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lazy-ahh · 21 days ago

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IM ALSO IN PHAINON BRAINROT ERA SO IM INFECTING YOU INSTEAD BZZTTT. ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

okay hear me out, reader hand makes phainon matching bracelets for him and them to wear. the bracelet is sun and moon themed with phainon being the sun and reader being the moon.

and phainon is over the moon (aha get it) when you gift it to him. he never takes it off and boasts to it to everyone like, "look at this gorgeous bracelet my (not yet) partner made for me!!"

basically insane mutual pining for both sides >_< 🤍 I LOVE UR WORK SO MUCH AUGHHHH

SUN AND MOON

pairing phainon x gender neutral reader

phainon has always been the sun—bright, untouchable, dazzling everyone in his orbit. but when you gift him a handmade bracelet (a moon to his sun, a silent confession woven in thread), he realizes for the first time what it’s like to burn. (they never teach you how to survive being loved by the moon.)

author's note hahahah thank you so much for requesting this, sugar!! you have no idea how happy it made me—for the past few days, i’ve been absolutely itching to write more for phainon, but you know how it goes. my brain goes flatline with ideas, i start five different drafts, then end up staring at them like "….no. this isn’t it." and boom! into the void they go. (why am i like this??)

but then your request came along, and suddenly, the words just flowed. something about phainon being ridiculously soft over matching bracelets? him showing it off to literally anyone who glances his way? the mutual pining?? ohhh, you get me. this was so fun to write, and i might’ve fallen even harder for him while working on it. (oops.)

seriously, thank you so much for showing love ever since my first phainon one-shot—it means the world to me that you enjoy my silly little words. i hope you enjoy this one-shot! <3

phainon isn’t used to gifts—real ones, the kind that settle heavy in his palms and heavier still in his chest. sure, he’s been given things before: finely crafted trinkets from fellow chrysos heirs (polished to perfection, yet sometimes feeling more like obligation than affection), or tokens from citizens (bright-eyed and hopeful, their admiration sweet but fleeting).

he treasures them all, of course—presses each one carefully into memory with a practiced smile and a graceful bow, makes sure to wear each offering like a badge of honor, even if just for a day. but they’ve never stuck. never settled under his ribs like a second heartbeat.

but this? this is different.

it had been an ordinary day—wake, bathe, dress, endure the endless cycle of duties that came with being a chrysos heir. not that he’d ever complain; he’d carved his purpose into his bones long ago, and no amount of monotony could dull that resolve. but sometimes, the weight of it all made the hours drag like lead.

lately, though, the fatigue had eased. ever since you and your companions fell from the sky (quite literally), amphoreus had felt… lighter. brighter. and you—oh, you were something else entirely. a whirlwind of kindness, slipping into his life like sunlight through cathedral glass.

you helped without being asked, whether it was hauling crates for merchants or standing back-to-back with him in battle, your laughter ringing sharp and bright over the clash of steel.

when the weight of his duty pressed too heavy on his shoulders, you'd bump against him with a grin, tossing out some ridiculous joke about "heirs and graces" or calling him "your deliverance" in that terribly formal voice you only used to mock greedy nobility. it should've been annoying. instead, phainon found himself playing along, flourishing a dramatic bow or clutching his chest like you'd wounded him, just to hear that startled chuckle of yours.

and that was the thing—you matched him. not just in battle (though the way you moved together made his pulse race), but in the quiet moments too. when he'd sigh over paperwork, you'd slide a cup of tea across the table, the exact way he liked it. when he muttered some sarcastic remark under his breath, you'd catch it and volley back something even sharper, your eyes sparkling with mischief. for the first time, phainon didn't have to be the chrysos heir or the flawless deliverer. he could just be... himself.

phainon doesn't know when it happened—doesn't remember the exact moment you slipped past all his carefully maintained boundaries and became as constant as his own heartbeat.

maybe it was when you first fell asleep on his couch, boots still caked with amphoreus dirt and one arm dangling off the edge like a knocked-over puppet, snoring softly with your mouth slightly open. phainon had meant to wake you—really, he had—but the way golden hour light caught in your lashes made something in his ribs squeeze too tight. he'd just... draped a blanket over you instead (and maybe lingered a second too long tucking it around your shoulders).

or maybe it was the notes. those ridiculous little scraps of paper you'd leave everywhere—stuck to his coffee cup with "DRINK ME :D" in your neat handwriting, the smiley face lopsided like it had been drawn in a hurry. phainon would sigh, rolling his eyes with all the theatrical flair of a stage actor, but his fingers would trace the edges of the paper anyway.

he'd keep it stuck to the cup for days, carefully peeling it off before washing and pressing it back on when dry, until the ink blurred from condensation and the corners curled beyond saving. the morning he woke to find it finally disintegrated, he stared at the blank ceramic with a pathetic pout for a full minute before making his coffee, and if it tasted more bitter than usual—well. that was between him and his pathetic heart.

somehow, you'd become part of his daily rhythm—greeting him with sleep-soft smiles in the morning, filling his too-quiet kitchen with off-key humming as you burned your eggs (every. single. time.), draping yourself dramatically across his desk when paperwork piled too high just to make him laugh. he'd hosted other chrysos heirs before, of course, but they never stayed long—too put off by his careless clutter or his habit of singing terrible ballads while bathing.

(aglaea stayed. but phainon will have to think twice before inviting her again. she had accidentally seen the insides of his closet and... phainon shudders when he thought of what happened after that.)

but you? you fit. like sunlight through his stained-glass windows, you colored everything brighter without trying. you didn't just share his space—you made it feel like home for the first time, with your terrible jokes echoing down the halls and your warm hands always finding ways to brush against his, casual as anything. phainon should've been unsettled by how easily you'd carved out a place beside him. instead, he found himself leaning into your gravity, helpless as a moth to flame.

and now here you were, scuffing your boot against the cobblestones, one hand nervously scratching the back of your neck—that telltale habit he’d memorized. your other hand clutched something small, held out like a secret. "i made you something," you murmured, voice feather-soft, as if the words might dissolve if spoken too loud.

his head tilts just a fraction too far to the right, the way it always does when he's trying (and failing) to play casual. "oh?" the word comes out airier than he intended, voice skipping up an octave on that single syllable. "for me?" there's that familiar teasing lilt, but his fingers have started drumming against his thigh—a nervous staccato rhythm that betrays how his chest has gone suspiciously tight.

he slings a hand onto his hip, the picture of effortless grace if you ignore how his other hand keeps flexing like he's physically stopping himself from reaching out. it takes every ounce of self-control not to sink to his knees right there in the dirt, not to cradle whatever you're offering like sacred relics.

when he says "partner, you shouldn't have," it comes out half-breathless, the end curling upward with barely-contained delight despite the way he's mentally kicking himself.

gods, he sounds like some starstruck recruit receiving their first medal, not a seasoned chrysos heir being handed—what, a trinket? a scrap of fabric? it doesn't matter. you touched it. that alone makes it priceless.

you nod, unfolding your palm to reveal two bracelets—one adorned with a golden sun charm, the other with a silver crescent moon. the beads are carefully strung, alternating between warm amber and cool blues, like the sky at dusk. "this one’s yours," you say, lifting the sun bracelet. "and this one’s mine."

phainon’s breath catches.

he’s not sure what to say. for once, the ever-eloquent, ever-charming man is speechless. his fingers tremble slightly as he takes the bracelet from you, turning it over in his hands like it’s something sacred. "you… made this?"

"yeah." your laugh flutters like a moth around candlelight, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. "i thought—well. you’re like the sun, y’know?" the words come out soft, almost apologetic, as you gesture vaguely toward the sky. "all… bright and warm. and i’m…" your thumb brushes the moon charm on your own wrist, a self-deprecating little smile tugging at your lips. "not. so. moon." you shrug, like it’s an afterthought, like you haven’t just pressed the universe—a piece of your heart—into his palms with trembling hands.

phainon’s breath stutters. the bracelet is cool against his skin, but it burns where it touches, branding him with the weight of your quiet confession. his fingers curl around it—around you—and when he looks up, his expression cracks open like dawn over a battlefield: devastating in its naked awe.

he wants to press a thousand promises into your palms in return, wants to carve open his ribs and show you how you’ve taken root between them. but nothing in his vaults could equal this.

nothing exists that could equal this. so he does the only thing he can—he gives you the shattered, gasping thing that used to be his heart, wholly and without condition.

because you’re wrong. so terribly, beautifully wrong. if you’re the moon, then you’re the kind that pulls tides, that guides lost travelers home, that spins the very world on its axis.

and phainon? he’s just a speck of stardust caught in your orbit, content to burn up in your glow if it means he can linger here, just a little longer, in the light of a love he’s done nothing to deserve.

phainon’s throat feels dry.

he doesn't even pretend to hesitate. the bracelet is on his wrist before you can blink, he holds it up to the light with wide, shining eyes, turning his wrist this way and that as if checking how the sun catches on the beads—if he had a tail then it might as well be wagging hard enough to knock over furniture. (it is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. after you, of course.)

