#(You can easily look this up elsewhere too)

[koushirouizumi]

Me, into my void: So, Anyway, did you know "Izzy" can also be short for "Isidor{e}"/"Isador{e}" which was also historically a common given name among {+Ashke} Jews, and it's much more likely the name {DigiAdvs} 'Izzy''s U.S. Eng dub name came from that instead of from 'JUST'/'obviously' 'Izumi'?....

[girlokwhatever]

okokokok soooooooo bringing it back to battle of the blondes. let’s set the scene shall we? there’s a wnba event where all three are present and they’ve all interacted with reader separately(reader could be apart of the event or a media reporter). everyone’s blonde big 3 are raving about reader to each other (without realize it’s the same person) and when they find out they’re all talking about reader…..the battle begins (def might have to be a mini series but fs has potential)

thoughts? or prayers ig?

-🫧

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ battle of the blondes,,

paige bueckers x fem!reader, emily engstler x fem!reader, kate martin x fem!reader

*just gonna call reader peach bc i don’t want to make an oc, its used like twice for plot purposes.*

oh you’ve really done it now.

you’re attending a WNBA event, something pivotal that would launch your career to the next level if it went well, and you might ruin it for yourself just by the way you’re ogling some of the women.

three women in particular.

you really needed this to go well. like, really needed it. you were planning on becoming a social media manager for one of a few teams you’ve spoken to and you were using tonight to prove yourself. it’d been going really well and you captured such great content for a few different teams but as soon as you saw them, your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach. just looking at them made you nervous.

kate martin was the first one to approach you, smile wide with a toothy grin that made you blush. she was nervous.

she spotted you as soon as she walked into the space, easily recognizing you from some of the work you’ve done with the aces. she even heard talk that you’d be the new content manager, something she could only pray was true.

she found her way to you quickly. but as soon as you were within arms length and already smiling at her, she realized she had no idea what she was going to say to you. she had no plan, no cheesy pick-up line, and she definitely had zero chill.

“hi kate! you wanna film some content?”

yes. but not in the way you were talking about.

“i mean, should i? i don’t know, i just saw you and wanted to say hey.” oh god, she was definitely sweating through her undershirt.

“oh okay, well it’s good to see you. how’ve you been?”

kate moves closer to you now, leaning down slightly as you talk so she can hear you better. it’s so she can hear you, not because she wants to be as close to you as possible. definitely not. that’s why when her hand hovers over your spine, gently pressing into you it’s not a big deal because she just can’t hear you.

“oh y’know, i’ve been good. i haven’t seen you at any practices recently. i’ve missed you!” she’s saying it with a friendly tone, leaning down and fanning her breath over your ear. her words immediately make you blush, a silly smile spreading on your face. she never fails to flatter you.

“aw really? i’ve missed you too money martin.”

the blonde laughs and you physically feel it. it isn’t until her body shakes your own that you realized you’re leaning into one another. it immediately makes you freeze, eyes scanning the room for disapproving glances because you need to be on your best, most professional behavior.

you don’t find what you’re looking for, extremely thankful that everyone else’s attention is elsewhere. you push away from kate slightly, turning to stand in front of her. her hand reluctantly drops from your spine but her smile never falters because at least you’re still here.

“so.. i’ve heard some rumors you might be the new media manager for the aces?”

“oh yeah, well, i don’t know. i’ve been seeing a couple teams recently.”

“oh?” oh. it’s definitely not kate’s favorite news. she felt like she really bonded with you and she wanted to have you around more, but the lack of confirmation was a little disheartening. you were so talented; all of your photos looked amazing and everyone loved them. plus, you were a sight for sore eyes. really though, kate looked at you like you were the prettiest girl she’s ever seen. but that’s because you were.

“are you jealous that other teams get my attention too?” you joke, poking your finger on her shoulder gently.

kate’s blushing uncontrollably, turning the same shade as her red suit. she feels like her body might be on fire simply because of your playful teasing. she’s so fucking whipped.

“oh, i- i mean, no, of course not. like you’re great so y’know, i’ll miss you and stuff. yeah.” kate curses herself for stumbling over her words, red cheeks turning crimson. you laugh it off though, smiling that big smile you’re known so well for.

“i’m just messing with you kate. i still don’t know where i’ll end up, wish i could tell you.”

she’s about to say something else, maybe compliment your pretty dress or the way your hair is done but she can’t because someone is calling her name. she pretends like she can’t hear it and continues looking at you, but you’re already looking in the direction of the voice calling out to the blonde. kate internally groans, closing her eyes to roll them in annoyance.

“well, i’ll see you around katie. it was really nice getting to talk to you.”

katie. were you giving her a nickname? the simple thought erupts butterflies in her stomach like she’s never felt before. you make her feel like a love-struck teenager again.

“yeah, yeah. i’ll see ya.” she runs her hand down your arm, gently squeezing once she reaches your palm. it feels wildly intimate for your surface level friendship but kate wants you to know. she needs you to. she can’t even help herself anymore, looking back to smile at you as she disappears into the crowd.

you take a deep breath, reminding yourself that you’re at a work event, not a tinder date. a few more people approach you after that and vice-versa for some media photos and videos. you take pictures of breathtaking outfits, film funny videos and short interviews, and mingle with team management and owners.

you’re in the middle of conversation with a new york liberty media manager when you feel a familiar presence behind you, a gentle hand gliding over the small of your back.

emily engstler smiled at you as you turned away from the previous and forgotten conversation. you were immediately at ease just by looking at her, pulling her into a swift embrace.

“oh my god emily, it’s so good to see you.”

“i could say the same. there’s so many people here i’m glad i spotted you.”

emily was part of the team you’d been working with the past few weeks, filming videos and pictures of the washington mystics players to put up on their social media. you two bonded very easily and quickly and it made your job much more fun, so you really grew a keen liking for her.

she felt the same, maybe a little something more than friendly though.

“how are you? having fun?”

“oh yeah, loads of fun. everyone is so sweet.” it wasn’t a lie; other than the soft but increased patter of your heart because of how good she looked, you were doing great.

“yeah? i’m glad. you look really nice by the way. i’ve never seen you dressed up like this.”

“i could say the same about you. i’m so used to seeing you all sweaty, this is a big difference.”

on the surface emily is calm and collected. she laughs lightly at your comment because it’s true, but it also leaves her a little flustered because hopefully no one heard that out of context. but a tiny part of her hopes someone did.

“do you want me to snap some pictures of you in your suit?” you offer, pointing to the camera resting around your neck.

now she’s even more flustered. she nods and moves to stand against the wall, giving you her best model-level smile as you take her picture. when you show her the pictures she almost cringes at how noticeably flushed she is. it’s all because of you and your cute dress and your even cuter smile-

“are you alright em?”

em. fuck. she’s totally done for as soon as you utter the nickname. it’s not even anything special, everyone fucking calls her that. but it sounds different coming from you. it doesn’t help that you grip her bicep just hard enough to make her a little dizzy.

“oh yeah. can we retake those? i look like a tomato.”

“for sure. i’m sorry- i think i messed up the lighting setting on the camera or something.”

she poses again, flashing you that same breath-taking smile. her hands buries itself deep in her pocket to hide the clamminess.

you can’t help but adore her from behind your device. your eyes linger on her face, watching as her eyes trace your movements as you pull the camera away. she’s much more pleased with the results this time, leaning in to affirm your media skills. emily complimented you endlessly as you showed her shots from earlier in the day too, trying to navigate her way into your heart.

“so, do you know if you’re signing with the mystics or..?”

“oh, no i don’t, not for sure anyways. i don’t think i’m supposed to tell you this but it’s definitely been talked about with management and stuff. i think they really like me.”

“how could they not?”

emily tried to keep her spirits high and wandering mind positive. if you were signed with the mystics it’d make things a lot easier for emily. things like making very clear moves on you to a possible and eventual romantic relationship, something she was interested in having with you.

she watches you smile at her comment and it only warms her heart further. she noticed you do this thing when you smile and she absolutely fucking loves it- you always tilt your head a little to the left when you smile, shrugging sometimes when it’s because of a compliment. she watches you do it now, only admiration flooding her mind and body language.

“you gotta stop looking at me like that.”

“like what?”

“like that. it’s driving me crazy”

you almost go breathless because she’s making you so nervous- was she flirting? it was making your head spin and her cheeky smile doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.

you’re about to reply with some nonsense but thankfully the moment saves you, a teammate of emily’s grabbing her attention.

“hey guys! emily c’mere, there’s someone from my college team i want you to meet.”

she reluctantly waves you goodbye as she vanishes back into the crowd of people that’s only grown since she arrived. now you’re left to stand on your own, still flustered by the tall blonde when another one walks towards you, hand gently coming down on your shoulder to grab your attention.

paige bueckers greeted you with a warm smile, a genuine one that reached to her eyes. your eyes went wide with excitement upon seeing her, a smile like her own painting your features excitedly.

“paige! i had no idea you’d be here.”

“y’know i had to show up to see my fav.”

you’d worked with her before, interning with uconn’s media team last year during your last year of college. she was growing to be a big star in college basketball so you worked with her a lot. it was always a fun time, especially since she’s so photogenic.

“i know you’re working with all the pro teams now but i still think you should come back to uconn for my last year.” she teases, squeezing your shoulder as a gentle reminder that she’s still there and still so close to you.

“oh yeah? you gonna win this year?”

“you already know.”

she shoves her hands in her pockets because she realized she can’t stop touching you. even on the retreat, her smirk is relentless and unwavering within your banter together. confidence exudes from her very being and it’s unbelievably attractive, at least she hopes it is.

she’s trying to swoon you.

“really though, what team are you gonna be working with by next year? i need to know where i’m gonna end up.”

you laugh at that, a beautiful laugh that sweeps through your whole body. it’s music to paige’s ears, face heating up at your reaction but she never falters. she’s smiling and laughing with you because your energy is contagious to her, intoxicating enough to where she’s okay with becoming an addict if it means she can be like this forever. with you.

“wouldn’t you like to know.”

“yeah i would actually.”

“can’t tell you.”

“why not?”

“because i don’t know. change of subject though, let me do my job and take some pictures of you.”

“oh yeah?”

“yeah.”

she confidently finds her way in front of the backdrop, posing in a way you can only describe as incredibly fucking hot. she switches her pose a few times and you capture a multitude of pictures from each moment, admiring her beauty and ease.

she swiftly finds her way back to you after a few moments, not able to deny the magnetic energy that keeps pulling her to you. as you show her some of the pictures her hand loops around your torso, pulling you out of the way of passersby, but also just so she can keep close to you.

it feels like it’s been ages since the draft, which is the last time paige saw you. she wants to soak you in now because she doesn’t know when she’ll see you again. the thought sends a pang through her heart but paige is absolutely determined to make a more.. official, move on you tonight. she pulls back to look at your face, cogs in her head turning to look for the perfect thing to say when someone whisks you away.

you bid your sweet, honey-laced farewell before you’re gone in a flash. paige understands, you’re here to work. she strolls away aimlessly, spotting a few familiar faces seated at a table in the distance.

that’s how the three blondes found themselves all at the same table, all gushing about the same person without a clue.

it started with paige talking to caitlin, who eventually dragged kate into the conversation alongside emily. paige talked about you, a nameless mention of the most beautiful girl ever. she gushed to the other blondes about how happy she was to see you again, how pretty you looked, and how sweet you acted.

“i didn’t get to talk to her for long unfortunately but im still so glad i got to see her. she’s so amazing.” paige spoke confidently, leaving your identity anonymous to the rest of the girls at the table. caitlin pushes kate teasingly at the topic, piping up to add to the conversation.

“kate’s little crush is here too. won’t stop talking about her.”

“uh yeah, i saw her when i first got here. i haven’t seen her since though, i think she’s really busy y’know.” kate’s blushing, nowhere in her nightly plans did she intended to spill her guts to everyone about her massive crush on you.

“oh yeah kate, keep it modest. don’t tell them what you told me, about how pretty she looks and how talented she is and how her hair is up so nicely in a cute little half updo-”

“dude!”

“fine, fine.” caitlin’s eyes drift to the other blonde across the table, motioning to her, “what about you? anyone special here tonight?”

emily nervously clears her throat and sinks into the chair. she can’t help but smile at the simple thought of you. the word vomit comes immediately and she can’t even help it.

“oh yeah. i mean, i guess. i’ve kinda liked her for a little while and i got to talk to her earlier. she’s really cool. bro, she’s got this thing she does when she smiles- i swear it’s gonna kill me someday. i’m fucking whipped.”

“same.”

“same.”

kate and paige speak in unison, almost alarmingly. caitlin’s eyes flicker between her friends, then to aaliyah as she approaches the table. she occupies the space between emily and paige, grabbing the shoulders of both her former and current teammate.

“paige did you see peach?”

“yeah, i talked to her a little while ago.”

“did you, emily?”

“yeah i did.”

liyah winks at emily, knowing of the crush her teammate has for her friend. it makes emily blush which immediately catches paige’s eye- it’d be impossible to miss emily’s big smile at the mention of your famous nickname shared between close friends. kate doesn’t catch on, too embarrassed from caitlin’s intrusive speech to think properly.

“wait, what was that?” paige is quick to question, wanting nothing more than for her suspicions to be proven wrong.

“nothing?”

“oh my god.” caitlin breaks through the short silence. she’s pieced it all together. caitlin throws her head back in laughter almost manically because, this drama is too fucking good.

“what?” kate asks, confused as to why everyone looks so concerned.

“you guys all have a crush on the same person.”

everyone’s eyes widen; in fear, horror, shock, jealousy, disbelief, you name it. paige finds you amongst the crowd talking to a woman and can’t help but feel possessive over you. you’re hers. a similar thought seems to run through the other two blondes as well. they all grimace, faces turning sour with discontent.

“wait, you guys have a crush on peach too?” kate doesn’t even want to know the answer, heart sinking past the floor when the other blondes nod in confirmation. she wants to throw up, but more than that she wants to find you and confess her admiration towards you in hopes that you feel the same.

she has to get to you before the others.

she stands up and darts across the room as casually as possible. caitlin watches in shock because she’s never seen her close friend act this way, but there’s a first for everything.

“fuck.” paige mutters, pushing away from the table to follow kate’s trail to you. emily does the same. all the blondes have departed from their previous spots, now only concerned with the trivial task of finding you and getting you alone.

it’s no use though, all immediately arriving within the same second. your attention is inevitably drawn to all three of them as they stand before you with pleading eyes.

“guys? is everything alright?”

“no.” kate mutters, eyes shamelessly wandering over your figure with her bottom lip pulled snugly between her teeth.

“what’s.. what’s going on?”

everyone is silent, glancing around at one another before paige bravely breaks the stale silence. “we all like you peach. a lot. basically, you need to pick one. if any of us.”

“oh.”

˚ ༘♡🍓⋆｡˚🏀✧˖°🌼ʚɞ♡🍀

this was 3.1k words…. my longest fic

i really hope it lives up to the hype 😣

yall need to tell me who you want peach to end up with……. maybe all?! 😏

also this long ass fic is not spell checked

[pucksandpower]

Prince of Monaco

Charles Leclerc x Princess of Monaco

Summary: what better way for the honorary Prince of Monaco to celebrate finally winning his home race than with the Princess of Monaco?

Warnings: 18+ content

The roar of the crowd is deafening as Charles brings his Ferrari across the finish line, finally winning his home race after years of heartbreak. His mechanics swarm the barriers, nearly delirious with excitement, but Charles just leans back in his seat, letting the accomplishment sink in.

He’s done it. He’s conquered the streets that have taunted him for so long.

As he’s ushered up to the iconic podium, Charles looks out at the sea of fans cheering his name and spots you, radiant in a summery yellow dress, beaming up at him.

For a moment, time seems to stop as your eyes meet. You give him a little wave and he nearly stumbles on his way to the top step, feeling lightheaded.

When you step forward with the winner’s trophy, Charles’ heart starts pounding. Your fingers brush against his ever so slightly as you hand it over and he swears he can feel an electric current pass between you. The sleek lines of the trophy blur before his eyes as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Félicitations, Charles,” you say warmly, resting a hand on his arm.

Charles blinks rapidly as his cheeks start to burn. Up close, you look like an honest-to-god angel descended to earth. How does one even speak to heavenly beings?

“Th-thanks,” he stammers out, mentally kicking himself for sounding like such an idiot. He needs to get it together. “I mean, merci, Your Serene Highness.”

You laugh, the warm sound instantly putting him at ease. “Please, just call me Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeats dumbly. It’s easily the most beautiful combination of letters he’s ever heard.

“You should celebrate your big win tonight,” you say, a playful glint in your eyes. “But maybe don’t get too carried away with the champagne.”

Charles frowns in confusion. Is that a royal decree to take it easy on the partying?

“I was hoping you could pick me up tomorrow evening,” you continue blithely. “For our date.”

Our … date? Charles’ eyes go wide as his jaw drops open. Is the most beautiful woman in the world really asking him out right now? In front of millions of people?

“Uh, I … we … huh?” He sputters inelegantly.

You just smile that radiant smile and lean in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “We do now,” you murmur against his skin, sending tingles down his spine. “I’ll see you at eight?”

Before Charles can formulate any kind of response, you give him one last brilliant grin and turn to congratulate Oscar Piastri on second place. He blinks down at the trophy in his hands, wondering if he’s dreaming all of this.

The rest of the podium celebration passes by in a blur. He holds up his trophy and waves to the crowd like he’s supposed to, but his mind is elsewhere, utterly consumed by the feeling of your lips on his skin and the knowledge that he has an actual date with the woman of his dreams.

As soon as the ceremonies conclude, his team is all over him, shouting congratulations and patting his back enthusiastically. Normally he’d be caught up in the revelry, basking in his victory, but now all Charles wants is to get out of there. He needs to chug about a gallon of water and take a very cold shower.

“Party tonight, eh mate?” Carlos calls out with a playful elbow to the ribs. “Got any special plans to celebrate?”

Charles feels the blush creeping back up his cheeks as he thinks about you — your warm laughter, your gentle touch, the promises of a date in your sparkling eyes. His lips tug up in a helpless smile.

“You could say that,” he murmurs, already counting down the hours until he gets to see you again.

The post-race celebrations kick into high gear, with champagne flowing freely and music thumping from every corner. Charles goes through the motions, reveling in his hard-won triumph but unable to fully let loose and enjoy himself. Not when a much bigger prize is waiting for him tomorrow night.

The hours drag by interminably as he waits for an acceptable time to make his excuses and leave the party behind. His friends rib him relentlessly for his uncharacteristic restraint.

“What’s got you so distracted, Calamar?” Pierre teases. “This isn’t like you at all!”

“Yeah, our boy’s got his eyes on something else tonight! Or would it be more accurate to say someone else?” Joris chimes in with an exaggerated wink.

Charles flushes but doesn’t deny it, fighting back a smile. If only they knew ...

It’s nearly 2 am by the time he extricates himself from the club, pleading an early morning commitment. No one believes his excuse for a second, but they let him go with plenty of cheers and well-meaning shoves.

As soon as Charles makes it back to his apartment, he starts feverishly getting ready for tomorrow, picking out the perfect outfit and incessantly checking the time. After tossing and turning fruitlessly for a couple of hours, he finally gives up on sleep, instead spending his morning going for a long run to burn off excess energy.

The day drags on at an excruciatingly slow pace. Every minute feels like an hour as he wills the clocks to move faster. He triple checks the address, runs through conversation starters in his head, and showers for the third time. This date has to go perfectly.

