#been experimenting with shading and lighting

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

14 with lando pleeeeaaase

map of you ༊*·˚

prompt 14: colouring tattoos

☁︎ ln x reader ♡︎

☁︎ fluff ♡︎

masterlist ☾☼

i'd love your support! https://ko-fi.com/kavi2305

the sunbeam-flooded afternoon streamed in through the window of your apartment, casting long shadows on the floor. lando, reclined on the couch, was completely engrossed in his task. he held a set of colored pencils in his hand, his forehead furrowed with concentration, his tongue protruding from the edge of his mouth.

you, on the other hand, were lying on the floor, your back a canvas for his artistic skills. you had a series of detailed tattoos, a large tapestry of ink that was a chronicle of your life, your travels, your interests. and lando, since he'd found his passion for coloring, had been fascinated with coloring in the details. "almost finished," he breathed, his voice low and intense. he was carefully coloring in a mandala on your shoulder, the bright colors of the pencils bringing the intricate pattern to life. you laughed, feeling the soft pressure of the pencil on your skin. "you're really serious about this," you said. "it's a big deal," he said, not looking up. "it's art." "it's also my skin," you reminded him, but you were grinning. "just that way," he said, at last lifting his head. "and it's a work of art." he held the colored pencils up, admiring what he had created. the mandala, at first just a rough outline, was now a kaleidoscope of color, a rich explosion of blues, greens, and purples. "wow," you said, turning to view your shoulder. "that actually isn't half bad." "i told you," he said, smug. he took up another pencil, a vivid orange color. "now, where were we?" he questioned, his eyes scanning your back. you had a variety of tattoos: a delicate floral design winding down your spine, a geometric pattern on your ribs, a whimsical scene of constellations on your calf.

each of them had a special significance, a tale written in ink. and lando, with his boyish passion, enjoyed bringing them to life with his hues.

he'd started with simple shading, adding depth and dimension to the designs. then he'd moved on to more complex coloring, coloring entire scenes in with vivid colors. he'd even begun experimenting with color blending, producing subtle gradients and textures. "how about the constellations?" he said, indicating your calf. "i haven't colored those in a while." "sounds good," you replied, adjusting your position. lando settled in, his attention back to his work. he colored in the stars carefully, employing a variety of blues and purples to give them a sense of depth and dimension. He sprinkled a little silver glitter on the bigger stars, so they sparkled in the light. he was really good at it, you had to admit. he possessed a natural color sense, an ability to mix colors and produce subtle effects. He was also very patient, spending hours painstakingly coloring in the elaborate patterns. while he worked, you could feel yourself spacing out, the soft pressure of the pencil and the soft rumble of the air conditioner humming you into drowsiness. you were shaken awake by lando shaking your shoulder softly. "all done," he declared, grinning. you stood up, uncurling your limbs. "let's see," you said, turning to inspect your calf. the constellations were stunning. the stars glimmered and twinkled, colors blending perfectly. it was as if a small galaxy had been traced upon your skin. "lando," you murmured, your voice full of wonder, "this is incredible." "i know," he said with a grin. "i told you i was a natural." he leaned in and kissed your shoulder. "i love your tattoos," he said. "they're like… a map of you." "and you're the cartographer," you said, smiling. he smiled, pulling you into an embrace. "exactly." and so, you and lando sank back onto the sofa, the afternoon sun warming your skin, the bright tattoos a reminder of your mutual creativity and love.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

i'm just clearing out my drafts/inbox! i can't write x reader anymore, i'm more interested in being gay! (this is a joke, but fr, i can only do rpf now)

taglist: @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @anamiad00msday ; @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @peterholland04 ; @justaf1girl ; @greantii ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1 ; @alexxavicry ; @hiireadstuff ; @midnight-and-books ; @landoscarino ; @stylesmoonlight12 ;

[whispers-on-the-wind]

Sweet Soothing

You find yourself on a Island with the Chain and end up comforting Legend

The echoing sound of waves crashed into the cliff face beneath you. 

You sat on the edge of a rocky outcrop, feet dangling over. You would have never thought to do something that borders this close to recklessness before you bet the Links, but by this point you had done much more than sit by an edge. 

Salty ocean air whipped at your face, blowing your hair about in all directions. 

The sun retreated over the horizon, painting the ocean in shades of red and pink; cotton like clouds dotted the sky, the scene seemed closer to fantasy than reality– but what even was reality at this point? 

You were on an adventure with 9 heroes from Hyrule, a land previously thought fictional by you– 

You recall when you first met the chain. You naively assumed you understood them well! You, after all, had seen their adventures! Surely it could correlate well to your relationships. 

You had quickly discovered this was, in fact, false. They are complex people, and  they always have been. You had failed to consider how it would feel to genuinely experience their trauma, it shed a new light on it. You had never considered the implications when Link had found his uncle dying, you had never considered the implications of watching your sister get kidnapped and almost die, you hadn’t–

You shake your head, that was a destructive spiral you desperately wanted to avoid. 

You sit alone with your thoughts a moment more, before taking stock of the island once more. About 8 minutes from your rocky outcrop, the Chain was establishing camp in a wooded clearing. 

A portal had deposited you onto the island after a gruesome battle, and you were shocked they even allowed you to wander. Though, you reasoned, Four’s head injury was most certainly a more pressing issue than you exploring– It wasn't as if you were like Hyrule or Wild either, at least in the sense of wandering and getting lost. 

Once again, the wind assaulted your face, blowing salty air directly into your eyes and nose. You let out a loud sneeze, elbow flying up on instinct to cover your face despite being–

“Excuse you.” 

Your heart damn near leapt out of your chest, your hand flying to your hilt as you spun around only to come face to face with the strawberry haired hero, his permanent smug grin plastered on his face. 

“I- I- You–” You scramble to collect yourself, heart thundering as if you’d ran a marathon without breaks. 

“Startled?” 

“I- Yes?!” You fluster, moving your hand from your hilt and cupping your face. 

Legend stands patiently, as you not so graciously collect yourself. After a few moments, he speaks again. “Mind if I join?” You shake your head, gesturing to the space on the cliff next to you. 

You don’t look, but you can hear as he approaches, the soft grunt as he lowers himself to the floor. 

Legend doesn't speak again for awhile, if it weren't for his steady presence at your side you may have well assumed he wasn’t there at all. His silence was comforting, the cries of gulls in the distance soothing. 

You listen to the waves again, rhythmic crashing drowning out the sounds of the forest. In the distance, you can see a couple of the gulls making their way across the sky to no doubt find a safe place to rest. 

You hear legends breath hitch besides you. You try to ignore it, discreetly moving your gaze to his hands. They sat in his lap, the rings adorning them getting spun and moved with the anxious energy pouring off Legend. 

You move your gaze to his face. 

His eyes were almost glassy, fresh tears building to fall. His strawberry hair shields you from seeing the majority of his face. 

You bring your hand up, gently touching his back, gauging his reaction. Your concern only grows when he doesn't react. You rub small circles into his back, a silent comfort to the red dawning hero.

You’re not sure what to do as the hero’s breath hitches again, his breathing ragged as his buries his head into his hands. You keep rubbing his back, sympathetic eyes taking in the crying form of the hero. 

Do you ask him if he’s okay? You aren’t sure. Would he prefer you leave? 

You decide to remain by his side, silent, but ultimately decide to speak up if it gets worse. 

And worsen it does.

Legend’s soft hitches devolved into deep sobs, the legendary hero’s shoulders racked as he curled into you. You hold your hands above the hero now curled against you, unsure if you should touch him. 

Deciding after a few moments, you gently drape your arm over him, carding gentle fingers through his hair. You aren’t sure what to do, so you stay like that for a while. 

You stay like that as the sun retreats into the horizon and the first stars speckle the sky. 

You stay like that after his sobs subsided.

You stay like that until he pulls away, an embarrassed blush tinging his face. 

You both sit there in silence for a good while, before you stand. “Want to head back?” You inquire, hand extended towards the hero. He nodded, silently taking your hand and rising. 

Im gonna strive to post more, but please enjoy the fic!

[a-problematic-writer]

[Image Description: a digital drawing of Lukas from Minecraft Story Mode. It is a bust drawing. His hair is in the standard greaser pompadour and he has a golden earring. He is wearing his usual purple and white striped shirt and leather jacket. He has freckles and is flushing slightly. There is a drawn pink heart with sparkles next to him. The image is signed Ky and has the date 08/14/23 on it. End ID]

redrew a Lukas doodle because good LORD was he skrunkly 😭 (old version under the cut but be warned he's the skrunkliest of skrungly)

[Image Description: A digital drawing similar to the one above except drawn a little more simply. Lukas has multiple ear piercings instead of a single gold earring. There are two drawn sparkly pink hearts next to him. The image is signed Ky and has the date 08/06/23 on it. End ID]

Also, yes, that IS an eight-day difference. As all my friends say, "You're SPEEDRUNNING the art game" Really tho, I just used to draw (if "following art tutorials" is drawing lmao) as a kid and gave up on it, can't even remember why tbh. Think all those old tricks are really coming through now that I'm drawing every day. Also, I am surrounded by some of THE most talented artists 💚💚💚

[secriden]

Just going to cry again (see: my previous post about the parallels between the storage room scene and the abandoned factory scene) about parallels and juxtapositions in the store room scene vs the one in Styles bedroom:

Both these scenes have such a tone of desperation and are characterised by an overflowing of emotions, but in drastically opposite directions.

(Note, some of what I say in this post directly relates to concepts and themes I talked about here, so it may not wholly make sense without that context.)

The scene in the storeroom is filled with frustrated desire. Fadel kisses Style because he wants Style's body and also wants to take his frustrations at Style out on his body. He doesn't need to look Style in the eye (and in fact very intentionally only does so only in small snatches) because this isn't about a connection as much as it is about a release. Fadel's kisses come fast, hard, and are intended to bruise more than to adore.

But episode 5's scene is filled with much more quiet and tender sort of desire. Style is kissing Fadel so much more slowly and purposefully. He keeps looking back at Fadel, checking in to see how he feels and whether Fadel is enjoying it. Everything Style wanted in Episode 3, he now gives to Fadel here, pours the secrets of his knowing and choosing Fadel anyway into the way he presses his lips onto Fadel's skin. His kisses linger, they carry a weight but are somehow infinitely gentle still; Style's kisses contain a purpose that Fadel's kisses couldn't in Episode 3 because in all honesty they were relative strangers back then.

There's also the way there's such a ferocity and carelessness in the way Fadel starts the encounter in episode 3 that is juxtaposed beautifully by the slow, tender, almost hesitant way Style slides his lips onto Fadel's. Both of them are in such different headspaces, between these episodes and its especially evident in the way they care so much more about the other person's comfort and how intentionally they showed that to the audience.

There's hunger present in both scenes but what this hunger is focused on is so drastically different. In the storeroom, they're both mainly focused on a physical release; its primal and visceral but lacked emotional resonance. Fadel gives Style what he knows Style wants (that hint of danger, with the hand on his neck), but its not because he really cares about what Style wants on anything more than a physical level. In Style's bedroom, however, Fadel is drunk (intentionally and by his own design) and desperate to open himself up to Style on an emotional level. Meanwhile, Style wants that desperately too, but knows that Fadel shouldn't because of his own terrible secret. So this kiss is what they both will allow themselves - an honesty and a hunger for this deeper connection they can only share in act but not in words.

In the storeroom, Style wants Fadel to want more than his body but knows (or thinks) he can't push for it yet, so he remains passive, lets Fadel do whatever he wants, lets him turn and shove and place Style how he wants because at this point, this is all Fadel will give him. Here, Style is passive in spite of what he wants. But in the bedroom, Fadel is passive because it's what he wants; he wants to let Style do whatever he desires to and with Fadel's body. He wants to lay himself as bare as he possibly can, which is only physical, and so he does.

And because the encounter in Episode 3 lacked that emotional connection, the focus is merely their respective releases. There's a sense of two people trying to find pleasure and 'finish' while remaining emotionally disconnected despite actively having sex with each other. Because in some ways, they didn't really need each other in that moment to get there (there's actually a lot of truth in what Fadel says about it being easier to just jerk off alone). In sharp contrast, the scene in Episode 5 isn't focused on the destination but on the journey. Style is taking his time and Fadel is letting him - Style is choosing to worship Fadel's body, with his fingers, with his lips, to respond to his vulnerability with gentleness and tenderness and adoration. The goal has stopped being about finding a release, it's about allowing both these men to revel in the giving and receiving of pleasure.

The point of these scenes is to show to us the ways in which Fadel and Style have grown to care for and, dare I say it, love each other in ways that are so purposefully portrayed by showing the nature of their physical connection. Because the ways in which these scenes are the same and yet so wholly different showcases how their touches are now no longer merely tied to their senses any longer, but also to their hearts as well.

[scribeoffate]

Thinking about if there is Mother’s Day or some variation in Arnes. Cuz really why not? And bb Rhy is very excited to pick out a gift for his mother. The guards and Tieren are taking him out to the market and then he sees Kell isn’t ready. And clearly he demands that Kell comes along, Kell has only been his brother for a few months but Rhy knows that they should pick out a gift together. Or maybe even get her two gifts. And Kell protests a little, but even 5 year old Rhy is a force of nature so obviously he finds himself dragged along on this adventure. And while Emira isn’t his mother, she’s been… kind enough. And it’s pretty fun to do stuff with Rhy. And he likes Tieren so they go.

And because apparently I am in a saccharine mood (rare) it actually all goes really well and they pick Emira out a nice present and she smiles at both of them when they present it to her. And even better she hugs both of them after.

And then (because the aforementioned mood is rare) imagine Rhy finding the gift in his mother’s things, after she dies. Holding it in his hands and remembering. And wondering if Kell noticed the spike of pain wherever he is right now. Maybe he sets the gift on his nightstand before composing himself to go to do kingly things.