"it's perfect," he breathes, voice gone all soft and wonder-filled. then his grin goes lopsided, the kind of giddy that makes his nose scrunch adorably—like he's trying and failing to play it cool. "i'm never taking it off. like, ever-ever. try and stop me."

"wow, never?" you tease, rocking back on your heels, hands flying up in mock surrender. "i don't think i quite believe you—" you reach out like you're going to snatch it back, laughing when he yanks his wrist to his chest with an overdramatic gasp. "what if i made you a better one? with, i don't know... actual craftsmanship next time?"

"nope!" he chirps, cradling the bracelet protectively. "this one's mine now. it's already imprinted on me. like a baby duck. or a uhh... really clingy barnacle." he's beaming so hard it looks like it hurts, all bright eyes and delighted crinkles at their corners.

"okay okay!" you yelp, laughter bubbling up as you shove at his shoulder, face burning. "dramatic much? fine, keep your tacky sun charm." but your eyes keep darting to his wrist, shining with something unbearably fond.

phainon had already made up his mind the moment those beads slid onto his wrist—this bracelet would become part of him, as permanent as his own pulse. but seeing you now, all flustered giggles and sparkling eyes, your fingers nervously brushing against your matching moon charm like you still can't believe he actually wears it? oh. oh no. now it's not just a promise, it's a sacred vow carved into his bones.

(he imagines archaeologists finding his skeleton centuries later, still clutching these sun-faded beads, and thinks: good.)

and he doesn't.

not when training leaves it smudged with dirt. not when bathwater turns the threads dark and heavy. not even when (as predicted) you knock an entire cup of hot chocolate onto it during dinner, your horrified apologies dissolving into laughs as he proudly declares the new stains "part of its charm."

the bracelet stays, as constant as his heartbeat—and just as irreplaceable. even when he's elbow-deep in his duties, the sun charm gleaming amidst all the gold and finery like a little declaration: i'm loved. see? someone chose me.

he catches himself staring at it often, thumb brushing over the sun charm absently, his chest swelling with something unbearably fond.

(and if he sometimes, in his most private moments, presses his nose to the beads just to see if they still smell like you—well. that's between him and the bracelet.)

૮ฅ・ﻌ・აฅ

"i wonder what's got our esteemed deliverer looking like he won the jackpot," dan heng murmurs, watching as phainon practically bounces between unimpressed merchants, shoving his wrist in their faces with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever presenting its favorite stick.

trailblazer leans against a nearby crate, squinting at the scene. "maybe he found a really good product to add to his skincare routine? dude's been glowing brighter than the amphoreus sun lately." they pause, then gasp dramatically. "or! or maybe he did win the lottery—"

"he owns three properties, perhaps even more," dan heng deadpans, not looking up from his scroll. "somehow i doubt earning a ton of money is the cause of... whatever this is." he gestures vaguely at phainon, who's now twirling in place to better showcase his wrist to a very confused fruit vendor.

trailblazer's boots scrape against cobblestones as they spring up with all the subtlety of a fireworks display. "well there's one way to find out!" they announce, already striding forward before dan heng can grab their collar. "hey phainon, what's got you all—mmph!"

an armoured hand clamps over their mouth mid-sentence, yanking them backward so abruptly their feet briefly leave the ground. mydei hauls them behind a market stall with the efficiency of someone used to containing disasters, his composure barely masking the slight panic and irritation in his eyes.

"must you always," he hisses through gritted teeth, "invite chaos directly into our lives? do you seriously want that fool to saunter over here and ramble about some stupid bracelet?"

dan heng materializes beside the struggling trailblazer like a particularly done-with-this-nonsense shadow. "bracelet?" he asks, one eyebrow climbing toward his hairline as his gaze flicks between mydei and the distant, still-gushing phainon.

mydei exhales like a man carrying the weight of the entire holy city, dragging a hand down his face in that particular way someone does when questioning all their life choices. he puts a full two steps between himself and trailblazer before crossing his arms with enough force to make his biceps bulge.

"that absolute fool," he mutters, watching phainon practically glow as he shoves his wrist under some poor spice merchant's nose. the sunlight catches on the beads—a sun charm dangling proudly amidst the threads. "has been showing off that damn bracelet that your companion made for him. even i've had enough of him rambling about it for hours, even during our training."

dan heng's lips quirk up just a fraction. "so that's what's been happening." his mind wandering back to you acting nervous and jittery as you tried to quietly hype yourself up and practicing what to say when you finally handed the gift to phainon. "i wondered why they'd been practicing knotwork at three in the morning last week."

"jealousy doesn't suit you, your highness," trailblazer sing-songs, wisely keeping dan heng between themselves and mydei's wrath. "we could put in a special order for you—maybe a little crown charm? though it might clash with your whole 'disapproving aura' thing you've got going—"

the temperature seems to raise several degrees as mydei's glare could melt steel. "i'd rather wear a live scorpion."

"hmm. as i thought," dan heng murmurs, watching phainon literally skip to the next stall. "though i suppose we should be grateful. this is marginally less disruptive than when he tried to serenade the entire market square last week in an attempt to calm the people protesting."

mydei huffs through his nose, the sound of a man who's given up on dignity entirely. "i suppose it could be worse," he concedes, watching phainon practically dance between market stalls like a puppy who's been given a new toy.

all three of them wear identical expressions—the particular mix of fondness and suffering reserved for people who are practically prone to disasters a little too much.

and oh, what a disaster he is.

"look at this," phainon declares to a very confused flower vendor, shoving his wrist forward with the reverence of someone displaying holy relics.

the sun charm catches the light as it spins, throwing little golden dots across his grinning face. "my partner—well, not yet, but—they made this! see how the beads catch the light just so? and the stitching here—" his finger traces the threads with absurd tenderness, "—they must've redone this part at least three times to get it perfect. for me. can you believe that?"

the word partner sits heavy on his tongue, sweet as stolen honey. it's ridiculous, really—he'd called you that for weeks as a joke, a placeholder, something to tease you with when you got flustered.

now it burns in his chest like a brand, too big and too true. he wants to say it properly, wants to press the word into your palms like an offering: partner not as comrades or companions, but as two celestial bodies caught in each other's orbit, inevitable as dawn.

phainon tucks the moment away like a pressed flower between parchment—precious, fragile, waiting. for now, he'll cradle this gift of yours against his pulse, let it warm him from the inside out. but soon. oh, soon.

he'll learn the exact way you take your coffee (two sugars, stirred clockwise). he'll memorize every nervous habit—how you chew your lip when concentrating, how your fingers flutter when lying.

he'll collect all the quiet, ordinary miracles of you until he can craft something worthy in return. not grand gestures or gold-lined promises, but something true. something that says i see you as clearly as you've always seen him.

one day, he'll work up the courage to slide a matching ring beside that moon bracelet. one day, he'll say "partner" and mean it in every sense that matters. one day, he'll kiss the calluses on your fingers from all that careful knot-tying and whisper "my turn" against your palms.

but for now? for now he lingers by the marble archway, content to watch you tumble through the garden with a pack of overexcited chimeras. your laughter rings clearer than a fountain's chime as a baby chimera pounces on your sleeve, its wings flapping wildly while you pretend to lose balance.

"oh nooo," you drawl, collapsing dramatically into the patch of grass as three more creatures come barreling into the pile, "i've been defeated by the mighty lord fluffkins!"

sunlight filters through the jasmine vines, painting dappled gold across your smile—the same gold that now lives permanently around his wrist. one of the smaller chimeras tries to nibble at your bracelet, and your resulting gasp of betrayal is so theatrical it sends phainon's heart into somersaults.

he leans against the pillar, content to memorize this: how your nose scrunches when a chimera licks your cheek, how your fingers move with such gentle certainty through tangled fur, how effortlessly you love things. the realization settles warm in his chest—he could wait forever if it meant seeing you this happy.

after all, the sun has all the patience in the world when it comes to the moon.

you, meanwhile, wear your bracelet like a secret victory, fingers constantly finding their way to the moon charm—not to hide it anymore, but just to feel the weight of it against your skin.

sure, you still get flustered when phainon catches you admiring it, but now there's a new boldness in how you let it catch the light during conversations, how you "accidentally" brush your wrist against his whenever you walk side by side.

sometimes you catch his gaze lingering on it during strategy sessions, and instead of looking away, you'll flick or turn your wrist just to make the beads shimmer. the way his breath hitches is worth every bit of embarrassment.

other times, when he's busy showing off his to some poor, trapped merchant for the fifteenth time that day, you'll lean against his shoulder and chime in with, "how'd you know it took me three tries to get the knotting right?" just to watch his entire face light up like you've hung the stars yourself.

it's silly, really. just woven thread and cheap metal. but when the sunlight hits them just right, turning both charms into mirror images of each other? well. phainon would battle a thousand enemies before letting anything happen to these silly little bracelets.

what absolutely wrecks phainon—what sends his pulse skittering like a startled rabbit—is catching those quiet moments when you think no one sees. the absentminded way your thumb rubs across the moon charm while you're lost in thought, wearing that soft little smile usually reserved for sunrise viewings and particularly fluffy chimeras. the way your gaze drifts from his face to his wrist during conversations, your lips quirking like you're sharing a secret with yourself.

it drives him insane.

he wants to kiss you. he wants to whisper against your temple all the words that clot in his throat—how you make ordinary moments feel sacred, how he treasures every scar and freckle like constellations only he gets to map.

but for now, he collects these fragments like prayer beads: the way you absentmindedly touch your bracelet when you hear his voice, how you lean into his space when explaining its design to curious townsfolk, your shoulder warm against his arm. how sometimes, when you think he's not looking, you press the moon charm to your lips like it's a secret promise.

for the way the sun and moon orbit each other, always close, never quite touching.

