip and pulling away, your arms wrapping around her neck. you almost forget it’s not just the two of you here.

“don’t make me jealous, princess.” billie’s body presses against you from behind, and you can once again feel the bulge between her legs, reminding you that tonight, you’re gonna be filled to the brim. literally.

her lips find your neck, sucking and biting at the soft skin until dark spots appear. “please…” you pull away from sabrina’s lips, reaching back to grab at least a piece of billie’s clothing,pulling her impossibly closer.

sabrina giggles, her fingers dragging along your neck, leaving red marks from her nails and covering you in goosebumps.

“show her where the bedroom is,” she whispers, her hair tickling your chest before she disappears into the other room, rummaging through the dresser drawers. you look at billie shyly, but she’s clearly not embarrassed. with one easy motion, she throws you over her shoulder.

“well, show me where the bedroom is, princess.” you swallow hard and tell her to go to the far room at the end of the hallway. seconds later, you find yourself on the bed. your back hits the mattress as billie’s hands land on either side of your head, trapping you.hot breaths mingle as one. her lips on yours, dirty, hot. your hands weave through her hair, loosening the tight elastic band and freeing the long strands that now fall over your neck and chest. her knee presses between your legs against your clothed, wet pussy. your dress is pulled up at your waist, then ripped off your body.

“oh, a show without me?” sabrina enters the bedroom, closing the door behind her as if anyone could witness the sin about to take place on those sheets. she’s clad only in wide house pants and a white lace bra that barely covers her breasts. you swallow, watching her from beneath billie’s body.

“we were good without you too,” billie reluctantly gets off you, but her hand remains on your thigh, dangerously close to your warmth, keeping you from relaxing.

sabrina ignores the comment, reaching into her pocket for her phone. her body lands softly on the edge of the bed as she opens the stopwatch and, a second later, throws the it onto the white sheets. you stare at her in bewilderment, but as she moves to remove your panties and settle between your legs, a picture starts to form in your mind.

"ready to lose, eilish?" she raises her eyes one last time to billie, signaling her to press the 'start' button before burying her face between your legs, licking a long strip of your pussy's voluptuousness to gather your arousal, moaning at the taste.

her tongue dips into your tight hole for only a second, but it's enough to make your back arch, pushing your pussy into her face. she doesn't resist, just wraps her hands around your hips, squeezing and massaging the soft skin, her lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

sabrina was the calmer type. teasing you as light as a feather. her touches make you beg again and again before she finally takes pity and makes you cum—fluttering her tongue perfectly, pressing on your sweetest and most sensitive spots, making you scream her name and see a million stars. after so much torment, it doesn’t take long, but now? now she’s not being ceremonious, because this is a competition, and women like sabrina carpenter never lose, and she intended to prove it.

billie seems to be starting to enjoy this little show, putting her phone aside and focusing on sliding her hands down your neck, squeezing, not hard, just enough to make you whimper pitifully and look up at her with wide, fawn eyes. one hand drops to her wrist, squeezing tightly, and the other grabs sabrina’s lush hair, trying to pull her even closer. your hips move uncontrollably, you start to ride face, but she only hugs your hips harder until your body begins to shake.

“i’m—close...” the words are mixed with melodic moans and constant heavy sighs, your chest heaving with every breath. no one stops. no one stops tonight until you’ve made a complete mess of their bodies.

the next fifteen seconds are enough for you to collapse on her face, screaming “sabrina” like a mantra. your hips shake and clench around her head, your chest shuddering with each heavy breath. billie reaches back for her phone, pressing the ‘stop’ button and showing you both the screen: 2 minutes and 14 seconds.

sabrina grins sweetly, wiping the corner of her lip with her middle finger as if your release hadn’t dripped down her chin straight onto the crumpled sheets. gaze is predatory as she crawls up your body, stopping at your face to enclose your lips in another kiss, a softer one, letting you taste yourself on her tongue as she pushes her tongue into your mouth.