[wackywatchdotcom]

hiii !!! love ur art lots, so i've been wondering, what program/app and brushes you use? i love the paper effect you give to your drawings, makes me want to eat em /pos

thank you so much!!!! i appreciate that a lot :D!!!!

(accidentally rambled a lot abt this HAHA)

i use medibang!! ive been using it forrrr maybe like 7ish years now... ive been meaning to one day get clip studio or something but i havent had the chance to buy it and im also a little intimidated at the idea of having to readjust to a new program HAHA

i use a few different brushes!! it depends on what im drawing and what i feel like using at the time (i should probably plan them out more often, actually)

oil paint, g pen, fluffy watercolor, and round brush (wet) are all brushes that come with medibang!!! i know i made Another Marker myself, and im pretttttty sure i made the first marker one too? my favorites are round brush and g pen though!!! i tend to use fluffy watercolor more for colors rather than lineart

(i also keep correction at around 12, i would use it more since my hands arent the steadiest but i find high correction to be kinda confusing so i just keep it low)

the paper effect is smth i learned liiiike maybe two years ago ish? and i have simply KEPT doing it ever since HAHA i do wanna mess around with more textures cus i dont want to be too reliant on just one texture for my art but it IS very fun and i like it...

medibang has a feature that makes it REALLY easy to do!!

custom noise is my BEST friend. the sand, watercolor paper (specifically 2), and marker paper (specifically 2) are the ones i use most often!!!

i also will copy n paste color layers and lineart layer, add gaussian blur and do like 200 layer effects (i most often do this to lineart, then set it to hard light and somewhere between 30-60% opacity to mimic bleeding from ink!!). i DO often experiment w messing w colors wo layer effects cus its fun but sometimes its just more fun to use layer effects instead!!

medibang also has materials!!

i dont use them as often but i like this one :D ive used it on a handful of things

and just for fun!!! things look suuuper different without this stuff. like the thing i just posted used a LOT of this (to be honest its cus i really really didnt wanna do shading for it LOL but it still felt too flat and i feel like these effects are a nice middle ground- but i will still often use this stuff when i AM shading things)

sometimes i will also use similar custom noise textures but for different parts of the image!!! like in this one i had a waatercolor texture for the bg but a seperate one for the foreground

i DIIID a while back post a pic of kinger (its an older post on this acc- not old by most standards but it was during the first little while after i made this blog while i was still finding my footing w the characters) that used a bunch of different textures which i got from freestocktextures.com!! but i havent used them since. i keep thinking i should again

ANYWAY thats basically it!!!! i looove medibang theres a bunch of little things ive figured out abt using it over the yrs that im so fond of it. and THANK U again!!!!!! :']

[greyshuhh]

something something cosmic horror

[bmpmp3]

attack of V for RainyTuesday !

[thursdayg1rl]

decided im not going to buy more makeup or skincare until my current ones run out im not falling into the consumerism trap

[atxchiphxbix]

just something small for my boy, a late valentine's day gift

Content. mdni afab + f! reader, unprotected sex, oral (f! receiving), swearing, ig angst if u squint, caleb finishes in reader, L-word drop, he does call you pipsqueak im sorry, slight spoiler for 'verified rumor' memory

fake boyfriend! caleb who calls you up one day, asking you to come to skyhaven for a teeny-tiny favor that only you can help him with.

fake boyfriend! caleb who tells you he'll do anything for you if you pretend to be his fake girlfriend because there are too many people interested in him and he doesn't want any of them (he's only wants you)

fake boyfriend! caleb who says this is a "win win" situation. He gets to fend off his admirers (prove that you belong to him) and you get some needed relationship experience in. Of course, it's all fake and there aren't any feelings at all — besides, you two grew up together and this is a normal thing, right?

fake boyfriend! caleb who is just so charismatic and falls perfectly in place as a boyfriend, your boyfriend. It's almost like he's made for you (he is)

fake boyfriend! caleb who introduces you as his needy girlfriend, with an arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush to his warm, toned torso. The way he so easily takes on the role is absurd, the way he easily introduces you as his girlfriend sends your mind reeling but it feels so... right. It feels right in a way that causes your cheeks to burn and chest to tighten.

fake boyfriend! caleb who looks at you so fondly whenever you're interacting with one of his friends, telling them stories of how you and him 'met.' He feels his heart swell with so much love and he wants to kiss you until with lungs cripple and lips sore. It's even worse because you fill the role perfectly (you're made to be his) it only makes his pants tighter and the apples of his cheeks red.

fake boyfriend! caleb who keeps the act up even when his admirers die down and he isn't so bombarded with love letters and lunchboxes anymore. He keeps up the act long after you leave skyhaven, even carrying it over when he visits you in linkon, taking his precious girl out on dates and spending long nights at your apartment. You don’t even realize how cemented he is in your life, how your heart beats just a little faster when he nears you, placing a braised chicken wing on your plate or when he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

fake boyfriend! caleb who starts to feel a little less like a fake boyfriend and more like a real one. It begins to feel so much more real when you catch your heart stuttering in your chest, when you catch him gazing fondly at you, when you sleep in the same bed because you’ve begun to feel bad for making him sleep on the couch. It’s so much more real when you realize how easily he slots himself in your life, how routine it is that you don’t even have to change anything because he’s always been there. He’s always been there for you.

fake boyfriend! caleb who, once again, spends another night at your apartment. He’s in your bed this time, lying next to you as you use his arm as a pillow. His soothing fingers pat down your hair, your own trailing down his chest before resting on the expanse of flesh where his collar meets his jaw. It’s then you become alarmingly aware of the proximity, the shared breaths, and the intoxicating space between your bodies. You’re so close that you can count every speck of stars in his violet hues.

fake boyfriend! caleb who lets silence marinate between you two, neither wanting to break the thin veil that masks your relationship, whatever it is or whatever you want it to be. But he's the first to turn away, breaking the hypnotizing eye contact with you. He turns his face to bury in the soft pillow, ears, and cheeks flushed the same shade as his favorite asiatic apples. His voice comes out in the muffled murmur, you’d be unable to hear if you two weren’t so close.

“It’s late. You should get some rest, pipsqueak.”

A light scoff leaves your lips and disappointment stirs in your heart. You aren’t sure what drives you to surge forward, fingers fisting into the blue cotton of his shirt, pulling him towards you, and mushing your lips together. It’s messy and forceful but you’ll swear it isn’t your fault — it’s all because of Caleb. Everything is because of him.

You seal your lips together, spurred by sudden want and need, heat surges through your veins, fogging all logic in your fuzzy mind. The kiss is longer than it should be, a minute, two, or three until all the air crawls away and leaves your lungs crippling and aching for air.

And then, you breathlessly pull away. Out of breath like you’ve climbed to the top of the highest mountain, you think it might be similar to how you’re feeling right now. A familiar heat pools in your lower stomach when you brave to see the state Caleb is in.

fake boyfriend! caleb who’s eyes are half-lidded, lips swollen, and a heavy blush settled onto his pale flesh. His lavender eyes hold swirls of yearning and want, mirroring your own. Shared breaths and heated air are stifled between you and the pilot before he pushes forward, connecting your lips again with a needy groan that's greedily swallowed.

fake boyfriend! caleb who hovers over you, violet eyes boring into your soul. His hot breath beats against your cheeks, a quiet groan escaping his pretty lips when he buries his face into the crook of your neck, and it takes everything in him not to mark you up, to claim you.

“Did you mean to do that? Did you mean to kiss me?” His voice is soaked in desperation and he’s completely and utterly entranced by you. The pretty, sweet, stubborn girl from his childhood. The girl he’s watched grow up into the woman under him, the woman who has clawed into his heart, making a home of him.

fake boyfriend! caleb who loses his mind once he sees you nod your pretty head, teeth biting down on the plush of your lower lip. His body feels numbingly hot, the air is stifling, and his pants are suddenly too tight. He isn’t close enough, he wants — needs — to be closer. He wants to settle into your body, carve himself into your heart, meld his soul with yours. He wants whatever bone you’re willing to throw his way.

fake boyfriend! caleb who strips the two of you out of your sleepwear and in an instant, his lips are on yours. The kiss is in no way tranquil or soft, it’s greedy and messy, and downright sinful, pushing his tongue in your mouth and completely disregarding the mixed saliva that drools down the side of your mouths. He takes in all of you as he feverishly kisses his way down your body, biting and suckling at any glimpse of skin he can reach.

fake boyfriend! caleb who lavishes wet kisses from your breast and down to the navel of your body, fingers curling at the edge of your panties, inching the fabric down once he settles between your thighs. An audible groan is ripped from his throat when he sees how soaked you are, the fabric sticks to your skin as it’s peeled off with strings of your wetness clinging to the thin fabric. A wave of embarrassment washes over you when he comes face to face with the most intimate part of you and it’s better than any fantasy he’s ever had.

“Fuck, pipsqueak… you’re so soaked.” His voice comes out as a raspy cadence of love, eagerly pressing his nose to the wet material of your panties, taking in your scent.

fake boyfriend! caleb who suckles sloppy, dark hickies into the plush fat of your inner thighs, working his way up to your core. Bruises bloom across the expanse of your skin, trailing wherever his lips find purchase on you. You’re aching now, desperate for him to devour you but helplessly watching him litter his love on your thighs. Your fingers thread into his dark locks, pulling him closer with a soft whine.

“Caleb, please…” You can hardly recognize your own voice, whiny and needy for his lavish attention. “Please don’t tease.”

fake boyfriend! caleb who chuckles softly and abides by your sweet pleas. His soft, wet tongue makes contact with your soft folds, laving the wet muscle over your throbbing clit, groaning like a starved man at your sweet taste. It's better than he could've ever imagined. Spurred by the delicate harmony of your moans, he devotes himself to pleasuring you, intently watching your expressions with great care. He wants to know everything— what colors you blush, what makes your toes curl, he wants your fingers pulling at his hair, and whining his name like a prayer.

fake boyfriend! caleb who makes you cum alarmingly quick when he pushes two fingers into your sopping hole, stretching out his pretty girl. He watches his fingers piston in and out of your squelching hole, enamored with the way your cunt sucks him in like a black hole. Your cunt spasms around his digits, velvety walls fluttering around his fingers as your orgasm washes over you.

"You're so cute, pipsqueak. So, so cute." He coos, pressing light kisses to your throbbing bundle of nerves before smearing his fingers, covered in your release, across your lips.

fake boyfriend! caleb who asks for consent (he would never want to make you uncomfortable) before pulling out his cock. Your jaw falls slack when you see his pulsing length. He's big and thick with one prominent vein running on the underside and pearly beads of pre-cum dribbling from his tip. For a moment you wonder what it would feel like if it pulsed on your tongue, how it would feel to have him shooting ropes of cum into your womb. 'I'm screwed,' you think to yourself but your body opposes and your core aches to be filled again.

fake boyfriend! caleb who thinks he's just ascended above skyhaven when his tip notches against your entrance.

"Oh, fuck—" His forehead falls onto your shoulder, a series of whines and pleas falls from his lips, feverishly pressing kisses onto your skin, anything to make him last a little longer as he pushes inch by inch into the velvety walls of your tight cunt.

fake boyfriend! caleb who watches your eyes roll back when he finally bottoms out, balls resting against the soft curve of your ass. He takes a moment to admire your pretty frame, the sweat glistening on your chest, heavy breaths that leave your tits heaving, and the dull pain of your nails leaving crescent shapes in the meat of his biceps. Caleb doesn't think he can ever let you go.

"I love you. Fuck, I love you." The words fall from his lips like a mantra as he fucks you, folding your knees onto his shoulder. His cock splits you open, pressing and abusing your g-spot every time his hips meet yours. The room quickly fills with the harmony of desperate whines and moans, littered with I love you's that're quickly engulfed in messy, hurried kisses.

fake boyfriend! caleb who cums with you when you whisper your confession into his ear, like a little secret between the two of you. His hips stutter and he's suddenly shooting hot, white ropes of cum into your fluttering pussy, milking him dry and filling you up.

fake boyfriend! caleb who collapses onto you, wrapping you up in his toned arms and pulling you close to his warm body, pressing soothing kisses to your temple, cheeks, nose, and finally onto your lips.

"I love you," he confesses. His words are hushed and speak of the longing and teetering of the line that the two of you hesitated to cross for years.

"I love you too," you reply, pressing a trail of gentle kisses along his jaw as your fingers intertwine with his. Your body feels sore and full, heart content, and so, so loved.