(not yet.)

this was such a joy to write—thank you so much for the lovely request, sugar! there’s something so tender about phainon, this larger-than-life figure, being completely undone by something as simple as a handmade gift. the idea of him treasuring it, showing it off to anyone who’ll listen (and even those who won’t), lives in my mind rent-free. i like to think he’s the type to hold onto little things like this, to press them close to his heart like they’re something sacred. and of course, reader matching his energy—quietly proud, just as smitten, but a little more subtle about it—was the perfect dynamic to play with. i lowkey would've been showing it off too. trailblazer and dan heng would NOT be able to catch a break LOLOL thank you for reading this, and as always, please feel free to reblog and share your thoughts!

#lazy-ahh #honkai star rail #phainon #x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x reader #phainon x reader #puppy of aedes elysiae #featuring: trailblazer dan heng and mydei

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awoogaslashers · 1 year ago

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Bitch slap

#pinterest memes #slasher memes #meme #slashers #scream 1996 #scream #michael myers #idk what to tag this as #halloween 1978 #arsenal icon marc overmars slapped with one year ban after admitting to sending female colleagues inappropriate messages #slapstick #i found a ‘modern day treasure’ when i took out money from the bank #i found the viral ‘glitz & glam’ 30 piece beauty tool set for just $30 and my shopping trick paid off #i found this in my drafts #Michael myers is so hot but also so scary and so I don’t know how to feel anymore but it’s okay because at the end of the day he’s a hottie

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cybermindz · 9 months ago

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max verstappen x fem!reader

⟢ summary. max wasn’t doing a very good job at being an attentive boyfriend, always busy and not paying you any mind, so when you voice your dismay he gives you exactly what you want.

⟢ contains. slight angst, nsfw, smut : unprotected séx, côckwarming ♡, softdom!max, crybaby!reader, he’s stubborn and mean asf (madmax hehe), you ride him in his gaming chair, dirty talk, creampie, begging, mention of alcohol consumption, usage of petnames (e.g. baby, sweetheart, love), wc : 6.4k

nora's ☆ note. peek-a-boo! srry for being gone, this has been in my drafts since jan LMAO. it’s my first time writing something angsty, hopefully it’s up to par w the rest of my writing (o´罒`o) anyway love u all, i’m going through all my work that’s been collecting dust <3

Your feet padded down the endless hallways of the penthouse you currently resided in, searching for Max with a glass of gin in hand. One of his favorites.

The boisterous district of Fontvieille Monaco has gone long quiet as the evening begins to fade in. It was the most treasured part of your day—when the sunset casts over the ocean and how the crowds of people start to diminish slowly one by one. Loud voices and laughter simmering down, back into their homes or into fancy restaurants and bars to enjoy the rest of their night.

Each roll of the blue waves along with the golden disk already beginning to touch the surface ocean water is a view you could never get sick of. The sun slips quickly behind the line of the horizon as it spreads its last rays—stunning hues of oranges and yellows seeping through the windows of your living room, allowing to emit a shadow of your figure on the floor and walls with each step you take as you continue your hunt for your boyfriend.

It is where you feel the utmost of tranquility—the calmness of this environment is a way for you to wind down without having to care for anything else outside of the place you call home, to help wash away any troublesome thoughts. Usually these hours are spent with you and Max watching a movie or making a home cooked meal together. Usually your limbs would be tangled with one another in sacred and intimate ways.

Though this time around, your surroundings don't put you at ease, it doesn’t shake away your worries. In fact, it’s worse than usual.

This current lifestyle by all means, was everything you could ever dream of. You were incredibly lucky to be the partner of someone like Max. The Dutchman who is portrayed and misunderstood as a villain half of the time is actually a gentleman.

Your lover was so genuine and kind, as sweet as the gleam of sun that is currently kissing your skin—the warmth filling your whole body, bringing an overwhelming sense of comfort. It’s the sole reason why you fell in love with him, and you fell hard.

His own love for you is like a garden—blossoming into heavenly flowers within his fast beating heart.

He dotes on you, cares for you when you need it most, like tending to a single daisy amongst a field of grass. Nurturing and watering it with the most fondness, just like he does when kissing you, and god his kisses are to die for. His lips soft against yours like a warm embrace, so tender and delicate, melting into each other's souls. It always felt as if it were the last, as if the world was crumbling beneath the bottom of your feet. Nothing around you mattered, just the two of you in that space sealing in the gap.

He’s a race car driver for crying out loud—bound to be blunt and direct. But the persona he shows to the crowds of people and millions behind a tv screen is only half of who he truly is. Sure he can have a nasty temper at times during the highlights of his career but those were all under heavy stressful circumstances. In no way shape or form has his impatience and anger on track reach you from behind closed doors…until recently.

That familiarity of admiration for you has suddenly turned into rushed and quick pecks on the lips, hugs lasting only a fracture of a second. There wasn’t any long lasting gentleness to those intimate actions anymore, no adoration laced behind them.

This switch in attitude has you dwelling on it in an unhealthy way. Concerns filling your brain as he hardly devoted any time to you recently. Perpetually blowing you off with an “I’m busy.” and other broken promises to make it up to you whenever you’d suggest going out together for the day.

You genuinely didn't mind it at first, you out of everyone understood how important his career was to him. But, he’s constantly conducting business calls, in emergency meetings, or practicing on the race simulator. You were aching for him, in more ways than one.

It’s lonely enough with him having to travel all around the world 12 times a year with an extra addition of other flights for further business matters. And, with your own work you aren’t usually there to accompany him more than you’d wish. So with the rare occasions of him actually having a break with you at home and to have him not pay any attention to you was, without any exaggeration…starting to annoy you.

In contrast to the beautifully painted sky outside your windows showcasing its eternal beauty of lovely colors, your mood was somber and gloomy. Almost like the soon to be night sky beneath a cascade of iridescent stars on the sandy shores of Monaco—the air thick with a cold breeze and scent of salt, the feeling melancholic.

With an intake of a breath through your nose, the tracks of your light footsteps halt when you finally reach the blackwood door that leads into his office you were positive he was in. You make sure to knock three times—an order you mustn't forget, not wanting to walk in on him potentially streaming a game or being in a meeting with his camera on.

Upon hearing a faint, “Come in.” from the other side of the door, you enter the office with caution. Staring into the dreary space, anyone would be aware of how grim it was; pens and papers scattered across his work desk messily, the trophies resting on the display shelf held a sheer layer of dust, and the cold temperature didn't make it any better. The atmosphere alone coerced goosebumps to emerge onto your skin.

Max himself looked disarrayed, sat in the race simulator on the other side of the room. You walk over to stand beside the makeshift car seat to get a better look at him. All the noticeable tell-tale signs didn't go unnoticed by you, he was pushing himself too much. It was really displeasing to see him not taking care of himself. His light brown hair framed his forehead with eye bags digging into his skin, and there was a prominent little line in between his eyebrows—indicating that he’s been focusing for too long.

“Hey, everything okay?” Setting down the cup of gin on the wooden desk concernedly, you pull off his headset and brush your hand through his locks—pushing them back into place. Max doesn’t tear his eyes off the screens of his multiple monitors, barely sparing you a glance or reacting to the contact of your touch like he normally would.

“Hi baby, yeah…yeah ‘m alright,” he mumbles slowly, almost as if he didn’t register what you said.

“I got you a drink.” A frown makes way onto your features when he doesn’t say anything after that, not even acknowledging the alcohol in front of him. With a tilt of your head you wait expectedly, continuing to burn holes on the side of his face—like you were trying to read into his thoughts. “You coming to bed soon? You should get some rest.”

“Mhm…in a bit.”

You didn’t know why you thought the outcome would be anything different. The monotone lack of response from him had you sneering as a combination of anguish and irritation consumed your body. He’s still looking at the screens, an intense focus in his irises—a need to complete the race laps of the simulator even with his headphones off.