At 7:55 pm, Charles pulls up outside the royal palace, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as he tries to control his nerves. He takes one last steadying breath before getting out of the car and smoothing down his shirt.

Like an angel from on high, you suddenly appear in the palace doorway, looking impossibly radiant in a gauzy pink sundress that matches your warm smile perfectly.

“Y/N,” Charles breathes out reverently, drinking in your beauty. Up close, his heart is pounding so loudly he’s sure you must be able to hear it. “You look … wow.”

Your smile grows even brighter as you move towards him. “Well, you clean up pretty nicely yourself.”

There’s a brief, charged silence as you stand face to face, just drinking each other in. Then, seeming to make up your mind about something, you grab his hand and tug him close.

“Come on,” you murmur, eyes sparkling mischievously. “I’ve got the perfect date night planned for us.”

With your hand in his, Charles would follow you straight into the depths of hell itself. He manages an eager nod, unable to tear his eyes away from your face.

Whatever you have planned, he knows it will be perfect. So long as he gets to spend the evening by your side, he couldn’t care less what you do.

You lace your fingers through his, shooting him one last brilliant smile, and lead the way to what is undoubtedly going to be the best night of Charles’s life.

***

Warm rays of morning sunlight filter through the sheer curtains, gently rousing Charles from the most blissful sleep of his life. He blinks slowly, taking in the lavish bedchamber with its soaring ceilings and intricate moldings. Plush rugs cover the marble floors and the bed he’s cocooned in is easily the most luxurious he’s ever experienced, with soft Egyptian cotton sheets caressing his skin.

For a delirious moment, Charles thinks he might still be dreaming. But then his eyes drift to you, sleeping peacefully beside him, and his heart stutters in his chest. It all comes rushing back in a torrent of sense memories — your radiant smile, your tinkling laugh, the feeling of your hand in his as you led him out on the most magical night of his life.

The two of you stroll hand-in-hand through the winding alleyways of Monaco, ducking down tiny side streets to places only locals know. Charles is enchanted as you show him hidden corners of your city that he’s never seen before, sharing fascinating stories and anecdotes all the while.

“This little trattoria has been run by the same family for nearly a century,” you explain as you lead him into a tiny, unassuming restaurant positively dripping with old world charm. The smiling owner greets you like a beloved daughter, embracing you warmly.

Over a seemingly endless parade of rustic Italian delicacies and a hearty red wine, you and Charles talk for hours about everything and nothing - childhoods and ambitions, favorite books and movies, embarrassing stories that have you both crying with laughter.

When the owner sends over a giant slice of homemade tiramisu with a wink, you steal the first bite right off Charles’ fork with a cheeky grin. A bit of mascarpone clings to the corner of your mouth and without thinking, Charles leans in to kiss it away, savoring the sweet taste of you mingled with the rich dessert.

You make a soft noise of surprise against his lips before melting into the kiss, cupping his face tenderly. When you finally part, both a little breathless, there’s a new burning heat in your eyes that makes Charles’ heart skip a beat.

“Shall we go for a walk?” You murmur, already sliding out of the booth. Your hand finds his and you lace your fingers together as you lead him back out into the night ...

Just thinking about last night’s date makes Charles’ heart feel fit to burst. You had taken him on a romantic tour of Monaco unlike anything he’s ever experienced, showing him secret nooks and hidden gems even he didn’t know. He had been so entranced just drinking in the city through your eyes, hanging on your every word.

But those heated looks you started sending his way after that first electrifying kiss had made it clear the real night was only just beginning ...

You stroll along the moon-dappled harbor, pointing out your favorite super-yachts and regaling Charles with scandalous stories of the jetset lives of their owners. He laughs delightedly at your wicked sense of humor, tucking you against his side as you wander the lamp-lit cobblestone streets.

When you lead him up a winding path to an old stone overlook, his breath catches in his throat. Twinkling lights from the city and harbor spread out as far as the eye can see, the tiny pinpricks glittering like a million stars. You come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist as you nuzzle against his back.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” You murmur reverently. “This is my favorite view in all of Monaco.”

Charles turns in your embrace until you’re pressed flush together, hardly daring to breathe. “It is,” he rasps out, getting lost in the depths of your eyes. “But not as beautiful as you.”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes flicking down to his lips for a heated moment, before surging up on your tiptoes to capture his mouth in a searing kiss ...

Unbidden, a low groan slips from Charles’ throat as he remembers those heated kisses on the overlook, one thing inexorably leading to another in a heady rush of lust and longing until you were both feverishly tugging at clothes. He swallows hard, feeling himself start to stir beneath the sheets.

That was just the start of the longest, most incredible night of Charles’ life. Your romantic tour had eventually led you both back to the palace, where you scattered a trail of discarded garments across marble floors and lavish furnishings in your wake, completely consumed by your desire for one another.

You press Charles back against the door of your bedroom as soon as you stagger inside, hands roaming hungrily as you devour his mouth in a bruising kiss. Charles groans deeply, fingers tangling in your hair as he spins you both around to walk you back towards the bed ...

A warm weight suddenly drapes itself across Charles’ torso, jolting him from his reverie with a sharp intake of breath. You’re curled against his side, smiling at him with eyes still heavy-lidded from sleep. His heart kicks up a furious gallop as you scoot closer, trailing a path of featherlight kisses along his chest and shoulder.

“Good morning,” you murmur, voice still scratchy and deliciously rumpled sounding. Charles nearly swallows his tongue at the sound — not to mention the fact that he can now feel every luscious curve of your body pressed against his beneath the sheets.

“Morning,” he croaks out, throat gone instantly dry. How is it possible that you look even more beautiful than he remembers?

You laugh softly at his dazed expression as you work your way up the column of his neck, seemingly intent on covering every last inch of bare skin with those incredibly soft lips. “Sleep well?”

Charles manages a strangled noise of agreement just before you capture his mouth in a slow, smoldering kiss. He groans against your lips, looping an arm around your waist to pull you more fully on top of him. Every nerve-ending feels like it’s engulfed in flames.

When you finally break apart, you brace yourself up on your elbows, gazing down at him with bright, sparkling eyes. “Last night was incredible,” you say candidly, tracing the line of his cheekbone with a fingertip. “Thank you for such an amazing first date.”

A low rumble of laughter escapes Charles as he grins up at you, dizzy with happiness. “I should be thanking you. Last night was … just, wow.” He reaches up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear, marveling at how impossibly soft your skin is. “Have I mentioned yet how breathtakingly gorgeous you are?”

Your cheeks flush prettily even as you let out an adorably bashful little giggle that has Charles bewitched. “Charles Leclerc, you beautiful charmer,” you tease, dropping your head to nuzzle against the crook of his neck. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Mmm, I have a few ideas ...” Charles murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. He trails his fingertips up the delicate lines of your spine, reveling in the way it makes you shiver against him.

You lift your head again, pinning him with a look of pure want that steals the breath from Charles’ lungs. “Is that so?” You purr, rolling your hips ever so slightly against his in a way that has him biting back a groan.

“Oui,” he husks out, slipping a hand into your tousled hair to draw your mouth back to his. You melt against him instantly, the kiss rapidly becoming heated and desperate as you both come quickly undone.

With you pressed so tantalizingly close, Charles can feel the heat slowly building between you as he maps every inch of your body with eager hands. Your skin is so silky soft, he can scarcely believe you’re real. Last night’s passion comes roaring back in a tidal wave of desire so potent it nearly overwhelms him.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, clinging to him like a lifeline as you finally join your bodies in a fevered rush. Charles surges up to capture your lips again, unable to get enough of your addictive taste as you move together in perfect synchronicity. Slick skin sliding, breaths mingling, every sensation is heightened and electrified as you make love with an abandon unlike anything Charles has ever experienced ...

A strangled groan tears from Charles’ chest at the memory, his grip reflexively tightening on your hips and pulling you harder against him.

You let out a soft whimper against his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as you grind deliciously against him in response. Charles feels utterly intoxicated by you — your taste, your scent, the exquisite softness of your skin pressed so enticingly to his.

With one fluid motion, he rolls you both until he’s caging you beneath him on the luxurious sheets. You gaze up at him with eyes gone molten and dark, chests heaving in tandem. The ferocious want simmering between you is nearly tangible.

“You’re so beautiful,” Charles rasps out in reverence, brushing the backs of his fingers along the elegant curve of your jaw. He leans down to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, feeling your rapid pulse fluttering beneath his lips. “Perfect ...”

A soft keen escapes you as you tilt your head back to allow him better access. Every nerve in Charles’ body feels electrified, like his skin is humming with unreleased energy. He’s drunk on you, body and soul.

As his lips blaze a path lower, nuzzling between the delicious swell of your breasts, your back arches sharply up off the bed with a gasp of longing. Your fingers clutch almost painfully at his shoulders as you struggle to pull him even closer.

“Charles … please,” you whimper, voice pitched low and heady with naked yearning.

He slides a hand up your silken thigh in answer, molding his palm to the flare of your hip as you shift restlessly beneath him. You’re warm and pliant and bewitching like this, coming slowly undone under his attentions.

With a ragged groan, Charles surrenders to the inescapable gravitational pull between you, fusing your mouths back together in a searing kiss that instantly turns all-consuming ...

Your nails score lines of delicious fire down his back as he drives into you with deep, powerful strokes, hips snapping together in a primal rhythm. It’s all heat and friction and tangled limbs, the world narrowing down to nothing but the places where your bodies join so intimately.

You keen out his name like a prayer, the sound sending hot shockwaves of lust ricocheting through Charles’s core. Every nerve feels simultaneously set alight and yet thrumming with a paradoxical electric chill, sensations somehow magnified tenfold.

He’ll never get enough of this feeling — of being completely consumed by you, your passion, your overwhelming desire for each other burning so bright that everything else fades away into glorious insignificance ...

A guttural groan is torn from deep in Charles’ throat as your hips roll sensuously against his in wanton invitation. His head drops into the tempting curve of your neck, lips tracing maddeningly along your overheated skin as he struggles to maintain the barest thread of control.

“Y/N,” he rumbles out, your name laced with pure, undisguised reverence. “Mon ange ...”

You cup his face in your hands, forcing his heated gaze back to yours. For a crystalline moment, everything hangs in breathless suspension before you surge up to claim his mouth in a searing, all-consuming kiss.

Like a switch being flipped, the tenuous grip Charles had on his restraint abruptly snaps. A low groan tears from his very soul as he lets the irresistible tide finally pull him under, lost in the relentless thrall of your passion.

Your urgent cries spike higher as Charles’ hips drive forward in a smooth, powerful glide, joining your bodies with exquisite friction. You clutch at him wildly, nails raking lines of delicious fire across his back as the room narrows to nothing but scorching skin and thunderous heartbeats.

At last, the spiraling tension reaches a blinding crescendo, your release crashing over you in shattering waves of pure ecstasy. Charles’ own climax follows swiftly, torn from his very depths with a hoarse shout of your name.

He collapses bonelessly on top of you, lungs heaving like he’s just run a marathon as you both simply cling to each other through the sizzling aftershocks. Sparks still seem to crackle across his nerve endings from your earth-shattering joining.

After an endless stretch of languid moments, Charles finally gathers enough strength to ease himself to the side, gathering you in against his chest. You come willingly, draping yourself over him as he nuzzles into the top of your head and just breathes you in.

“Wow ...” you murmur at last when you’ve recovered enough to speak. A breathless giggle escapes as you press a soft kiss to the hollow of his throat. “And I thought last night was incredible.”

Charles rumbles out a deep chuckle, pressing his smile against your hair as his arms tighten reflexively around you. “Last night was just the warm up, mon cœur,” he husks out, voice still gloriously ragged from your shared passion.

You pull back just enough to gaze at him through heavy-lidded eyes, cheeks delightfully flushed and hair wildly tousled in a way that has Charles’ heart clenching near to bursting. Brushing a knuckle along his jaw, you give him a look rich with teasing promise.

“Well then ... if this is what I give you for winning Monaco,” you trail off meaningfully, letting the words hang suspended as your fingertips trail down the ridges of his abdomen. “I can’t even imagine what you’ll earn when you win the World Championship.”

The low, sultry purr of your tone sends delicious little licks of heat swirling through Charles’ veins despite his delightfully sated state. A wicked grin tugs at his lips as pulls you more fully on top of him again, glorying in your lush curves molded so perfectly against his own.

“Is that a challenge, Princesse?” He rumbles out, dipping his head to nibble along the elegant column of your throat. You let out the most deliciously breathy giggle that has his blood absolutely simmering.

“Mmm, maybe,” you hum out coyly, deft fingers trailing through the short hair at his nape in a way that makes his toes curl. “Although I suppose you’ll just have to win it and find out for yourself ...”

Charles feels a possessive growl rising up from deep within his chest as he abruptly flips you both, pinning your breathless laughter beneath him on the luxurious sheets. Gazing down at you with unbridled adoration blazing in his eyes, he steals another scorching kiss that leaves you both gasping for air.

“Oh, I fully intend to,” he vows fervently, reveling in the way your eyes have gone molten and dark with renewed desire. His hands map every inch of your body with fervent devotion as he leans down to murmur hotly against the shell of your ear.

“And when I do, Princesse … I’m never letting you go.”

[unheavenlyvision]

TEMPORARY

pairing: gojo satoru/reader

wc: 5.2k

summary: your close friend gojo is kind enough to let you stay with him for a while, it's just a shame that he's overly curious about what you read when he's not home

a/n; gojo is nosy and i stand by that, also, i can't seem to help myself when it comes to him... this was only meant to be 2k but i think i like him a little too much. that or he just yaps a lot

warnings: 18+ only, smut, pwp, dirty talk, fingering, tease!gojo, hickeys, p in v sex, clit slapping (once), creampie, afab!reader, no use of pronouns or y/n, big dick gojo, gojo likes embarrassing reader

MDNI | SMUT UNDER CUT

Somehow, you’ve ended up in Gojo’s fancy apartment… the ‘somehow’ is, he is one of your closest friends and the only person you could ask for help. It had already been a long day when you came home to a hole in your ceiling and a bath – that isn’t yours but the floors above – in your apartment, you wanted to give up on life. Your apartment was wet and some of your stuff had water damage.

Maybe if you weren’t so distraught and just wanting somewhere to stay, you would’ve asked someone else but you decided to call Gojo and while he was more than happy to accommodate you, temporary living with him has been… troublesome.

It’s not so much as what he’s been doing but how you’re feeling, you feel self-conscious and too aware of yourself. Constantly wondering if it’s okay that you’re here, that you’re sitting on his couch or using his kitchen. He goes away for days at a time and yet you still worry about whether or not it’s okay you’re here.

You don’t bug him too much with it, you know that can get annoying, asking for constant reassurance but you’re worried that you’re overstaying your welcome. Especially when your building manager keeps calling and telling you fixes will take longer than expected. At this rate, you might just have to live elsewhere.

Another call like that had just come in and when you walk back into the living room and plonk down on the couch next to Gojo, he can immediately tell you’re feeling disheartened, “Not ready yet?”

“I don’t even know if they’ve started yet,” you sigh, kicking your feet a little in your frustration, “I’m really sorry, Gojo,” you lean back into the couch more, head resting on the back of it.

“I’m not worried about it,” he hums, crossed leg bouncing slightly, “Stay as long as you like, it’s nice having someone here when I come home,” he leans his head back on the couch too but turns to look at you.

Turning your head, you meet his gaze, “Are you sure? I don’t want to overstay my welcome,” your brows pull together, “I can always find another place to stay, honestly, I won’t be offended if you’re sick of me… I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

He scoffs, “What inconvenience? You barely make a mess and move around the place like it’s made of glass,” he’s making fun of you a little, trying to get you to relax more, “You should chill out and get a bit more comfortable, it seems like you might be here for a while yet,” he shrugs easily, not at all worried about you staying.

You intake a breath, “Yeah but I–”

“–Plus, where else would you stay? I’m like… your only friend,” he snickers.

Frowning at him, you defend, “That’s not true and you know it!”

“Yeah? Then why was I your first call?” He’s smug.

Looking away, you mumble, “You have no way of knowing that.”

“Ah, but I think your reaction gave it away,” he chuckles, poking your cheek with his finger.

“I wonder if it’s too late to ask Shoko for her couch,” you grumble, ignoring him.

“Nooo~” he pouts, “Don’t leave, you’re such a good guest, I’m sorry for saying you have no friends.”

You roll your eyes at him, “Do you ever get tired of yourself,” you ask, side-eyeing him.

He smiles big, “Never.”

If Gojo were being honest with you, he’d admit he likes your company, he likes coming home and hearing you patter around his apartment, and he likes that you trusted him enough to call him when you needed help. He likes that he was the first person you called because he wants you to rely on him, he wants to feel wanted and needed by you. It’s just a shame a bathtub had to fall through your ceiling for it to happen.

He's not even mad that your building manager is downright atrocious at his job because that just means he gets to have more time with you.

⸝⸝⸝

You’re in his home… alone, just for tonight. Gojo said he had ‘super important and super-secret’ things to attend to, so you’re choosing to be scandalous and instead of reading your current novel in your room, you’re reading it on the couch.

Under a blanket and snuggled into Gojo’s nice couch is about as close to comfortable as you get these days. His living room is nice and you like it out here, though you tend to shy away from main areas when he’s home, afraid of disturbing his peace.

The book is in depth, the scenes heating up quickly, you quietly read, flicking the pages slowly, savouring the tension. It’s not often that you read stuff like this but you’re getting invested, finding a good book with plot and porn is hard to come by and you’re finding yourself getting more and more invested.

Gojo’s voice from behind you is a scare you weren’t ready for, “Wouldn’t it feel better to actually get fucked instead of just reading about it?”

“Fuck! Geez, Gojo, way to scare someone to death,” you huff, not at all ready for his comparably loud voice in the quiet room.

He’s leaning over the back of the couch, apparently reading over your shoulder, “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Yeah, that’s why you were lurking behind me for so long… because you didn’t mean to scare me,” you crane your neck to look up at him, your eyes showing your clear scepticism.

“Let’s change the topic back to how you’re reading porn out in the open,” he smiles.

You squint at him, “It’s a sex scene, not a porn book.”

He leans in a little closer, “Could’ve fooled me.”

“You’re nosy,” you accuse.

He clarifies, “I am curious.” He adds, “You were so involved in your book that you didn’t even notice my presence… now I know why,” his eyebrows wiggle at you.

You shoot your head back up so you don’t have to look at him, “Why are you back anyways? I thought you weren’t gonna be home until tomorrow?”

“I’m just simply too good,” he boasts. You grumble at him but pick up your blanket and stomp off to the spare room with your book, he calls out to you, “Don’t be like that, come hang out with me.”

“No,” you cement, feeling overly embarrassed. You know he was just kidding but you can’t help the way your skin feels all hot and the bit of shame that creeps into your bones.

⸝⸝⸝

When you’re in bed, you don’t continue reading, the moment ruined and now you just want to crawl into a ball and die. It’s too early to sleep though, so you end up just lying there lifelessly. Some time passes before Gojo knocks on your door, waiting for you to answer to see if you’re still awake.

“Go away,” you pout out. He opens the door at the sound of your voice, “That’s like… the exact opposite of going away.”

“I know,” he shuffles over to the bed and flops down next to you, making himself comfortable, “But I wanna talk about earlier.”

You groan, “Ugh, that’s like the last thing I wanna talk about with you right now.”