He presses his lips to yours once again, smiling gently before soothing you to sleep. He'll always be by your side, no matter what happens. He'll be right there.

lovesick! caleb who... loves you a little more than you realize.

first fic hehe

thx for reading <3

[satoblue]

“SHADES OF YOU” — gojo satoru

the different meanings behind satoru’s gaze, and more specifically — the shades of blue. | wc: 1.2k

f!reader, established relationship, this is quite self indulgent i fear, i love him BAD. | dividers made by me

satoru’s eyes change color.

you keep track. at first, you think your own are deceiving you. perhaps, it is the lighting overhead which perpetuates the subtle shifts in tones and shades. the beams of the sun caressing his lashes or the dim glow of your bedside lamp.

it isn’t hard to notice. not when your focus easily diverts at the appearance of those unique six eyes. but, you soon discover it is not the result of any externalities — in a way. after a while, you deduce they only ever fluctuate depending on his mood — an internal factor.

it varies from time to time.

on many casual occasions, they’ll appear a bright blue. bright, just like him. when he’s at his happiest, they seem to shimmer. what makes him happy? well, there is you — so, you guess for the majority of the time, they remain as such! or more specifically, when he’s engaging in a cheeky fit of banter with you, effectively firing you up by grating your nerves. and then there’s when he’s eating good food. whether it’s dumplings from his favorite food stand or a fresh batch of cookies made by anyone who is intelligent enough to be extra generous on the amount of chocolate chips.

it is involuntary and instantaneous. he can not control what he is — joy.

but then, there are moments when they’ll turn a faded blue, almost like steel. the reason? when he’s upset. at what exactly? satoru is quite the complex man, so it could be anything — big or small. maybe the new snack he was ecstatic to try wasn’t as good as he expected it to be — the excitement quickly dying down as he’s filled with disappointment, a pout on his lips as if the taste leaves him absolutely bitter feeling all over.

or it could be because you’re sad. this one seems to have an even bigger effect on his blues. satoru is the strongest, and yet, he can’t help but be a man struck down — struck in the heart when you cry. he loves to think he can stand tall against anything, always so sure and confident. yet, he finds himself crouching down, curling you up into his arms as if to protect you from your terrors because he simply can not bear the sight of you in pain — aching.

when you trip and fall, resulting in a scrape or when you mishandle a knife, nicking yourself on your finger. even worse — when someone hurts you . . . satoru has never been an extremely violent man unless absolutely necessary. but he supposes, when it comes to you, every act is necessary to keep you safe, be it mentally or physically. first, there is a flicker of worry. but then… he doesn’t typically lose his cool — but god help him for he can’t seem to control the visceral urge inside him to hollow purple anything that harms you. if his eyes weren’t a glowing dangerous cerulean blue — you bet they’d be on fire, seeing red from the amount of rage brewing inside him.

it is never your fault. the rock you didn’t see in your path (it should’ve never been there in the first place), the entire half of the kitchen where the cutlery is stored (he writes a scathing review on the website instead because he knows you’d kill him if he demolishes the penthouse . . . again. he’s furious that they’d make their knives so damn sharp — which is entirely out of reason since good knives should be, but satoru tends not to be logical when it comes to you), or the bastards who dare to disrespect you or lay a hand on you in anyway. knowing you belong to him should be a do not touch sign — a warning in itself.

it is rare for you to experience it, you’ve never been objected to his fury — you are only ever his love and desire. and it shines especially when those bright blue eyes turn a soft shade of baby blue — only for you, his baby. in your presence, they’ll remain that same vibrant hue you grew to adore — warm, like he’s hugging you with his gaze. and then, as the conversation consumes you both, you pick up on the way his lids will droop slightly halfway — a subconscious gesture. it is apparent to anyone who peeks your direction that you have enraptured him entirely.

at some points, you can’t tell if he’s truly listening. at all. those eyes of his seem to dilate, as if in a daze you’ve trapped him in. but then, he’ll speak up. it sends a shock to your system as he responds to you after a long moment of impossible quiet, something unnatural for him, yet — it comes easily when he’s with you. he doesn’t just talk for the sake of it — he listens and gives an answer. and god, he waits patiently, not wanting to interrupt you because if he does — you go quiet just for him when that is the complete opposite of what he needs. he needs to hear you — the sweet sound of your voice that is better than any candy or chocolate he’s had on his tongue.

the love is there — passionate, tender, and no where near red like his wrath but just as fiery. like when you shared your first kiss in the rain, or the very quiet, tense minutes where he’ll stare a little too long. this time, he won’t sit still with his fist to his palm, but instead, he’ll adjust in his seat — shifting uncomfortably because the straining in his pants right between his legs is too much to handle even for him. he grows impatient and can’t help but blurt out “let’s get out of here” — a statement, almost as if his body is operating on autopilot, driven by a sheer carnal need for you.

and that look — you know what it means before he even has to open his mouth: i need you right now… desperately, always. you’re aware what fantasies are playing through his head as the seconds tick by tortuously slow. impatient. greedy. with a dark hooded gaze, piercing and intense, dropping from your lips to your cleavage — the midnight blue is fitting, the dilated pupils, the delicate pink flush on his cheeks. all these aspects tie him all together, easily betraying his thoughts.

there is not a single meaning behind the way he acts which alludes you, his gaze like a book you’ve read an infinite number of times before and know by heart, one your fingers still reach for on the shelf because you can’t get enough — because there is nothing else quite like it. satoru comes in many shades, and you love him in all of them just the same — in joy, sorrow, rage, and passion. the eyes are known to be the window to the soul, and you just about know satoru’s better than anyone.

[thecoochiefairy]

bratty. toji.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 7.8K words. blackfem!characters, drabble, toji fushiguro, drifter!toji, grumpy!toji, sweet!toji, dominant!toji, nasty sex, car sex, sweet sex, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough, lil bit of sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, oral [f], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, missionary, condomless sex, fingering, bratty main character, kissing, spanking, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ my man, my man. my man. plz listen to all the songs attached within the drabble! it’ll give you the full experience. the song i chose for toji felt so him coded.

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ :: slow strokes. nasty ass. you hear that, baby?

PINK METALLIC BEAMED UNDER THE STARS OF THE NIGHT, your grin from ear to ear as you watched people snap pictures of your flawlessly wrapped car. It was a 2001 Honda S2000, Hello Kitty headlights blinking rapidly in the back, magenta LED lights glowing underneath the vehicle, the inputted speakers shaking the ground as Aghora Hills fell on the next mixture within your playlist. Suki, you called her. 

You were unsure of how you’d been surviving for most of the night, the skimpy chrome heels you wore thin as a needle, shorts having your ass poke out the bottom, top clinging against your pierced nipples. Beauty was pain. You pull the dark tresses of your  curls behind your ear, pressing your brown and mauve lip combination together impatiently. 

It was the monthly car meet, a high influx of people showing up to show off their custom vehicles, motorcycles—or even to simply network, share knowledge and socialize. You had worked on your own car with your bare hands, never shying away from people complimenting it. Your father had been a mechanic for years, teaching you the ways to create your dream car. Here it was. 

But besides all that, you were irritated at the moment. Your boyfriend was supposed to show up with his car, telling him that you didn’t want to be a part of the drifting show, saying that you’d sit in the passenger seat of his and look pretty. As always, he’d reply back. 

But he was late. An hour and a half to be exact, and the only people you had accompanying you was Suguru and Satoru, here with their own cars, but also trying to lessen your irritation.  

“Want some of my churro?” Satoru asks, waving the sugary dessert in front of your face. Your arm is crossed as you lean along your vehicle, shaking your head as you say, “No. You shouldn’t be eating that shit either, it gives you gas.”

They were essentially attached at the hip, your bodyguards if your dilatory ass man wasn’t around. They were even dressed similarly tonight. Both of them were wearing long sleeve black tops clinging to their muscular frames, Satoru’s dark shades shining under the light as he leaned along his own car. Suguru was a bit grumpy at the moment because he couldn’t find a cigarette off of anyone, re-tying his hair into a low bun, trying to keep his patience with his high energy friend. 

Satoru frowned, icy blue eyes faintly blinking as he narrowed them, “You lie. That was only that one time!”

Suguru’s hand clutched around the top of the churro, snatching it from his friend. His long hair shined beneath the lights bathing along the other vehicles as he snapped to him, “Give me that. Your farts could clear a whole fuckin’ continent. You know you’re lactose.”

Satoru pouts, puffing out his bottom lip and shoving his hands into the confines of his pant pockets as he rocks back and forth on his heels. He crosses one ankle across the other as he lets out a sigh. His azure hues land back onto you, “C’mon. Cheer up. Pretty girl.”

“I’m fine,” you brush off, “He’s always late. I asked him once to be on time—the drifting show starts in less than an hour!”

Satoru rolled his eyes, “You should know by now that he just does what he wants.”

Suguru chimed in as he shoved the churro back into whatever food bag he had, “Maybe he found someone better than your hotheaded ass.”

“Awe, jealous that you can’t have me? Yeah, shut the fuck up,” you punch his arm, moving forward anyway as he tries to duck your swing. You then say, “That’s why both of y’all cars are ugly!”

Satoru’s eyes widen, mouth slacking open as Suguru’s arms drop to his sides—incredulous. He huffed out a scoff, “My car looks good as fuck!”

Satoru crosses his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes at you as he adds, “I agree with Suguru. Mine looks great.”

Your eyes move over to their vehicles you talk shit on, seeing Suguru’s Porsche 911 GT3 R, navy blue with black interior. It contrasts in Satoru’s shiny white Ferrari SP-8, the wheels even a stark alabaster color. You shrug, “They’ alright.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t be mad cause you got a man that can’t be on time for you,” Suguru glances out to the crowd of people, standing in lines at the food trucks, drinking their livers away before the actual shows begin. 

You raise an eyebrow, “Want a scratch on that expensive ass car of yours? ‘Cause my fingers feel itchy.” 

Satoru let out a whistle as he took a step back, leaning back against his car. He smirked, icy eyes flickering between you two, “Aye, chill. This night is supposed to be fun. No reason to get violent. Let’s do a Baddie-Baddie Shot O’ Clock! Where’s my Cognac?!”

He dips inside the window of his car to search, your crossed arms shifting as you watch two girls begin to walk towards you. You assume it’s for them to compliment your car. 

“Hey, where’s Fushiguro? Is he bringing his truck?”

The question is followed by giggles, your eyebrow raising in between the two blondes as you say, “Excuse me?” Ignoring the way Suguru mutters, “Uh oh,” while Satoru still searches within his seats for the bottle.

They’re both dressed the exact same—which was creepy—their heels matching their short skirts and crop tops. The taller of the two pushes her blonde locks behind her shoulder as she repeats herself, “Fushiguro. The guy with the Dodge RAM truck? He’s coming, right? He’s sooo fucking hot!” 

“He is!” 

Both of the girls began to giggle again, it almost makes you want to slam their heads together, hoping they’d morph into one and disintegrate. You were known to be a crash out, uncaring of where your anger had you end up. 

Satoru’s hand finally pulls out a thick glass decanter of Cognac, the bottle making a satisfying thud against the window of his car. He glances between you and the girls, almost feeling sorry for them.

You began to giggle aggressively with them, emphasizing on your dramatization of how they sound. You then say, “My man is running late, but the groupie section is right here, actually! Did you buy a ticket?”

They both blink owlishly, the expression making them look more bimbo-like. They’re visibly confused, as if you were speaking a language they could barely understand, the shorter of the two asking, “What groupie section?” 

Satoru snickers, attempting to hold back his laughter while Suguru’s eyes narrow.

Satoru took his chance to make a comment after finally containing his amusement. He cleared his throat, taking a few steps in your direction as he raised the decanter. 

“We don’t gotta fight, me and my friend can actually escort you ladies to his section—“

Suguru waves, “I don’t even like blondes.”

“Satoru, please shut the fuck up,” you warn, “Are y’all dense? I just said my man, meaning you need to step the fuck back.”

The shorter blonde girl’s head tilts to the side, clearly still not understanding what you’re implying. Her lips pursed together as she pouts, “Who’re you?” 

“And why are you so aggressive?” the tallest of the girls asks, blonde tresses shaking as she cocks her head to the side.

Satoru was about to make another comment on it, but one look from you shuts him up and has him chugging a shot of alcohol. He swallows it, a grimace taking over his 

expression as he wipes his lips with the back of his hand.

“I’m the bitch who’s about to give you the brain you don’t have!” 

You’re like a wind up toy, coaxed in reaction when someone pulls you. You were too busy giving these girls the business to notice the monster truck that screeches as it parks close by, sleek black—windows tinted—Dodge Ram 3500 terrifying in comparison to the other cars. The spiked wheels, blinding headlights and LED strips along the bottom excel along the concrete. He already knows you’re somewhere cussing someone out. 

Dropping down from the truck, his leather jacket and hefty boots hit the ground as he’s already coming towards you. You’re lunging towards the women who squeal like school girls, feeling an arm tug around your hips, yanking you back, scarred lip already pressed along your ear as his deep voice transfers up to your brain.

“Knock it off.” 

The sudden gruff of his voice, so close to your ear, it makes you pause. You look up at him, his expression stern while the girls from before took the chance to scurry away before you could get to them. They were smart at least.

“I wouldn’t have done shit if you’d been here already,” you’re already glaring, finally turning your head to look up to him.

His expression doesn’t falter, if anything it hardens as his jaw clenches. He still has an arm wrapped around your middle, keeping you in place while he glances over to Satoru and Suguru, who try to not look at him, knowing your already shitty mood would only be made worse by the addition of their commentary. 

“And where the fuck were y’all at when she was about to beat up two girls, Barbie and Ken?” Toji’s glare follows Satoru and Suguru, seeing as they only watched.

Satoru frowns at that, “I’m not liking your attitude. Am I Barbie? I hope I’m Ken.”

Suguru crossed his arms over his chest, not looking guilty in the slightest as he replied, “We were just letting her get that shit out of her system. Stopping her would’ve made it worse. You know that.” 

Toji’s lips press into a thin line at that, knowing that what Suguru said was in fact true. Though, the last thing he wanted was for you to get into a physical fight in the middle of a car meet, surrounded by at least 400+ people. 

“You’ done with your temper tantrum?” he asks rather than comments, his dark eyes locking back onto yours.

“Are you?” You snarl back, ignoring as he now fully pins you against your car, your back along the pink wrap as he traps you with his large arms.

Your attempt to be bitchy didn’t affect him as much as you thought it would, only having the effect of narrowing his eyes at you. 

Toji was a tall man, especially when compared to you, even with your heels on, you still have to look up at him. He doesn’t care that you’re pissed off at the moment. 

You cross your arms, “What? Am I annoying you or something?”

“You’re being a pain in the ass is what you’re being. You knew I wasn’t gonna come on time. You just wanted to be here early.”

“Oh, so he does know why I’m mad. Good use of your comprehension skills!” You’re incredibly sarcastic, giving him a big smile. 

His fingers reach out, gripping your chin as he angles your face to look at him. You were always a mouthy thing. Especially when you get in a mood like this. It’d be cute if it wasn’t something you were capable of continuing on for hours. 

“Cut it the fuck out. I’m here now. Just say you missed me.”

You huff, but nonetheless, he was right. It was coming from a place of hoping he’d been here already, wanting to enjoy your time with him at a place you loved attending. 

You then admit with less aggression, “I just wanted you to be here with me.” 

Toji knows you. He’s heard this pouty voice from you so many times. 