You knew then that he’s not honest with his intentions, being dismissive as usual and leading you to the feeling of neglect yet again. Though this time you’ve reached your limit, patience running thin.

Whilst huffing out an annoyed breath you toss the headset into his lap without a care, “Liar.”

That was a terrible mistake.

His reaction was just about immediate, bewildered at your sudden outburst. “What was that?” Max finally turns his head, eyes narrowing to look at you as you saunter off to the door. You intended to just retire into your shared bedroom alone, tears already pooling at your lash line from all the pent-up frustration with your back facing him.

“If you knew what was good for you, you wouldn’t dare to walk out that door.”

Halting your footsteps, a shiver bolted up your spine, the previous anger briskly replaced with unease. You’d like to think it was from the cool air that was blowing from the vents instead of his bleak words.

“Get back over here,” he spoke assertively, voice low and ominous—like he was disappointed in your unexpected change of mood, making your skin crawl with uncertainty.

It was a dangerous gamble between wanting to defy him or to finally have all of his attention after two weeks. But you knew better than to test his warnings and tolerance especially after hearing that irked tone. Blinking away the unshed tears, you steel yourself to shift your body and face him again.

“Now. Sweetheart, don't make me repeat myself.”

Your breath hitches, this was probably the first time in days where he’s held eye contact intently with you for longer than twenty seconds and it just about has you stumbling over your feet. The icy glare spoke for itself, already irritated with the way you lashed out at him, which is rare coming from you. He’s got a pounding headache and the last thing he wants to deal with is your little attitude.

His mean demeanor nearly made your eyes water again by the time you returned to his side, following his order. Within a split second, Max chucks the headphones to the ground bitterly. The loud clank! it makes when it hits the wooden floor has you jolting out of your skin, his annoyance radiating off of the small scowl on his face and actions.

In swift movements he pulls you down to straddle his lap without a word, a squeak of surprise leaves your lips since you didn’t have time to process what was happening.

The proximity has your heart skipping a beat, a rush of heat spreading throughout your entire body with nervousness. It was slightly cramped in the space between him and the pc steering wheel—leaving you little to no room to breathe, chest brushing against his to not have your back pressed into the metal material.

You felt that familiar ache in your stomach building up from how close he was and how he was holding your waist to keep you steady. It really didn’t take much for you especially since you’ve missed his warmth—his big veiny hands on your body. Your mind begins to whirl already, making you desperate for more right away, it was easy to tell from your quickened breath.

He observes your small frame all but quivering atop of him, dressed solely in one of his t-shirts that was evidently larger on you and a pair of panties peeking from underneath.

“What’s gotten into you huh?” His eyes lingered a while longer on your bare thighs that were scantily covered. He strokes it with his hands lightly, the contact igniting a trail of fire in its wake on your supple skin before his sharp gaze snapped to return to your face, “always interrupting me.”

You can practically hear the erratic rhythm of your heart beating in your ears because of his fierce scrutinizing eyes, and it doesn't benefit you in the slightest when the expensive cologne he knows drives you crazy wafts into your nostrils—making it even harder to concentrate. The air gets thicker by the second around your heated bodies.

“What’s gotten into me?“ You’re muttering under your breath, looking everywhere but his burning stare to try and rein yourself, “Max you…you hardly have time for me anymore.”

He’s a busy man, engrossed and occupied in his job. You get it, you truly do, you understand the fear he must bear of not wanting to be last. Carrying that title of being number one is both a blessing and a curse. It doesn't help that he's his own worst critic, correcting what he thinks he could do better by practicing on the simulator as much as he possibly can—it’s the only thing that occupies his mind.

The amount of pressure he must feel has to be overbearing—all the more for a non-stressful winter break, he’s been losing too much sleep and he couldn’t even bother to mind your concerns. All you wanted was to take care of him in different ways, you’ve tried for days but those days turned into two weeks and you’ve had enough.

One of his hands smooths over your back, humming gruffly while the other jerks your chin to force you to look at him with a firm grip so you don't pull away, “Y’know I have to be on top of my work right?”

“Yes! Of course I do but—“

“I’m doing this for us.” He then takes both of his palms, dragging them down your sides tantalizingly to grasp your hips. Max kneads the flesh briefly before guiding you with a secure hold to have your clothed heat rub at his crotch that's already flinching, growing hard underneath you. He does so almost mockingly, knowing just what you want and eliciting a shocked choked gasp from you, “working so I could get you the things you want.”

Your small hands went to hold onto his broad shoulders at the unexpected friction, it was getting tougher to keep yourself grounded—body trembling with the effort to stay in check, to stop yourself from grinding down on him greedily like you so desperately wanted.

“Max,” your face is sullen as you speak just above a whisper, he was mere inches away, so close you can almost taste him. You could just…lean forward a bit, claim his lips and have him again, “I don’t care about that, I just want to spend—“

“Time with me.” He interrupts again, stealing the rest of the sentence out of your mouth like he’s heard it a hundred times before and you can't seem to get snarky with him at the moment because of the way he was gradually rolling your groin against his. A rush of butterflies stirs in your tummy from the staggering sensation.

Max reaches under the hem of his baggy shirt that's draped over you with an exasperated exhale, his touch ticklish as his fingers dance along the soft skin near the band of your underwear. You can start to feel your body seeking more of his attention, so close to being obtainable you can taste it on the tip of your tongue.

“Is that it? Fine. If that’s the case, then you’re going to sit still.”

His words pique your interest at once that you seem to ignore his condescending behavior—content with just getting to be in his presence again.

He takes notice of your tongue peeking out to wet your lips in expectancy, earning a flicker of amusement on his features before quickly masking it back with a stoic expression. You can feel him trail lower and lower until the tips of his fingers reach your sensitive bud to circle it delicately over your panties, almost feather-light to tease you. The response from your body was instant, mewling and arching your back. Your clothed breasts were now flush against his chest, allowing more warmth to exchange between the two of you.

“All you wanted was to get your little pussy wet huh?” He lets out a scoffing chuckle, making a wave of humiliation wash over you from the way he puts it. You shake your head in denial, not wanting to give him the satisfaction that you are in fact sexually frustrated.

“N-Ngh! No!” But he can see right through your miserable bluff, especially with your heavy puffs of breath and stammering.

You were utterly touch-starved that your underwear was already dampening under his touch with your growing arousal. All from just sitting on his lap and light traces of contact.

“No? Then why are you soaking my fingers right now?” A sense of pride always filled his body knowing the affect he had on you, to have you heat up and slip into that sweet headspace with just a few ministrations. “Aww my sweet baby, you just needed a bit of my attention? Is that it?”

Max continues to work you up with a lazy smirk on his lips, watching you closely for each little face twisting reaction, “answer me sweetheart.” He lightly taps at your clit, another chuckle almost slipping from his throat when you sit up straighter because of it.

“Yes Max, I…want you.” Your voice comes out a bit whiny than you intended but you don’t seem to care because of the way your brain is clouding, craving more without question.

“There’s my good girl.”

With your lower lip sucked between your teeth you brace yourself for more, blood pumping with excitement. He was finally going to fuck you like you’ve been wanting for days, right?

Wrong.

What you didn’t expect was to be fully naked, straddling his cock whilst he ignored you.

Dumbfounded was an understatement.

As you watch the clock on the other side of the office—perched on top of the door behind him, your sanity quickly dissolves with each passing tick. It took you about ten minutes to realize the vast amount of self-control he held. So while you were sitting on his lap, firm length sheathed deeply inside you—Max simply returned to the simulator, superbly content with this proposal. You on the other hand, couldn’t stop the tremor of your thighs.

Breaking the tense silence with an unsatisfied grumble, you wrap your arms around his neck in hopes to get more direct contact of his skin on yours. Your frame was taut and rigid above him, trying your damn hardest to not make any sudden movements like he ordered.

Being able to finally feel him again like this but not allowed to do anything about it has you on edge, you eagerly wanted—no needed some sort of relief. So with much contemplation your movements get bolder with a grind of your hips, though it only makes him give you a stern look in exchange, enough for you to force into a stop at once.

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, giving a light smack on your plush ass as a warning. “Stop fuckin’ moving,” he hisses through gritted teeth, still annoyed with you and it had your heart aching uncomfortably.

You should be the one that was upset but you felt so vulnerable and deprived, especially with him still being fully clothed, his shorts and briefs pushed down just enough to free his cock making you feel all the more exposed and in the mercy of his hands. You so miserably needed more of him, all of him.

“Max please,” you can’t help but beg now, knowing that it’ll usually weaken his resolve with that angelic voice of yours, “I can’t.”

It doesn't seem to deter him though. A sense of disappointment engulfs you, he was so hellbent on teaching you a lesson that you know you don't even deserve.