“give her a minute, and i’ll show you how to make girls cum” billie’s eyes roll in a disgruntled sign, and sabrina only giggles sweetly, pulling away to give you a moment to catch your breath and wait until your sensitivity decreases.

your makeup is smudged, your lips swollen, and the first drops of sweat are forming on your body. after a short pause, you nod, giving billie permission to continue, and she doesn’t miss a second. she crawls to the other side of the bed, settling between your legs. sabrina positions herself on the opposite side, lifting your head and placing it in her lap, stroking your cheeks as you stare at her with loving eyes.

“turn that damn timer on, carpenter,” billie grumbles, her tongue flicking out to wet her plump lips, and you’re instantly enamored by the motion. sabrina rolls her eyes but resets her score, pressing the ‘start’ button again. it takes billie no more than a second to attack your pussy with her tongue, one hand clutching your thigh, the other reaching up your body to grope your breasts, drawing loud moans from you.

she’s completely different from sabrina, ravenous, devouring your cunt, fucking you with her tongue until you have to pull her back by the hair because she’s a goddamn munch who never knows when to pull away from such a sweet pussy.

her hands never stay in one place; she constantly needs to touch every inch of your body, and it drives you crazy. billie is never afraid to show how obsessed she is with you and your body, that once she tried you, no other girl ever entered her mind. you’re just that perfect.

fingers find their way to your pussy, spreading your lips to gain better access and making you writhe beneath her, lifting your hips, pressing your thighs together, enclosing her head in a makeshift cage she never wants to escape.

“b—billie...” you whine, and she smirks against your flesh, continuing to work her tongue around your clit.

sabrina’s hands don’t leave your face, and you reach up to pull her down for a messy kiss, letting her lips shallow your moans. electric pulses begin to run through your body again, signaling clearly that you’re close. billie presses closer, wrapping her lips around your sensitive bud, and the pressure immediately makes you break, cumming all over her face, just the way she likes it.

sabrina pulls away from your face with a smile, pressing ‘stop’ and already showing her phone to billie with a disgruntled expression. 2 minutes, 2 seconds.

billie grins, and you can almost see the urge on her face to show her tongue, but she saves that for a more special occasion.

“i told you i was better,” billie says, bringing your legs together and resting her chin on your lap, her gaze never leaving sabrina’s face for a second.

“she’s just sensitive,” you hear the note of disappointment in sabrina’s voice, but it immediately disappears as she removes your head from her thighs and looks up at billie. there are constant silent conversations going on between them that you can’t catch, but it doesn’t bother you much, it’s always a pleasure.

a pair of strong arms flips you onto your stomach, pulling you closer to her until you're on all fours, supporting your weight on your elbows. billie runs her hand along your spine, applying slight pressure to arch your back.

“come on, princess, show me how flexible you are.” the words hit your pussy, and all you hope is that you don’t drip down your thighs.

“shit, so wet,” billie moans, running her fingers along your folds, plunging the tips into your pussy, watching your walls contract around them. you moan softly, burying your head in the sheets until you feel her enter deeper, starting to pump her fingers inside you.

sabrina watches you swallow billie’s fingers with eyes dark with lust, her whole body burning with desire. desire to watch you squirm, moan, and whimper as you get stuffed with cock. she needs more.

“fuck her,” she blurts out, and billie’s fingers stop halfway, making you grip the sheets. “treat that pussy like she deserves it.”

billie grins, hoarse, low, sending shivers down your spine. “that’s what i always do.”

fingers slide out of you with a distinctive sound, and in the next instant, she reaches for her belt, unbuckling it. pulls her baggy jeans and boxers down her thighs, exposing a dark red, thick strap. nine inches covered in pronounced veins. you look over your shoulder, swallowing hard until you’re interrupted.

“no, baby, eyes on me.” sabrina grabs your chin, turning your face toward her as she works on her own pants with her free hand, pulling them down to her ankles. the pink fake cock hits your face, and your breath catches as she wraps her hand around it, stroking a few times before pressing the tip to your lips.

“open up,” you obey, opening your mouth. your tongue sticks out slightly, and she takes the opportunity to slap the strap against it a few times. eyes fill with pure excitement and pleasure as she slowly begins to push herself into your mouth, looking at you like she’s been dreaming about this her whole life. it’s like she can feel every movement of your tongue.