He leans in, locking an arm around the back of your neck to pull your face close to his, “You’ done acting up now?”

His forehead touches yours as you then say softly, “Maybe.”

Goddamn it. You were too cute. He hated when you got in a mood like this because he was so hard-wired to respond to it with something soft in return. He then let his arm drag down to your ass, gripping the flesh in his hold, “You were smart to put this flimsy ass outfit on while you weren’t around me.”

“Can you just say I look pretty?” You ask, smacking your lips, immediate irritation crawling back in your veins, attempting to turn your face away from him when he pulls it back.

His lips twitch up at the sight of that irritated expression taking over again. The fact that you were pouting made his heart clench in an annoying way that he didn't fully understand. He loved when you were difficult, because he knew how to handle you. He pulls your chin back to him again. 

“You look pretty as fuck, baby,” he responds, his tone smooth as he gives you a smirk, “Although you don’t need the compliment. You know you look good.”

You roll your eyes, briefly pulling them back to the crowd of people. When you meet his face again, you’re immediately pulled in. Those damn grey eyes. Your lashes flutter as you lean up, accepting the kiss he was waiting for, feeling your face go warm as he sloppily tongues you down, never caring if anyone was around to do it.

It’s a bruising and possessive kiss that sends chills down your spine, his tongue dominating over yours as he pushes you back against your car. He can already feel the heat rising in you, the way your skin felt warm on his and how your body pressed against his. Your head even tilts back a bit, your hand clutching the bottom of his shirt to keep your weight steady. 

“Alright, nasty asses,” Suguru interrupts, Satoru beside him who’s dry heaving at the sight, “Y’all done fighting? Can we enjoy our night?” 

When you pull back, your cheeks are sure to be a little red, hiding your face within his chest as you hear his deep tone chuckle from that.

Toji glances at the two over your head, almost smug at the sight of them being visibly irritated at the kiss, “Shut the fuck up, dweeb.” 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Satoru groans out, clutching the decanter in his hand, “Now, can we show everyone your pretty Suki? Let's do some shots! You hear that? Your favorite song is playing!” 

It was in fact one of your favorite songs from when you were a little girl, Move Ya’ Body by Nina Sky. Satoru begins to wave his hands above his head from side to side, causing you to shake your head with a giggle, “You’re a terrible bottle girl.”

“I’d make bank,” Satoru smacks his lips, “C’mon, Suguru. Dance with me!”

Suguru deadpans, “I’m not dancing.” 

Satoru groans, “I’m a ray of sunshine with three clouds trying to rain down on me, and that’s cool! Fuckin’ haters!”

That makes all three of you laugh, but he was right, it was time to enjoy the night. The drift show began to start— this was something that put you in your element. It was a different experience each time, especially drifting with three different men. 

You always hopped into Satoru’s Ferrari first—essentially the warm up—Satoru was entirely too safe considering his car was his precious baby. You enjoyed yourself nonetheless, hollering with him as he swerved around the parking lot with other vehicles. 

He could accelerate his car, but drifting with it was out of the question. It was better to leave it to the actual drifters like Toji and Suguru. 

Suguru was next. He was the complete opposite, reckless to be the perfect word. But it was the adrenaline you looked for within Satoru. 

You watch Toji within his truck from across the Porsche you sit in, seeing as Toji tosses a cigarette to Suguru with a warning, “Keep my girl safe as fuck, unless you want your heart to be pulled out through your ass.”

“Aye, don’t worry,” Suguru responds, giving the middle finger to Toji, one hand on the wheel while the other laid behind your seat as he grins, “I’m about to show 

Princess how to really drift a fuckin’ car.” 

Toji throws an equal finger up to him, watching as you lean over his friend's lap playfully, taking the cigarette to press in between Suguru’s lips, his smirk cocky as you light the object for him. You can feel Toji’s glare as you hear him call, “Quit being fuckin’ cute.”

That’s the last thing you hear as Suguru takes off, your head reaching out the window as you shriek in a girly manner, his one hand on the wheel twisting as music hums against the speakers, 4X4 by Don Toliver vibrating the entire car. 

Suguru was a good drifter, not as great as Toji, but enough that it had you cheering and laughing with him as he weaved through abandoned parking spots, just missing the car swiveling next to him. There was a moment when he almost lost control, causing you to scream and slap his arm.

He smirked beside you, enjoying the slap, “Oh, you liked that shit, huh?” 

You managed to smack his bicep again, “No, I did not! I’d like all four tires to stay on the ground while I’m in your car!”

“Should’ve stayed with your man then.”

And then, there was Toji. There was only one word that came to mind—effortless. He was a professional, your giggle unable to stop itself as he aggressively picked you up to place you in his truck with his wheels being high, smacking your ass as you jumped into the large seat. You’re all riled up from previous activities, seeing his muscular frame leaned back into the seat, engine roaring as he begins revving it up. You’re already climbing halfway out of the window, your hair a little messy from the wind, a nonetheless flawless look to you.

He glances over at you, his eyes locking onto your nearly hanging body sticking out of the passenger window of his truck. He smirks at the sight of you, the way you looked like a woman who was having the time of her life. You probably were enjoying yourself, with your messy hair and flushed cheeks. 

He reaches out to smack your ass again, the force rocking your body forward, “Sit down.”

You playfully swirl your hips, the shot you’d finally accepted from Satoru beginning to kick in. Of course, you don’t listen, arching your back farther outside of the window, heels pointed towards him, showing off your back dermals. 

When he steps his foot on the gas, he grunts as he grips the back of your shorts to pull you somewhat back, brilliant with his hands as he’s already burning the tires rubber, swerving dangerously, always knowing exactly which way he wants to go.

The song ILUV by Yeat plays exactly on time. Toji was a demon behind the wheel. He was capable of spinning his truck around, leaving behind clouds of black smoke, burning through tires faster than anyone at the car meet. He was cocky, but he was good. He’d been doing this longer than anyone else at these kinds of meets, and it showed. It didn’t come as a shock when he took every sharp turn perfectly, even on two wheels for some seconds. 

He loved when you got loud. The sound of your laughs, shouts and screams fueled the adrenaline that pumped through his veins. You were a sight to behold, sitting in his passenger seat, body half-hung out the window with your hair flying around. 

When you turn back to him, your dopamine levels sky high—it riles you up even more. His dark hair, muscles flexing as he’d removed his jacket before he turned on the truck, strident jaw clenching from the cigarette between his lips. You couldn’t help it—maybe it was also that shot you’d taken—but you were horny.

 You crawl over your seat, making your way onto him. You made sure his eyes were still in sight of driving the truck as you sat on his lap, dragging your mouth along his neck, grinding yourself against him with a breathless giggle.

His head tilts back slightly as you begin to nibble on his throat, his hands gripping the steering wheel a bit more tightly, muscles tensing under your body. You were the very definition of a distraction, your giggles against his skin sending heat right to the pit in his stomach. 

One of his hands reaches out to grab the back of your shorts, gripping the material to keep your hips rolling against his. “You’re needy as fuck tonight.”

Your tongue flattens along the skin of his throat, seeing the bruise that comes from your actions, fingers clutching for his belt as you lightly moan as a response.

He groans as you lick on his neck, leaving behind a spot of saliva in the process. He feels the way your hands grip his belt, pulling at the leather material, your small fingers slipping under his shirt, pressing against his taut stomach. 

He can feel the growing bulge in his pants from your movements, the friction against the thick material only adding more sparks in the pit of his gut.

 “Quit playing, you’re gonna cause a fuckin’ car wreck if you keep it up, baby.”

Yet you continue anyway, a throb producing between your legs as you drag yourself along his bulge. You hold onto him when you feel him do a harsh swerve, not realizing it was purposeful, making you scream out in fear as you panic, “Sorry!” 

Once you realize, you punch his arm, “Fushiguro!”

“Just making sure you pay attention,” he grins, grabbing the back of your thighs, angling you sideways as you now pout.

When the drift show ends, it’s finally the moment you’d been waiting for overall—the race. You hadn’t customized this car with a supercharger and a performative exhaust system for nothing. 

You smile as you rev your engine loudly beside Suguru, Satoru and Toji’s vehicles, other cars included.

Suguru had his car next to yours, the loud revving of the engine causing him to smirk over at you. “I’m eating the fuckin’ dust!”

You had Toji and Satoru on the other side of you, Satoru’s windows rolled down, his white hair ruffling against his face from the wind of the other vehicles. “Shittt, not if I win!”

“The fuck y’all won’t—they got four grand on this shit!” Toji calls out, watching you as you sit in your seat, your foot holding down the gas.

“Stop putting money on shit, broke bitch!” Suguru raises his middle finger, the both of them flicking off each other. 

You then call out, “Y’all talking too much shit to be losers!” 

And just like that, the flag is thrown, tires screeching horrifyingly as you take off, expertly making your way through every. single. car.

You were an experienced driver and it showed, especially when you began to pick up speed, your hands gripping the wheel tightly and eyes narrowed. You had a lead over everyone, including Toji who was right behind you in his truck. He was keeping up with you, even when you passed car after car. 

Suguru and Satoru were slightly behind, but quickly catching up, just barely though. They were no match for the way you weaved through everyone, taking each turn with ease.

You were neck and neck with Toji. You watched as his engine matched your speed, the two of you excellerating as you approached the finish line. In a last ditch effort, you put more force into it, the force of the engine making your body lean back into the seat as you watched your speedometer rise higher. 

Unfortunately, your man still ended up winning. You could hear his low voice howling as he sped farther down, quickly turning the car around as all the others had begun slowing down, pulling back to where your car halted. As everyone begins to circle around one another, you lean along your car, rolling your eyes as you knew his cocky ass would never let this go. 

You turn towards Suguru and Satoru as they’re talking massive amounts of shit, ignoring Toji’s heavy steps behind you as he wraps his arm around your neck from behind, you roll your eyes as his hands immediately travel towards your ass.

Satoru was practically shouting as he approached your car, his fist reaching out to hit the top of it several times, “I want my payout! I got second place!”

“Ask your friend who was talking all that shit to pay you out! I’m taking my woman somewhere with that money!” 

That makes you suppress a giddy smile, not wanting to give him the satisfaction as you turn around, “Mmm, what else do I get, since you’re in such a good mood?” 

You giggle as he pulls your legs around his waist, grunting as you give him pecks along his mouth.

“Anything you want, baby. That smell good ass Miss Dior, a pink Telfar. Whatever your fuckin’ heart desires.”

“What about me?” Satoru says, fluttering his eyelashes.

Toji pulls back, scrunching up his face as Satoru leans into him before he says, “You get a fart, bitch.” 

As the night continues on, you’re standing around with Toji, Suguru and Satoru as they mingle and socialize with other men, the decrease of women making you want to leave. At this point, you were ready to be somewhere secluded, riding your man in the nastiest way you could. Yet he’s more occupied with his friends.

You lean your head on his shoulder, which makes him turn his head down towards you. You mumbled lowly, “I’m ready to go,” knowing that he wasn’t. 

“We’ve only been here for an hour.” He retorts, leaning down to speak into your ear, his voice low, “You can wait a little longer.”

You become drastically more horny just from him speaking in your ear, and even more impatient at his decline. You raise your hand to grip his hair, pulling him down to kiss you, sucking his lips into your mouth, uncaring if anyone watched.

That got his attention real quick, his body twisting to face yours at the kiss, his jaw clenching at your grip on his hair. When your lips move against his, his mind goes blank, a growl pulling from his mouth as he pulls back with a warning, “Chill.” 

Whatever. You fully roll your eyes, dropping your hand as you say, “I’m going to your truck. Go fuck your friends since they have your attention.” 

He can’t help but glare as he watches you stomp over to his truck, his dark eyes locked on your hips as you move further away. You hopped within the backseat, your aching feet causing you to remove your heels and fully lay your body out to scroll on your phone. He was used to your attitude, and he was extremely patient with it. But you’d worked on his nerves a couple of times tonight, and he was now weighing his options of letting it be, or knocking that shit out of your system.

His jaw clenched as he raises off of the hood of Satoru’s car, already walking away while Suguru calls, “Yo! You’ leaving, Fushiguro?”

“Nah. I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” he doesn’t turn back, hopping into his driver's seat. 

Your head sits up as you hear the door open and shut, “Are we leaving?” 

He doesn’t say anything as he pulls off. Your face pulls into a frown, sitting in between the middle part of the back seat as you frown, “Are you ignoring me?” 

Once again, nothing. You scoff, crossing your arms, “Typical.” 

He ends up going to a roof top not too far from where everyone was, the lot surprisingly empty as you make it to the top. You become more irritated, narrowing your eyes as you start again, “Fushiguro—“

He’s already climbing into the backseat with you, causing you to scoot closer to the door, thinking maybe he was fed up with your shit. You thought he was gonna rough you up just in the way you liked, or even put you in your place. Either way was in your favor. 

But instead, he clutches your face, rubbing your cheek with his thumb as he asks, “You need me, baby?” 

You blink at the question. It makes your throat go dry, and as you search his eyes, there’s no anger in them. He just needs you to answer. 

So you reply softly, “…Yes.”

His fingers dig into your cheek, forcing your head back slightly as he moves in close, his warm breath ghosting over your lips.

The softness is unexpected. It makes you a little more relaxed as he grunts,”Let me take care of you,” hovering himself above you, your back now pressing against the seats. 

“You’ comfortable?” He questions within your ear, his voice sounds concerned. Your breath hitches lightly as his gentle touch. You were unsure why this sudden moment had your spine tingle. At that, you nod your head as you pull him closer, giving him a soft peck on the lips. 

“Now you wanna be sweet and shit.”

You’re silent, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel your cheeks becoming warm. Toji brings your face a centimeter closer, gently pressing your lips together by the drag of your throat. You feel as his full lips overpowered yours, overlapping along your mouth as he sucked your tongue. It makes your breath hitch, pressing your hand along his forearm, your nails lightly digging into the skin. 