“You can and you will. What happened to being my good girl?” His hands never leave the steering wheel behind you and his voice, not even in the slightest—doesn’t waver whenever he speaks, practically like he was unaffected with your warm wet cunt wrapped around him, “besides, isn’t this what you wanted? Don’t make me punish you.”

He’s mocking you. You can almost see his lips quirking up into a smile as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck with no retaliation afterward, so eager to please him.

The only thing you can possibly do was snuggle closer for the little bit of warmth his clothed body can radiate in the cold office and listen to the loud roar of V6 engines coming from the game. With tightly shut eyes, you try to think of something to distract you but nothing works as your mind parades itself from the feeling of his fat tip kissing your cervix, stuffed full.

This was already punishing enough, none of this was painful oh no—it was the complete opposite. But, the pleasure rising up and not having your desires fulfilled was tearing you apart. It was borderline torture.

The stretch makes slick from your pussy drool on his girth, a mess pooling straight down his balls and whenever he would move his feet on the pedals of the simulator—his thigh jumps, making you shift on his lap and bounce ever so slightly on his shaft. It has you whining against his ear like a bitch in heat.

Max’s eyes burn into the screen of his pc after perceiving the sound of your soft whimper and whines against his ear, breath tickling his skin and making it prick up. He always loved any noises that he could pull from you, his possessiveness and ego feeds off it. He's transfixed—entranced by how sweet it sounds. He can’t lie, he did miss you. Missed having you close like this, desperate and easily acquiescent for him, your soft voice all breathless and needy.

Just the feeling and connection of you.

He clenched his jaw when your velvet walls fluttered around him, his own self-control was close to snapping. But being an asshole just to spite you seemed more pleasing, he purposely moved his legs more forcefully on the pedals to elicit more of those pretty little cries of pleasure.

Though he completely freezes up the moment he hears you sniffling against his neck, hot tears hitting his shirt seconds after.

Max knows he's been a shit boyfriend but he's too prideful to admit it, so frustrated and harsh while his sole center of attention was on how to be better, better, better with his work that he seemed to forget your own needs. He’s conflicted at the moment as he thinks about it, infuriated at himself for taking it out on you.

You were trying so hard for him, to be his good girl that you always were despite your own discontentment and bitterness to his treatment towards you. You didn’t want to upset him any further even if this was his own doing, it made both his heart stammer and his cock twitch from how kind you are to him. He didn't deserve you.

When you feel that certain jerk inside of you, your one track mind really couldn't stop your lips from speaking once more through your small sniffles. “P-Please Max,” you attempt again with hesitation, lip bitten raw from your constant chewing, “I can’t take this much longer.”

His self-restraint finally snaps.

Your ears perk and pick up the sound of him sipping, completely downing the glass of alcohol that was disregarded earlier in one go. He hisses harshly after the burn cascades down his throat with each gulp and then leans forward, muscles flexing slightly as he places the now empty cup on the desk with a soft clunk before turning off the gaming system.

The unexpected silence causes your stomach to twist in a knot, no longer capable of hearing the thunderous engines of formula one cars—just his ragged breathing and ticking of the clock.

Anticipation nags in the back of your mind, a hundred things running all at once while you sit there pliantly and unmoving, silent tears cascading down your face.

You can't help but think that you’ve surely done it this time, you’ve pissed him off now haven’t you?

“So ungrateful for all the things I give you, hm?” He eventually speaks amidst the strained quietness. The words he utters out didn’t hold any actual malice, voice softer now. His anger giving away to more vulnerability as his hands went to pry your face away from his neck, holding it in his palms gently.

It ached to see you hurt, the pain in your features mirrored in his own heart. His hands trembled subtly while he cradled your soft cheeks, thumbs brushing away the salty tears that fell—trying to comfort and soothe you, “always complaining.”

You lean further back slightly to get a better view of his features, seeing a mixture of emotions swirling in his irises.

Pity. Sadness. Longing.

You could feel it with the way he held you with care, you could feel it in the air—through his soft breath against your skin. Your own heart tugs a bit when you realize that he was feeling guilty. Guilty for doing this to you, for mistreating you.

“I miss you.” You hiccup whilst his thumbs continue their calming motions on the apple of your cheeks.

He focuses on your pretty face stained with wet tears before brushing some loose strands of hair framing your face, tucking it behind your ear and he couldn’t help but marvel at how cute you looked. You were nuzzled into his hands like a kicked little puppy—doe glassy eyes staring into his own.

Max lets out a shaky breath out his nose when a pout adorns your pretty pink lips, he wants to kiss it away, hear those moans you’d make against him. But first, he really needs to apologize for his negligence.

He coos at your broken voice, torn between his self pity and yearning for your presence even if he didn't deserve the slightest bit of your leniency, “‘m right here baby.” His chest continues to sting as your tears increase, the weight of his words hitting you harder than he expected.

He knows that his reassurance has touched a nerve, that you've been longing to hear those words for days. That he was never really gone, he still cared for you the same, just too stubborn about his own emotions. While keeping his tender hold on your face, his gaze never leaves your watery eyes. He wants you to feel his unwavering love, a necessity to put your mind at ease, “let me kiss you, can I?”

A soft hum coming from your throat and a small nod is enough confirmation for him to pull you into a fulfilling gentle kiss, one that you were familiar with, the kind that you yearned for so severely. The adoration was felt again as he put much effort and devotion behind it. It felt so good being cherished like this again.

With a pleased sigh passing through you, Max tilts his head—removing one of his hands from your face to hold your nape, intending to deepen the kiss even further. He takes the opportunity to push his tongue past your lips when you part your mouth.

The taste buds on your own wet muscle begin to flood with the flavor of bitter alcohol as it dances and tangles along with his. It was all so, so intoxicating. And he revels at how your lips always manage to be plump and soft, as tasty as he remembered. He mutters against them gently yet firm as he speaks, trying to convey his conflicted feelings, “so sorry my love, ‘m so sorry.”

He places a few chaste kisses on you before pulling away slightly so he can stare up at you for a moment, his pupils tracing every inch of your naked body. He can't get over how beautiful you look with desire and need whirling in your eyes. His heart stutters again with so much regret when you sniffle and hug his shoulders, pressing closer like you were trying to meld into one.

A small glimmer of light breaks through the storm of emotions when the sound of a sheepish giggle comes from your mouth. The lighthearted noise that he’s grown to love over the years of knowing you filling the tense air. Your saccharine voice overflows his ears with words of forgiveness, too compassionate for your own good. He muses at the fact that even through the stressful and pressuring times—the neglect, you were always there to welcome him with open arms.

Max rids the confines of fabric still clinging to his body with a sense of urgency, like a man on a mission to make it up to you. He tosses them to join the pile of your clothes forgotten somewhere on the floor before returning his mouth on you, this time on the column of your neck, peppering it. Starved and parched for you, just as much as you were for him.

His kisses are hot and wet, tongue lapping at your skin while his hands wander over your chest. He can feel you responding to his touches once more, pulse quickening just beneath his fingertips, your breathing coming out in faint gasps.

Small “I love you’s.” tumble from him like a mantra without stopping his focus on your skin. The once pained expression on your face now changed into an alluring one within ticks—cheeks flushed, eyes blown wide, and mouth slightly parted from all the attention.

It only fueled his hunger even more, growing impossibly harder inside of your pussy. “So fuckin’ pretty, I could stare at you like this forever.” His lips work their way up to your ear, licking the shell of it provokingly, the action has the hair on your arms standing stiffly. Max’s voice was direct and rough as he whispers, “fuck yourself onto me, go on baby you can move for me now.”

It's like a fire switch has gone off in your brain. At last, you lift yourself up until his flushed pink tip peeks out to the point of almost slipping out and slowly sink back down. Both of your mouths fall open to let out a low satisfied moan in unison. Your eyelids flutter, half-lidded now, barely being kept open with furrowed brows as you gape back at him.

“Haah!—“ your breath gets caught in your throat as he braces his feet on the floor and plunges his hips up to meet yours when you lift yourself again, stuffing his fat cock into your soaking heat in one instantaneous push. Your small hands claw on his shoulders in surprise, leaving red scratch marks on his pale skin.

“Breathe for me baby…yeahhhhh just like that. I can see you dripping for me, my needy girl look at you—so fuckin’ wet,” he bites his lip to stifle the guttural moan that threatened to slip at the sight before his eyes, “Missed you so much too—shit.”

He continues to run his filthy mouth with a vein protruding his neck and stills his hips so you can set your own pace, your walls shuddering around him in response to all of his words. Whilst you repeat the same action again and again, you’re already not able to formulate a single thought from the mind numbing sensations. Just mentally saturated at being filled to the hilt over and over and over.

“F-fuuuuuck, so good Max—feels so good!”

“That’s it, just focus on feeling good, ‘m here s’okay. You have me now.” He devours your mouth once more, this time with great fervor—his tongue exploring every inch of the wet cavern more hastily, tasting every bit of what you can give.