“You sure? Because there are plenty of other things I could think to talk about instead,” he smiles evilly, he sits up slightly, resting his weight on his forearm to watch over you.

Flat on your back, you scowl up at him, “Maybe we should talk about how lovely the weather has been lately.”

“It’s been raining for a week straight,” he reminds.

You cross your arms over your chest, “…Maybe I like the rain.”

“I am sorry,” he changes the topic.

“It doesn’t matter,” you try brushing it off.

“I made you uncomfortable and I didn’t mean to,” he looks away in thought, “I wasn’t trying to pry, I just wanted to know what you were so interested in and when I saw–”

“–Okay! It’s fine, I’m not mad.”

“It would be understandable if you were,” he flops onto his back again.

You turn to look at him, “If you’re still feeling bad, make me breakfast in the morning.”

“Look at that! I think all the guilt I had just left my body,” he smiles cheekily, also turning to look at you.

You can’t help the way your eyes drop to his lips, just for a second, you didn’t mean anything by it… you think. Gojo sees it because of course he does, he doesn’t miss a single thing and he decides to push the limits of your friendship, just a little bit.

He speaks again, “You know… I am curious about something though.”

Unamused, you raise a brow, “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

“Does it do anything? I mean… reading porn like that? Does it actually effect you?” He knows what he’s doing and he knows the answer to his question, he’s not as dense as he pretends he is.

“Invasive question,” you squint at him before letting your face relax, “I can always read it to you and you can see for yourself,” you joke.

His smile grows, “Fantastic idea!”

Your eyes widen, “No! No it’s not! I was kidding, I’m not reading porn to you Gojo.”

“Boo,” he jeers.

“You’re so weird,” you sigh.

He offers you an alternative, “I’ll settle for an answer to my question if you don’t want to read me porn.”

This man is getting on your nerves, “Who would want to do that in the first place?”

“Me, I will read porn to you right now if you like,” he offers.

“Okay let me rephrase, what kind of sane person would want that?” You’re hoping to guide him away from this topic.

“Ouch, words hurt,” you can see his face light up with his joke, “And arouse, apparently.”

“What do you mean apparently?” You ask, “I haven’t even answered your question, very presumptuous of you.”

“Yeah but if the answer was a simple ‘no’ you would’ve just said that and moved on,” he looks proud of himself right now, “Sometimes… not giving an answer is almost as telling as giving one.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you move your head to face the ceiling again, “Get a load of Socrates over here.” You sigh, “What do you want to hear? That it does arouse me, that I get sooo wet reading porn on your couch while you’re gone?”

He’s quiet, at a loss for words really, which is shocking to you. His prolonged silence has you looking back to him. His eyes look a little darker than before, his gaze far away. You’re starting to feel bad, like maybe you’re the one who took it too far now, “Gojo, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you–”

“–No… go on,” he encourages, “Tell me all about what you do when I’m not home,” his eyes glimmer.

“I– nothing really– I’m not…” you’re starting to heat up, his gaze on you not helping, “I’m not being creepy while you’re gone…”

“I didn’t say you were being creepy,” he moves so he’s being supported by his forearm again, your eyes follow him as he ends up almost hovering over you, “I said I wanted to know what else you do when I’m not home.”

You hesitate, “This might not be–”

“You don’t have to tell me, if I’m being pushy, if you’re uncomfortable… tell me, I’ll leave you alone,” he wants this bad but he’s not going to force you, he wants you to want it too.

“It’s not… I am uncomfortable but only because,” your thighs press together slightly, seeking pressure, you’re uncomfortable because he’s turning you on and he’s not done a damn thing.

“…Because…”

“Ugh, Gojo,” your hands cover your face, trying to hide yourself from his eyes, “Because you’re…” you mumble, trailing off.

He leans in a little closer, smug smile loud in his voice, “I’m sorry, what?”

You peak through your fingers, “…You’re…turning me on…”

“I still didn’t get that,” he feigns ignorance, he heard you just fine, “Maybe move your hands properly?”

“You’re being mean,” you mutter from behind your hands, “I know you heard me.”

His gaze lowers, scanning your body, taking in how your breathing has sped up, how your thighs clench together, fighting the urge to rub against each other. “No idea what you’re on about, I can’t hear a thing from behind your hands.”

You drop your arms with a huff, “You’re really quite unkind, you know?”

“I think I’m perfectly kind,” his tone is jovial, happy with your acquiescence, “Now repeat what you said, I wanna hear it loud and clear.”

You’re gonna hit him, you wanna hit him. Taking a breath, your hands reach out for his face and move him so he’s looking you dead in the eyes, “Gojo… you’re making me really wet and needy,” your tone is coquettish, “I need your help, please.”

His eyes brighten, deliciously satisfied with your words and confession, “Tell me what you do when I’m not here then.”

You stare at him, you thought you had one up him but he readjusts alarmingly well, you’ll just have to double down, “I lay on your nice, big couch and I fingerfuck myself, hoping I get to cum before you get home.”

“I already like coming home to you,” he leans into you, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “I think I’d like coming home to the sounds of you playing with your wet cunt even more.”

Oh god, he might kill you, he’s clearly much better at this than you are, his words have your eyes glazing over slightly. Just his presence is suffocating, “Gojo, please… touch me?”

He pulls back, “Hmm, giving up already? Where’s your fighting spirit?”

“You’re an unbearable tease…”

“Tease… yes. Unbearable? I don’t agree, you’ve put up with me for this long,” he all but singsongs, he’s so smug – you want to get up and walk away from him but you don’t have the strength.

“Either kiss me or I’m changing my mind and pretending that tonight didn’t happen,” you glare at him.

His smile doesn’t falter, “Now who’s unkind?” You make a show of trying to get up but he pushes you back down into the mattress, his lips finding yours. You moan into his kiss and he huffs against you, “Open your mouth more,” he speaks against you.

You do as he says and his tongue slips into your mouth, he licks at you and you tentatively meet him half-way. If kissing someone felt this good surely you’d have remembered it, so why can’t you remember a single kiss that feels as good as this one.

He crawls onto you more, your hands move to find his shoulders before wrapping around his neck, tugging him closer. He groans into the kiss and you swallow it down, your head is swimming, he sounds hot, he feels hot, he’s making you feel hot.

He pulls back, “Fuck, I gotta touch you, let me touch you.”

“Mhm, yeah, please,” you’re all too eager to agree, not missing the thinly veiled desperation in his words.

His hand is quick to snake down your body and into your pants, slipping past the waist band of your underwear. A shiver runs down your spine as his fingers carefully part your folds and slide through you’re very wet cunt. Gojo groans, he wasn’t expecting you to be this aroused, his head swimming with just how slick it must feel to fuck balls deep inside your pussy.

His dick twitches in his pants, he’s been horny since he started this stupid conversation, not that you noticed, too self-conscious to take note of the semi he’d been sporting while teasing you. Fuck, he needs more, his finger moves to your entrance, his eyes watching your expression carefully as he slips it inside you.

Your brows turn up and a soft sigh leaves your lungs at his finger entering you, he doesn’t move straight away, his thumb instead rubbing into your clit. He can feel the way your walls twitch around his single digit; he might go crazy before this is over.

“Gojo~ more,” you want more, you wanna feel full.

“Anything for you,” he teases but pulls his single finger back, easing in another with it.

They curl when reaching their hilt, caressing inside you, the pleasure makes you whine and your stomach jump. He pumps his fingers languidly, enjoying the view, delighting in how you squirm and whimper underneath him from just a couple fingers.

He looks down to his hand underneath your pants, your thighs shake slightly, “That’s cute,” he murmurs.

He pulls his hand away from you, “Wait– Gojo what are–”

Laughing at how frantic you are, he reassures, “–Shh, it’s fine, I just wanna see how your pretty pussy sucks my fingers back in is all.”

You feel like you could faint, he’s so crude and for what reason? Just to embarrass you? Or to turn you on? Or is it just a bonus that he manages to do both at the same time?

Your pants and underwear are tugged off at once, he kneels between your legs and very lewdly pulls them wide apart, his eyes greedily watching the way your cunt opens up for him. He salivates at the way your pussy glimmers for him, cunt drooling from your tight hole, down your ass cheeks and onto the bed.

He wastes no more time and fills you back up with his long fingers, his mind registering that you got wetter, fuck you can get even wetter. The realisation hits him like a ton of bricks and he has a feeling he knows exactly what did it.  

A grin on his face, he asks, “You know you could get this wet? Or are you shocked?” It’s not rhetorical, and to demonstrate what he means, his fingers speed up and you can hear the loud and obscene noises of your wet cunt sucking them back in.

You clench around his fingers at his words and his smile grows, now fully understanding the effect he has on you. The delight he takes in it could almost be diabolical, the enjoyment he’s getting out of knowing he can be a little mean or lewd with his words and it will only turn you is immense.

“Come on, I want an answer when I ask a question,” he reminds you.

You gasp as his fingers crook up, purposefully making it harder for you to answer, “I –hah– I didn’t knooww–”

And you didn’t, not to this extent, it’s mortifying, how much your cunt gushes for him. You’re ashamed and also… so ridiculously turned on. His voice doesn’t help, not only the content of his words but just the sound of him, it’s setting you on edge.

“I find that quite shocking, only realising just how turned on you can get and it’s for your good friend? How scandalous,” he tsks at you, his words holding no malice, he truly is amused by how things have unfolded.

“Stop t–teasing me, Gojo,” you frown at him but it’s not nearly as effective as it normally would be. To him you look like a cute mess who’s making a mess on his fingers and spare bed sheets.

His thumb presses into your clit again, steady pressure rounding it, “I like teasing you though~”

Your head tilts back, your eyes unable to focus on anything, you’re going to cum, you’re so fucking close, you just need him to not stop, “Gojo, please, d–don’t stop –ngh– please, please, please please pleaseppleaseplease,” you’re begging him to show mercy – pity, you don’t care what you just want him to make you cum.

“You think I’d be so mean as to not let you cum?” he asks like it’s not definitely within his character to do something so cruel, “I’d never deprive myself of the sight.”

Your toes curl and your head presses back into the pillows hard, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. It feels like your stomach does flips as you moan out for Gojo, your hands clutching the sheets as you shake pitifully with the force of your orgasm.

He massages your walls through it, fucking his fingers in and out of you steadily, letting you ride out your high. He keeps going even as you reach overstimulation, he likes seeing you twitch and shake with your sensitivity, makes his cock leak into his pants at how you clench pathetically around his fingers as he strokes in and out of you as he pleases.

“Gojo… is too much,” you mumble weakly.

He hums at you but pulls his fingers from your sopping cunt, he holds his two fingers up and pulls them apart, watching the way your cum coats them and connects them by sticky strings. Fuck it’s a sight to behold to him, he shoves those two fingers right into his mouth, sucking them clean and savouring the taste.

Pulling his digits out of his mouth, he comments, “I think… if I didn’t wanna stick my dick into you as badly as I do… I’d shove my tongue inside your little pussy and eat you until you came again and again and–”

You’re gonna burst into flames, “–Do you get off on your own words or something?”

“I’m not the one getting off on my words,” he grins knowingly.

The words you were going to retort with die on your tongue as he suddenly tugs his shirt off, exposing his bare skin to you. How are you meant to reply with anything smart when he’s constantly able to throw you off kilter, you can’t win against him.

He undoes his belt and nods towards you, “Take your shirt off.”

“…Bossy,” you pout out.

He stands up to undress completely, “You into that?”

“No.”

“Could’ve fooled me, you take directions so well,” he smirks, clearly poking fun at how you took off your shirt as soon as he asked you to. He gets back on the bed and taps your thigh, “Hands and knees,” you look at him with an unamused expression and he tacks on, “Pleeeasseeee?”

You get up and spin round onto your hands and knees, feeling vulnerable like this, extra so because you can’t see what he’s doing. One of his hands slides from your lower back up your spine, gentle pressure behind his touch, encouraging you to push your upper half into the bed, cheek pressed against the mattress by the time he reaches your neck.

“Yeahhh, you take directions so well,” he means it as a compliment but it feels degrading.

Soft clicking noises of him fisting his cock fill the room, he’s spreading his precum all along the shaft, collecting it at the tip. He needs to be slick if you’re gonna take him, though he figures you’ve done most of the work on that end already.

You wiggle your hips back at him, feeling impatient and dazed from your previous orgasm. He chuckles at your eagerness but doesn’t keep you waiting, you’re far too enticing for him to tease any longer. He swipes his dick through your folds a few times first, letting you feel him and also let your cunt drool onto him a bit.

He wants to slam into you quickly, he’s so sick of waiting, he’s harder than he’s been in his life and he’s itching to have your pussy swallow him whole but he doesn’t want to hurt you. If he fucks this up he’ll never forgive himself, he needs to give you the best dicking of your life so that you keep coming back to him for more.

His initial thrust is shallow and barely gets the head of his cock inside you, this is going to be a slow process. He’ll have to take his time, not that he particularly minds, the longer he takes, the longer he gets to spend fucking you. This is a responsible decision on Gojo’s behalf, unfortunately for him, you’re not quite so patient. You’re horny beyond belief and have the sudden urge for him to be as deep as he can possibly get, you want to feel him in your guts, you fucking need it.

Bracing yourself, you spread your legs apart further and push back, his cock slipping deeper suddenly, the stretch has a delicious feeling crawling up your spine, or maybe that’s Gojo’s hand. His hand reaches around your neck and pulls your back to his front, a whimper tumbling from you as you slide down his cock further.

He breathes against you, “Desperate thing aren’t you?” He nips your ear and then trails his lips down to your neck, leaving marks in his wake.  

His hips thrust up, forcing you to take more of him, “Ah~ sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry~ I think it’s very endearing,” his voice is dreamy, “Very flattering, willing to hurt yourself just to take me?”

Ah, of course he’d find a way to boost his own ego through all this, “–ngh– You really do love yourself, huh?”

You can feel his big smile against your skin, “Not as much as I love this pussy,” he thrusts inside you deeper, punctuating his words with his hips.

You can’t do much else but moan and take it like this, though, you’re pretty happy to take it like this. Your slick gushes from your cunt and leaks down his shaft. The mess you’re making on the bed is beyond lewd and you have no idea if you should be more embarrassed of the state you’re in. You’re not here though, you’re elsewhere, head in the clouds as your eyes glaze over.

“Aww~ you’ve gone stupid and I’m not even fully in yet,” he coos at you.

He drops you back down onto the bed in your previous position, face buried into the blankets with your ass in the air, back arched deeply. Gojo thinks he has enough room to slip in completely now so he does, when he does, he knocks something so deep inside you that your cunt quivers and you make the smallest, fucked out sound.

It makes him moan deeply, your pussy gripping him for dear life as you sound out gasped whimpers, you’re a fucking mess in more than one way and he’s gonna paint your walls white before too long if he doesn’t get it together. Your cunt is sinfully tight, snug and warm around him, spilling out around where he’s stuffed you full. Your eyes are glassy and fucked out and you look like you might cry, drool dribbles from the corner of your mouth from how deep you can feel him.

Tentatively, he pulls back, his thrusts initially shallow, wanting to get you used to the motion, you really are not capable of any coherent thought, everything coming from you right now is downright pornographic, you don’t even think you could string together enough words to beg him to let you cum.

He’s ruining any future sex you may have and he’s barely started fucking you, his rhythm, is slow but constant. The pressure you feel slowly building in your abdomen makes your pussy cry on his cock.

“You literally have–” he cuts himself off with his own gasped whine, “–the most perfect cunt, holy fuck.” What he did in life to deserve sticking his dick inside you, he has no clue but he’ll keep doing it if it means fucking your tight hole.

You chant his name at him, it’s all you’re really able to do, in your brain fog you spill out, “S’toru sobig, you’re –hng– so deep~” You can’t think.

His hands grab your hips tight, the pressure bruising, his thrusts are speeding up, growing frantic, desperate. He’s fucking you like it’ll be the last time he ever gets to be inside you. One hand reaches around and lands on your clit, furiously rubbing at it, the stimulation has you biting back a cry as tears slip from the corner of your eyes.

Your pussy spasms and twitches on him violently, you’re so sensitive, in general and to him. His hand pulls you back against him with every thrust in, the resounding smacking of skin on skin and your sloppy cunt are like music to his ears. You’re so messy, such a beautiful and delightful mess, he wonders just how fucking messy he could make you; he’ll need to remember this thought if he ever gets another chance to have you… though he’s probably never going to be able to think of anything else after this.

The muscles in your legs are quivering, you’re not going to be able to hold yourself up for much longer, not with how he’s fucking you. You’re going to cum and then promptly pass out, your vision is dotted and you’re barely able to comprehend your surroundings, the only thing you hear is Gojo’s moans.

“Need you to cum for me, now,” he urges, his words hissed through his teeth, fighting off his own orgasm.

His fingers on your clit speed up, he slaps your clit once and harshly, the sudden contact makes you shake. Your orgasm comes out of nowhere, your legs would’ve given out if he weren’t holding you up, you’re actually just crying now, the force of your orgasm shaking you to your core, it’s so overwhelming that it’s all you can feel.

Gojo moves both his hands to your ass cheeks and spreads them, looking at how he’s plowing into you over and over, watching how you grip him tight, trying to milk his cock. The sight of this, of your pussy clenching around him, has him cumming, he bites out your name before stuffing his dick all the way inside you. His cum dumping itself deep inside, his cock twitching as he spills. The amount he cums is immense, leaking out around the base of him and down onto the sheets, the mess you’ve both made only growing.

He stays seated inside you for a while, letting you both come down before even attempting to move. When he does slip out of you, it’s with a hiss, he holds you up for a bit longer, watching the way his cum seeps out of you, his eyes transfixed on how much he came inside of you, how much of him you took. He’s addicted.

Laying your lower half back onto the bed gently, he flops down next to you, evening out his breathing more. He turns his head to the side to look at you, your eyes closed and a stupid smile on your face, tear stains on your cheeks and a little bit of drool still present in the corner of your mouth.

He reaches out and wipes it way with his thumb, “Fucked dumb taken to a new level, huh?”

“You’ve ruined me,” you mutter back, not really paying attention.

A cocky grin takes its place on his face, “In what way?”

“S’many,” your words slur together.

He jokes, “Better than your book though right?”

You can only hum your confirmation, all your limbs are heavy, you might die, you’re fighting it though, the unconsciousness that’s threatening to take over.

Gojo moves closer to you, kissing your arm, “Hey, sleep, I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs into your skin.

That’s the last thing you hear before you’re dead asleep.