He was nasty in the best way. He kept sucking against your lips, beginning to nod his head back and forth, thrusting his own tongue in between, the erotic pleasure of it all making your eyes roll to the back of your head. You try to keep your head from spinning as you reach up to pull his hair, deepening the kiss, enjoying the feeling it gave you. It made you shy, you could admit.

He could feel your body begin to tremble as he kisses in between your shoulder and neck, the taste of your skin being sweet on his tongue.

Your eyes fluttered shut, breathing slightly heavy as you dug your nails into his hair—you hadn’t felt this good in a while. 

You shiver in between your light giggle, “I—It tickles…” 

He chuckles against your skin, his tongue licking along the sensitive spot as he gruffly says, “You’re so fuckin’ sensitive.”  

At the drop of his words, your head lightly kneels back, a light gasp coming from you. It was soft, tiny, feminine.

His hand moved further up your thigh, placing a leg over his shoulder as he sucked the skin of your ankle. His tongue tasted every inch he could, wanting to get more of you in his mouth.

With him being hovered over you, his hand was trailing along your inner thighs, the ball of your foot fidgeting along his shoulder. It made you naturally use your free hand to slow down his, knowing that wouldn’t stop him. 

He pressed his forehead against yours, your eyes coming  down to watch your legs becoming trapped on both sides of his shoulders, his fingers coming down between your hips, making you full on jump. 

“My shy, pretty ass baby.” 

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, nowhere to hide as your face felt on fire, feeling your hips tilt up from the reaction of his hand. His fingers grazed over your clit, and your hips were so warm, you almost felt cold. 

Your chest began to lightly come up and down, digging your teeth into your bottom lip as your thighs wanted to close at the feeling. Your inhales were low, hesitant, as your exhales were able to hear, shaky in your throat. 

You struggled even more with your breathing, your thighs trying to close, face scrunched up in concentration...it only turned him on more.

He applied pecks against your throat, telling you gruffly, “Spread your legs more.” 

His voice within your ear makes your eyes want to flutter shut. You attempt to listen, pulling your thighs more apart, feeling as he begins to rub at your swollen clit slowly, your opening squelching from how you had become.

He growled low in his throat as he watched you squirm and struggle to breathe. It was like a challenge, getting under your skin like this.

“Imma’ put a finger in there,” he tells you, your heart in her ears, unable to prepare as he stroked his index finger along your pussy, before slowly sinking it in between your folds. He leaned up as he kissed your ankle, pumping slowly, your walls tightening heavily around his knuckle.

Your mouth dropped open the moment he came back down to kiss you. You lightly cried along his lips, broken and whiny as you warned, “T—Toji…”

He chuckled lowly at your whimpering protest, “Relax. Imma’ add another finger.” 

You feel a stretch, aching with a burn that feels a little too good, it makes your knees weak.

“Ooh, fuck,” he grunts, your face turning away from his again as you pull his head down with another gasp, wanting to hide your face next to his ear. He talks to you, “You’re so fuckin' tight…”

He punctuated his words with a thrust of his finger, your juices dripping down his wrist as he fucked you gently with it, thumb circling your clit. 

Your head fell back, making him kiss into your neck more—which made your mouth part— trembling as you tried to grip at the back of his hair. You were always trying to keep yourself together in moments like this, not wanting to be embarrassing. You finally get a clutch at the back of his hair as you whine softly, “Don’t talk like that…”

"You're so fuckin' perfect," he ignored your plea , nipping at your pulse point, "I could play with this pretty ass pussy all night...You hear her? She keep suckin’ my fuckin’ fingers in.” 

And your pussy was. His fingers were too familiar, dragging in, coming out more soaked than before. You were practically gushing on them, your abdomen tightening each time his palm grazed your clit from how deep his knuckles went in.

A messy moan parts from your mouth, broken and struggling, quickly hushing itself as you suck in an inhale to quiet yourself. Your face is hot as you raise the back of your hand to your mouth, covering the sound you made.

"Fuck all that holding back. Imma’ make you cum on my fingers.” 

He slowly withdraws his fingers from your heat, bringing them up to your lips, smearing your arousal across them. 

"Open up," he instructs, holding his coated fingers near your mouth, "Clean them off. Taste your pussy."

His mouth is volatile, you’re never sure if you can handle it. You part your lips, feeling him slide his fingers to the back of your throat, choking lightly on them as you taste your arousal. It was sweet, tangy almost. 

When he pulls them out, he grunts, “Good fuckin’ girl,” roughly pulling you into a kiss, spreading your legs wider as he fucks his fingers back inside of you. His arm traps the back of your knees, keeping your thighs spread completely open, allowing you to feel everything. Your lids blink rapidly, clawing at the skin of his arms as you nearly fight with him, gasping out, “O—oh my god. Toji.” 

“You’ sound cute as fuck. Haven’t heard you like this in a minute,” he brings his ear closer to your lips, “Keep talking to me, pretty. Tell me how you feel.”

You can’t exactly see his face, which makes you more comfortable as you express in urgency, “Fingers feel too big…” you whimper, “…but it feels good…”

"My dick is bigger. Imma’ keep my fingers deep where you need them most," he growls lowly in your ear, twisting his hand to push deeper inside, "I’m not gonna pull them out until you cum. So take my shit like a big girl, I know you can.”

You close your eyes to shield your red face, his finger hitting a particularly good spot, which makes you nearly jump out of your skin, thighs wanting to slam shut, jolting upwards, whimpering as he tugs you back.

"Nuh uh, keep 'em wide," he demands firmly, thrusting his fingers harder against that sensitive spot, curling them to hit your g-spot directly which makes you moan out, quickly pressing your hand to your mouth again, “You’re clenching around my fingers hard as fuck. You’re about to cum.”

“Toji,” you can’t stop that pleading whimper, wishing he’d stop talking. It makes you gush even more on his fingers, tightening your hold on his arms, “Your mouth is bad…”

“You love how I’m talking to you, nasty ass.” 

He starts pumping his fingers faster, twisting and curling them to stimulate your inner walls, "Stop makin' those fuckin’ noises and cum already. Them’ little cute ass whimpers making me wanna put my mouth on you, let you gush all on my face. Don’t piss me off.”

You gasp out, “I…think I’m cumming…” you feel numb, your walls kidnapping his fingers, so much that he couldn’t move them anymore. Your hips tremble as your thighs shudder chaotically, holding onto him as you groan out a deep moan, sticking your own fingers into your mouth to hush your sounds. 

Too blinded by your own pleasure, your brain is fuzzy as Toji unbuckles the belt of his pants, pulling out the heavy weight of his dick that slaps along his abdomen, fingers cuffing his fat tip that smushes along the sensitive gush of your folds. 

The pressure in between your legs is at its peak, seeing as Toji hovers atop of you, pressing his forehead against yours as he begins nudging himself inside. You’re chest to chest. You feel like you’re being torn, an aching pleasure that always makes your eyes roll back. Your legs shudder ridiculously as you gasp, pressing your hand along his abdomen, that inexplicable pinch all the way to your chest. It’s like the deepest cramp you’ve ever experienced, if that cramp was twisted with an intense amount of pleasure. 

You whimper as you feel his arm reach down, taking your hand within his palm as he grunts, “Hold it,” listening with a pout as you intertwine your fingers together.

He slowly sinks deeper into you. His muscles flex beneath your touch, the ridges of his abdomen pressed firmly against your palm. 

With each inch he buries inside, your body clenches around him, the sensation bordering on pain yet feeling so good as your back arches beneath him. You can see the effort it takes for him to hold still, his control evident in the tautness of his jaw. 

“I'm tryna to go slow, baby. I know,” he coos to you, bottoming out, filling you completely.

Your eyes are fluttering shut at the fullness, pulling your face up to drag your mouth along his, digging your fingers into the palm of his hand as let out a long, desperate moan. You feel yourself gush in between his balls pressed along the back of your thighs, gasping deeply as the pressure builds up before finally releasing.

He groans lowly, a rumble vibrating through his chest as he feels your walls spasm around him. "Ooh, shit, baby. Cumming all on this dick. Goood fuckin’ girl,” he praises, his voice husky with desire.

Keeping your hand captive in his, he lifts it to his lips, planting a gentle kiss on your knuckles before bringing it back down to rest on his side once more. Withdrawing almost all the way, he lets you adjust to the emptiness before pushing back in, setting a steady, deep rhythm. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the car, mingling with your ragged breathing and muffled cries.

You finally find words to say, but they come out in pathetic whimpers, chest heaving up and down as you pant, “Feel so full, baby. Just n—needed you…” your eyes begin to glisten with pleasured tears, your other hand reaching around to claw at his back, “Harder. H—harder, please.*”

“Harder, baby?” He mocks your words in your tone, arrogantly chuckling as you sniffle in response, whiny, “Yeah…”

A smirk plays on his lips at your desperate pleas, his movements becoming more forceful as he pounds into you. A serenade of skin ricocheting, his dick dropping in and out, bruising your outer walls. 

One of his hands slides down to grip your hip, using it to pull you onto him harder while the other continues to hold your interlaced fingers.

You take your free hand, using it to spread yourself as you whimper pathetically, “Yeah, Daddy. Ughn, right there,” blabbering nonsense, only focusing on the way his dick sinks deeper and deeper each time.

“This how you wanna be fucked?”

He then raises arm, muscles flexing within the veins as he clutches the door handle above your head, shoving his hips down, watching as you frown, you’re being fucked too good. 

You brokenly gasp, blinking your tears away as you drag out, “Ba-by, I…” you can’t stop gasping, “Love the way you handle my pussy, baby…”

He leans closer, arm still flexing above your head as he deeply grunts, “Keep talking.” 

Your face is warm at that, and you nod, trying to make your words sensible as you say, “Been wanting you to fuck me like this all night…”

“Just like this, huh?” He gives a hard thrust, a whine coming from you as you kneel your head back, groaning as you yank his face closer to yours, spreading your legs wider, letting him go even deeper. 

“Augh—oh my fuckin’ god, baby.” 

You’re spent, crazy even, taking your free hand as you go in between your hips, grabbing for his dick that drops in and out, wrapping your fingers around the base as you help him fuck you. The wrist of your palm bounces and rubs along your clit, and you softly cry, “Justttt like that.”

He starts moving faster, the car rocking from the force of his thrusts, your moans echoing off the metal. His grey eyes narrow, fixated on your face as he watches you fall apart under him. 

With each snap of his hips, his tip hits that sweet spot inside you, making you writhe and beg for more. The wet sounds of sex fill the air, mixing with your needy whines until you're a mess of pleasure and desperation. 

"You never took dick like this. Always running from me,” he pulls his hand out of yours, raising your legs directly next to his face on each side of his head—you hated this position. You were trapped. 

“‘Can feel you milking my shit, sucking me in deeper,” he’s circling his hips, impaling himself inside, watching as your pussy becomes creamier each time he pulls out.

You’re silent at this point, unable to talk, move, anything. You try to place your hand over your mouth, or even pull him closer to scream, but he’s there, snatching your hand away, and you can’t hold yourself back anymore.

As you lose control, he wraps an arm around your waist, gripping your hip tightly as he continues to pound into you mercilessly. His other hand reaches up to cover your mouth, muffling your screams as he fucks you senseless. 

“Should let you be loud as fuck. Put the fuckin’ windows down,” he grunts, “Cum on Daddy’s dick, baby. This what you’ been crying for all night. I need it. Imma’ drink it all up.” 

Your body shakes violently, overwhelmed by the intensity of his thrusts and the stifling of your sobs. He doesn't relent, driving into you with unbridled passion, determined to claim every ounce of pleasure from your quivering form.

“Toji—” you’re clawing him at this point, another orgasm hitting you, your abdomen trembling as his tip coats white, and you’re crying like a baby.

“‘Fuck are you crying for? This is what you wanted. Spread your pussy. Open that shit up, I’m not done with you.”

You’re a sobbing mess, listening to him nonetheless, taking your shaking hands down as you spread yourself more, watching him go in and out, in and out. You’re unable to do anything else, bringing your face up to meet him as your eyes roll back, “Fuuuck.”

He smirks, pleased with your submission as he claims your lips in a dominating kiss, swallowing your cries of ecstasy. His tongue invades your mouth, mimicking the deep, hard thrusts of his dick.

“You’ cumming again?” He questions, only messing with you, knowing you were.

His face is shoved into your cheek as he cockily laughs, your teary eyes rolling back as you grunt out, “I’m cumming again.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeahhh.”

“Who’re you doing all that for?”

“You, baby. Fu-ck,”  your last curse is as if you’re mad at him, your cum dripping onto the seats, spreading all along his abdomen as you spurt out again.

You’re about to black out, your fuzzy state of mind begging him in a whine, “Cum in me. Cum in meee, baby.” 

But he’s already pulling out, leaning down as he shakes his head chaotically, running his heavy and long tongue all around your pussy, cleaning you up as your legs shake as if you’d been tased. He can see you’re finally coming back down, toes curling as you hold your legs, almost covering your face with them as you put your knees to your chest. Now you’re realizing everything you’ve said.

He smacks his lips, “Don’t do that,” pulling your legs open to look at you, “You okay, baby?" His voice is calm, almost tender, a stark contrast to the brutal fucking he just gave you. 

He gently strokes your thigh, waiting for you to come back to yourself. "You’ good now?”

You blink a couple of times, searching his face in almost disbelief. You nod your head, wiping your eyes as you ask, “…Can I have a kiss?”

He smiles, tilting his head to the side, “Cute ass," leaning in, capturing your lips in a soft, gentle kiss. His warmth envelops you, soothing the aftermath of your intense climax. You feel him gently rub his tip in between your folds again, whimpering against his mouth as he chuckles against yours, spanking you harshly as he then says, “We need to head back.”

“You love me? You’re not mad at me?” You ask softly, keeping his face hovered along your mouth.

He pulls back, looking at you seriously, “Never mad at you, baby. Just frustrated when you act up. You’ ready to go?” 