“fuck. good girl...” her hands burrow into your hair, nails scratching your scalp as she pushes your head a little harder onto her cock until the tip hits the back of your throat.

billie’s eyes burn as she watches this spectacle. blood boils beneath her skin, and her palm lands on your ass with a loud smack, causing you to nearly choke on the silicone in your mouth. your eyes water, but neither of them shows any sign of stopping.

billie teases, lazily pulling the tip along your folds, using your wetness as lube. “such a perfect pussy.”

you moan lightly, your grip on the sheets tightening as she plunges the tip into you, rocking her hips back and forth until she’s fully inside, her body pressing against yours. she finally picks up the pace, grabbing your waist.

the feeling of being filled is insane. their movements synchronize perfectly, hitting the sweetest spots, making the first tears fall from your eyes, streaming down your cheeks onto the ruined sheets. the thin fabric quickly absorbs the wetness.

“just made for my cock, doll.” billie’s hands roam your ass, spanking and groping as if you were her property, like she has the right to touch you however she wants. and she has.

sabrina plays with your hair, her hips twitching as your face presses close enough to put pressure on her clit. little whimpers fly from her lips, making your eyes roll back. your left hand comes up, grasping her thigh, kneading the soft skin as she throws her head back in pure pleasure.

they both glance over, unable to contain their excited smirks while your body is completely in their possession, as long as you do whatever they tell you, repenting your sins on your knees. submissive, obedient.

billie’s thrusts become more intense, her hips slapping against your ass with every movement, and the knot in your stomach tightens too quickly.

your knees begin to weaken and shake, barely keeping you from falling onto the bed, your nails digging into sabrina’s thigh even harder.

“i can feel how close you are, princess. squeezing me so tight,” she grins, wiping a few drops of sweat from her forehead and smearing it on the back of her palm. her face glistens, her breathing ragged and heavy, muscles tense, tongue running across her lips every twenty seconds.

“cum for me, come on, mama”

billie reaches down between your legs, her fingers finding your clit and rubbing in quick circles, enough to send a third orgasm crashing over you in a high wave, draining all your strength and stamina. sabrina pulls out, filled with a wild desire to hear every moan and scream escaping your lips as you try to survive the overstimulation, finally collapsing and burying your face into the mattress.

“that’s it, such a good girl.” billie’s cock slowly leaves your pussy, leaving it clenched around nothing. there isn’tan ounce of strength left in your body. your eyelids grow heavy, your eyes closing under their weight. your head aches at the thought that you need to speak. what’s happening now can’t go on. it shouldn’t. but your body is too exhausted to think seriously about anything other than finally falling into a deep sleep.

you barely find the pillows, dropping your head onto one of them. for the next few minutes, there’s silence all around. then, a quiet whisper and the rustle of clothes. the mattress sags beside you, and you feel your body being covered by a soft blanket. warm breath brushes your back, gentle arms wrapped around your waist. now, it’s hard to distinguish who is lying on which side, but you definitely feel at ease. all night long, as long as they are around, that’s what matters most.

but the clock is ticking. time marches on.

morning greets you with bright rays of sunlight tickling your face, and a slight smile plays on your lips for the first few seconds, before you realize the bed is empty and the sheets are cold, except where your body lies. still half asleep, you reach out to feel the mattress, but only cool air greets your fingertips.

“sabrina?” you call out, finally opening your eyes and noticing that almost nothing has changed since last night. your clothes are neatly folded on a chair, but her clothes are gone.

what’s most frightening is that you're now completely alone. not a single sound. your heart pounds faster, and you summon all your strength to pull yourself up, sitting up and looking around. everything is just as empty.“bils?”

you sit like this for the first, second, third minute, waiting for some miracle, but aside from the quiet hum of the air conditioner, nothing else catches your attention. until you turn your head and notice a small note lying on the bedside table. your fingers instinctively reach for it. your eyes widen. your mouth opens, but no words escape your lips.