He swallows each and every little sound coming from you, every whimper and whine because of each drag of his length, feeling it reverberating through his mouth down to his chest—now full of warmth and contentment.

Max’s hands on your breasts continue to squeeze, fondling your mounds until his calloused fingers pinches and rolls your nipples between them to pebble up in the cool air, adding a jolt of pleasure in the mix. The feeling of you taking him inside, the sounds of your sweet gasps—it drives him insane. He groans deeply, breaking the kiss to have his head fall back against the chair.

You’re fucking him so good all of his tension and worries are melting away from each roll of your hips. Maybe a little too good that he’s biting the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from ramming into you like a madman.

"Keep using me however you want sweetheart, don’t stop ‘till you're satisfied,” he mutters, ragged and hoarse.

You can hardly focus, it was too much for you to endure. All you can make out is how good he feels, how his mushroom head hits that spongy spot with the way you’re taking him in so deep at this angle. This is everything you've ached for, so it’s no surprise how easily you’re falling apart so early on along with him. So overly sensitive and responsive to each stroke of his stiff cock, being able to feel every ridge and vein.

The observation of him splitting you open was incredibly arousing to gawk at. Strings of slick connects where the two of you continuously meet, hot and sticky with a translucent white painting the base of his length as you continue to cream around him.

He swears he feels like he’s floating, going absolutely delirious, and it’s obvious with the way he wouldn’t shut his mouth. Max always gets this way from the taste and feel of you, it’s like his mind couldn't fathom anything else around him.

“You're so good baby, so good for me," he praised, palms going to grip at your hips tightly. He’s clutching you so securely as if he can't bear to let go, leaving crescent shaped indents on your hips from his blunt nails. "You love this, you love being filled up by me, don't you?"

“Y-Yes, Max," you moan out needily, your own fingers digging into his shoulders, "I love it so much. Mnnh—so big.”

His grip on your hips tightens as he tries to hold back, to prolong the need to just pound into you, his breath coming in ragged, shallow pants. The sound of wet plaps! from skin slapping against each other fills the office walls when you move a little faster—air thickening around you further with the smell of sex. His brain clouds, losing himself in the pleasure you bring upon him. He can feel his willpower slowly giving way to his desire and need for you, but he wants you to have this.

The view of you riding him and your sweet whimpers was making it harder for him to control himself. He shuts his eyes and clenches his jaw to focus on not coming so quickly, “You're so tight, so perfect. Can’t even fuckin’—hah! Can hardly think straight.”

He makes it a point to hold out for you, so you can come at the same time just how he always likes. But you whine and suddenly stop, legs starting to strain. The vulgarity of his words, the sensations, it was all getting too overwhelming.

Max groans at the loss of pleasure, reopening his eyes to look at your flushed disheartened face, “What's wrong baby?”

“Need you,“ you whine frustratedly and press your forehead against his, swapping breaths as you both pant, “I can’t…”

"Need my help?" He grabs your hands to place it behind you so you can grasp at the steering wheel, this allows you more leverage and support to slam down onto him, “Lean back and hold onto this sweetheart, hold on tightly.”

For extra measure he snakes a strong arm around your back, holding your waist sturdily as he helps guide you to fucking him more harshly now.

“Oh f-fuck! You’re s-so deep!” You tip your head back, bearing your hickey covered neck to him. He almost came from the sight alone, a low groan bullying it’s way out of his mouth.

“Yeah? That’s better isn’t it baby?” He asks softly but there’s a clear hint of teasing, a playful mocking in his tone. Though his voice is finally starting to waver, all of it sends him into overdrive as he draws close to bursting at the seams. His fingers from his free hand tease the skin of your inner thigh, making your hips stutter slightly. “Oooh, s-shit just felt you squeeze around me, you like that?”

“No teasing Max,” you whine and cinch your brows together, looking back at him with a small scowl but it looks more of a pout in his eyes, “touch me please.”

“Demanding now are we?” Deciding to not be mean anymore than he already has been tonight because of how precious you looked—he licks the calloused pad of his thumb and presses it harshly against your clit, neglected and swollen. He circles it, spreading his spit and your wetness slowly. You shriek at the added stimulation and grip the steering wheel so hard your knuckles turn white.

“My good girl, my everything, all I ever need.” He’s babbling again when your pussy clamps down on him at the praise. Both of your brains seemingly go fuzzy yet in tune with one another, only thinking of one thing and it’s that sweet release.

With each moan from you, a sharp groan and grunt comes from him. His own hips begin to move with you again, no longer capable of keeping still, his thrusts matching each lift of your body. The pleasure builds and builds, becoming almost unbearable.

“So. Fucking. Good.” He punctuated his words with each buck, becoming more sloppy as time goes on—hanging so dangerously close to the edge. And he knew that you were almost there too, he could feel it in the way you were moving against him desperately, clenching and shaking around him. "You're close, aren't you, baby?"

Incoherent babbles of yes's and pleas were all you can respond with. Each drive of his hips were now constricted because of how hard you squeezed around him, your walls pulsing like a vice as your body goes taut.

He didn't stop, couldn't stop, he needed you too badly, needed to feel you as you fell apart for him, all because of him. His thumb rubs more vigorously against your bundle of nerves to heighten the pressure in your core, ready to burst at any given moment.

“Y-Yeah I know I'm right there with you, come on baby,” he urges and leans forward, licking and speaking against your ear, knowing that it’ll drive you even closer to your peak, “I want you to come for me–come with me.”

Your vision begins to blur, nerves on fire as you can only focus on the blissful pleasure. The moans coming out of you now louder and more high-pitched as you chase for your orgasm. He angles his hips and snaps up into you harder, now hitting your sweet spot more incessantly. You suddenly go quiet, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you come around him in a silent scream.

“Holy shit, gooooood fucking girl,” his concentration switches to pure ecstasy when he watches you shake atop of him, he can feel everything—every muscle and contraction around him, it was enough for the heat burning in his abdomen to explode along with you. The base of his cock throbs as spurts of cum shoots inside of you while a guttural moan rumbles deep within his throat.

His thrusts begin faltering as he tries to coax the most of your orgasm out of you, pushing his cum further into you as much as he can until the fat head of his now flaccid cock burns in overstimulation.

You collapse onto his chest blissed out and limp when you finally come down from your high. Completely fulfilled again as he hugs you to his sticky body, not caring to pull out, keeping you plugged full of his cum. His chest heaves against your head, rising and falling almost like a soothing lullaby, sitting there and just listening to each others heavy breathing.

“I’m sorry again my love,” he speaks after a while of calming quiteness.

“Shhh don’t talk about it anymore,” you chide playfully, resting your chin on his chest to stare up at him, “just don’t ignore me like that again.”

“Oh I don’t plan on it.”

The familiarity of your bond re-emerges. The tension and hurt from earlier is entirely gone, replaced by a sense of comfort and ease with you lax in his arms. His eyes drinks in the sight of you with a content smile plastered on his face. He’ll have to book a getaway for the rest of his winter break and take you over and over to make up for lost time.

#𝐂𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐑✸𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐙 → f1 #animated dividers from @/cafekitsune #formula 1 #formula 1 smut #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x reader smut #formula 1 x y/n #f1 #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 x reader smut #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x reader smut #max verstappen x y/n

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ahqkas · 9 months ago

Text

“HEAVENLY — jason todd.

PAIRING! jason todd x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS! every moment with your boyfriend felt heavenly — even when he forgot to close the window

WARNINGS / TAGS! pure fluff

WORD COUNT! 1.9k

NOTES! it started snowing recently in my town soo i rewrote one of my older stuff . header below by @/v6que

HAVING JASON TODD AS A BOYFRIEND WAS LIKE INVITING A STORM TO STAY, both exhilarating and daunting. Some days, he was a menace—a tease with a roguish smile that made you want to throw a pillow at him even as you melted under his gaze. He'd linger in doorways with that devilish gleam, challenging you with his sarcasm, pushing just enough to light your fuse and revel in the spark. But he was also the blessing you'd never quite expected, with moments of gentleness, like finding a patch of blue sky amid dark clouds. He'd wrap his arms around you on nights when silence grew heavy, his warmth chasing away shadows you didn't realize were creeping in.

Waking up to the unsettling prickle of a shiver running down your body was hardly the best way to greet the morning. With a groggy sigh, you turned your head to the left, squinting at the vintage clock on your nightstand—the one Alfred had gifted you under the guise of "decor." In reality, it was less an adornment and more a tool of accountability, meant to ward off excuses like the last one you'd made: "I stayed up late because I lost track of time." It had been Alfred's gentle yet firm way of reminding you to take care of yourself. And while you had to admit it worked most of the time, today you were reluctant. The clock read 8 a.m., a perfectly reasonable time to wake, yet all you wanted was to sink back into the warmth of your blankets, to slip back into dreams.