You blink, tilting your head as you then say, “Maybe I wanna act up a little more.” 

“That’s cool. Imma’ fuck you outside this car next.” 

“Fushiguro!” 

“Fushiguro!” he mocks back in a girly squeal, ignoring your groan as he sucks your mouth into a kiss. He was gonna love you in any mood you were in. 

“Yeah, okay. Shut that shit up. Get dressed.”

[nightingale-prompts]

Worship Me- DCxDP prompt

Yes, it's slightly horny. Sue me!

Was there anyone in this family that didn't attract crazy? Tim would like to say that it was some more than others but the track record is horrendous for each of them.

Don't ask him how he got here. It was a blur. Mission. Altar. Cursed Mirror.

But all that doesn't matter anymore because currently in what could only be described as an obsidian palace.

The palace floats in the void like a jagged crown. Its structure defies logic—spires twist and spiral in impossible geometries, as though grown rather than built. Every surface is carved from seamless black obsidian that drinks in the light of distant stars, causing the palace to shimmer with eerie inner reflections, like shadows trapped beneath glass.

The entrance is a colossal gate shaped like an open eye, rimmed with glowing runes that pulse with alien intent. Inside, the vast halls echo with silence too deep to be natural. The floors gleam with a mirror-sheen, reflecting not just one's image, but fragments of memories, glimpses of alternate selves, or ghostly figures passing just out of reach.

Chambers are suspended in open vacuum, tethered by bridges of crystalline light or magnetic arcs. Gravity bends strangely; a single step can carry you across entire rooms or into hidden dimensions nested within the architecture.

Tim had memorized every detail of this place in the days since he arrived. Most of the time he was allowed to go about his day staying and learning about this place. He wasn't imprisoned, he had to wait for the portal to open again in a few weeks. But Tim had caught the interest of the ruler of the palace.

Now Tim sat on the edge of the floating bed. It's heaped with a sea of plush pillows in shades of midnight blue, silver, and deep violet, each embroidered with celestial patterns.

How he got to this point—he may have...had a few conversations with who he assumed was the prince. The person who he thought was the king was actually his guardian. Tim just...flirted a little to get a bit of information on this place. Danny—the prince—had been more than receptive.

It might have gone too far but here we are.

Now he was in the bedroom of who he still assumed was the crown prince with said prince currently on his lap with his lips on Tim's neck. Tim is unable to move because he believes that if they get caught Tim might end up beheaded for putting his Richard where it does not belong. Hell, they probably already know with the all-seeing eyes everywhere and the fact that the beings in this dimension phase through walls so using the door was just a polite formality.

"Stop thinking. I can practically hear your thoughts." Danny growled nipping at Tim's neck between kisses.

"Then you can te—ll, haa. Fuck! Your hand. Too fast." Tim gasped.

Danny pulled away as he grabbed Tim by the chin and made him look into his eyes. Those hypnotizing green eyes.

"Do you want this?" Danny asked his eyes narrowed.

"...Yes," Tim couldn't lie.

"What do you want?" Danny smiled his sharp elongated incisors showing.

Tim remained silent his hand pressed against the small of the princes back.

"Good, you don't have to say a word. Focus on me. Think of me. Nothing else." His hand wrapped around Tim's throat. "Worship me as your new god."

Prince—king—these words where actually meaningless titles for Danny. He was not these petty and lowly things. He was a god and he craved worship. Even if it came in the form of a single human devoted to him. How incredibly lucky that a suitable human came here. Clockwork says it was best to let the human go back to his dimension and hopefully share his experience so that others will worship Danny. He had no interest in letting his new priest go so easily, not without a parting gift.

"I wonder how it must feel to bed your new master."

[bmpmp3]

e

[wandasaura]

PRETTY GIRLS

summary — acting like it never happened when the sun comes up is easier than leaving her husband

warning(s) — established relationships, lavender marriage, ongoing affair, milf wanda maximoff, age gap, alcohol consumption, dom!top!wanda maximoff, flirting, russian dialogue, neck kissing, biting, bratty reader, hair pulling, brief humiliation, choking, face grabbing, public shenanigans, probably underlying exhibition kink, hickies/marking, face slapping, begging, light condescension, ass slapping, doggy style, fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving), multiple orgasm, overstimulation, dirty talk, degradation, praise kink, making out, asking to cum, orgasm control, implied multiple rounds, morning after, men/minors dni

authors note — inspired by pretty girls by renee rapp! highly recommend listening!

A hand snakes around your waist without any warning, but it doesn’t take you by surprise as you lean against the bar, waiting for your drink with haphazard disinterest. The tropical landscape around you is breathtaking; the palm trees and pale sand is truly something astonishing to experience personally, but even the twinkle lights strung along the loveshacks awning do little to hold your attention for long.

Your eyes glance down at the hand on your hip. The lilac wristband tells you that it's a coworker who's joined you at the resort's exclusive beach bar, and the dainty gold bracelet twisted around it narrows your options down to only one pretty girl on the trip. The thin chain is accented by three elegant letters — V, B, and T; her husband and her sons. She’s married, with two eleven-year-old boys that think the absolute world of her. They’d be astounded to know this isn’t the first time her arms linked around you like this; like you’re the one she’s married to. You're not. You’ll probably never be.

Wanda’s twelve years older than you. You remember that when she smiles at you, and the lines on her cheeks are deep and sweetly aged. The boys, William and Thomas, are twelve years younger than you. They’re good enough kids from what you’ve overseen and been told, but they assuredly reflect too much of their fathers short fuse to be perfect angels. That doesn’t bother you; not even when they visit the office and one of them routinely dissolves into a fit beyond your thin door.

Her husband, Victor Shade, is another executive beneath your company’s wide branch, but only one of six that are sanctioned within New Jersey, and only one of three who are sanctioned in the same Westview complex. It’s just you, Victor, and Wanda, and a sea of other employees, but none who share the same job description or Monday morning meetings. That’s left you with more than enough time to form a friendship, and disrespect her marriage on more than one occasion.

“Hi, pretty girl.” Wanda’s teeth scrape up the sensitive side of your neck without shame. You’re over three thousand miles away from home right now. None of the other executives had fancied a drink when you’d extended the offer after your scheduled excursion; rightfully so, the unrelenting sun had scorned your cheeks raw in the few hours you’d been out on the water, and the repercussions of the burn were catching up to you as your face felt scorching. “I’m officially yours until tomorrow.” She breathes the scent of you in, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t replace all of your resentment and sadness with burning desire.

This is how it went. This would always be how it went. The first time she’d told you that Victor wouldn’t mind her slipping away to be with you — though she’d called him that stupid nickname you despise hearing — she’d thought it would flatter you to know you weren’t going to be a secret kept fully in the dark, just beneath flickering candlelight. What’s pathetic is that it did at the time, and it still does now as your lips curve into a grin as you twist in her arms.

“Mmm, I like the way that sounds.” You hum, craning your head to sink your teeth into her neck. A satisfied hum tickles her soft skin when your tongue juts out to lick a sweet stripe along her collarbone, testing the faint remains of salt and tequila that had splashed out of her glass when you hit a rogue wave on the Caribbean. “I never got to tell you how hot you looked in that bikini.”

Wanda hums, she’s putty beneath your hands. She’s been wanting this all day. Her longing stares across the yacht weren’t discreet, nor were they ever. It’s a mystery how you haven’t been found out, but you thank every star that aligns when her desire is somehow concealed beneath the natural happenings of the world. It’s a treasure to have it all to yourself; to have her all to yourself.

She cranes her neck, pulling back to watch your face. ”Good thing I haven’t changed yet.”

You take the invitation to trail you gaze across her body. The bright orange straps of her bikini poke out from beneath a knit coverup. Your instinctive hum of appreciation warms Wanda’s chest, the taut apples of her cheeks flaming with lust. She leans in close, one single step all it takes for your chests to brush, pert nipples crashing together in the center of a Cancun bar. Wanda’s emerald gaze flickers to your lips, more specifically your cupid's bow, and her pupils blow with tantalizing want. Every stroke of her gaze over you is a test to your patience.

“Yeah. Good thing indeed.” Your drone, and if somebody tapped your shoulder and told you there were hypo-disks on Wanda’s exposed, freckled, sun kissed shoulders, you would’ve believed them. The ambient glow of flickering string lights washes across her sunburn like a shower of light, bringing attention to the darker patches and abstract spots around and beneath delicately thin straps.

Her waist is a silhouette beneath the coverup. The slender hourglass figure is hidden enough to evade stares, but not enough to be insignificant to your watchful eyes. Your own pupils are blown with arousal, lust wrapped around your spinal cord controlling your every movement at will. Her navel gleams at you, taunting you. A particularly wide hole has just enough of a shadow cast around it that your eyes can’t help but trace the dip in her skin, where your tongue has dragged a plethora of times.

“Your daiquiri.” A sultry voice cuts through the tension being established between you and Wanda, your stares charged and equally electrice as you evade the others eye in a game of cat and mouse, willing yourselves to see who’ll last longer before somebody pounces. You haven’t fed Wanda an ounce of alcohol yet; that’s what gives her the courage to kiss you at all.

You spin around, letting Wanda’s arms hold onto your hips. The bartender, the same one who’d asked your order initially, wore a charming smile on her lips and bright blue eyes. They didn’t shine as bright as Wanda’s. They weren’t as magically light and incandescent either. “Thank you, Kantyi.” Your eyes flickered to his nametag, a charming aura of suggestion wafting off of your buzzing frame. Not even Wanda’s possible grip, the pressure of her nails digging into her hips, the irritation rolling off of you could dissuade your show. Kantyi, who had definitely taken the hint that you were not open to his company, was thoroughly enjoying whatever was happening though. “Can I do a Cancun Blue for the pretty girl, too?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Kantyi dipped his head, perfectly in time with your pillowy lips wrapping around the clear straw, and Wanda’s nostrils flared beneath his oblivion.

Thankfully, he didn’t bother glancing back at you; slipping away to fulfill your order with a laugh jostling his shoulders. “Vestí sebya. (Behave)” Wanda hadn’t taught you many Russian phrases, but she’d taught you a few, and you’d gathered even more just from hearing the daily conversations that happen between her and Victor and the boys. This is one that she’s taught you specifically though, and it churns your belly with something electric until you’re squirming beneath it, thighs pinching together when a sensation of warmth spreads across your core beneath your bikini bottoms.

Your head lulls back, your hair sprawling across her shoulder. Wanda can’t decipher if you're flush from her touch, or simply that bad at applying sunscreen regularly. Her lips pull upwards regardless, and she smirks at you. Desire is bottled beneath your glare, sparkling impatience at the surface too. “What if I don’t want to?” You reply, your hips pushing back into hers to emphasize that point.

“Dostatochno pary chasov bez moikh prikosnoveniy, i ty ne smozhesh' nichego podelat', krome kak vesti sebya kak shlyukha. (All it takes is a couple hours without my touch and you can’t help but act like a slut)” Wanda marvels at your evident desperation, and it annoys you how easily she can read through your misbehavior. You don’t know what all she said. The music is loud, the waves are crashing just out of reach, and your Russian is choppy enough when she’s speaking it slowly to you. The last word hangs around you though. It’s one you’ve learned, never been taught, just slowly began to recognize when she used it interchangeably with English. Slut. You’re in the middle of an exclusive bar, on an all inclusive retreat with your company, and she’s brazenly calling you a slut with her fingertips creating half moon bruises on your hips.

“No.” You have a mind to reply, even when the majority of her muttering was gibberish to you. Wanda huffs in amusement. You’re cute, even when you’re attempting to provoke her. She’s falling for it too. How can she not when you bat your eyelashes at her, lips wrapped around a straw that sucks up a frozen beverage just a few shades too cartoony to match your core, but the sentiment is the same as Wanda imagines utilizing your tongue for other things.

“Don’t test me, detka. We’ve got an entire villa to ourselves, or have you forgotten? I can make you scream, as loud as I want, for as long as I want.” Wanda’s breath fans across the shell of her ear, but even without the heat and vibrato of her insinuations against your skin, you would’ve shivered anyways. A weight drops in your belly, turning into sparks of live energy and butterflies. Your clit throbs, the muscles in your thighs tense. ”I would rethink being a brat now.” Her eyes lock with Kantyi’s over the bar as she says it, and humiliation flames across your cheeks as your pliant eyes take in his bold amusement.

“Your drink.” His accent is heavy, it takes no genius to consider that English is his second language. It seems to dawn on Wanda, and her lips curve into a sickening smile that doesn’t convey an ounce of sincerity. It takes all of your might to conceal the whimper of defeat clawing up your throat, her reserve cracking as she bestows her best glance of indifference at the friendly bartender, pretending like she didn’t care that he’d just overheard a private conversation, one that makes her belly churn without the liquid confidence he’s still patiently extending.

“Gracias, Kantyi.” The way the words roll off of her tongue does you in completely. Her own Sokovian accent is muted, forgotten over time, only revisited when you wind her up with enough pleasure or a topic from her past comes to light; namely her mother or her other. But, the way she can encapsulate a Spanish accent without trying is maddening. She’s been pulling it out all week. Tripping you up when she sneaks up behind you and orders something strong and sweet in a dialect you haven’t stopped trying to learn since you were five.

The only thing that reminds you that this level of boldness is abnormal for her are the large gulps she takes of her margarita, not even letting her tongue taste the salt rim or savor the burn that splashes across the back of her throat and taste buds. She's fervent as she takes half the margarita down before she comes up for air, and by the time she’s glancing at you again, you’ve regained your flame of passion that she’d previously quenched.

”Do I make you nervous, pretty girl?” You bat your eyelashes up at her, choosing to simply feel the ripples of arousal in your belly rather than be controlled by them entirely.