'pack up all your things and leave. and never write again'

your heart drops. sabrina’s handwriting. as always, pleasing to the eye, neat, but only you know her hand was shaking as she wrote those words. your chest tightens painfully, making you clutch at your own body, checking if you’re alive, if this is all real unfortunately, it is.

your legs feel woozy as you get out of bed. reaching down the hallway in complete disorientation, you pull your nearly dead cell phone out of your purse and frantically dial billie’s number, then sabrina’s. both are unavailable. messages? blocked. cell networks? blocked. they’ve made sure you can’t text them anywhere.

“fuck,” you whisper as your phone slips from your hand and falls onto the tile floor. you no longer care if the protective glass shatters. only your heart breaks now, from the realization that this is your fault.

and you really should leave.

now.

౨ৎ tags; @billiesbabygirll, @amara-eilish, @st0nerlesb0, @bxllxebxtch, @bilswifee, @dragoneyelashart, @bilssturns, @chrissv4mp, @allyeilishh, @bitchesbrokenpromises, @too-sapphic-to-function, @thefeverburningalive, @peytonglazesbillieeilish, @1nn3rthOughts, @thebluediner, @xiletay, @eilishsfantasy, @ariieeesworld, @brinasheqrt, @sabrinannlyn @mystiquemm,@itsdopewhatmorecanisay,

[sirenpearldust]

Found you 2

Baby Daddy Azriel!

Series masterlist ⋆ Part one ⋆ Part three

Pair: Azriel x Spring Court! Reader

Word count: 3.050

Warning: fluff

Summary: conditions are set

Azriel sat up straighter in his seat, he cleaned up, looked more put together. He wanted to make a better impression on his son than last time. The memory of his terrified face hasn’t left him, it has been haunting his dreams. Just the reminder unsettled him. 

A hint of nervousness crept in, what if one misstep meant he wouldn’t be allowed to see his son again?

Meanwhile, you watched him as he sat across from you, dressed in black pants and a blouse that accentuated every defined muscle he had honed through years of training in the illyrian camps.

His piercing hazel eyes wandered intensely as he surveyed the room. Until they locked onto you, sharp and unyielding. His knuckles repeatedly tightened until they turned white before he forced himself to let go. Black massive wings folded tightly against his back, his shadows swirling around him, still inspecting the unfamiliar space. 

Instead of his usual cold, detached demeanor, irritation flickered across his features. 

That’s a first, you thought. 

For once, he wasn’t emotionless.

For once, he was unraveling and it was because of you.

You had to hand it to his genes, you had basically birthed his twin. Amias was the spitting image of him, inheriting the same elegant planes of his face, a beauty that was almost otherworldly. He had his hair, his wings and even his skin tone.  The only feature that set him apart were his eyes. Those were yours, a striking reminder of your Spring Court legacy shining through.

You still remembered the sadness, the ache in your chest as you watched your son grow into the features of his father. 

The same scowl, the same smile, the same dimples. 

It felt like a cruel twist of fate that your son had to look so much like the man who had caused you so much pain.

Sipping your tea, you deliberately avoided his gaze, focusing instead on the view outside.               He didn’t deserve an ounce of your attention, not anymore. 

You two were here for one reason and one reason only; to discuss Amias.                                        You had to push your feelings aside, no matter how difficult it was.

It hadn’t been part of your plan for Amias to get to know Azriel. He wasn’t supposed to find out about him, he was meant to be raised by you, away from any danger.

Azriel’s presence now posed a threat to your role as a parent and as a noble in Spring. His work was dangerous enough and his ties to the Inner Circle only added more risks. The already volatile situation in Spring was bad enough already. You didn’t need to be accused of treason or colluding with the enemy, you’ve already had enough problems.

“Are you going to sit there silent again and not say anything?” Azriel asked, his shadows darkening around him.

Your lip curled in a faint smile. It was almost amusing, holding something over him, having a semblance of power for once. You might have felt guilty for using your son in this way, but Amias didn’t even know his father, not really, not the way you did.

He had no idea of the darkness and cruelty Azriel was capable of.

“You’re too loud,” you said softly, setting your tea cup down. His wings bristled, and you could tell it had pissed him off.