Of course, that weariness was Jason's doing. Last night, he'd coaxed you into staying up late—well past the witching hour, maybe until 2 or 3 a.m. You'd lost track as the hours slipped away in the quiet comfort of each other's voices, filling in the gaps that too often felt like chasms in your time together. With his double life, Jason was like a ghost haunting the city's shadows, fighting to make Gotham safer, a noble but lonely battle. So when he could carve out time just for you, you treasured it, sleeplessness and all. He'd made you laugh, drawn you into those moments of closeness only the midnight hour allowed, where the world faded, leaving just the two of you. It was worth every yawn, every reluctant rise from your pillow this morning. Moments like that, with him, were a rarity you'd gladly lose sleep for.

You shifted slightly under the covers, your gaze drifting to Jason, who lay beside you. The sight of him, with his dark lashes resting softly against his cheek and his lips slightly parted, made a smile tug at the corner of your mouth. He looked so much like the term innocence in those rare moments of stillness, his usual sharp edges softened in sleep. His strong arm was draped across your waist, holding you close in that possessive yet tender way he always did, even in his sleep. The weight of it was comforting, grounding—like a reminder that no matter how chaotic his world was, you were his anchor, just as he was yours. His breathing was slow and steady, the rise and fall of his chest the only movement in the room, save for the faint sway of the curtains from the morning breeze. You could tell he was still exhausted, his body betraying the fatigue that even sleep couldn't fully chase away.

As you lay there, your attention shifted from Jason's peaceful, sleepy form to the source of the chill that had pulled you from your slumber—the open window. The faint light of dawn filtered in, casting a soft glow over the room, but it did little to combat the cool draft creeping through the crack in the glass.

Shivering again, you curled closer into Jason's side, the cold air clashing against the heat his body radiated. His arm tightened slightly around your waist, almost as if sensing your discomfort, but he remained blissfully unaware, lost in the kind of peaceful sleep you rarely saw from him. His body was always so tightly wound, even in his rest, like a coil ready to spring at any moment. But now, his relaxed form and steady breathing made you feel safe, even with the chill around you.

A quiet realization settled over you as your eyes lingered on the open window. It hadn't been you who left it open. Jason, of course. He must've forgotten to close it after stumbling in last night, exhausted from his patrol. You could picture it—him half-dazed, muscles aching, eyes clouded with the weight of the night's work, and then . . . the window left ajar, as if his mind couldn't juggle the simple task with everything else on his plate.

You couldn't help the smile that crept onto your face as you watched him, still wrapped in the softness of sleep, completely oblivious to the cold creeping into the room. You reached out, your fingers brushing gently through his hair, tucking the messy strands away from his forehead. The motion was so familiar, so gentle, that it almost felt like a silent promise, a reassurance that you were there, even in these small moments.

Jason stirred slightly, the warmth of your touch pulling him from his dreams. His face twitched, and his eyelashes fluttered against the pillow as he tried to shake off the fog of sleep. Still, he didn't open his eyes, his lips parting in a soft sigh.

You continued, fingers grazing the soft waves of his hair, brushing them back with a tenderness that made your heart skip. The movement was slow, gentle, just enough to stir him without fully pulling him into wakefulness.

"Jay," you whispered, your voice playful but still soft. "Did you forget something last night?"

He groaned softly, his body shifting as if to pull you closer, but you pulled back just enough to keep him from falling back into slumber. His forehead creased as his eyes barely fluttered open, still trying to hang onto the warmth of sleep. The half-conscious look he gave you was adorable, though tinged with confusion.

"Hmm? What?" His voice was rough from sleep, a soft rasp that only made your heart ache in the best way.

You gave him a teasing smile, brushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "The window," you said, your tone laced with mischievous scolding. "It's freezing in here."

Jason blinked, clearly processing the words, before his eyes finally focused enough to glance toward the open window. Realization dawned on him slowly, and he groaned again, his face half-buried in the pillow as if wishing to escape the responsibility. But the corner of his mouth twitched upward into that familiar, apologetic grin he often sported.

"Guess I forgot," he muttered, though his voice was still full of sleep. "Sorry."

"You're lucky I'm comfortable here," you teased, brushing your fingers through his hair again, this time a little more deliberately, letting the soft texture soothe both of you.

"Yeah, I'm really lucky," he murmured, pulling you back against him, his arm tightening around your waist. "I'll close it in a minute."

You couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped your lips. "Nope, I'm not letting you off that easy."

Jason groaned, clearly not thrilled about leaving the warmth of the bed, but the glint in your eyes was enough to get him moving. Slowly, he pushed himself up, his bare chest exposed to the chill in the room. His dark sweatpants hung low on his hips, the fabric clinging to his frame in a way that left little to the imagination.

For a moment, you just lay there, frozen in the softness of the morning light, admiring him as he moved to close the window. His muscles rippled with each movement—his broad shoulders, the defined lines of his chest and abs, all sculpted from the life he led, one of endless challenges and unspoken battles. There were scars, of course—some faint, others more pronounced—etched into his skin like a map of his past, each one a testament to the strength he carried, the price he paid for the man he was now.

You didn't need to ask about them; they were part of him. And though they were reminders of the violence and pain he'd endured, they didn't repulse you. If anything, they made him more real, more human. More Jason.

You felt your heart swell as your gaze lingered on him, his broad back flexing as he pulled the window shut with a soft click, his body turning toward you. The air felt warmer now, the room no longer biting with the chill it had moments ago. But the warmth you felt wasn't just from the room—it was him. It always had been.

Jason caught your gaze as he turned, his lips curving into that signature, lazy grin, completely unaware of the way you were drinking him in. "See? All fixed," he said, voice thick with sleep but still holding that certain edge.

You smiled back, but it was softer, more sincere than you realized. "Yeah, thanks." Your voice caught in your throat for just a moment as your eyes wandered over him again, and you had to blink a couple of times to keep the heat from rushing to your cheeks.

Jason's smile faltered as he noticed the way you were looking at him, that quiet admiration on your face. He took a slow step forward, his posture casual but with a subtle vulnerability underneath, something that always seemed to surface when he felt the weight of your gaze on him. "What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, but there was a touch of humor in his voice. "Something on my face?"

You shook your head, trying to snap out of your daze. "No," you said, voice a little quieter now, "just—just you."

He stepped closer, his expression softening like it always did in your presence. "What about me?"

You smiled again, but this time, it was all warmth and affection. "I love you," you said simply, your voice barely a whisper, but it was the truth. Every scar, every muscle, every part of him. It was all Jason.

Jason stood there for a moment, eyes locking with yours, as if reading the quiet sincerity in your gaze.

"Yeah?" he murmured, his voice a little raspier than usual, thick with emotion. He reached up, his hand brushing gently against your cheek, a soft gesture that seemed to speak volumes more than words could.

You nodded, your smile still there, but now tinged with a softness that only Jason could bring out of you. "Yeah," you whispered again, a little breathless, "just you, Jason."

For a long moment, he didn't say anything. He just looked at you, his gaze deep and knowing, like he was searching for something in your eyes. And then, with a slight curve of his lips, he whispered it back, his voice so raw, so full of everything he usually kept hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and nonchalance.

"I love you."

It was simple, but the way he said it—the way his hand lingered on the apple of your cheek, the way his eyes softened, like the weight of the world didn't matter as long as you were there—made the words feel more real than anything.

You felt your heart skip a beat, warmth blooming inside you at the truth in his words. This was Jason, in every imperfect, beautiful way. And you loved him just as much, maybe even more, for all of it.

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onepieceisreeeeaaalll · 4 months ago

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may I request another Luffy x fem reader please. Where Luffy is always picking up y/n like anywhere and everywhere they go (they aren’t dating or anything yet either) and he’s just always carrying her. Maybe even one day she’s wearing a skirt and so she freaks out when Luffy goes to grab her but Luffy holds her skirt down while carrying her. I don’t know I feel like it would be cute. Thank you!

Carried Away - Luffy x Fem!Reader

Hey! This was SO FUN to write! I spent too long trying to avoid it because I was overthinking, but it's been sitting in my drafts just haunting me. Here it is! Hope you like it!

Tags: SFW, use of y/n, platonic, pre-relationship, gunshot, Marine shenanigans

Check out my masterlist if you like stuff like this!

~1.7k

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Incident One - The Thousand Sunny, noon

“Luffy, you can't be serious.” Nami sighs.

The ship has been sailing a course towards - well, you can't remember. Nami's the one who handles the navigation, and quite honestly, you didn't hear where she said you'd be going. Something about the logpose, needing to restock - the usual. The point is that it's meant to be an easy journey.

So, everyone's a little surprised to see a random, abandoned dingy in the middle of the ocean. With a treasure chest in it, no less.

“Yeah - duh! We can't just leave that there!” Luffy whines, gesticulating his hands at Nami. “We're pirates - remember? That's treasure!”