In a single moment, Wanda’s fingers twist into the hair that’s still sprawled across her shoulder in tangled waves crisp from salt residue. There’s no way to replicate the waves that form when you get back to Westview, so you take full advantage of the humidity and beachy aroma. A gasp falls off of your lips at the dull sensation. She hadn’t been able to grab enough for it to hurt, or truly even phase your oversensitive nerves, but the undertones of the simple action spoke for what she would never dare to say. Not here, around all these ears and watchful eyes. She’d never say it, but the expectation remains — you’re hers, and she’s in charge.

“Pretty girl,” She turns the tables on you, and your mouth goes dry. Her emerald stare is intoxicating, warm with heat and explicit excitement. Her arm twists around your waist tighter now. You’re not wearing a cover up like she is. Your bathing suit top had been enough coverage in your opinion, but you’d paired the tankini with olive linen shorts. The very ones that make Wanda’s eyes gleam like shimmering jewels when she sinks to her knees in front of them. “Let’s not forget that I’m the one who makes you nervous.”

Wanda’s fingers ghost across your neck, like she’s fixing the clasp of your necklace. She’s not. Her fingertips feel heavy as they press into the side of your neck for a moment and then two. “I can feel your pulse, honey. Are you nervous right now?” She taunts you, and your throat bobs with a dry swallow. Your lips find your straw again, sucking down another quarter of your drink that’s beginning to melt beneath the heat of your palm and the humidity of Cancun. You’d even say that it was melting beneath the heat of sexual tension budding between you and Wanda, but that would be insane.

“I’m going to kill you.” Your eyes narrow into daggers, but you’re sure there's not even an ounce of venom conveyed in your expression right now. Your every sense is clouded with lust, pupils blown as evidence.

Wanda’s jaw hardens, and in a moment of confidence you hadn’t known she possessed, her fingers curled around your jaw, holding you firm. Her thumb presses into your cheek, but her ring finger and pinky hold the base of your neck, feeling the pulse in your jugular. It’s quick, unsteady. It only quickens even more when she squeezes just once, as if she’s not already holding you in a near death grip.

Your eyes become disks, an abyss of black that conveys what words can’t. You can’t even try. The confidence you’d held dissipated beneath her touch. It stood no chance of returning anytime soon when her hand slid lower, her fingers wrapping around your throat. She squeezed tight, holding the pressure there for a moment. She wasn’t restricting airflow, but that didn’t negate the total control she had right now in any way. She can feel your throat bob beneath her palm, and she hums in satisfaction.

Your body is aching for her. You’re desperate at this point. All day she’d been touching on Victor. All day you’d watched her flaunt around a yacht in that bright orange bikini and you couldn't even take a taste. Your nipples are sensitive beneath the triangle cutouts. Your core pulses with need. If your bathing suit bottoms were dry before, they’re not anymore.

“Finish your drink. It’s time to go.” Wanda’s eyes are darker than the sky beyond the loveshack. You think it’s a fitting name, considering your eyes flicker across the little bar for only a moment and you’re certain you witnessed three identical sights of people luring others back to private rooms. It eases the flush on your cheeks just the slightest bit, enough to encourage you to finish the rest of your drink in one breath.

Your head pulsed with a sudden cold rush, and for a single moment, Wanda laughed at your squinted eyes and scrunched nose. In the summertime, freckles brush her cheeks in bold clumps. They’re on display now, some scrunched up and half moon shaped as she mimics your expression. It’s a single moment of wholesomeness. A single moment that forces you into the ever typical spiral of what could be if you just tried. You knew that conversation well if you brought it up, so instead you settled for being okay with this arrangement — with getting her when the world can’t see her for who she really is.

Everyone was placed in the same private section of the resort, with a pebble path that led directly to the Loveshack. You’d walked the pebbled path for the last five days, sometimes barefoot, sometimes racing to catch up with Maria, already past drunk. Regardless of your familiarity, Wanda guided you the whole way back to the room with a hand on the small of your back.

You turn the corner toward her villa. It’s directly across the path from yours, but Natasha’s sits in the middle. The shape reminds you of a kuldesac. Wanda’s hand is around your waist now, she pulled you into her side affectionately. Your breath catches when her fingers slip beneath the waistband of your shorts. It’s not innocent to start, but it’s beyond what you could’ve expected when she pulls at the string holding your bottoms up. It unties with ease, and you hate that Wanda knows you don’t double knot anything.

“Wanda.” You seeth, your hips swaying awkwardly as you try not to think about the string beginning to slip down your leg. Every step shifts the loose linen, and with every shift the string loses its structure. If one side falls, it won’t take long for the other to as well, but now isn’t the time to stop and adjust your bathing suit. Somehow, the path is clear. None of your fellow executives are currently leaving or going, which is some kind of miracle because it means Wanda hasn’t pulled away from your embrace at all, but the idea of being so exposed in public is still unnerving no matter if an audience is present.

Wanda only laughs, her head tipped backwards as she lets her eyes close. Her jaw clicks when she opens her mouth to let the sound fall out, and you admire how the muscles in her chin strain and flex with the synchronized movements. You huff, digging your fingers into her side.

Wanda’s elation sobers instantaneously, and that lulled submission you’d felt in the bar overcomes you again in a rogue wave. “I’m getting really sick of your attitude, moya lyubov.” She seethes, and your mind goes fuzzy around the edges with muted electricity as it sparkles something innate deep in your core. Something about her aggregation when it’s channeled so intentionally into sexual release is encouraging to say the least.

”So do something about it.” Your repose is breathy, a desperate pant that holds no candle to the suppressing heat of Cancun’s humidity. It doesn’t affect Wanda in the slightest, but you don’t notice that.

She rolls her eyes at you, because quite frankly, it’s all that she can stomach doing when anyone’s around to see her engage in something so… not wrong, but… not who she claims to be. Her threats aren’t entirely empty. She’s not above prolonged punishment if it means settling a score in private, but something tells you there isn’t going to be much patience involved once you get into that hotel room.

“Where is Victor exactly?” You ask when she opens the door, the keycard between her nimble fingers like the string of your bathing suit had been. You don’t want to think about him, not when you’re minutes away from having her body beneath your wanting fingertips that twitch with the need to have her completely, but you can’t help but dwell when he’s scattered around the villa so easily. His suitcase by the closet, his cologne by the television, his trunks that don’t match Wanda’s bikini, but are also orange thrown over the back of the chair as the small table in the corner to dry. He could come back at any time. He knows. This has all been approved and discussed, but you can’t face him walking in on you while his wife takes you apart.

Wanda closes the door with her hip, and you make note of how hers seems to be lighter than yours as it swings shut with a heavy thud. It’s a satisfying sound. One that you’ll hear far too soon against tomorrow morning.

She pushes you up against the wall. Her hands are on your hips, holding them down against the cream walls that support you fully. The sudden collision of your body with the hard surface stole the breath from your lungs, wide eyes searching for answers in Wanda’s for a million questions and none at all. She laughed at the state of you, leaning in until her lips found that soft spot behind your ear.

“With Tony.” She sighed, marking kisses on your burning skin. The heat of her kiss is like a branding, but when she pulls away, there’s no mark left behind to prove she’d even been there at all. “He won’t be back until tomorrow.”

You’d never explicitly known that Tony Stark from one of the New York districts swung for the same team, but it didn’t fully surprise you as you nodded along to Wanda’s words blindly. Your hands clawed at her coverup, annoyed with the layers keeping you from her slowly bronzing skin. The Mexican sunlight was truly doing her well. As was the silence of a kid-free week outside of scheduled phone calls she was more than mentally prepared for.

“Great. Take me to bed now.” You demand, attempting to pry the cover up off of her shoulders. Your fingers force one sleeve down her shoulder, so close to seeing only orange straps, but you don’t get much farther than that.

You should’ve known it was coming. The slap that landed against your cheek with a force that burned between insignificant and uncomfortable. Wanda had practiced control over her blows, and that always startled you. Your eyes, practically permanently blown and wide beneath her gaze at this point, snap up to her with the same dumbfounded expression you’d worn countless times already tonight.

“I know you’re a desperate slut, but I thought you were at least capable of remembering how to ask for things correctly.” She snapped, finally at her limit with your continued disobedience. It was hot. The way her eyes darkened, became grey. She was an entirely different woman now. One you’re certain Victor has never met. “The next thing out of your mouth better be something sweet or I‘ll leave you like this until tomorrow. And we’ve got a long day tomorrow, baby. I can make your life a living hell until then.”

You know she can. She’d made every day this trip absolutely miserable even when she hadn’t meant to. It wasn’t because you wanted to be the one she held onto when you hit rocky waters on the yacht or she felt uneasy walking around the outskirts of the resort, but because you

d wanted to rip every piece of clothing off of her body like you had no sense of the law. Relationships be damned. You’re just glad you get to have her body when everything is all said and done with.

“Please.” It falls off of your lips like low hanging fruit that’s perfectly ripe. Wanda beams an sadistic grin, canine teeth digging into her plush bottom lip that curves upwards.

“What was that, pretty girl?” Wanda frowned, pretending as if she hadn’t heard you, as if she didn’t know what it was that you were begging for. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Please Wanda.” Your hips attempt to raise off the wall, press into hers. She doesn’t allow it. She slams them back down hard, her eyes slotted into unimpressed daggers. “Please touch me. Please. I’ve wanted you all day. You don’t know how hard it was to keep my hands to myself when you looked that damn good. Please, I… I need you.” There’s a wanting edge to your pleas, your mindless babbles, that finally breaks her reserve though not her harshness.

She’s still sinister beneath the dark lighting. She hadn’t reached for the lights when she’d guided you inside, and moonlight falls around the palm trees and white sand outside. The only shadow in the room comes from the bathroom light, and even then it's dimmed to the lowest possible brightness. You don’t need to see anything right now, and the things that you do need to see will assuredly be close enough to make out every intricate detail and fold with what you have to work with.

“You looked so pretty today.” Wanda hums as she unties the single knot keeping your tankini upright. It stays up for the most part on its own, but she doesn’t test its strength. Her hands are greedy as they force your arms above your head and pull it off. Your hair sweeps across your back when it falls,and you shudder at the soft sensations. “I could’ve kissed you right then and there.” Your belly warms, and your lips chase hers.

Wanda lets you kiss her. She lets your tongue explore her lips and her tongue, she doesn’t even pull away to chastise you when your teeth stake their claim on her lip. Her fingers are busy, working secretly beneath your distraction. The small act of pacifying you with a make out session pinned against the wall while she works your shorts and bottoms off is worth it. Even if it's bound to go to your head.

You whine when your core is exposed to the air conditioned villa in one abrupt motion. The linen shorts are eased down your thighs easily, and follows are you bathing suit bottoms that have been entirely untied by her skillful fingers. You think it’s a waste that she exerts her potential on frantically typing and responding to emails at the office. The slender digits with pronounced knuckles bearing deep ridges move fast and quick. You hadn’t even noticed she was working at your bottom half until suddenly nothing kept you concealed from her eye.

“Get on the bed.” Wanda demands, and there’s a hint of impatience in her tone that you’re finally getting somewhere. One that wall breaks completely, there will be only the frailest line between you, her, and anything even remotely holy. “On all fours.” She adds as an afterthought, stepping away from your body and letting you pass.

Her hand claps against the globe of your ass in a blow that's less controlled than the one to your face had been. A delicious sting spreads through the neglected flesh, and you’re certain a handprint resides on your skin that isn’t as tan as the rest of your body anymore. Wanda makes a soft noise, something between a chuckle and a hum as she watches you stalk toward the bed. Housekeeping came this morning. After you’d already left on your excursion and cracked over High Noons on the boat. Victor's body hadn’t touched these sheets yet, but something twists her belly with arousal when she considers him falling into sheets tainted with her love with you tomorrow night. That thought doesn’t make her as sick as picturing you in a bed that she’s taken him out of commitment to their marriage.

You’re vaguely aware of how she strips out of her coverup and bikini before you even have a chance to properly worship her in it like you’d anticipated doing, but you can’t bring yourself to care about the little things when the bed dips beneath her weight. She presses her knees on the edge of the bed. She’s not quite on it, but her weigh is hardly pressed into the floor anymore.

The orange bikini is discarded on the floor beside yours. You peek over your shoulder to steal a glance. Wanda doesn’t appreciate that. Her fingers tangle into your hair again, pushing you face first into the bed. Your head cranes to the side only so that you can breathe, and only because it's to avoid suffocation does Wanda allow you to have any kind of control.

Her fingers prob your entrance with no warning. You’ve gone from feeling like you were moving in slow motion to everything happening at once, but you don’t mind. There’s no capacity in your head to mind that she hasn’t even eased you into taking two of her fingers up to her second knuckle when she’s filling you so good, so deep, so unrestrained. You know this dance just as well as you know the conversation about becoming more than friends that hookup with her husband's permission. It starts slow. Stealing looks, stolen laughter. It builds from there. It becomes longing touches, whispers of innuendos. Somehow there’s more steps after that. There’s the whole eight counts you have to make it through before she’s willing to climb into bed at all, but once you get there, midway through, the melody changes. The beat that’s been building from the very first chord drops, and then when you think it softens, it blows even more, and everything that had felt muted comes screaming to life at you until it all goes quiet in one silent moment of settling aftermath.

“Fuck, you’re so warm. pretty girl.” The unnecessary use of that term drives you crazy. Your hands fist the sheets beneath your body, fight fistfuls painting your knuckles stark white. “You’re squeezing me so tight. Those pretty walls are just fluttering around my fingers, moya malen’kaya babochka. (my little butterfly)”

A guttural moan claws up your throat, and it's embarrassing how close you are already, but she’s been toying with you all day, she’s had you in the palm of her hand since she wrapped her fingers around your neck so brazenly in the crowded bar without a considerable amount of alcohol to guide her. All odds have been against you since this morning, but that had only sealed your fate. Anything she wanted out of your body, she was going to get.

Wanda seems to know that, because she didn’t shy away from the pressure she was applying to your g-spot or your clit when it became evident that you were on the verge of falling over the edge into pleasure. Her thumb, slick with residual arousal that had either damped your thighs or dripped onto the digit straight from the source, rubbed figure eights around your throbbing button. Exposed to her assault, your hips stuttered and rocked in time with Wanda’s ministrations, and before long, you were writhing uncontrollably.