“I’ll lay the conditions out for you,” you continued, calm and unwavering. 

“Be against even one of them and you’ll have no right to see my son.”

“Our son,” Azriel corrected, his jaw tightening as his knuckles turned white again. He knew, he knew you had set traps, and he wasn’t sure if he was prepared to navigate them.

“He’s my son too, Y/N,” Azriel said, frustration lacing his voice as his hand ran through his hair roughly.

“I only want what’s best for him.”

You ignored him. 

Without a glance in his direction, you opened the folder and slid the sheet in front of him, wordlessly demanding his attention to what truly mattered now.

The conditions were clear and non-negotiable. They were there to protect Amias and you.

1. You are not allowed to take Amias without my permission.

2. Wherever you go with him, you must inform me first.

3. He’s my heir and will receive his education in Spring.

4. He will not train in the Illyrian camps unless he is of age and wishes to do so.

5. You will have no authority over me as his mother.

6. You will be a present father unless he chooses not to see you.

7. Your highest priority is to protect him, cherish him and ensure his safety.

8. You will treat him with respect, kindness and love.

9. You will not arrange or force any marriage upon him.

10. You will not harm me, kill me, or order anyone else to do so in order to have Amias.

11. You will not inform your family of his existence without my permission.

12. You will protect Amias before anyone else, this includes you protecting and serving your High Lord or your mate.

13. You will protect what is mine and what is automatically our son’s legacy.

14. In the event of my death, you will safeguard his wealth, inheritance and well-being. No one shall touch it.

15. You will not take Amias out of Spring unless he is in grave danger, or I am dead.

16. If you choose to have any other children, you are to treat them the same as Amias.

17. Any woman you decide to stay in a relationship with and who is to get to know our son, you will introduce to me first.

18. In the case of a mating bond between us, you will not force it upon me and will let it go if I do not want it.

19. You will not disturb my private life, you will treat me with respect and courtesy.

Azriel rubbed his temples, clearly irritated. 

Most of the conditions were reasonable, but the restrictions on when and how he could see Amias gnawed at him. 

Why did you have to control every aspect? Why did you have to approve when and if he could spend time alone with his son, or when his family could know about his existence?

“Can I introduce him to my family?” Azriel asked, his voice tight with frustration.

“No,” you replied coldly, your gaze unwavering. You hated the Night Court, they were the reason for Spring’s ruin and had caused multiple issues in Prythian across almost every court.

“He has a cousin,” Azriel pressed.

“You and I have no living siblings,” you shot back.

Azriel’s temper flared. 

“Rhys has a son.”

“He’s your High Lord,” you responded flatly.

“He’s my brother.”

You sighed rolling your eyes. “Sure.”

“So can he see his cousin?”

“No!”

Azriel groaned in frustration, his patience running thin. 

“Will you ever allow any of this to be permissible?”

You shrugged, taking another sip of that damned tea, that Azriel now seemed to take a dislike to.

“You either accept the conditions and make this bargain, or you can say goodbye to the future you’ve imagined,” you said, your voice steady but firm.

Azriel sighed, knowing full well you were serious. 

“These conditions are set to protect Amias. He doesn’t know you and I won’t thrust him into your world directly.”

“What about condition 18?” Azriel asked, his voice tight,.

“What about it?” you responded, your gaze unwavering. 

“Will you reject it?”

“There is no bond,” you replied, your tone cold.

Azriel’s jaw clenched again, the tension rising in his chest. “If there is one, will you reject it?”

“Most likely.”

His heart twinged painfully and an uncomfortable feeling settled in his stomach, like a bad omen. He hoped he wasn’t your mate because if he was, you would let him suffer. He was sure of it especially after what had happened.

“You know I’ll go insane from a rejected mating bond.” 

You hummed in response, uncaring of the worry in his voice. 

“Let’s then hope it doesn’t happen,” you said, a sharp smile playing on your lips as you met his eyes.

Azriel’s wings shuddered as the weight of the situation settled in. He didn’t feel good about this, not one bit.

“Fine,” he said, his voice resigned, “I accept all 19 conditions.”