PLAGIARISM NOT CONDONED | REPOSTS NOT AUTHORISED

[satoruhour]

GO!

a/n: racer jjk men …….. mmgfnghgn..gg.f.. if u can tell i’ve never watched f&f, you would be correct. i only watched tokyo drift for research 😭 also im talking out of my ass by using random car terminology !!!! i don’t even know whether anything i said was possible so just close one eye please :3

warnings: essentially car sex & pet names & unprotected sex for everything, fingering, clit stimulation, praise, public sex, geto listens in on a call, riding, implied p → v penetration, implied creampie / breeding, implied threesome w/ stsg (gojo), clit stimulation, handjob, semi-public sex, p → v penetration, doggy, geto asks and then takes a pic of you, creampie / breeding (geto), praise, oral (f receiving), fingering, pleasure dom nanami, squirting, clit stimulation (nanami), age gap (reader’s early 20s, toji is forty), oral (m receiving) while driving, facefucking, semi-public sex, clit stimulation, daddy kink, implied p → v penetration (toji), n*sfw under the cut

✶ GOJO

“my, my,” gojo smirks as he looks over to you in his 1999 Nissan Skyline R34 when your hand makes contact with his thigh, “couldn’t wait till we reached there?” on the way to the races that gojo loved to bring you to, it was a silent rule that gojo was one of the people that ruled the underground racing scene in tokyo — that means leaving his opponent sighing at the steering wheel and being the object of your kisses at the end of it.

gojo was talented, but he knew he wouldn’t sit well in the driver’s seat if he didn’t share the victory with you. the racer speeds at any opportunity, but today he takes the time to drive his baby just so he could have more time to fuck her.

sometimes gojo rubs off on you in terms of disposition, because you’ve become fairly good with composing yourself into times of tribulation with your constantly-horny boyfriend. your calmness could be commended, but your breaths still give off your aroused state, his fingers continuing to draw a faint line up your legs which are rubbing and squeezing against each other. even with the aircon on full blast, you still feel undeniably hot.

“so wet…” gojo hums as his hand feels the wet patch that’s pooling in your panties before slipping it to the side, driving unaffected while he keeps his eyes on the road. he’s fucked you so many times already, memorised the feel of your body that it doesn’t take him much to insert his fingers and find that sweet spot. you squeal, hands flying to grab at his forearm. your pussy clenches around his fingers, and it makes him hum, pushing him to adjust his pelvis in his seat. no doubt your cute sounds are affecting him.

“s-satoru! the race?” you panic and hope to distract his attention elsewhere, but gojo’s a master at multitasking.

“what’re you talking about? we’re on the way, princess.” he’s right, taking you through the familiar streets of shinjuku before switching to a lane that takes the car into an underground tunnel. it’s a route you can remember, but you hardly give a shit currently where you can feel your juices pool below you.

“sato—” you whine, your squeezing thighs doing nothing to deter him, “your s-seat’s getting soaked.”

“s’fine, i’ll clean it up later,” gojo grins, sparing you a quick glance where he likes you the most: lips parted with moans escaping, knuckles white from clutching onto the seat and your pussy leaking your juices all over his palm. “c’mon, you’re a good girl, aren’t you? don’t you want to cum?” gojo knows all of your habits, so he taunts you, teases you by slowing down his fingers just a little and plays with your clit. a ringtone doesn’t distract him, easily accepting the call from his phone on the dashboard.

there’s a soft on the way? from the caller, seemingly whispering into the phone like he was hiding from something and you’re struggling to keep from moaning too loud by keeping a hand to your mouth. you’re hyperfocused on your boyfriend’s fingers that you don’t exactly hear what they’re talking about, but you do faintly make it out to be geto on the other end. you’re so close that you might’ve left bruises on gojo’s forearm.

“satoru, you might wanna camp out in a nearby parking lot before comin’ over. officers are patrolling around the starting line.” it wasn’t weird for races to be pushed back, by engines malfunctioning, by police officers doing their nightly patrol but while the black-haired racer is just a little agitated at the delay, you’re surprised to see your boyfriend sporting a shit-eating smile.

“good, that just means i have more time,” gojo pauses to groan when you start to clench around his fingers. he knows you’re close and you want to fucking kill him when he easily reaches the spot that has you seeing stars, all the while having his best friend on the line, “to fuck my lovely girlfriend.”

“oh f-fuck… satoru! ’m cumming mmf…!” you don’t bother holding back on your mewls and whimpers, then, not exactly caring if geto hears cause he’s shared you with him before. gojo fingers you through your orgasm, your pupils blown wide and jaw dropping as you seek refuge in the hot pink seats gojo got for you while you continue to cry out his name.

within minutes, he’s pulling into an abandoned parking lot and swerving the car into a secluded spot before making use of the modification he made to his Skyline, reclining his driver’s seat (courtesy of your suggestion and he was driving off to the mechanic the next day) and beckoning you over with a smile.

you could only return his sly smile as he removes his pants, cock already hard and weeping from its tip from all the teasing he’s done to you, hard from knowing he’s the only one to get you moaning like a bitch in heat. and when you sink down easily, it’s like heaven on earth, the adrenaline giving the both of you a high.

it’s no surprise when gojo easily wins the race later, receiving you with open arms and a sloppy kiss, all while his cum’s leaking from your panties and your cunt still feels a little empty — so when you both receive a message from geto asking for a late-night drive with just the three of you, you’re quick to leave the scene to get stuffed full again.

✶ GETO

“suguru!” you smile as you enter the garage that’s housed suguru’s cars since he was a high school student, the familiar gold and black accents spread throughout the large space. he was lucky to have a father who’s a manufacturer, and despite the many engines and parts he’s gone through, it was a wonder his dad hasn’t exactly uncovered his rising fame in the tokyo racing scene, even if he comes home with some cuts and a roughed up car to match.

“hey princess,” he calls out, still focused on the minute parts of the 13B-REW engine and switching out his outdated intercooler for the Blitz, something that he had to persuade his father with with good grades and exemplary behaviour in his after school activities. “just making some changes to the Mazda. how’s my baby doin’— oh wow.”

your immediate reaction is to grin at him, heat blooming throughout your face as you descend the steps to where his vehicles were, sporting a cute little miniskirt and knee high boots. it’s not that you haven’t dressed like this before, but every time you do, it manages to make his breath hitch. that’s not the main attractive point today, though, eyes dropping to the fat of your thigh where a new tattoo had found its home — a black widow weaving chinese knots and it looks so damn good on you that your boyfriend wastes no time in removing the hood strut and slamming the hood close.

you don’t usually sit on his 1997 Veilside Mazda RX-7 much, but geto is determined to change that when you’re propped up like a doll on the sleek black design of the car, wandering hands slipping under your skirt as you’re humming into the deepening kiss. the other groans against your lips when he finds your clit, rubbing languid circles into it and you spread your legs further to accommodate his fingers, exposing your neck for his lips to suck on while his free hand gets busy with your perky tits.

“you’re so… fuckin’ wet,” geto mumbles into your neck, stifling your moans with yet another kiss. the way he’s rubbing at your bundle of nerves is so distinct, you couldn’t even replicate it if you tried, usually left dissatisfied after cumming on your own fingers. “my pretty angel.”

“yeah? you like me on your Mazda?” you say with a lilt to your voice, and although the pet names bring another wave of shyness and fire to your cheeks, your hands speak otherwise as they trail down his torso to the trousers he’s got on. it’s you against him to see who makes the other break first — geto moans when you fish out his dick, already semi-hard from all the teasing and your hand’s warm like how your pussy usually feels, stroking him in a pace that matches the hand on your clit.

“fucking love you on it,” geto laughs breathlessly, hot breath fanning against your lips and hips bucking into your palm, “love your hands on my cock, too.”

“ditto, baby,” you reply in a breathy whimper, but geto mutters something else along the lines of too bad i need my cock in you now before a surprised yelp leaves you when you’re flipped over suddenly. with hands flat on the hood and a knee propped up, he’s careful not to bring any discomfort to your new tattoo. bit by bit, he’s sheathing himself into your dripping cunt, pleas and obscenities flooding the spacious garage as you beg him to move.

your boyfriend’s a racer, ’course he knows how to do that, but he takes pride in teasing you, letting you feel every last bit of his dick as he bottoms out. “suguru… fuck me, please.”

“planning on it — shit, you’re so tight — let me enjoy your cute lil pussy for a bit, princess.” geto has both hands move down the expanse of your back, appreciating your attractive arch, and then then down to your ass and folds where he’s filling you with his fat cock. and when he starts to move, your mewls become incomprehensible and your fingers grasp at anything, but you’re afraid of scratching the smooth finishing of his Mazda, settling for holding onto his forearms.

“suguruuu… oh my g-god!” you love the way your obscene noises fill the space, juices flowing freely down your thighs as the other finds a steady pace. “right there— f-fuck…”

geto is no different, hypnotised with how his length disappears into your heat that he doesn’t notice your twitching body, but he still knows you’re close by how your clamp around him like a vice, pussy tightening up to make sure he gives you all his cum. by this time, you’re delirious from the squelching noises of your cunt and the slap of his hips into yours that your orgasm comes unexpectedly.

“cumming, cumming, suguru—!” your thighs shake and shiver through the euphoric feeling, still riding the wave of the orgasm before geto wraps his arms tight around your middle, mumbling confessions into your ears until he’s spilling deep into you, too. geto cums so much, and you moan at the feeling of being filled up, body slumping forward. between geto’s help and an aching question, you’re content to lay on the stunning car as he snaps a photo of you before cleaning you up.

it’s not until later when you’re at getting pounded again by him when you see his phone screen light up — the screensaver photo being the one of you on his car with legs pried open and cum spilling out your pretty pussy — that you know you’ve got geto wrapped around your finger.

✶ NANAMI

“mr. nanami?” your father calls out in the deserted shop, empty apart from the clang of metal against metal and the late night radio droning on about some love story sent in by a listener. despite how it’s almost 11 at night, your father was always happy to help with people’s cars due to a love for them since he was young.

even if that someone’s car was a 1968 Dodge Charger with a LS3 engine that he only knew the US had. when he comes around the back, he merely rubs his fingers together.

“this guy’s got money money,” you burst out laughing, landing a hit on your dad’s shoulder at his comment, but he wasn’t exactly wrong. looking out from the supply room, the man standing near the entrance of the shop looked exactly like the part: rich, tall, blonde, hot, and donning an annoyed look as he scolds someone named gojo who’s on the other line.

there’s a firm expression set into his features before he lunges forward at the sound of his surname and his pondering expression melts away to make way for a smile, and you swear you feel your knees buckle. but you have no time for daydreaming, also emerging from the room to collect money and complete the transaction like you usually do with clients.

“my daughter here will take your payment,” the older man nods his head toward you after explaining the changes he made to the engine, specifically the crankshaft which contained newer journals with older webs — this particular combination made the oil system faulty and rigid, and even for a tamer temper like nanami’s, it still irritated him to no end when the Dodge Charger wouldn’t start properly.

this would’ve been a piece of cake to solve, though, if it wasn’t for your dad’s japan-only parts, which function minutely different to american engines. so your dad had promised another day to fix nanami’s car after the parts had arrived, even refusing to accept nanami’s apologies and offers to pay for the america-based engine the first time he came to you guys.

it’s like the initial demeanour had faded, bowing profusely at the kind-hearted nature of your dad and he waves it off, passing it off as a passion that still burned strong within him; he only wrote a receipt for the repair of the engine, after all.

“collect the nice man’s payment and close up shop, okay?” your father places a kiss to your template and bids farewell to nanami as well who’s feeling still a little flustered, “i’ll head off to bed first.”

“thank you, truly,” nanami bowed again to you as he felt around for his card, producing a black card for you to process the transaction.

“it’s nothin’. dad’s usually like that, always so generous with his services and then blames it on his passion,” you laugh a little and nanami does too.

“i understand, tell him thank you again.”

you shoot him a thumbs up and a smile, handing him back his card with clammy palms and fidgety fingers. you both know you’re not exactly ready to say goodbye to this fine-ass man so you strike up conversation with a terribly stupid opener.

“so… you drive?”

“i would think so,” nanami chuckles as he makes his way over to his Dodge Charger, loving the way you almost want to dig yourself a hole from what you asked, “i race. actually.”

and you swear you can hear the pulse in your pussy quicken, swallowing a lump in your throat at the vision of being spread out on the hood of nanami’s car, blonde head of hair hidden between your legs.

you just didn’t know that vision would come true today; well — tomorrow, since one question led to a conversation past twelve, led to advances from the both of you and now you’re moaning out nanami’s name as your sensitive core is being devoured by the racer, kneeling at the front of his own car like the hood of his car is your throne.

you voice your concerns about being ate out so shamelessly with the garage door open, voice breaking as he eats and laps at your dripping cunt like a starved man, sucking hard on your clit as he plays with your hole, teasing his thick fingers around your entrance just enough for it to clench around nothing.

“it’s past 12, don’t worry your pretty little head about someone watching,” he reassures you, palms spread out against your stomach. “plus, you taste divine,” nanami groans from your core before he plunges a finger into you, causing you to jerk in shock at the intrusion — it’s so good you forget about your worries. “so tight too, shit.”

“nanami…” you drag out the last bits of his name in a whine, hips bucking up to take in more of his needy tongue and his replied hum sends vibrations throughout your body. you’re so wet that you’re able to take another finger. “just like that. oh my god, your t-tongue.” your hand naturally pulls at his blonde locks, pushing him deeper into your centre; he likes it, squeezing your ass in the process.

“can i cum, nanami?” you plead for it, the unexpected obedience has nanami reeling and he gives you the green light.

“’course you can, such a good girl, aren’t you?” the shop is filled with your moans and the dirty, sopping sounds of your pussy as he flicks his tongue, memorising the way your thighs clench around his head and how sweet you smell and taste. he’s definitely not letting this pussy go, “good girls get to cum.”

“i’m gonna— ooh shiitt…” nanami lets your hips go on their own accord and another groan from the racer is enough to have you cumming on his fingers and tongue, “fuuck, i’m cumming-!” he praises you like you’re his royalty while you gush all over him, squirting your release all over his face as he happily downs your juices like he’s done it before. he’s sure to do it again in the future.

“attagirl,” both the metal of his car and his affectionate names for you sends tremors throughout your body and legs, orgasming so hard you see white and it’s clear he enjoys giving head like his life depended on it.

you catch your breath briefly, brushing your fingers through his hair and admiring the sight before you until he returns to his intimidating and looming height, helping you to sit up and patting your thigh affectionately

“hope that’s enough payment for the parts. or would you prefer instalments instead?” he says the cheesy line with such a calm face you’d think he was in a business meeting, but the stoicism makes you stifle a giggle.

it’s not long before you’re returning your dad the money nanami had insisted on, but more importantly, being all dolled up in the passenger seat, his teasing hand on your thigh and a full pretty lace set underneath your miniskirt.

✶ TOJI

it’s not uncommon to find a veteran on the racing scene. fushiguro toji had his time of fame in the 80s, but now he’s back for more after fathering a whole child — something his close friends back then didn’t think he could do. it was an endearing sight, a large, burly man carrying something as precious as megumi but it didn’t halt his drifting trips on the mountains, taking his 1966 Chevrolet Corvette for a ride every time he needed to clear his mind; on a less safer note, megumi as a toddler was sometimes in the passenger seat.

megumi was already set to follow in his footsteps the moment he was born, showing a keen interest in cars more than robots or barbies (toji did buy one when megumi reached for a doll dressed in all black, though) and that only increased when he accompanied his dad on his drift trips, many times imagining himself in front of the wheel, gliding through the corners easily. even if the corvettes in the 60s weren’t exactly drifting material, he learned to do it perfect. plus, it still held memories for toji.

“who’s that?” your friend could hardly stop her jaw from hitting the floor after her comment, clearly a little flustered at seeing a forty year old stroll through the underground car parks like he owned the place. he did, 20 years ago, but his name seems to still precede him when hushed whispers and murmurs follow him. although he’s here to support his son’s first drifting race, he’s still fairly popular to be getting enquiries from curious mechanics and avid car enjoyers.

“megumi’s dad,” you grin with a hidden sense of satisfaction, because you didn’t just know him from afar. how his hips swayed when he walked or how he loved that stupid compression shirt, that was everyone’s perception of him, but you knew how his hips felt as it grinded against you. you always never fail to recall the raspiness of his voice against your ears as he mumbled the dirtiest things, only for you to hear. it’s why you revel in the way your friend’s jaw drop past the concrete into hell when the older man catches your eye (he always liked to look for you in crowds), and winks, prompting the gossip to only increase in volume.

“you’re in cahoots with megumi’s dad?” you didn’t care much if people suspected something going on between the two of you. even megumi didn’t exactly care, who was a few years younger than you in his last year of high school. he was content enough that his dad wasn’t alone after giving so much of him to raise megumi. anyway, you always had his trust fund to rely on and if anyone fucked you as good at toji did, you wouldn’t give two shits either way.

“hey doll,” toji’s grin matches yours, planting a sloppy kiss to your temple as you both wait at his Corvette, all roughed up from the race the day before. he hasn’t had time to fix it up, driving the familiar route to the mechanics before you sent him a text about how megumi’s got challenged to a race by some newbie at school — it was laughable so much so that it even prompted toji to use those emojis he hated so much.

it was a race worth seeing, especially if one of the contestants was the tokyo drifting king’s son. toji doesn’t need to say much, waving off megumi with a salute before the countdown begins like clockwork. the increasing revs of their engines draw you from your stupor, the newbie looking wrongfully excited despite the failure that’ll befall him in a few minutes. once go is signalled, they take off, giggling at you feel toji’s arm curl around your waist.

“he’ll win,” he’s as nonchalant as they come, but it rings true when he’s the one who had megumi going 15 rounds ’round the docks and mountains every week. with screeching tires, a RB26DETT engine and years of drifting lessons to back him up, megumi finishes the race first. he rolls his eyes when his friends and fans crowd his car like moths to a flame, but he can’t help shoot a wave to his father who smiles genuinely. it was unspoken that megumi was silently thanking him inside, before he drives off to celebrate the easy win.

“c’mon, baby. we’ve had our share. say goodbye like a good girl,” you pull your friend into a side hug who’s still barely able to wrap her head around the two of you, but she’s able to muster a brief goodbye before the rev of his Corvette draws eyes once again, speeding off into the night. it’s clear toji’s on a high from watching his son race and win, seeing it in the way he goes full throttle past shibuya square and down inokashira street with a laugh.

the fire in his eyes, the coy grin he’s got on reminds you of times you’ve experienced the feeling of toji deep in you, clutching onto the sheets on the tatami mats and face shoved into the pillow as he bullies his fat cock into you. the thoughts have you feeling up his thigh, and he doesn’t notice your wandering, needy hands until they come incredibly close to his cock. he shifts gears before grasping onto your wrist, shooting you a look of warning.

but you do anything but listen, rejoicing in your small victory when you feel the car slow down from his speeding spree so it’s safe for you. palming his bulge, you gasp at how hard he already is and he adjusts his lower half, clearly uncomfortable with his tightening pants.

“let me make you feel good, toji,” you mumble, hands fumbling with his belt and zipper before you pull his dick from his boxers, looking so pretty with its mushroom tip that leaks pre-cum. toji pulls lightly on your hair as a second warning before you’re able to twist your body to lean down, eyes flitting up to look at him in faux apology. “sorry, daddy.”

toji sighs once your mouth descends on his cock, eyebrows furrowed and hand squeezing your nape in pleasure. no matter how many times you get his length in his mouth, the size always catches you off guard and it causes you to choke when the car runs over a speedbump. you have to take a second to cough.

“sorry, babylove,” you wordlessly shake your head as a way to say it’s okay, because toji takes care of you without you needing to ask him; it’s only fair he deserves his own fair share of care too. “but your mouth— shit. feels so fuckin’ good on daddy’s cock.”

you suck in your cheeks and pump the places where your mouth can’t reach, sides already aching from the uncomfortable position but you continue to bob your head. toji’s groans and bucking hips has got you soaking your panties, spit and pre-cum dribbling down the sides of his length and you waste no time to lick a stripe to clean up, settling for circling your tongue around his tip.

toji moans out with a number of profanities and a fist tightly clenched around the steering wheel — your mouth is so soft and warm that he decides that he needs to pull over at a quiet parking lot behind a bar so he can focus on fucking your mouth and imagine it’s your tight pussy he’s plunging into, not that he has to imagine. your lips are still on him when the car halts and you feel more stable than ever, both hands pulling apart his thighs to take him deeper into your mouth.