“We don't know that, idiot!” Nami snaps, reaching a hand up to smack at Luffy's head. “It could be explosive, like that barrel was forever ago! Remember that?”

He's already barreling near the edge of the ship, though, eyes widen with excitement. You can't help but giggle at the energy he has.

“Aw, come on! Let me go over and take a look! I'll be real quick. Besides, what if it is treasure? Don't you want the money?”

Nami seems to pause at Luffy's comment. Everyone looks between her and Luffy, before she lets out a very long sigh. If you look closely enough, you're sure you can see berrie signs in her eyes.

“Fine. But seriously, only real quick. And bring someone along with you so you don't get stuck in the water. Like Zo-”

“Alright! Let's go!”

Your eyes widen the moment Luffy's arm snakes around your waist, rotating around it over and over again in rubbery fashion. You weren't even close to him, but for some reason, you're the one he's selected.

“Wait!” You screech, your hands grasping at his arm, but it's too late.

Laughing wildly, Luffy backs up, rearing his other arm before launching you against his side and sending you both over the edge of the Sunny.

“Luffy!” You scream, but the sound of the wind passing by is too loud in your ears. And so is Luffy's laugh.

You land on the dingy with a thud, your arms still grasping onto Luffy tightly. His arm retracts from the rotation around your waist, and while you breathe heavily to calm your racing heart, Luffy is already marching towards the treasure chest in the small space.

“What the-” You start, but Luffy's quick to wave you over.

“Nami said I needed someone to come with. Here, check this out with me!”

Your head aches, and all you can do is stare at him as a groan slips past your lips. Well, you can't argue with that logic.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Incident Two - A Nearby Island, morning

Yesterday, that treasure chest proved to not have treasure itself, but some kind of treasure map. The crew was mixed. On the one hand, it seems like an obvious trap. On the other hand, money. Money won out.

Much to everyone's relief, the map has led to a nearby island. The one the crew was headed to, anyway, so it was really of no inconvenience. There's the opportunity to restock, to fix gear, to get a bite to eat. It's a much needed respite after the long journey everyone's just had, so why not add a treasure hunt?

No one is more excited about this than Luffy, Chopper, and Usopp.

“Treasure hunt!” They gleefully cheer, leading the charge down the gangplank.

The ship is docked off the shore, hidden away by large trees and surrounding cliff sides. So long as everyone is careful, there's no reason to believe there should be any danger.

You're gathering your things, sorting through them on the deck. Getting a free day with some berries in your pocket is rare enough as is. It'd be preferable to make the most of it. Maybe some new boots? Oh, or something to take up your free time! Knitting?

It’s while you're lost in your thought bubble that you feel something grab at you. Looking down, your wrist is clamped by - is that a hand? Attached to-

The rubber arm is long, outstretched from the bottom of the gang plank, and you let out a gasp as it reels you quickly away from where you're standing.

“Luffy!” You whine, as exasperated now as you were yesterday.

You're snapped to Luffy's side, pulled with such a force that your feet fly off the ground until you crash into his body. Luffy beams, moving his hands to straighten you up properly. You blow some hair from your face, jerking forcibly from his grasp. Even though he's strong, it seems to have taken him off-guard.

“Seriously, what was that for?!”

“Didn't want you to get left behind! We're treasure hunting!” Luffy grins.

“You can't just-!” You start to argue, but you're too flustered to really finish your statement. He's beaming at you too brightly, and that smile is too damn infectious.

With a sigh, you pull away, walking down the hill ahead of the group.

“I'm going clothes shopping!” You exclaim.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Incident Three - Town, noon

This is getting out of hand. You're aware of how much Luffy likes to grab at the crew, throw them around, and it's no secret that he prefers it to finding another route to having people do as he says. Luffy's impatient. Impulsive. Reckless. It's grown on you, sure, but there's something about the way your stomach lurches every time you're tossed around that leaves you uneasy.

But you've planned for this. It was a decision made out of necessity, nothing more. A cute skirt purchased in town, too short to really significantly cover anything if you were moved around. Sure, Luffy is…well, Luffy, but he's still a guy. At the end of the day, there's no way he'd risk your modesty. Right? He could respect that.

That's the idea, anyway.

Your shopping trip has ended, and you're sporting your new skirt, holding a bag of clothes casually in one hand. It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining brightly on the town, birds are chirping, and there's an arm around your waist.

Wait.

Your eyes widen as you're pulled back forcefully, soaring several feet backwards into the air. A scream rips from your throat as you're pulled into Luffy's arms, and the rubber man is running with impressive speed through town. Your arms wrap around his neck tightly to hang on, and everything is whirring by so fast that you can't figure out what's happening immediately. All that you know is you're moving, you've lost your bag of clothes, and Luffy is the culprit.

“Hey, (Y/N), good thing I found ya! I lost Chopper and Usopp, but they'll catch up. We're gettin’ outta here!”

“Monkey D. Luffy, what the hell are you-?!”

Gunshots. You screech, scrambling as you shift in his arms. Luffy groans with mild irritation, adjusting his hold on you tightly as he sends an arm onto a nearby pole. He launches you both up, and you bury your face in his neck.

“Marines?! How did that happen?!” You exclaim, and your face turns red as your skirt flies up. An arm moves from his neck, quickly scrambling to pull the fabric down.

“Oh - yeah! Turns out that treasure map was left by them! Funny, right?”

“Funny?!”

"Well, kinda." He shrugs, before turning his head out to the Marines. "Stupid jerks! We wanted our treasure!"

"There's Straw Hat!" A Marine yells, followed by several loud bangs from their guns.

You gasp as he jumps between buildings, and bullets are ricocheting off of stone structures you both pass, nearly grazing you. You're pretty sure some hit Luffy, bouncing off of his rubber legs and sending them off every which way. But your skirt keeps threatening to creep up, and you're not sure how tightly you can hang onto him with just one arm. Luffy can feel you bouncing in his grasp, and he glances down at you with a look.

“What's wrong? Put both arms around me or you're gonna fall!”

“I can't, my skirt!” You whine. “I'm gonna flash everyone!”

“Hm?” Luffy tilts his head, furrowing his brows as he looks down at your lap. Noticing your hand pinning your skirt down, he doesn't think twice. He reaches to grab your hand, pulling it around his neck.

“Luffy!”

“Stop whining, just hold on!” Luffy groans, and one of his hands moves to the fabric of your skirt before it can fly up any further. He holds it down, one hand on your skirt and the other wrapped around you tightly.

Your face flushes, and you gasp as he jumps from the roof of a building down to a tree, and then to the ground. You jostle with every move, but your arms have secured you to his body. You're safely nestled against him, and you don't think twice about moving.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Incident Four - The Thousand Sunny, evening

The ship lurches as it lands in the ocean far from the island the crew was on. You all let out a collective sigh of relief as the sails carry you far, far away from that Marine trap. By the time you and Luffy had arrived on the ship earlier, everyone else had barely made it, and Franky had already loaded up the cola to coup de burst the crew to safety.

It's only now, in the aftermath of the fight, that Luffy's grasp on you loosens. He had been too caught up in punching and tossing Marines away to even think about letting you go. Your feet touch the deck carefully, and Luffy's rubber limbs retract as they snap back into place.

Your hands immediately move to straighten out your skirt, and you hear a huff from your Captain beside you. Glancing up, you take notice of the way he adjusts his hat, looking at you with a tilted head and a confused expression.

“Why're you wearin’ somethin’ like that, anyway? Makes it harder to fight, right?” He asks, and his tone is genuinely dumbfounded.

Your face flushes, and words die in your throat. What explanation is there? I didn't want you to toss me around? Clearly, that didn't work, and it feels a little embarrassing to say as much. You're not sure why, but telling Luffy you bought a skirt because of him feels weird. So, you clear your throat, leaning back against the railing of the ship behind you.

“Oh, um…just thought it was cute.” You lie, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “I didn't think we'd be running from Marines today.”

Luffy's quiet for a moment, and his eyes flicker to your skirt only briefly. He still looks dumbfounded.

“Huh. M'kay. Just don't complain when I grab ya next time that your skirt’s goin’ up.” He responds with a grin, a playful chuckle sounding from his chest.

This son of a-

"Sanjiiii! I'm hungry! Whadda ya got?” Luffy exclaims, turning away from you decisively.

“Can it, Luffy, we just got out of port! I need to unload the groceries!” Sanji shouts from across the deck.

Even though you're still annoyed, and your skirt is still riding up, you find yourself laughing. Maybe the Captain grabbing you for adventures isn't the worst thing in the world.

#one piece #op #luffy #luffy x reader #monkey d luffy #monkey d luffy x reader #monkey d luffy fluff #luffy fluff #luffy x reader fluff #nami #cat burglar nami #sanji #black leg sanji #one piece fanfiction #op fanfiction

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