You smiled and extended your hand. He took it without hesitation, his rough, scarred hand engulfing yours. The touch brought a flood of memories, both beautiful and painful.

Azriel couldn’t help but notice the softness of your skin, a stark contrast to the calluses and scars that marked his own. 

In that brief moment, you both felt something, an electric jolt, a slight burning sensation. You felt the tattoo spreading under your chest, across your ribs. You were glad that you could hide it, no one had to know about what was happening.

Azriel’s breath caught. He opened his top, revealing the tattoo spreading underneath his pectorals. Tracing the lines with his fingers. You almost choked on your spit. What was he doing?

You quickly turned your face away, not wanting to see the sudden state of undress. It was nothing you hadn’t seen before, nothing you wanted to revisit, either.

In the brief glance you noticed something else, new scars. Some were fresh, still pink against his skin, while others had faded to white, stark against his tan.

“Roses,” Azriel murmured to himself.

“Now that we have a bargain, you can see him.”

You stood up, the white floral dress a stark contrast to Azriel’s dark attire.

Azriel was just a step behind you, he was eager to see his son. 

He wanted to teach Amias how to fly, how to fight, to show him the things a father should. He wasn't going to abandon him the way he had been. No, he would be present. He would be the father his son deserved, a steady presence in his life.

For the first time in his life he had hope for a bright future, he wants to build something better, to give Amias a future full of care, love and guidance. 

⋆ ♡ ⋆

Amias had been full of questions ever since he first met Azriel. His curiosity was boundless, he would comment on Azriel’s wings, marveling at how similar they were to his own. He spoke of the shadows, how they moved like his did.

Azriel’s shadows mingled with his own, twisting and swirling in a gentle dance and Amias couldn’t help but laugh whenever they played with him. They were soft and cool against his skin.

Azriel’s gaze softened when he heard his giggling. He felt this immense feeling seeing his son’s joy, feeling his happiness, hearing it, being a part of it.

He had come with presents - toys, books, sweets.  He bought him books, child stories from the night court, stories of Illyrian legends, a little teddy bear and a bag filled with small cherry candies, you know Azriel enjoyed. 

“Amias,” you called softly, lowering yourself to his level with open arms. He ran toward you, his little face lighting up as he kissed you on the cheek. You smiled, warmth flooding your chest as you gave him small kisses back, holding him close for a moment. You breathed him in, he smelled like a baby, you didn’t want him to grow up. He was already bigger than the other children his age. 

Azriel watched the scene from a few steps behind, it stirred up memories he had long forgotten, pushed away. It reminded him of his own rare moments of excitement as a child, the joy he’d felt in those fleeting times he was allowed to see his mother, when he was out of the cell.

He observed how animatedly Amias spoke to you, his small hands gesturing wildly as he recounted his latest “battle” with his plushies. Azriel couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, he was in awe as he took in the pure, unrestrained joy of your son, their son.

Amias’s eyes wandered up to him. He immediately recognized Azriel, but this time, instead of looking scared like before, he smiled at him.

He was taken aback by his reaction. His eyes immediately searched yours, knowing you had something to do with it, but you ignored him, focused on brushing Amias’s hair. 

It had grown long, already reaching his shoulders, he was in need of a new haircut.

Amias slowly slipped from your arms and stood in front of Azriel, his clothes a soft baby blue. His wings pressed tightly against his back and a shadow lingered at his feet. He stood there in awe, his eyes wide and round, smiling and giggling up at Azriel.

Azriel slowly lowered himself to Amias’s level. Even kneeling, his towering figure still loomed larger than both you and Amias. His sheer size stirred something hot inside you, something you’d buried long ago.

“Hello,” Azriel said softly.

Amias took a step back, looking at you for reassurance, as if searching for confirmation.

You smiled brightly, nodding and giving him the encouragement to go ahead. Amias turned toward Azriel again, his hands nervously fiddling. “Are you my daddy?”

Azriel’s breath hitched. There, standing in front of him, was his son, real and alive.

 “Yeah, I am.”