“cock’s so big,” you babble and ramble like a little slut, slurping up your messy job with the help of your hands. just like your walls, the ridges along your mouth feel lovely and when his tip meets the back of your throat, he throws his head back. “need your cum down my throat…” 

“yeah?” toji breathes out, hands tangling themselves in your hair before tapping your skull, a discussed rule for the two of you: two taps on your head when he wants to facefuck you, and two taps on his thigh if you can’t breathe. “i’ll have ta fuck your little whore mouth first, can daddy do that?”

you nod lazily, steadying yourself on the compartment housing the stick shift before his hips lift off the seat and he starts a pace that even he can’t keep up for long. one look at your cute doe eyes has got him whining and mumbling about how pretty you look right now, clutching on your head so hard that it has his knuckle turning white.

toji’s thighs are flexing and contracting from the movement, but you can point out when he starts to fumble and tremble at the mercy of your mouth. his thrusts are getting sporadic, just like how you’re reaching your limit, too, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. “g’nna cum down your throat, baby, ya want that?”

you sound a hum of agreement before toji’s hips still and he shoots his load down your throat, thick blobs of cum that spill from his tip, “that’s it, doll, take it all like a good slut,” and you swallow at least twice to get it all down. you show him a small amount of cum left on your tongue before he brings you up to kiss you harshly, giving your ass a firm smack and then you’re plopping down onto the seat again, wiping the side of your mouth like a good meal well devoured.

the wind is immediately knocked out of you as he brings up the speed with a hand inching towards your core, and you’re so glad he’s switched out his 327 small-block for a 427 V8 engine, the lampposts speeding past you and his fingers playing with your cunt enough to give you an adrenaline high to last throughout the night, cause toji’s far from done with you.

okay i digress. / pt. 2 here

[theyluvkarolina]

౨ৎ LOSS ౨ৎ

masterlist / rules / requests & talks with me!

SUMMARY౨ৎ it was a rough weekend to say the least. sadie's first tennis tournament didn't exactly go as planned in her mind. how does oscar handle his little girl being to down with herself?

PAIRING ౨ৎ Not really a pairing, but reader makes multiple apperances 🩵

WARNINGS ౨ৎ sadie being a perfectionist :( (me tbh)

A/N ౨ৎ I HAVEN'T SEEN IT FULLY BUT I SAW SNIPPET OF IT 🥹 i can see this happening 100% 🩵 (minus the karting! little sadie is a tennis player in the future 😋) small little imagine for today before i do school notes!! (sadie is about 7 here!)

Part of the Dad Oscar mini-series 🩵

Two sets. Two sets was all it took to get eliminated from her first tournament final.

Sadie sat in the backseat of the car, arms crossed and gaze fixed out the window as the ride remained quiet, with Oscar glancing at her in the rearview mirror, noticing the way her lips pressed together tightly.

She wasn’t one to cry easily. If anything, she hates crying. But at this point, the lump in her throat was undeniable.

Oscar gave a sigh before speaking, “Sadie, you did great. You know that? Getting second in your first ever tournament is amazing.” he smiled softly.

“If i did great then I wouldn’t have lost.” Sadie replied bluntly.

He took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. God, how he wished you were here right now. You’d know what to do. “Sadie, you didn’t lose, you came second. And that’s something to be proud of.”

“Second is first to lose.” Sadie replied, rather quickly as she fiddled with her fingers while looking out the window.

Oscar gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, the weight of Sadie’s words hanging in the air. He understood her frustration all too well, but it was hard to see his little girl already feeling the pressure of expectations.

“I get why you're upset, Sadie,” Oscar started, glancing at her in the mirror. “I really do. But you know what? I didn’t win all the time either, especially not at the beginning of karting. It takes time, and every time you play, you’re learning something new.”

Sadie didn’t respond right away, her eyes still fixed out the window, but Oscar could see the slight frown on her face.

“And you know, you always keep the memories with you,” Oscar added softly, remembering what he had said in that interview not long ago. “Every match, every race, every time you give it your all—it stays with you. It’s not about always being the best. It’s about getting better and enjoying what you do.”

“Do you always remember the times you lost?” Sadie asked quietly, her voice breaking the silence as she turned to look at him.

“…Some more than others.” Oscar replied.

“What about wins?”

“Everyone remembers when they win.”

“Even your first win in Hungary that the team messed up the pit stops making the whole race behind Lando and when lando didn’t change positions until the very end?” Sadie asked, tilting her head slightly with her blunt tone.

“…You know, you’re making this really hard for me to comfort you now.” Oscar blanked.

“I know,” Sadie replied, the corners of her lips twitching up ever so slightly, despite her sadness. “That’s why I said it.”

Oscar couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, “Well, thank you for that, Sadie… but seriously,” Oscar said, his voice softening again, “I know it’s tough, but you should be proud of yourself. It’s not about comparing yourself to me, or anyone else for that matter. Tennis is your thing. It’s your journey. You love playing, right?”

Sadie’s frown deepened. “…mhm.”

Oscar noticed Sadie’s eyes wandering to the tennis bag in the backseat, her small fingers tracing the strap. Her thoughts were clearly elsewhere, but he took the opportunity to continue. “Nothing comes from nothing, Sadie. It’s okay to be sad and want to do better, but don’t ignore the amount of effort you put into it.

Sadie was quiet for a moment, her little fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt as she mulled over Oscar's words. "But it’s not enough," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar's heart squeezed at the sight of his daughter, so young and already feeling the weight of expectation. “Sadie, you don’t have to be the best at everything right away," he said gently, “and you don’t have to be as good as me, either… besides, I’m barely any good at padel, let alone tennis.”

Sadie finally turned to look at him, her expression serious. “But you’re always good, Daddy. Everyone always says how great you are.”

Oscar bit his lip, trying to think of how to explain it in a way she would understand. “That’s because I’ve been doing this for a long time. Sadie, you’re young. You have time to grow.”

Sadie stayed quiet, though her frown softened just a bit. Oscar smiled softly, taking that as a sign to keep going. “You love tennis, right? That’s what matters. If you enjoy it, you’ll keep getting better. And guess what? I’ll be there to watch every match.”

“You really think I did good?” Sadie asked hesitantly, her voice smaller now, as though she was afraid to believe it.

Oscar nodded, catching her gaze in the rearview mirror. “I know you did. I was watching, remember? Every single serve, every single shot. You didn’t give up, even when it was tough. That’s what makes you great.”

Sadie finally met his eyes in the mirror. “But I wanted to win.”

“I know you did. But you’ll have more matches, more chances. It’s okay to be sad now, but you should also be proud of what you did today.” Oscar paused before adding, “Plus, second place means you’re already better than most people on the court.”

That earned him a tiny smile from Sadie. "I guess.” she mumbled, her hand resting on her tennis bag.

“Now… ready to show your Mum your trophy?”

`· . ୨୧⭒๋࣭ ⭑

“Second place? …In your first tournament?” You asked, stopping what you were doing to look at the pair that just returned home.

Sadie stood next to Oscar, her tennis bag slung over her shoulder and the silver trophy cradled in her arms. Her gaze was still shy, as though unsure whether her result was something to be proud of.

Oscar gave you a small, knowing smile, as if to say, Please help me here.

You knelt down, meeting Sadie’s eyes as she shifted on her feet. “That’s amazing, Sadie!” you exclaimed, your voice full of pride. “Second place in your first ever tournament? That’s incredible!”

Sadie blinked, as if she hadn’t expected your reaction to be so positive, her lips parting in surprise at the compliment, making her cheeks slightly redden. She looked at you for a long moment before glancing at Oscar, who place a hand on her shoulder. "But I wanted to be first…" she whispered, her voice trailing off.

"I know," you replied softly, nodding in understanding. "And that’s okay. It’s good to want to win, but it's also okay not to win every time. What's important is that you did your best, and look—" you pointed to the trophy in her hands, "you still achieved something incredible. Second place out of all those players? That’s huge."

Sadie’s eyes finally lifted to meet yours, and you could see the tension in her shoulders ease a little, though she still looked unsure. "You really think so?" she asked, her voice small.

“It’s not just me.. we know so.”

Oscar watched the exchange, his heart swelling as he saw the tension ease from Sadie’s small frame. You always knew exactly what to say.

“Now,” you said, pulling back slightly and smiling at her with a playful glint in your eyes, “how about we put that beautiful trophy somewhere special? I think it deserves a place on the self, don’t you?”

Sadie nodded, her earlier disappointment fading away bit by bit. “Yeah… I think so.”

Besides, there was still more that the future holds.

[moonchild9350]

Hate to Love You, Love to Hate You

Summary: You hate your neighbor Hyunjin. Everything he does irks you to know end. You know Hyunjin feels the same way. The feeling is mutual, right?

Pairing: enemy to lovers au, non idol domHyunjin x fab reader

Genre: angst, smut-18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: spanking, light bondage, use of the term brat, p in v penetration, creampie (don't), dacryphilia, consent is implied (don't do this in real life folks, verbal consent is important) Hyunjin is mean, what can i say

Notes: I just wanted to make Hyunjin mean lol. This is not edited.

If you enjoyed this like, reblogs, and comments appreciated ♡

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

“What the hell,” you groaned, as you rolled over to grab your pillow that was next to you.

You buried your face in the soft pillow, letting out a scream. You were annoyed, no you were beyond annoyed, you were furious. You couldn’t focus because of the sounds coming from the apartment next to yours. Your neighbor had a girl over and she was definitely letting the whole complex know that she was getting railed. You said railed as you could hear the thump, thump, thump of the headboard hitting the wall.

You groaned once more and then got up, abandoning your task. You looked at the clock and noticed it was just after midnight. Padding to your kitchen, you opened your fridge, grabbing a can of soda off the shelf. Popping open the can, you sat down on your couch with a sigh. You grabbed your remote and turned the tv on, and settled on watching a shitty comedy.

Hyunjin. That was your neighbor’s name. He moved in not too long ago, announcing his presence by being loud as possible every time he passed in the hallway. You eventually met him, as you passed by him in the parking garage. He teased you non-stop, making comments about your hair, your outfit, how boring you are.

He was inconsiderate, never holding the elevator open, pressing the close button while smiling directly at you. He never called off his dog, letting him run wild, the dog always jumping up on you as you walked by. And of course he was inconsiderate in his own home. Yes, it was his home, but the walls are thin, words…and sounds easily transferring though the barriers separating the apartments.

You tried to politely ask him to keep it down, especially at night, some people had to work after all. Instead of him apologizing, he would just smirk at you and walk away, not saying a word. The man frustrated you, angered you, causing you to be in a sour mood all the time.

You tried to ignore the fact that he was gorgeous. He was tall and lanky, but muscular at the same time. His pretty black hair framed his face perfectly. His lips were plush and looked pillow soft. He had great style, you could’t deny. Yes, the man was beauty himself. That didn’t mean you had to like him though. No, you hated him, hated him down to your very core.

That thought didn’t leave your mind as you tried to tune out the girl, her moans and screams getting louder to where even the tv couldn’t drown the sound out. You sipped your drink, trying to pay attention to the screen. You were going to kill that man yet, and that’s a promise.

Time passed, you had watched two episodes of the show when you noticed it was quiet. The thumps were nonexistent and the girl had stopped screaming. Sighing in relief you turned the tv off to go to bed, tiredness sinking in. You climbed into bed, snuggling under your blankets, happy to be able to finally go to bed. You fell asleep instantly, thankful for the silence that permeated your room.

The next morning you woke to your alarm, feeling drained. You begrudgingly got up, stretching as you walked to the bathroom to get ready for work. God you hated Mondays, and today was no different. Finishing up your routine, you made some coffee and packed your lunch. Grabbing your keys and bag you left your apartment, locking your door behind you.

As you turned around, you felt something hard collide into you, causing you to drop your coffee on the ground.

“Shit!” you said, anger welling up inside you.

“Woah there sweetheart, that pretty little head of yours need slow down.”

You knew that voice, loathed it actually. Looking up from your spilled coffee, your eyes meant the man in front of you, none other than Hyunjin. He had that annoying smirk on his face, his eyes shining as he peered down at you. He was wearing skinny jeans, a white shirt, and a flannel. He looked stunning you hated to say.

“Fucking hell,” you continued, feeling your face flush. “Can you not watch wear you’re going Hwang.”

“You ran into me sweetheart, not the other way around. Now excuse me, I have places to be.”

At that, you watched him walk away, leaving you standing in the hallway, your coffee still on the floor.

“Oh, and clean up your mess will you?” Hyunjin shouted at you as he continued his way to the elevator.

You were furious, seething at this man. Not only would you be late to work now, but you were without coffee. Sighing, you unlocked your door once more to grab some towels to wipe up the spill. You cleaned as quickly as possible before locking up again and rushing to your car, hoping to make it relatively on time.

You made it, but barely, your boss side eying you as you walked to your desk. You sat your stuff down before getting to work. You lost yourself in numbers and spreadsheets as the day went on, your mind occupied and not being able to think about this morning. You were thankful, not wanting to think about your misfortune and of course him.

Once the clock struck five, you clocked out, grabbed your stuff and left. Your commute home wasn’t bad, making it home in record time for a Monday. You pulled up to your spot where you park to only find it occupied, a man leaning against the door smoking a cigarette. It was none other than Hyunjin.

You put your car in park and got out of your car, angrily slamming your car door. You marched your way toward the man, a scowl on your face.

“Hwang, wanna move out of my spot?” You spat, crossing your arms as you stood in front of Hyunjin.

Hyunjin gazed down at you before tossing his head back and laughing.

“Your spot, sweetheart, you must be dreaming,” he taunted.

“The fuck I am. This is my spot, I park in number 25.”

You were not budging, this was your spot after all that was assigned to you.

Hyunjin laughed again before saying, “aww are you getting angry? You look so cute angry.”

You reached out to swat at him, your anger getting the best of you. However, before you could make contact with him, he grabbed your wrist, stopping you in his tracks. He gave your wrist a squeeze, holding tight as you tried to squirm away. His brown eyes were piercing, as he looked down at you demanding your attention.

“Hitting people is not nice sweetheart. Especially coming from a little doll like yourself.”

You jerked your hand away as he let go. “Just give me my spot Hwang. I’ve had a day and I’m tired.”

Hyunjin studied your face, his eyes dragging over your face, lingering on your lips before looking you in the eyes once more. Without anything further, Hyunjin opened his car door and got inside, starting the car up. You backed up before turning and walking to your car. You watched as he backed out and pulled away, vacating your spot.

Sighing you pulled into your spot and turned off the ignition. You took a few deep breaths before gathering your stuff and walking toward your apartment. You were happy to be home, tossing your stuff aside as soon as you were in the door. You made your way to the bathroom, in need of a hot shower.

You relaxed under the stream, the water soothing your tense muscles. Your mind wandered to Hyunjin and how you hated that man with every fiber of your being. Why did he have to be annoying and so infuriating? It’s almost like he goes out of his way to anger you.

Sighing, you turned the water off, your anger getting the best of you once more. You got dressed in a comfy oversized shirt and made your way to the kitchen to grab dinner. You settled on ramen for the night, taking the bowl and plopping down in front of the tv. You ate while watching a comedy, your mood slightly improving as your belly became full.

Your peaceful evening was interrupted however as you heard a knock on the door. You rolled your eyes and placed your bowl down. Walking to the door, the knock came louder and harder.

“I’m coming!” You shouted, annoyed once more at the person’s impatience.

You were grumbling to yourself as you opened your door to see none other than Hyunjin. He smirked at the sight of you, his eyes wandering down your body, lingering on your plush thighs peaking from under the oversized shirt.

“What do you want Hwang,” you said as you stared up at him.

Hyunjin looked you in the eyes before presenting a bottle of wine. “Wanna share sweetheart?”

You looked at him, really looked at him. Was he out of his mind? What part of your interactions screamed share a bottle of wine with me? Hyunjin smiled at you, wiggling his eyebrows at you while shaking the bottle slightly.

“Come on, I can’t drink this by myself. Besides you’ve had a tough day.”

“Yeah no thanks to you,” you grumbled.

You stepped aside and opened your door wider, allowing the man to come in. You padded towards the kitchen to grab two glasses and the wine opener. Hyunjin followed behind you and set the bottle down, watching as you opened the bottle and poured a generous amount in each glass.

You handed him his and took yours in hand before walking back to the couch and sitting down. You pressed play again to continue watching your show, not caring what Hyunjin did.

He walked up to you and sat down next to you, your thighs touching ever so softly. You could feel him staring at you, his gaze intense. You decided to ignore him as you took sip after sip of wine. You could feel a buzz forming, the feeling causing you to start to relax.

Hyunjin finished his glass and set it down on the table before turning towards you. He stared at you, which you ignored, chuckling to yourself at your steadfastness. However, the fact that you were ignoring him must have touched a nerve because he started to poke your cheek, again and again.

Eventually, you couldn’t take it and you snapped. You turned to face him and said, “stop it Hwang. Keep doing that and I’m kicking you out.”

Hyunjin smirked at you, scooting closer to your body. You leaned back slightly as his face was closer to yours.

“Back up Hwang,” you said, venom laced in your voice.

“Or what sweetheart?” Hyunjin said, as he got closer. “What are you going to do about it?”

You huffed before raising your hand and swinging. You were going to slap him, not caring if it left a mark. However, his reflexes were quick and just like earlier, he grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“Let go,” you said, twisting your arm this way and that to try to get loose.

“No, you’re such a brat you know,” Hyunjin said, watching you struggle. “Maybe I need to change that.”

“I don’t need anything from you Hwang,” you hissed.

HIs hold on your wrist was tighter yet. You knew a bruise would form later.

“Keep struggling sweetheart,” Hyunjin purred, leaning ever closer to your face.

“Let go or I swear I’ll..”

“Swear you’ll do what?” Hyunjin countered. “What will you do?”

“You make me so….so angry!” You screamed in his face. You watched a smile form on his face while he grabbed your other arm while you were distracted. He had you restrained, you couldn’t hit him, couldn’t do anything with your hands.

“I make you angry? Oh sweetheart, you make me furious. Maybe we should do something about that?”

You couldn’t help but shiver at his tone, his voice deepening with each sentence. You stared into his brown eyes, the orbs sparkling as they stared back at you. You couldn’t help but look at his lips and wonder how they would feel on your lips, your neck, your pussy. The thought alone was enough for you to attempt to squeeze your thighs together, your arousal slowly dripping into your panties.

Hyunjin noticed this subtle change, a smile gracing his features once more. “What do you want me to do? Hmm? Let’s end this feud of ours, I can make you feel so good sweetheart. Let me fuck the brat out of you.”

At his words, you felt your pussy clench, the thought of Hyunjin fucking you causing your mind to jumble. You couldn’t think straight, not with him restraining you and promising to handle you, to tame you.

You cleared your throat, before opening your mouth. But, before you could say anything, his lips were on yours. He kissed you passionately, his tongue slipping into your mouth when you went to protest. Hyunjin pulled you closer, keeping your hands in his hold.

You moaned as he bit your lip, shockwaves of pleasure running down your spine.

“Now who’s quiet,” Hyunjin said, his lips red and swollen. “Come on, show me to your bedroom.”