“Please!” You beg, the familiarity of it washing over you. It came easier than it did when she had you pinned against the wall in the hallway. You sound so soft, so breathy and beside yourself with fireworks of red-hot pleasure that heel a lot like her hair looks in the summertime beneath burning heat. “Wanda, please, please, please. I’m sorry for being a brat! Please, just let me cum! Please, let me cum on your fingers?! Fuck, p-please. I can’t hold it, I-I can’t hold it. Please, may I cum!” You're desperate and it’s pathetic. So much about this is pathetic, but you can’t care about anything outside of her fingers jackhammering into your cunt now, the tempo suddenly different.

“Apologizing on your own? My my, maybe you are my smart girl.” Wanda crones and you whine high pitched, your back arching as you stick your ass out toward her fingers. Her hand slaps against your ass, once, twice, and then three times. It’s not an even succession, but it events out the total amount she’s distributed all evening. Something about that warms your heart. You cry out, and the way you clench around her fingers is entirely unholy. She considers your pleas for a moment, but with the consistent flutter, she can't deny you or herself the feeling of an orgasm. “Go ahead. Cum for me, pretty girl. Konchi dlya menya, krasotka. God, you’re my favorite. Good girl. Fuck, that’s it.”

Lust has become authenticity. This is who Wanda Maximoff is. Wanda Maximoff loves women. Wanda Maximoff has on inhibitions about living freely and genuinely. Her accent, the one that comes from her childhood, from Sokovia, coats her words, and it drives you over the edge like a single blade to the gut. Wild moans and curses fall off of your lips, and before you have a moment to recover, or even fully ride out the remaining flickers of the high that's still coursing through your melted veins, she’s on her knees on the mattress.

Her tongue laps at all of the juices you’ve spilled. The ones that have splashed your thighs, her fingers, the bedsheets below. The essence of you is everywhere now, and it's only traveling farther as she rubs her face into you. Her nose probes your entrance, her tongue jutting out to kitten lick your clit until she grows impatient and uncaring of your sensitivity and licks broader strikes from your core to your weeping, pulsing, ever so slightly gaping hole.

“Fuck, fuck!” You gasp, grinding your hips back into her face. Wanda groans, grabbing a handful of your ass. She squeezes, pulling it away from the other cheek. It’s humiliating, even without words partnered with it. You know she’s grinning coyly. It spins that coil right back up in your core. You gasp when she spanks you, pairing the sting with a harsh suckle on your clit. That’s all it takes. It’s embarrassing how quickly you’ve come undone twice now, but Wanda doesn’t register how much time has passed as she continued to lick you clean until you’re writhing, pushing her away and wrestling her onto the mattress until you can straddle her naked hims

She’s not usually clean shaven. Most of the time she supports a nicely trimmed bush, always mindful of her bikini lines, but never entirely hairless. She shaved this week specifically for Cancun, but she’s keeping up with it — for now at least. The smooth feel beneath your fingertips never gets old, but you wouldn’t want it every time.

You hover your lips over hers, your forehead flush against her own. Your breath fans across her lips. You still smell like strawberries. “Let me take care of you.” You trail your fingers along her thighs. She’s dripping. Stringy evidence of her arousal coats your fingertips before you even reach her labia. When you do, you can’t help but groan aloud, your eyes pinching shut as you sink into wet warmth. “Let me take care of you.” You pleaded softly, evening the playing field for a moment, though not entirely.

Wanda had no qualms, relaxing into the pillows beneath her head. “Be my guest.” She groaned, dropping her head slack when you wasted not a second before getting to work between her thighs like your life depended on it. Quite frankly at this moment — it does.

The next morning, after you’d gone back to your own villa across the path to shower and select an outfit for your hike, you’d run into Wanda and Victor at the coffee shop. You’d been with Maria. Victor caught your eye first, and he nudged Wanda at his side. She smiled, waving at you brightly. Nobody would know that four hours ago you had her coming apart beneath your fingertips.

[ilium-ilia]

kiss the skin that crawls

john price x fem!reader | the surrogate au | masterlist

Part Three: signatory response required

tw: none

Good morning, love. I’ll be over in an hour. 

You’re bent over your clawfooted bathtub when John’s text vibrates on the countertop, sending a shockwave through your morning like the way the earth ripples beneath tremors. The palm of your foot is pressed into the ledge, desperately clinging for support as you grip your razor with frustrated, twitching fingers, but you don’t have to wander far to read his message. Sighing, you set the razor down and swap it out for your phone, bottom lip caught between your teeth. 

The better half of your morning has been spent preparing for today—whatever today is supposed to be called. Fresh sheets lay spread across your bed with fluffed pillows and a scented candle burning to fill the room with what you’re hoping is a comforting aroma. Jasmine and vanilla—nature and homebaked goods coalescing into one. Everything is too tight within you to properly experience it. Muscles taut, brain pulsing with racing thoughts. 

Now, here you are, in the bathroom, preparing the most important part—you. Shaved legs, exfoliated skin, moisturizer glistening in the dim lighting; now, you’ve turned your attention to the mess between your legs. Wild and untamed hair. Coarse curls. You’ve spent so much time and energy fixing your home these last few months that you’ve rarely turned the same care and attention to yourself, and you’re not sure how a man like John Price would react to a full bush. 

Better to trim and whack it back. 

Morning! Drive safe!

Though you aren’t wholly satisfied with your appearance, you slap a band-aid over it in the form of a matching set of bra and panties and a creamy yellow sundress. Cotton, yet silky to the touch as it hugs your breasts and thighs. A cool breeze drifts through the kitchen windows, drifting up beneath your skirt as you slice up an array of finger foods—tomatoes, salami, cheese, and more. You’ve invited John to your house under the guise of having a simple lunch together, but you know very well where this rendezvous will end up. 

Sweat melting into your mattress, body heat drifting into the warm June air, womb stuffed full until you give the Laswells what they’re paying you for. 

Gravel crunches beneath fat tires just as you’ve finished preparing lunch. Rinsing your hands off in the sink, you quickly approach the door and peek through the window just in time to see him duck out of his car, shoulders rolling as he straightens himself out. You can’t help but think he looks perfectly in place here. Broad biceps flexing in the midst of the woods, coarse hair along his forearms blending in with the shade of the trees—all he’s missing is an axe. 

John greets you with a smile and saccharine words, leaving you no choice but to wipe the sweat on your palms off on the skirt of your dress. He smells nice—earthy. Something that blends in well with the foliage of the aspens and pines that line your property, like fresh grass between your toes, or algid stream water cupped in your hands. Once he’s crossed through the threshold, he’s rolling his shoulders back and inspecting every inch of your home with keen eyes. 

Suddenly, your spine tingles. It hardens—solidifies until you’re as stiff as a board while you watch his gaze trace the old moulding that connects the wall and ceiling, and the original hardwood floors at his feet. This house is far from perfect—having sat long abandoned and dormant, waiting to be loved again—but it’s yours, and therefore, an extension of you. For it to be found unsightly would shatter you, though you doubt John would ever have the heart to say so out loud. 

“Wow,” he breathes, neck craning back, throat on display, Adam’s apple protruding through the delicate skin. 

“I know,” you say with a giggle. It’s more gauche than you intend for it to be, and you quickly cover it with a cough. “It’s a little dated, but I’m still working on fixing it up.” 

“It’s amazing,” John insists, eyes flickering back to you. “You’ve kept most of the original housework. Don’t see that much in old cottages like these. Most people are much too happy to gut them and fill the damn thing back up with lifeless rubbish.” 

John’s ardor for your home has your stomach twisting in knots as your lips trip on the words thank you. You’re much too relieved when his attention shifts to the food you have laid out on the countertop. His fingers brush against the cutting board where juice from the strawberries soaks into the wood, and you find your hands intertwining with one another. Nails scraping against skin, body swaying as you rock onto your heels. 

You’re utterly stunned when John suggests eating outside. Azure eyes peering through your old window panes, yearning for the soft swathes of grass that swaddles your backyard. Knowing you can’t deny his arguably brilliant idea, you gather a blanket from the storage chest that sits at the foot of your bed—an old quilt your grandmother made you when you were a child. The royal purples and vibrant greens have faded into lilac and mint now, but you don’t complain when you seat yourself upon it next to John as the sun warms your skin. 

The talk is small between you and John. Quaint. Not at all something to be expected between people who are about to become indirect parents. A mother and a father. Creators of a child bearing both of your DNA. You speak of everything but. What you do for work and the office you just painted. The cheese you bought for this afternoon—smoked applewood cheddar, something that’s rustic, something that painfully reminds you of John. 

You can’t stop fiddling with the hem of your sundress when the conversation turns to the cottage and the work you’ve been doing. Small indigo dots now stain the cream—a blueberry custard of your own creation—as the lingering juice on your fingertips soaks into the cloth. You stiffly admit the disaster that was the broken pipes in your bathroom, and how the chimney has been clogged since you moved in. Old birds nests shoved between the brick had nearly suffocated you your first winter here, and now you make do with electric heaters that you pray won’t set the foot of your bed on fire. 

“You know, at first I thought it would be an easy feat to just… stick something up there. Figured I could knock it down and just sweep out the hearth when I was finished,” you explain as you roll a piece of bread between your forefinger and thumb. “I quit that as soon as I got dust and soot in my face. Oh, I was sneezing for hours.” 

John laughs at your story, though you’re not sure if it’s out of pity or not. He’s resting his elbow on his bent knee, head tilting to the side as he listens to you. The corners of his mouth crease as you speak, and it makes your tongue go dry. Arid. Nothing but sandpaper on the roof of your mouth. 

“Then I thought it would be a bright idea to climb up there myself. Learned very quickly why you usually pay chimney sweepers rather than do it yourself,” you say, shaking your head. “I hardly lasted a total of five seconds before I was climbing back down the ladder. I think I laid on solid ground for a good half hour before I could get myself back on my feet.” 

John’s gaze turns to the cottage where he sizes the height of the home for himself. Cogs and gears visibly turn in his head as he surveys the old shingles and what was probably once a thatched roof, eyes counting each layer of brick that spans the walls from top to bottom. 

“I could do it for you, if you’d like,” he suddenly offers. 

Stunned by his offer, you’re left floundering for words as his attention returns to you. His fingers are already twitching like his hands are anticipating the work. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I’d feel terrible if you fell.” 

“Don’t worry about me, darling, I’ve taken worse falls than that.” 

His reassurance enervates your resolve—this carefully crafted facade of a confident woman who knows what she’s doing—and your only saving grace is the breeze that suddenly picks up. It pulls at the foliage overhead, casting dancing shadows along the quilt and the remnants of your lunch with John. Airy clouds move with the wind along a pale blue sky and you attempt to breathe in the loamy aroma. Let it fill your lungs until your anxiety is stunted. 

Afterall, John isn’t here to fix your chimney. 

Smoothing a hand over the skirt of your dress, you clear your throat. “Well, I suppose we ought to get this mess cleaned up so we can get to work.” You attempt a tone of humor, but it falls awkwardly from your tongue. Stiff like calcified bones that won’t unhinge. 

“Right,” John agrees. He’s pushing himself to his feet, taking care to avoid your grandmother’s handiwork. You pretend not to hear the creaking of his knees. “I’m guessing the ladder is in your shed?” 

“Ladder?” you repeat. You’re convinced John is pulling on your leg until you stare up at him and note the complete lack of mischief in his eyes. Sighing, you stand, anxious hands palming at your clothes. “No, I mean… well, you know. The job Kate and Lottie hired us for?” 

Everything sounds louder when John looks at you like this—whatever this is. An unnamable emotion that swells in his eyes, filling out his pupils until they spill into the blue of his iris. “Oh darling, I’m not here for that. Not today.” 

Once more, John Price has managed to confuse you—has tossed you into the deep end and is watching you flail your arms to keep yourself above water. You feel stupid. A school girl left alone with too many eyes focusing on you. Too many people to witness your failure. 

“I don’t understand,” you say with a tense laugh. 

Quelling the discontent brewing in your chest, John reaches for you. Gentle fingertips brush against your shoulder, then travel down, tracing along your arm until he’s holding your hand in his. He tilts his chin down, shoulders squaring back as if he’s making an oath—a promise. 

“I’m not here for a simple fuck,” he says bluntly, digging straight to the point and smothering any doubt that’s left in the folds of your brain. “This doesn’t have to be anything more than what it’s supposed to be, but I can’t in good conscience do that to you. Knock you up and leave you on your own like you’re some human incubator. I want to be with you through this. For the appointments, for all the changes, for anything you’ll struggle with, for the birth. All of it. If you’ll let me.” 

John’s request has knocked all the air from your lungs. For a moment, all you can do is stare at him—every inch of him. The freckles on his skin, the faint stress lines that wander along his forehead, every strand of hair in his beard and the quiet grey peeking through the black. You’d be lost in the sight of him forever if it isn’t for his thumb rubbing over your knuckles, tugging you back down to earth. 

“You’re quite the gentleman,” you humor, breathless and grasping for straws. 

Chuckling, he steps forward, further closing the gap that rests between the two of you. His smile blooms like fine wine in a barrel—dark and plum against stained wood. “Let’s do dinner this weekend. My treat. Then… we can get to work.” 

Everything melts. All tension fades to black until there’s nothing but the chirping of the sparrows in the pine trees and the playful hum of bees feeding on a patch of clovers. The sky fades into John’s eyes, and the earth opens up at your feet, ensnaring you. Stuck, yet your beating heart yearns for no other place than here. No other comfort than him. 

“Okay,” you agree. “Where at?” 

John squeezes your hand before he pulls it toward him, slowly raising you to his lips where he kisses the delicate skin that lines your metacarpals. The buzz that it sends through your brain nearly drowns out his smirk. 

“I think you’ll forgive me if I let you leave a little to the imagination, hm?”

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