Amias took a step toward him, wrapping his small arms around Azriel and pressing his tiny head into his chest, sniffling. You and Azriel watched as Amias’s small hands clung to him. Without hesitation, Azriel held him close as he cried silently, his heart pounding in his chest. He sat on the floor, embracing him tightly, gently caressing his head, whispering apologies for not being there all this time.

That’s how the three of you spent the afternoon into the evening, watching Amias play, him eagerly dragging both of you into his games.

Yet, he was always a little nervous, always turning toward Azriel, as if he feared his father might disappear again.

You both sat on the floor next to each other.

“Thank you,” he said, watching you. Your eyes never leaving Amias.

“For what?” 

“For birthing, raising and loving him.”

“He’s my son. That’s a given.”

Azriel searched your eyes and this time, you didn’t look away. His gaze was soft and you hated the vulnerability in it.

“You know how they treat bastards.”

“We’re in spring,” you replied softly, making sure Amias wouldn’t overhear. 

“Bastards are a given. What do you think happens after Calanmai?”

He nodded, relieved that his son wouldn’t be ignored or left alone.

“Even if he is Illyrian?”

You laughed softly, a touch of amusement in your voice.

“Yes, even then.”

“They don’t care about that,” you said, your tone steady. “You’d know that if you picked up a book once in a while.”

Azriel winced at the jab, his eyes narrowing slightly. Here he thought you were finally opening up to him, but your words made it clear how you felt about him.

“Spring is inherently open,” you continued, “We accept everyone and everything. That’s why festivals like Calanmai exist and the land prospered with children, happy, healthy children. At least, before Amarantha came and your Lords, or shall I say your “brother” and his runaway whore”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, the urge to retort rising in him. He wanted to tell you that Tamlin had been warned, that he had continued despite it all, but he couldn’t. Your son was here and he shouldn’t witness his parents fighting. But god, the way your eyes burned with hatred whenever you looked at him or spoke about the Night Court, it stung.

“Daddy are you angry?”

Azriel noticed the worry in Amias’s face and immediately smiled, shaking his head. “Just tired.”

“Mama tired too,” Amias added.

You chuckled softly at his cuteness. 

You felt Azriels rage just a few seconds ago, you were thankful that he was still good at lying. You only cared about your son, Azriel’s feelings couldn’t interest you in the slightest.

“Amias, full sentences, please.”

“Mama, I am tired too.”

“You wanna go sleep with Daddy?” Azriel asked gently.

Amias nodded, his tiny arms stretching out toward Azriel. In his fathers arms, he stopped you from going to the office, where you usually spent your time.

You looked at him, noticing the expectant look in his eyes. “Can you both come?”

You nodded, glancing at Azriel. “You’ve got time, or do you need to go to work?”

Azriel smirked, scaring you. “I’m on vacation.”

The surprise was evident in your eyes as Azriel caught you off guard for the first time. Before you could respond, he scooped up Amias, who giggled in delight.

“Where is your room, little prince?” Azriel asked, holding his son up in the air with a grin.

Azriel’s smile was radiant and Amias looked so happy, it made your heart swell. Even if the reason behind it all was the sperm donor, the sight of your son so content made everything feel right.

“Let’s go,” Azriel said, his voice warm as he began to walk.

⋆ ♡ ⋆

There you three laid, Amias down in the middle, nestled safely between you both. 

Azriel had woken up, his internal clock honed over centuries stirring him from sleep. But as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, the sight before him felt almost unreal, like a dream he wasn’t ready to wake from.

His son was here and you.                                                                                                                 There you were, lying beside Amias, your long hair fanned out behind you, arms wrapped protectively around the small boy as he cuddled into you. It was endearing, the way you both slept so peacefully next to him. 

For the first time in what felt like forever, Azriel had slept through the night, no nightmares, no restlessness, just quiet, steady breaths filling the space around him.

His eyelids grew heavy again and he let himself sink back into the warmth of the mattress. Just as he was drifting off, Amias stirred, sleepily turning toward him. Tiny hands reached for him as he snuggled into Azriel’s chest, his breath soft and steady.

Azriel let out a slow breath, wrapping an arm around his son. 

And for the first time in a long, long time, he let himself rest again.

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