You got up from the couch, and looked at your hands. “Can you let go? It’s hard to walk like this.”

Hyunjin stared at you for a moment before saying no. You stared back incredulous. You walked toward your room awkwardly, shuffling sideways to your room. Once there, Hyunjin sat on the bed, pulling you to stand in front of him. He released your hands briefly before grabbing your shirt and pulling it over your head.

You stood there in only your panties, your breast on display for him. He took you in before grabbing your hands once more and tying them up with the shirt. He then proceeded to bend you over his legs. You felt him rub your ass, kneeling the flesh again and again before his hand came down with a smack.

You jolted forward at the pain, a little moan falling from your lips.

“Little brat likes pain?” Hyunjin said as he laughed. “Good, let’s count sweetheart. One spank for each time you’ve had attitude with me.”

Hyunjin thought for a moment, “Hell we’d be here forever. Let’s say, twenty. Can you count to twenty for me?”

You shook your head, unable to move the way you wanted with your hands tied. Suddenly you felt another slap, the sting causing you to yelp.

“I asked you a question brat,” Hyunjin sneered.

“Ok, I’ll count,” you whimpered.

You heard Hyunjin hum, satisfied with your answer. He brought his hand down again and again, the pain intensifying with each slap. You were a moaning mess, the pain turning you on more. You were dripping, your arousal coating your pussy and thighs. You counted and counted until the end. You were breathing heavy, your ass stinging. You’re sure there were pretty marks on the flesh.

Hyunjin pulled you up, before bending you over across the bed. You braced yourself on your forearms as best as you could, not able to hold yourself up with your hands.

You could hear Hyunjin unzip his pants, the shuffle of clothes echoing through your ears. It wasn’t long before you felt his cock against your lips, as he dragged the appendage through your folds again and again. You whimpered at the sensation, as the head of his cock kissed your clit.

Without warning, he slammed into you, causing you to fall on your face into the sheets. He didn’t give you any time to adjust, the sting from the stretch causing you to cry out. He set a brutal pace, as he fucked you. Skin hitting skin could be heard as he gripped your hips harder, his fingers digging into your skin.

“Let me hear you brat. Let everyone know who’s fucking you this good.”

You screamed out his name, as he abused your pussy, your walls clenching around him.

“Mmmm, feels good, cock feels good.” You whined out.

“Yeah? Feels good huh. I agree brat, pussy sucking me in.” Hyunjin gripped your hips harder and sped up his thrusts.

“Come on brat, cum on my cock. Be a good girl, come on.” Hyunjin groaned.

You were a babbling mess as you succumbed to your high, your walls fluttering around his cock over and over. You let out a whine, as he kept pounding into you, his pace not faltering.

“Can feel you clench around me brat. Keep doing that and I’ll cum. Feel you up real good.”

You did what he said, your brain a jumbled mess as you came down from your high. You were sensitive, the overstimulation causing you to cry, tears spilling from your eyes.

“Too much Hyunjin,” you whimpered, trying to get up so you could move.

However, Hyunjin just pushed you back down and held you there as he pounded even harder into you.

“Na uh, didn’t say you could move. Lay there and take it.”

You hoped he was close, as his cock dragging through your walls started to hurt. You could hear him laughing behind you, as he abused your pussy, his hand keeping you down.

“Gonna cum, gonna fill this pussy up real good.” He groaned.

His pace became more sporadic, his moans growing louder.

“Shit, this pussy is good. So good for a brat like you.”

He pounded into you a few more times before he stilled, his hot cum coating your walls. You could hear him moan, his hand that wasn’t holding you down rubbing your ass as he came down from his high.

After a few moments, he released his hold on you. “Aww the brat is crying,” he cooed. “I love to see you cry.”

He withdraw from you, the feel of his cum seeping out of your pussy and dripping onto the sheets. Hyunjin pulled you up and untied your hands. Through your tears, you looked down, seeing the red marks littering your wrists.

“Looks so pretty on you sweetheart.” He said before placing a kiss on each hand.

He then kissed your tears away, the gentleness shocking you after what you had just endured. There was silence in the room as you regulated your breathing, a little hiccup being heard every now and then. Hyunjin rubbed your back while cradling you to his chest. You’re not sure how long you both sat there, time seeming to go by slowly.

Eventually he broke the silence. “Are you still going to be a brat?” He asked.

You looked him in the eyes as you wiped the last of your tears away.

“No, I won’t.” You whispered.

Hyunjin looked at you and smiled, his hands coming to cup your face.

“Good choice sweetheart. I told you I’d fuck the brat out of you,” he said before bringing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss.

You hated this man but you loved him too. It was definitely the dichotomy of evil but you were not complaining. Maybe it’s a good thing he moved in next door after all.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @amarecerasus @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92

[vampiefemme]

a lil summertime blurb for y'all <3

18+ only! minors dni.

Summer is easily your favorite time of year in Jackson. The sky is a constant, brilliant blue, stretching out for miles in every direction, only interrupted by the craggy peaks of the still-snowcapped mountains in the distance. The air is sweet with the scent of wildflowers and drifting pollen, and the trees and hip-high grass in the fields is the prettiest shade of green, leaves whooshing with every gust of wind. This kind of weather makes you look forward to going out on patrol - it’s a task you dread in the winter, a permanent scowl fixed on your face when you’re forced to brave the bitter cold. But when it’s warm outside like today? You’re practically itching to mount your horse and bathe in the endless sunrays.

And, even better, Ellie’s your patrol partner today. 

You’re clad in a faded pair of jeans and a cutoff tank top, your scuffed boots knocking gently against the sides of your horse as you follow Ellie through the woods. Your skin is warm from the sun, and each time there’s a break in the trees, you tilt your head toward the sky to let the sunshine melt over you. 

Ellie catches you in the act, eyes shut, facial expression likely one of pure ecstasy - she can’t help the laugh that bursts from her lips. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Ellie asks, biting at the inside of her cheek to hold back a grin. She watches you open your eyes, dazed for a second before you process what she’d said. You let out a laugh of your own.

“Can you tell?” 

“A little,” Ellie says, shrugging. “You’re like a lizard on a warm rock right now.”

You snort. “A lizard?”

The path broadens out enough for you to bring your horse up beside Ellie’s, the soft padding of the hooves on the soil a constant, calming background noise. 

“Hey, lizards are cute,” Ellie says with a faint smile. “And they like the sun. You’re cute and you like the sun, so…”

“You trying to flirt with me?” You mean to give her a hard time, to poke fun at her strange way of complimenting you, but it’s working. Your heart flutters in your chest. 

Ellie catches your eye, still smiling. “Maybe. What if I am?”

You turn your gaze back to the path ahead, fingers toying with the reigns in your hands. You can’t even pretend the suggestive tone of Ellie’s voice isn’t doing something to you.

“I’d say we should stop for a minute,” you tell her, “I think we could use a break - you know, to enjoy the weather.”

“Right,” Ellie affirms. She looks over at you, and your eyes are already on her, your gaze heavy with want. Something similar flashes in her eyes. “To enjoy the weather.”

Ellie can’t fucking believe the lizard comment worked.

It only takes a few moments to find a good place to stop - the forest is full of meadows and grassy alcoves, perfect places to let the horses graze while you and Ellie wander through the vegetation for a spot to, er, enjoy the weather. When you finally do, Ellie’s hands are on you as if drawn in by some kind of magnetic force. Her calloused palms find every inch of exposed skin she can touch: your arms, your hips, your satin-smooth neck. She slips her hands under your tank top, fingertips sending shivers up your spine as she leans in to bring her lips to yours.

You could never get tired of the way Ellie tastes - she’s addictive. Her lips are soft and smooth against yours, her taste just as tantalizing as every time before this; there’s remnants of coffee and maple syrup from this morning’s breakfast, but beneath that is a flavor distinctly her. You couldn’t put it into words even if you tried… And you’ve tried.

With only Ellie’s flannel spread out on the grass as a blanket, you lie down beneath her - but not before you’ve undressed one another, peeling layers of sweat-damp clothing from your skin, breaking between hungry kisses and shuddering breaths. Ellie’s cheeks are even more freckled in the summer, and you find freckles elsewhere, too, scattered over her shoulders and arms from long days spent in the sun. She breaks out into goosebumps when you trail kisses over her sunkissed skin, your hand slipping between her legs to find the wetness soaking her bush.

“So wet,” you murmur in awe, fingers venturing further. Ellie just moans, soft and sweet, hips canting forward as if to beg for more.

She straddles your waist to spread herself further apart for your wandering hands, your fingers dragging through her slick - you can smell her like this, sweet as honeysuckle in the summer breeze. Ellie murmurs your name like it’s a plea, and you shush her before you slip your middle finger into her silken walls. Here’s another sensation you’ll never get over: the way Ellie feels from the inside. Warm, soft, tight, and absolutely soaked. She throbs around your finger as you slide in up to the knuckle, curling your finger to brush against her sweet spot. She takes in a ragged breath and nearly collapses over you, catching herself with both palms against the grass. 

“Fuck,” she hisses. “That’s - you’re so good…”

Your palm grazes against her clit as you sink another finger into Ellie’s heat, and though her bangs have fallen to obscure some of her face, you can still see the way her eyes roll back at every sensation; the way her brows knit together when your fingers graze her insides just right.

“Doing so well for me,” you coo, voice syrupy. “Such a good girl, Ellie.”

Your voice only pushes her closer to an orgasm, her hips thrusting to rub her clit against your palm. You’re sure your fingers are pruning by now from how wet she is - you can’t wait to lick off the remnants. In the meantime, you focus on pumping your fingers inside her, fingers crooked just right. Ellie’s moans become more fervent, more breathy, until you’re sure she’s going to burst - and she does. Your name leaves her lips amidst a string of incoherent curses, her cunt clamping around your fingers as she rides out her orgasm. When she throws her head back and moans, the sunlight glints on her exposed skin, which glows with a thin layer of sweat - a sight that takes your fucking breath away.

When the post-orgasm haze fades, Ellie latches her lips to yours, and you kiss until her hands start to wander your body again - the wetness at your center is hard to ignore. 

Ellie lets you bask in the sun with your thighs around her head, her mouth slick between your legs. You’re warm and dizzy with lust as you ride her face until you reach your own peak, letting her grip your hips and ass so strongly she’ll surely leave marks.

Another reason you love summer? You couldn’t have done this on a winter patrol.

[novaursa]

Skyfall

- Summary: Baela and you chase after Cole and his men. You fall from the sky straight into Gwayne's arms. Literally.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N and is Rhaenyra's younger sister. The reader is also bonded with Silverwing. For more parts, and if you want to read this in chronological order check my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 2 997

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

The woods blur past as you cling to Silverwing's saddle, the thrill of the chase coursing through your veins. Baela and Moondancer had led the initial pursuit, their swift movements through the sky like arrows seeking their target. But now, it’s you and Silverwing against the fading light, and the dense canopy below.

"Go on, Baela! I’ll take it from here!" you shout, your voice mingling with the rush of wind.

Baela gives you a quick, sharp nod before veering off, her focus shifting elsewhere. You and Silverwing dive, the leaves slapping at you like an annoyed housemaid. 

"Alright, girl," you murmur to Silverwing, "let's show them what we’ve got."

Your dragon roars in agreement, her silvery scales glinting in the dying sunlight as you plummet into the forest. The branches are closer now, snapping past you, some grazing your armor, others too thick to avoid.

You laugh, the exhilaration of danger making your heart race. "Just a bit further!"

But Silverwing, despite her grace, is a creature of the sky, not the woods. A particularly thick branch catches you off guard, striking your side. You gasp, losing your grip. Silverwing tries to stabilize, but it’s too late.

"Y/N!" you hear someone shout, but the world spins as you tumble through the air, your body crashing through the foliage.

The ground rushes up to meet you, but instead of the hard earth, you find yourself landing against something softer and warmer. There’s a grunt, a thud, and then silence.

You blink, trying to regain your senses. Your eyes meet a pair of very familiar ones, wide with shock and framed by a mess of light auburn hair.

"Ser Gwayne?" you manage to say, your voice breathless. The realization hits you both at the same time – you’ve landed right in his arms, sending him off his horse. He’s on his back, staring up at you with a mix of surprise and amusement.

"Princess Y/N," he says, a slow grin spreading across his face despite the circumstances. "This is a rather unconventional way to reunite."

You quickly scramble off him, cheeks flushing. "I didn’t plan it this way, trust me."

Gwayne gets to his feet, offering you a hand. "I’d say you’re getting better at making dramatic entrances."

Before you can retort, the surrounding knights, led by Criston Cole, converge on you, their expressions a mix of shock and suspicion.

"Well, well," Criston says, eyeing you warily, "looks like we’ve caught ourselves a dragon princess."

You roll your eyes, dusting off your clothes. "Congratulations. Do I get a prize for being the most unexpected guest?"

Gwayne stifles a laugh, earning a sharp glance from Criston. "Secure her," Criston commands. "We can’t risk her getting away."

Gwayne steps closer, his eyes softening slightly. "I’ll take care of it."

You meet his gaze, something unspoken passing between you. He had been your suitor once, and now here you are, on opposite sides of a conflict neither of you had asked for.

"Try not to tie the ropes too tight, will you?" you quip, trying to lighten the mood. "I bruise easily."

He smirks, giving you a look that says he remembers more than he lets on. "I’ll do my best, Princess."

As the knights surround you, Silverwing roars above, finally breaking free from the canopy and circling protectively. The men look up nervously, but you know Silverwing won’t attack without your command.

"Easy, girl," you call up to her. "I’m fine."

Gwayne’s touch is gentle as he secures your hands, his fingers brushing against your skin longer than necessary. "We’ll keep you safe," he murmurs, so only you can hear. "I promise."

You nod, a mixture of gratitude and sadness filling your heart. "I know."

And so, surrounded by enemies and yet strangely comforted by an old friend, you find yourself a captive – but one who is far from defeated.

The knights form a loose circle around you as they lead you through the woods, heading in the direction of Duskendale. Silverwing continues to circle overhead, her shadow passing over the treetops, a constant reminder of the power you still wield, even as a captive.

"Call off your dragon, Princess," Criston Cole demands, his tone clipped with irritation. "We don’t need her burning the forest down around us."

You meet his gaze with a steady one of your own. "That’s not how it works, Ser Criston. Silverwing follows her own instincts. I can’t just call her off like a hunting hound."

Criston grunts, clearly dissatisfied with your answer, but he says nothing more, focusing on leading the group forward.

Gwayne stays close to your side, his presence a strange mix of comforting and disconcerting. You glance at him, catching the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"Unfortunate, isn’t it?" he says after a moment, his voice low enough for only you to hear. "Your late father never approved of our match."

You give a dry laugh, shaking your head. "Probably for the better. I don’t fancy being locked up in a tower all my life."

Gwayne’s smile widens, genuine amusement in his eyes. "You think I’d lock you up in a tower? You clearly have no idea what kind of husband I would have been."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. "Oh? And what kind of husband would you have been, Ser Gwayne?"

"The kind who knows better than to try to change a dragon," he replies, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Besides, I value my life too much to cage something as fierce as you."

You chuckle softly, but the humor is short-lived as reality sinks in. "And yet, here we are. I’m chained, a captive to be killed or used as leverage against my sister."

Gwayne’s expression sobers, his eyes reflecting a mix of regret and resolve. "I wish it were different, Y/N. But these are the times we live in."

You sigh, looking up at Silverwing still soaring above. "Do you ever wonder, Gwayne, what might have been? If things had gone differently?"

He nods slowly, his gaze distant for a moment. "Every day. But wishing for the past won’t change the present. We can only deal with what’s in front of us."

"And what’s in front of us is a forest full of angry knights and a war that doesn’t seem to have an end," you say, a touch of bitterness in your voice.

Gwayne gives a soft laugh, the sound almost comforting. "At least you still have your sense of humor. It’s one of the things I’ve always admired about you."

You glance at him, surprised by his honesty. "And here I thought you only admired my dragon."

He smirks, shaking his head. "Silverwing is impressive, yes. But she’s nothing compared to you."

The compliment catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. The knights continue to lead you through the forest, their voices a distant hum as you walk beside Gwayne, the man who once might have been your husband.

The journey to Duskendale stretches ahead, uncertain and fraught with danger. But for now, at least, you have an ally by your side, even if he is also your captor. And in these uncertain times, that might be the closest thing to hope you have.

The sky darkens as Criston Cole’s men set up camp, the forest growing quieter as the night settles in. You’re confined to a tent, albeit a comfortable one, considering your status as a prisoner. The air inside is warm, lit by a single lantern casting flickering shadows on the canvas walls.

You sit on a makeshift bed, your thoughts drifting between your current predicament and the distant roar of Silverwing, a constant reminder of your connection to the skies above. The flap of the tent rustles, and Gwayne steps inside, his expression unreadable.

"Comfortable?" he asks, his tone casual but his eyes searching.

You give him a wry smile. "As comfortable as one can be in captivity."

He chuckles softly, stepping closer. "Could be worse. Criston wanted to keep you in chains outside, but I insisted on more... humane accommodations."

You raise an eyebrow. "And why is that, Ser Gwayne? Still holding a soft spot for me?"

He sits down beside you, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine. "Maybe I am. Or maybe I just know how to keep a dragon content without a fight."

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth lift in a reluctant smile. "Still think you can tame me?"

Gwayne’s gaze locks onto yours, intense and unwavering. "I never wanted to tame you, Y/N. I wanted to be beside you, as equals."

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, the tension between you softens. You reach out, your fingers brushing against his. "And yet here we are, on opposite sides of a war."

"War or no war, some things don’t change," he murmurs, his hand wrapping around yours.

The air between you shifts, charged with unspoken words and lingering desires. Before you can second-guess yourself, you lean in, capturing his lips with yours. The kiss is urgent, fueled by the months of separation and the fear of an uncertain future.

Gwayne responds with equal fervor, his hands moving to release the binds on your wrists. As the ropes fall away, you bring your hands up to his chest, pulling him closer. His fingers fumble with the laces of your dragon riding attire, and you do the same with his armor, the urgency of your movements reflecting the intensity of your emotions.

"I missed this," he breathes against your lips, his hands sliding over your skin. "I missed you."

You shiver at his words, your own hands trembling as you help him undress. "I missed you too, Gwayne."

Clothing discarded, you pull him down onto the bed, your bodies pressed together in a desperate embrace. The warmth of his skin against yours is intoxicating, each touch sending sparks of desire through you.

Gwayne moves with practiced urgency, his hands guiding your hips as he enters you. The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of relief and need that leaves you gasping. "Y/N," he groans, his forehead resting against yours. "I need you."

You wrap your legs around him, urging him deeper. "Then take me," you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

Your movements become frantic, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. The world outside the tent fades away, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other. Your breath mingles with his, your bodies moving in perfect sync.

As you reach your peak, Silverwing's roar echoes above, a wild and powerful sound that mirrors the intensity of your release. You cling to Gwayne, your nails digging into his back as you ride out the waves of pleasure together.

For a moment, time stands still, the only sound your ragged breathing and the distant rumble of your dragon. Gwayne collapses beside you, his arms still wrapped around you, holding you close.

"I love you," he murmurs against your hair, his voice raw with emotion. "No matter what happens, remember that."

You press a kiss to his chest, your own heart aching with the weight of your situation. "I love you too, Gwayne."

In the quiet aftermath, you find solace in each other's arms, knowing that whatever the future holds, this moment is yours and yours alone.

The next day dawns gray and heavy with tension. Criston Cole is restless, urging his men to pack up and prepare for the march to Duskendale. You watch from the confines of your tent, the memory of the previous night with Gwayne still fresh in your mind, a bittersweet ache in your chest.

Silverwing circles above, her presence a constant reminder of your strength and the bond you share. Gwayne catches your eye from across the camp, and you see a flicker of resolve in his gaze. He looks up at Silverwing and then back at you, subtly nodding—a signal.

Your heart races as you understand his unspoken message. It’s now or never.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. As Criston and his men begin to move, you seize the moment. "Now," you whisper to yourself, breaking into a run.

Chaos erupts around you as Gwayne shouts, "Stop her!" But instead of joining the chase, he tackles Criston Cole to the ground, his body crashing into the other knight with surprising force.

Criston snarls, struggling under Gwayne's weight. "Hightower! What are you doing?"

"Giving her a fighting chance," Gwayne growls, pinning Criston down. "Get out of here, Y/N!"

The soldiers around you hesitate, torn between their orders and the unexpected fight unfolding between their leaders. Their momentary confusion is all the opportunity you need. You sprint towards the edge of the camp, your eyes fixed on Silverwing above.

"Come on, girl!" you shout, waving your arms. Silverwing roars in response, descending swiftly and landing with a thunderous impact.

You reach her just as the soldiers begin to recover from their shock. Hands grab at you, but you twist away, your foot finding purchase on Silverwing’s saddle. With practiced ease, you haul yourself up, securing the straps around your legs.

Silverwing launches into the air, her powerful wings beating the ground, sending dust and leaves swirling. Below, Gwayne glances up, meeting your eyes one last time. In that fleeting moment, a promise passes between you—a promise of love, loyalty, and hope for a future that might still be yours.

"Go!" Gwayne shouts, struggling to his feet as Criston shoves him off. "Fly, Y/N!"

You nod, your throat tight with emotion. "Thank you, Gwayne."

With a final roar, Silverwing rises above the treetops, carrying you away from the camp and towards freedom. The wind whips through your hair as you steer her towards Dragonstone, the ache in your chest both a reminder of your captivity and the bond that now holds you and Gwayne together, despite the distance and the war.

As you fly, you cast one last look back, seeing Gwayne standing tall amidst the chaos, his eyes following you until you disappear into the horizon. It’s a silent vow that this isn’t the end—that you will find each other again.

For now, you focus on the path ahead, the promise of Dragonstone and the fight for your family fueling your determination. Silverwing’s powerful wings carry you onwards, each beat a testament to your resilience and the unbreakable devotion that ties you to those you love.

As Silverwing's silhouette fades into the distance, Gwayne braces himself for the inevitable confrontation. Criston Cole stands, brushing off the dirt from his armor, his eyes blazing with fury. The camp buzzes with confusion and tension, soldiers whispering and exchanging uneasy glances.

Cole's voice cuts through the murmurs like a knife. "What in the seven hells were you thinking, Hightower?"

Gwayne straightens, meeting Criston's glare with unwavering resolve. "I did what I thought was right."

Criston's nostrils flare, and he steps closer, his voice low and dangerous. "You let a valuable prisoner escape. Rhaenyra’s sister, no less. Do you have any idea what this means for us?"

"I do," Gwayne replies calmly. "But I also know what it means to treat people with honor. She wasn’t some bargaining chip to be used at will."

Cole’s eyes narrow, and he steps forward, closing the distance between them until they are almost nose to nose. "Honor? This is war, Gwayne. Honor gets you killed."

"Maybe," Gwayne retorts, his voice steady. "But it also makes you worth remembering. Y/N is no ordinary prisoner. She’s a dragon rider, a princess. Treating her like a common captive would only fuel more hatred and violence."

Criston shakes his head, incredulous. "You’re a fool if you think she’ll spare us any mercy. The moment she’s back with Rhaenyra, she’ll come for our heads."

Gwayne squares his shoulders, refusing to back down. "Perhaps. But at least I can live with myself knowing I didn’t betray everything we once stood for. We were knights of honor once, Criston. Have you forgotten that?"

Criston’s face contorts with rage, and for a moment, Gwayne thinks he might draw his sword. Instead, Criston takes a deep breath, visibly struggling to control his temper. "You’ve jeopardized our mission, and for what? Sentiment?"

Gwayne holds his ground, his voice unwavering. "For what’s right. You may not understand now, but one day, you might."

Criston’s eyes flash with a mix of anger and something else—perhaps a flicker of respect and understanding. "This isn't over, Gwayne. Not by a long shot. You’ll answer for this."

"I already have," Gwayne says quietly. "And I’m prepared to face the consequences."

Criston turns away, signaling for the camp to resume its activities. "Get ready to move out!" he barks to the soldiers. "We’ve wasted enough time here."

As the camp stirs back into motion, Gwayne watches, his mind replaying the look in Y/N’s eyes as she flew to freedom. Despite the threat of retribution hanging over him, he feels a strange sense of peace. He has made his choice, and he would make it again a hundred times over.

One of the soldiers approaches, hesitant. "Ser Gwayne, what should we do now?"

Gwayne sighs, feeling the weight of his decision settling on his shoulders. "We follow orders," he says, his voice firm. "We march to Duskendale and prepare for what comes next."

As the camp prepares to move, Gwayne allows himself a moment of reflection. He finds strength in the memory of Y/N’s freedom and the promise they silently shared.

Whatever the future holds, he will face it with the knowledge that he did what was right—not just for himself, but for the woman he loves and the honor he still believes in.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Whew you came in time. I’d like to request Wolverine (from the Deadpool movie in particular) with a very caring and affectionate s/o. Once again, my weakness for grumpy/traumatized individual x sunshine shows

Logan oftentimes wondered why you, someone so kindhearted and willing to do anything just to see someone smile, stayed by his side especially after everything he’s done.

He didn’t believe himself to be that great of a partner either when it counted but you’d always shone him that beautiful smile of yours and told him that he was anything but a bad partner. Oh how he too wishes he could accept that as the definitive truth but given how he had lead his life up until meeting you, Logan couldn’t help but think otherwise.

He had lost the ability to trust a long time ago and would instead double down on an inherited belief that he didn’t need nobody but himself, assuming that he was meant to walk this life a lone wolf he believed himself to be. Unfortunately for Logan he was a human as everybody else and humans more often then not craved connection, relationships and so on with other human beings.

Logan was no exception to this rule, no matter how often he thinks he’s not, but has forced himself to the point where he physically couldn’t stay within the presence of someone the moment he starts to deeply care for them. He couldn’t bear to be the reason someone else dies, regardless whether his part was intentional or unintentional.

So when you came into his life like a shining beacon, a second chance, everything within him told him to run away and maintain distance so that his bad luck doesn’t rub off on you and causes to to be sent to an easy grave. However you were rather stubborn for someone so soft and sweet that no matter what Logan did to put distance between the two of you, you were quick to close the distance with a knowing look within your eyes as you placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘It’s okay.’ You tell him. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Don’t promise something you don’t intend to uphold.’ He replies as he then shrugs off your hand and walks elsewhere. He wasn’t going to make it easy for you, that you were aware and were willing to anything to make him see that you weren’t lying, but what you weren’t aware was how easily you had slipped past Logan’s guard much to his dismay and that made him scared.

He had already lost Scott, jean, ororo, beast and many more due to his actions, the wounds were too fresh to be ignored as their screams of his name haunted his dreams as they did his waking life. He didn’t want to add your name amongst the seemingly never ending graveyard that was his loved ones, past, present and future. And yet he couldn’t help but find himself wanting to do everything in his power to make sure you were safe and protected.

His body was torn in two directions on how to go about you, leave you alone until you see that he wasn’t any good for you, or stay by your side and make sure that no harm ever does come to touch you. ever.

You were there during every turbulent moment of his life, watched him tear things apart and show the ugliest side of himself in hopes it would scare you away, but all you did was step over the dead bodies and hold his face in your hands as your thumbs wiped the blood from his cheeks.

‘Are you okay? You’re not hurt?’ You’d ask and Logan would always be left a little speechless because how can you still see the good in him after seeing firsthand what he could do when tested. He was confused at how you could still smile at him so sweetly while clearing him of blood that wasn’t his, he didn’t understand what he did to deserve you.

For all Logan knew was that he was cursed and shouldn’t be allowed a happy existence but yet life sent him the sweetest, most kind and honest person in the form of you as what? Repentance for all the shit he’s been through? Like he’d ever believe life would ever give him a fucking break when all it’s ever done but take everything away from him, even when he was doing okay for himself.

He saved lives but the ones closest to him were taken away, and even when he does take lives the people closest to him still suffer regardless. So what was Logan meant to take away from that other than the fact that he was doomed for the very moment he could heal a gun wound as though it were a scratch.

However overtime and a fuckton of patience on your behalf and soon enough Logan was more reciprocal of your affection and care, even going so far as to give you his own affection in his own unique way that wasn’t grunts and unconvincing reassurance of his own well being. He had grown a soft spot for you but he didn’t care, he loved your soft heart and the sweet sounds you made whenever he felt a little flirtatious then normal.

You were slowly healing the wounds that his regenerative powers could not and Logan couldn’t help but be thankful that you didn’t give up on him, nor leave him alone when you probably should’ve but wouldn’t because you didn’t want him to be alone anymore.

He isn’t one for pda, the most Logan would do was sling an arm over your shoulder, keep you close by his side with his arm on your waist as he glared at anyone who was tempted to take his little sunshine from him.

You described him as moody, temperamental, stubborn, a pain in the ass and then called him a grey storm cloud on a sunny day. Many would say that they were all negative things but you’d then reply with ‘yet they all look good on him.’ Because it was true. They did look good on him and you weren’t about to express pride in the good you see in him without acknowledging that he was a man of many flaws and scars. You wanted to show that your love for Logan was genuine and real, show him that you weren’t excepting him to be the perfect man with the life he’s lived, and you hoped that he could see that he meant everything to you.

And he did see because you meant everything to him in return, he’d tear everything apart with his bare hands if anything were to ever happen to you and he wasn’t nearby to stop it. He was like an unstoppable force to be reckoned with that he wouldn’t even acknowledge the bullet wounds nor the blood, not until you cup his face once more in your hands and wipe away the blood on his cheeks like you have plenty of times before.

‘You sure are a mucky pup Logan.’ You’d say lightheartedly as though he didn’t just tear apart an entire facility for you.

‘How you aren’t fazed by this I’ll never know.’ He replied but was relived to see that you were unharmed before pulling you into his arms, where he held you tightly to his chest just to breath you in while you cling to him in return, happy to see him as you felt safe and sound in his arms again.

‘Well when your lumberjack of a partner is the temperamental type, it kinda comes with the territory to expect him to come home a little bloody.’ You told him as you burrowed your head into his neck and closed your eyes, only to squeal in surprise when Logan pinched your side. ‘For someone who’s sweet and gentle, you sure are a sneaky shit aren’t you?’ Logan said as he felt you silently giggle but couldn’t help but smile himself as he presses a kiss to your head. Happy to have been given a second shot a life, a happier shot and with you no less.

[chaoticforever]

Thunderous Pursuits | Yandere Thor x Male! Reader

Summary: Let this be a lesson to Thor’s old friend. Love is a fragile thing, easily broken by jealous gods. Especially Thor.

A/n: Smut is present.

Another day of saving the world.

Thor plopped himself down in the booth as his teammates began to settle down beside him. The restaurant the Avengers went to for the evening was a lavish and elegant establishment in New York, with high ceilings, gold chandeliers, and soft, ambient lighting. The walls were painted a deep shade of red, and the booth was comfortable and spacious, with a single red rose adorning the center of the table.

Earlier that afternoon, the Avengers had saved Earth again from yet another alien invasion. To celebrate this victory, Tony decided to take his teammates to a five-star restaurant in the city since some of them hadn't been to one before. He had arranged a private booth in a secluded corner of the restaurant for them to eat.

The God of Thunder opened the menu and gazed through the different choices. Thor didn’t eat earthly food as much, but he was going to enjoy them this evening.

Soon, a waiter approached their booth. 

"Hello, my name is Y/n, and I will be your server tonight," a polite voice addressed. "Can I get y'all started on some drinks?" 

Thor paused when he heard the waiter introduce himself. That voice... he would know that anywhere. Slowly, he lifted his eyes from the menu, and his eyes locked with the person standing near the table.

And, sure enough, it was him.

Y/n L/n.

"Y/n!" Thor's lips curled into a big smile.

The waiter looked up from the pad in his hands when he heard his name called. A fond grin appeared on his face when he saw the individual who called out to him.

"Hi, Thor!" Y/n walked around the table and the God stood up to give him a brief hug before stepping back. "It's so great to see you again. It's been too long, and wow, you cut your hair! It looks amazing."

"Thank you, old friend," Thor boomed, as he took his seat again, his piercing blue eyes never leaving his old friend's form. "It has been so long. I never expected to find you here, a restaurant, of all places."

The other Avengers quietly observed the exchange. They were intrigued by Thor's familiarity with someone the team didn't recognize. After all, they knew of Thor's brief friendships with Darcy and his ex-girlfriend, Jane, but this one was a new face. As they watched the guys interact, it became clear that Thor and his friend had a history that went back a long way.

Steve spoke, "So, Y/n, how do you know Thor? It looks like you two go way back."

The waiter nodded. "We do go way back. Way back. I was once an Asgardian god."

The five Avengers exchanged surprised glances. Clearly, they had not expected such a revelation. But Thor, on the other hand, frowned at Y/n's choice of words.

"Y/n, what do you mean, you 'were once' an Asgardian God?" His tone was sharp with curiosity, and his eyes searched for answers in Y/n's e/c eyes. Why did Y/n voice that? Was he not a God anymore? 

The former Asgardian cleared his throat, a subtle signal that the topic wasn't one he wished to delve into at this moment. "That is a story for another day. But for now, what can I get you heroes to drink?"

Tony was the first one to speak up and he ordered a martini, shaken, not stirred. Steve opted for a Coca-Cola, while Clint chose a cocktail. Natasha requested a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, and Bruce kept it simple, ordering a glass of water. However, Thor remained silent, his gaze fixed on Y/n. His mind was elsewhere, lost in thoughts known only to the man.

"Uh, Point Break, it’s your turn," Tony said.

Thor blinked twice, momentarily startled before clearing his throat and tearing his gaze away from Y/n. "Aye, my apologies. I will have... uh, what is that earthly drink you mortals enjoy so much?" He looked to Tony for guidance, who rolled his eyes.

"You mean beer? The billionaire supplied.

Thor nodded, turning his gaze back to Y/n. "Yes, I will have a human beer, please."

Y/n nodded and jotted down the orders with swift movements of his pencil. He turned to leave but paused, and asked if they were ready to order food or if they needed more time with the menu. As it turned out, everyone was ready to order.

The male server took their food orders, starting with Tony again, who ordered a steak with sides of mac and cheese and broccoli cheese casserole. Steve opted for a classic bacon cheeseburger and fries, while Clint chose a plate of pasta with garlic bread. Natasha ordered sushi with a side of chicken, and Bruce opted for a massive plate of ribs and mashed potatoes. Thor mirrored Bruce’s choice.

After writing down their food orders, Y/n left, heading to the kitchen and leaving the heroes to their conversation. Thor's eyes followed Y/n's retreating figure, his mind racing with numerous questions.

As the Avengers talked, Thor found it hard to focus. His mind kept wandering back to Y/n, his old friend who was now a waiter. He couldn't shake his curiosity about what happened to Y/n since they last saw each other and the implication that the man had given up his godhood.

"Thor," Natasha's voice cut through the haze of his thoughts. "It seems like you and Y/n have quite the history. Care to fill us in?" Her tone was inviting, leaving the decision to share entirely up to Thor.

"I've known Y/n since the dawn of time. He came to Asgard as a young adult and we were very close. We fought in battles and went on countless journeys. Though it seems I missed this part of his journey."

Clint, who was sitting across from Thor, arched a brow and gave him a knowing look. "Dude," Clint wiggled his eyebrows. "you have a crush on him, don't you?" It seems that nothing escaped Clint's gaze.

Natasha playfully nudged Clint, as Bruce shook his head. He muttered something about Clint being an idiot though a small chuckle did manage to escape his throat.

A slight pink hue tinted Thor's cheeks. "I certainly do not have a crush on him."

And that was true — Thor did not have a crush on Y/n. On the contrary, what he felt for his old friend ran deeper than a fleeting crush, even after all these years.

A little while later, Y/n returned with two more servers that had trays filled with food and drinks. They carefully placed everything on the table, ensuring that everyone received their ordered meals. "Guys, enjoy your meal, and feel free to flag me down if you need anything else," Y/n then left the Avengers to their meal.

They ate, and the conversation shifted to their recent battle and the close calls they had faced. Thor, once again, found his attention divided between the lively discussion and his silent observations of Y/n as the waiter efficiently moved between tables, tending to other people.

He needed to speak with him.

So, when the dinner concluded and Tony paid the bill, leaving a generous tip for Y/n's exceptional service, the group began to make their way out toward the waiting limo. However, Thor lingered behind, his eyes seeking out Y/n, who was clearing a table. Thor made his way over to him.

"Y/n," Thor’s voice was low and serious, causing Y/n to pause in his clearing and looked up at Thor, "a word if you please." 

Y/n straightened up and offered a smile. "Of course, Thor. What can I do for you?"

"I must know, old friend, everything that has happened in your life up until now."

Y/n's smile remained unwavering. "And I'll tell you everything you want to know tomorrow. Meet me in Central Park at twelve o'clock. You and I will catch up."

The thunderous God nodded, feeling satisfied with that arrangement as he placed a hand on Y/n's shoulder. "Until tomorrow, my friend. I look forward to it."

As Y/n walked away with dishes in his hands, Thor's eyes trailed after him. Why was his friend working as a server in a human restaurant? What had happened to him in Asgard? And most importantly, why'd he say he 'was once' an Asgardian God? Thor had his suspicions about the last question, but he still needed to get the missing piece of the puzzle from Y/n.

The only plausible explanation for Y/n's situation was that Y/n must have been stripped of his powers and made mortal, much like Odin had done to him before.

But the question remained: why? There were only two ways for a god to lose their powers: either through transferring their consciousness into another mortal body or by having their powers forcibly taken away. Y/n still inhabited the same body for centuries, automatically ruling out the first option. This left Thor with the conclusion that someone must have taken his powers, and he hoped that his dad hadn't been involved in such an act.

Suddenly, the restaurant door opened, and Bruce's voice rang out. "Thor, come on! Tony said you have thirty seconds to get out here or he's telling the limo driver to pull off without you. Let's get moving."

With a playful roll of his eyes at Tony's impatience, Thor followed Bruce out of the restaurant and into the waiting limo.

The limo glided through the city streets on the way back to the Compound, and Thor's thoughts inevitably drifted to Y/n. He recalled the curve of his lips when he smiled, the way the black waiter's attire highlighted his handsome features, and Clint's accusation about having a crush.

Indeed, as Thor had voiced earlier, it was more than a crush. The love he felt for Y/n ran deeper than mere infatuation, and it had only bloomed stronger over time.

One thing's for sure: over the years, Y/n had been the object of Thor's late-night fantasies more times than he cared to admit, even during his semi-relationship with Jane. Y/n was the main reason he couldn't fully commit to her. The thought of having Y/n beneath him, moaning his name while begging for release, was a desire Thor had harbored for some time. 

In Thor's mind, he felt that this was an opportunity given to him. It was clear to Thor that their paths had crossed again for a reason — because they were meant to be together. Why else would they have reconnected now — when Y/n seemingly needed him? It was a sign from the gods. So, he would first speak to Y/n, and then the two could focus on their relationship.

Thor couldn’t wait until tomorrow. 

XXXXX XXXXX

The wait until the next day felt like an eternity for the God of Thunder. He was so ready to see Y/n once more and learn about everything that had transpired in his life recently. He knew that Y/n would be there on time; it was in their nature to honor commitments, no matter how tiny.

Finally, the clock struck twelve, and Thor found himself standing in Central Park. The sun shone brightly, its rays dancing through the leaves of the trees, casting dappled shade on the grass, and a nice breeze stirred in the air. As he ventured further into the park, his eyes spotted a familiar figure sitting at a bench beneath the sprawling branches of a big oak tree.

There, casually leaning back against the bench with one leg casually slung over the other, was Y/n. He looked utterly at ease, dressed in a simple white tee and faded jeans. The outfit accentuated his nice, broad shoulders, and Thor's eyes wandered appreciatively over Y/n’s body.

He looked good.

Real good.

Thor's footsteps quickened, his eagerness to reunite properly with his old friend unmistakable. He knows that he just saw him yesterday, but the short amount of time wasn't enough to satisfy his longing for his company. Y/n noticed Thor approaching and gave him a slight smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Hey, Y/n," Thor greeted, his voice warm and deep. He extended his hand, and Y/n took it, letting Thor pull him into a hug.

"It's good to see you, T-Man," Y/n replied, using the old nickname he had for Thor. Hearing it now made Thor's heart flutter, and he loved the way it rolled off his lips.

Settling onto the bench, Thor's curiosity got the better of him. He knew that Y/n held the answers to the many questions swirling in his mind. So, without further ado, he decided to dive straight into the heart of the matter, forgoing the human tendency to beat around the bush now.

"My dear comrade," Thor began, his eyes locked intensely on Y/n. "You have much to tell me, and I am eager to hear it. How is it that Y/n, son of Hera and Zeus, God of Time, finds himself here on Midgard, serving mortals as a waiter? The last I heard, you were a protector of this realm."

The former God clasped his hands in his lap but he maintained eye contact with Thor. It was always customary to look someone in the eyes when speaking.

"I was the protector of this realm," he confirmed, "But your father and I had our fair share of disagreements. He deemed me reckless and unworthy, and in a fit of anger, he stripped me of my powers and banished me here to Midgard. I've been living as a mortal for almost two years."

A frown marred Thor's handsome features as he listened to Y/n's words, his eyebrows knitting together in anger. Stripped of his powers and exiled here — it was a brutal punishment, one that stirred a protective instinct within the God of Thunder. He knew firsthand the pain of being stripped of one's powers. The idea of Y/n, the mighty God of Time, being reduced to working at a job, was an insult to everything they stood for.

"That old fool!" Thor growled, feeling his anger rising. "To treat you, another God who has served Asgard for thousands of years with such cruelty is an outrage. He cannot keep doing this to people like us," he took Y/n's hand in his, giving it a soft squeeze, and Thor felt a burning desire to set things right. "Rest assured, I'll find a way to have him restore your abilities."

Y/n shook his head. "There's no need for that. I've accepted my fate as a mortal, and in some ways, I enjoy being human."

Thor's eyebrows ascended. "You do?"

Thor's surprise was evident on his face. The tall God remembered all too well the emotions that had consumed him when he was stripped of his powers and sent to Earth — the anger, the bitterness, and the overwhelming sense of tiredness that came with realizing that walking as a mortal was far more challenging than he had anticipated with long distances.

The waiter nodded in confirmation. "I do. There are some drawbacks to being human, like getting tired and injured, and I do miss being able to manipulate time. But being human granted me a freedom I never experienced before," Y/n paused, a faraway look in his eyes as if recalling a fond memory. "And I even found love."

Suddenly, the air in Central Park seemed to grow thick with each passing second. The once-bright sun was now concealed by the gathering of dark storm clouds. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a low, menacing growl that echoed through the trees. Additionally, the breeze picked up, carrying the scent of impending rainfalls.

Lightning crackled around the god's left fingertips, a visual manifestation of his rising emotions. His vision darkened at Y/n's words, and he gently withdrew his right hand from Y/n's grasp. Did Y/n just say what he thinks he just said? He had—

Y/n had found love. The word "love" reverberated through Thor like a strike of lightning, sending an unwelcome jolt of awareness through him. Love implied intimacy, tangled limbs, and passionate kisses. The thought of Y/n sharing such closeness with someone else awakened a surge of possessiveness through him.

Sensing the change in the weather, Y/n glanced up, noticing the dark clouds that had gathered. He looked around, seeing people leaving the park, then he turned his gaze to the man sitting next to him.

"Uh, Thor?"

Hearing his name, Thor snapped out of his turbulent thoughts and took a steady breath, consciously calming himself. As a response, the clouds above dissipated, replaced by the hot sun. The harsh wind softened, and the lightning that crackled from his fingertips faded away without a trace. The weather returned to normal.

"Love?" Thor echoed, his tone carefully neutral; he grappled with the unfamiliar emotion swirling within him. He tamped down the spike of jealousy, not wanting to seem possessive or unfair. They had been apart for years now, living separate lives, so what right did he have to claim Y/n's heart? And yet, the thought of Y/n being intimate with a male or a female stirred a possessive hunger deep within him, a feeling he had never experienced before, not even during his brief period with Jane. "Who is this person that has captured your heart?" He dangerously murmured disguised as casual curiosity.

Y/n smiled softly. "Her name is Maya."

"And how did you come to meet Maya?" Thor asked, his tone carefully controlled, even as that name rolled off his tongue like a sweet poison. But he schooled his features, keeping his emotions in check.

"Well, when I was sent to Earth, I found myself in the middle of an open road at night. Maya accidentally hit me with her car, but she took me into her apartment to rest up and recover. We spent a lot of time together, and eventually, we started dating as they say. She's a great woman."

A jaw clenched; Thor's teeth grinded as he forced himself to remain composed. So, Y/n had found love with this... Maya. "I see," his fingers curled into a fist. "And Is she aware of your past?" Y/n nodded silently in response. "Where is she now?"

The h/c-haired male seemed completely oblivious to the undercurrents of Thor’s jealousy as he spoke. "Maya had a hair appointment today, but she should be here soon, and you'll get to meet her."

Can't wait, Thor thought. He needed to see this Maya, to put a face to the name that now felt like a curse on his tongue. But more than that, he wanted to assert his presence, to let Maya know that Y/n was his first and would always belong to him. Furthermore, he would make sure—

"There you are, Y/n!" 

Instantly, Thor's head whipped around to see a female approaching their bench. This must be Maya. Her dark hair fell in loose waves down to her back, perfectly complementing her complexion and her radiant smile. She wore a comfortable denim jeans jumpsuit that hugged her hips, showcasing her curvaceous figure.

"About time you got here," Y/n stood to greet her with a soft smile, leaning down to brush his lips on her cheek. Her arms wrapped around him, and the affection between the couple was as clear as day.

"Sorry, I had to get my coffee. You know how I get," Maya let out a soft chuckle, her eyes widening as she looked over at the person sitting on the bench with her boyfriend. "Y-You're Thor!" she turned to Y/n again. "You did not tell me your old friend was the Thor from the Avengers!"

Y/n held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, you knew I was a god at one point, and that I'd be meeting an old friend. Who's the one, popular god that's currently running around New York City?"

"Still, you could've mentioned it was an Avenger!" Maya exclaimed, turning back to The god, who had been observing the exchange with a neutral expression. She held out her hand for him to shake. "It's so nice to meet you, Thor. I'm a big fan!"

Standing from the bench, Thor's tall and muscular frame towered over Maya, but not Y/n, who stood at a similar height. He shook Maya's hand gently, his gaze flickering briefly to Y/n's. "It's a pleasure to put a face to the name of the woman who has stolen my friend's heart," Thor's voice held an underlying current of quiet possession that the other two didn’t pick up on. "He has told me things about you."

"Oh, has he? Only good things, hopefully."

"I promise, only good things, babe," Y/n assured, his eyes shifting briefly to Thor. "So, Maya and I were just about to go to the carnival. Do you want to tag along?"

The God shook his head. "Thank you for the invitation, but I must decline. I have matters that require my attention back at the Avengers Compound." As much as Thor longed to spend more time with Y/n, he did not want to be a third wheel or see these two being affectionate.

The woman nodded in understanding. "I understand. You have the world to save and all. Perhaps next time if you're free."

"Most definitely," Thor agreed, his eyes following Y/n and Maya as they walked away, with Y/n's left hand in Maya's right.

A frustrated growl rumbled in Thor's throat as he raked a hand through his newly trimmed brown hair. This reunion had not gone as he had envisioned. He had imagined catching up on old times, and perhaps, even confessing his long-held feelings for Y/n. But, unfortunately, Maya's presence had ruined his plans.

The desire to remove this woman from the equation burned within Thor, and he knew there was only one way to do that. However, he understood that any harm brought upon Maya would hurt Y/n, and he didn't want to see his old friend hurt. Therefore, Thor decided to let Maya be.

At least, for now.

XXXXX XXXXX

In all honesty, Thor had been planning to return to the Compound. The thought of witnessing someone else's affection for Y/n was too much to bear. He had turned around, prepared to walk in the opposite direction when he changed his mind.

He turned back, deciding to secretly join Y/n and Maya at the carnival. He needed to see for himself the depth of Maya's love for Y/n when they were together.

The God maintained a discreet distance as he trailed secretly behind Y/n and his unfortunate girlfriend, not wanting them to realize he was following them. A few minutes later, he watched as the couple purchased their admission tickets and walked into the carnival, their hands still entwined. Thor lingered at the entrance, his eyes fixed on their retreating figures.

Thor paused at the entrance of the carnival, his mind formulating a plan. With the money Tony had generously provided, he decided to purchase a cap and sunglasses from the nearby store, employing a tactic he had learned from his time with the Avengers — infiltrating places and staying hidden in plain sight.

After getting his disguise, Thor paid for an admission ticket and stepped inside. 

The carnival was alive with the scent of cotton candy, popcorn, and funnel cake, mingling with both the excited chatter of children and the loud music blaring from speakers. People of all ages were there today, laughing and screaming as they rode roller coasters, tested their luck at games, and snacked on delicious foods.

Hidden behind sunglasses and a black cap, Thor moved with the crowd, his tall frame blending seamlessly into the sea of humans. His sharp eyes scanned the area, searching for the man he desired.

And as Thor navigated the carnival, his frustration mounted with each passing minute. He searched in vain for any sign of the couple, eyes scanning the crowds for Y/n and Maya, but couldn't find them anywhere. Heat started burning in Thor's chest that had nothing to do with the hot weather — but was rather fueled by his rising impatience and possessiveness.

"Damn it, where are they?" He muttered under his breath, irritation in his voice.

Thor quickened his pace.

Dodging between families and groups of teenagers, he walked past the game booths, bumper cars, and food stations.

His determined search finally paid off as he spotted Y/n's distinctive profile at the milk bottle toss game booth, a ball in his hands as he prepared to throw it. Maya stood behind him, holding a sundae cup with two spoons, as she cheered Y/n on.

Adjusting his sunglasses, Thor stepped closer to them. He watched as his friend threw the ball and knocked over a stack of milk bottles with accuracy. That didn’t surprise Thor; Y/n had been a seasoned warrior for thousands of years, after all.

The man behind the booth handed Y/n a stuffed animal—a tan plush dog— which Y/n then gave to Maya. Her smile lit up her face when she received the nice gift.

The couple walked away, sharing the sundae and laughing together. Thor's fists clenched at his sides as he fought the instinct to march over and pull Maya away — to claim what was rightfully his.

Instead, Thor forced himself to maintain a cool and distant demeanor, following his prey. He remained hidden, observing their interactions without them knowing. He kept his distance as the couple rode roller coasters, played more games, and indulged in stupid affectionate gestures. Throughout it all, Thor's anger bubbled, especially when Y/n had the audacity to cup Maya's cheek and kiss her softly.

That did it.

Thor knew he had promised himself that he wouldn't hurt Maya for Y/n's sake, not wanting to see him unhappy. But — after witnessing their interactions throughout the day, something snapped within him, and he didn't care about his promise. He decided that Y/n was meant to be happy with him — and him alone. The thought of anyone else having Y/n's heart was unbearable, and Thor found himself no longer caring about the consequences. He had no choice but to get rid of Maya.

On Friday night, Maya was leaving her workplace alone, while Y/n was at work. The night air was crisp, carrying a hint of a chill, as the streetlights casted orange glows along the pavement. Thor silently followed her. He kept a careful distance, mirroring her movements: walking when she walked, turning the corner when she turned, and stopping when she stopped. He hid when she turned around as if she knew somebody was trailing behind her.

A gust of wind rustled the leaves. Maya shivered from the cool, spring weather and pulled her jacket tighter, quickening her pace considerably. Her eyes glanced but she saw no one there. Unbeknownst to her, the threat loomed closer than ever.

As Maya passed an alleyway, the wind picked up again, and she felt a sense of unease. She stilled, feeling like she was being watched, "H-Hello?" she called out, her voice trembling. "Is someone there?"

Silence answered her, but Maya could've sworn she felt eyes boring into her back. She turned around, but the alleyway was empty. With a sense of unease lingering, she began walking, her steps faster now as she hurried towards the safety of her home, never pausing. Finally, she arrived at her apartment building and sauntered inside, the door closing firmly behind her.

As Maya set her keys down on the table and turned around, she let out a startled gasp at the sight of Thor standing there.

Quickly, Thor locked the top and bottom locks, feeling satisfaction from noticing the fear that flashed through her eyes.

Good, Thor thought, satisfied, be scared.

XXXXX XXXXX

The morning sun's rays filtered through the thin curtains, their warmth caressing Y/n's features, gently waking him up. He stretched languidly, and sat up, yawning. Then, the e/c-eyed man opened his eyes completely and headed to the bathroom.

One of the first things Y/n incorporated into his life as a mortal man was a nice skincare regimen. Maya had explained to him that humans often used facial masks to keep their skin clear and free from acne. In his previous life as a god, Y/n had never had to worry about such concerns, as his skin had always been flawless. Without his powers, however, he now found himself susceptible to the same skin issues that plagued mortals. So, he used these facial skin care masks.

Though Y/n can admit that he quite enjoyed these face masks. The soft texture against his skin was surprisingly wonderful, and the masks worked great.

He feels like his sister, Aphrodite.

After completing his morning routine, he grabbed his phone and made his way to the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee, already prepared, as he dialed Maya's number. The ringing tone echoed aloud and was greeted by her voicemail.

The phone heading straight to voicemail didn't entirely surprise Y/n. He knew that she loved sleeping in after a hectic work week. He decided to pay her a surprise visit since he had been given a spare key.

Y/n opened the door and was prepared to step through it when his feet paused and looked down, suddenly noticing the white envelope on the ground. Frowning in confusion, he bent down to pick it up, his eyes scanning the words inscribed on the envelope: "To Y/n, From Maya."

Intrigued, Y/n opened the envelope, his eyes reading over the paragraph, and the frown on Y/n’s features deepened. Huh—

The note read: My dearest Y/n,

Hope all is going well. I just wanted you to know that you’ll always have a special place in my heart, and our relationship is the best thing that ever happened to me.

It pains me to say this, but, to be honest, I have fallen out of love. Our relationship has run its course, and I think we are no longer meant to be. My love for you has faded like a flower wilting under the sun.

Please know that this was an incredibly difficult decision for me, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

I wish you nothing but happiness. May you continue to find love and fulfillment in life. And who knows, maybe our paths will cross again when we least expect it. Until that happens tho, farewell, my love.

With a heart full of memories,

Maya. 

The note left Y/n stunned and confused. Maya had seemed happy and content in their relationship. How could she just fall out of love and walk away like this? It didn't make sense to him in the least. There's no way this letter could be real.

What—? Huh—? More questions plagued his mind as he couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal and hurt. What had he done wrong? Had he pushed her away without realizing it? Or was there someone else?

Shaking his head, Y/n left his apartment building and headed straight for Maya's place. He needed to hear the reason for her decision from her own mouth, rather than reading it on a piece of paper. That wasn't fair to him and he deserved more.

Y/n's footsteps echoed hurriedly against the pavement as he hurried along the streets, rounding corners and navigating crosswalks. Finally, he arrived at Maya's place and hastily knocked on the door.

There was no response.

Then, Y/n inserted the spare key into the lock, twisted it, and marched inside. He stepped further into the room and called out to Maya when he noticed something.

Maya's apartment was empty.

It was completely devoid of her personal belongings — no furniture, decorations, nothing at all. He searched every room, drawer, and closet, but found no trace of her here. It was as if she never lived here.

Y/n pulled out his phone and tried to call Maya again — but it just went straight to voicemail. The realization sank in — this letter wasn't a joke or a prank. Maya had surely left him, and she hadn't even had the decency to do it in person or provide a proper explanation for her decision.

It was a hurtful and callous way to end their relationship. That's so messed up.

Y/n's hands balled into fists at his sides, the letter crumpling within his grasp. He felt a prickling sensation at the corners of his eyes, and he realized that he was experiencing two very human emotions:

Crying and heartbreak.

Y/n knew that gods experience human emotions such as crying, too. But now that Y/n was human, the experience felt different. In that moment, he understood the depths of his feelings for Maya. This was why mortals spoke of love as both a blessing and a curse — it can give you joy but could also inflict unbearable pain.

He exited Maya's apartment building, the crumpled letter still clutched in his hand, a tangible reminder of what he had lost. His eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, were facing downward as he walked, his thoughts consumed by these emotions. It was this lack of focus that caused him to accidentally bump into someone else, knocking their umbrella from their hand.

Crouching down, Y/n wrapped his hand around the umbrella to pick it up, but he found that he couldn't. Y/n bent down to retrieve the fallen umbrella, however, to his surprise, he found that he couldn't lift it. He tried with both hands this time, but the umbrella remained stubbornly out of reach. Jeez, this simple umbrella feels as hard as trying to lift Thor's hammer—

Wait a minute.

Y/n's eyes drifted upward, and he found Thor standing there, which means this umbrella was Thor's hammer in disguise.

"Oh, hi, Thor." Y/n’s voice came out soft, despite the emotions currently coursing through his mind, releasing his hold on the hammer. "Might want to pick that up."

Thor complied, lifting the hammer, eyes fixed on Y/n's e/c eyes. "Are you okay?"

Y/n’s response was quick. "Yes, I’m fine." 

Unconvinced by Y/n's fake composure, Thor placed a hand on his shoulder, his eyes filled with concern. "You know you don't have to pretend to be okay when it comes to me. You can tell me anything."

Finally, Y/n conceded. "Maya left me. Out of the blue, she broke things off and disappeared, and I don't understand why."

Thor's eyes softened, and he pulled Y/n into a comforting embrace. "I'm so sorry to hear that," his voice was, unknowingly, laced with feigned sympathy. "That lady doesn't deserve the honor of your love."

Unbeknownst to Y/n, a smirk played on Thor's lips, his eyes gleaming with a mix of vindication and triumph. He didn't like seeing Y/n in pain, but it was necessary.

The pain was only temporary, and Y/n would eventually get over this simple mortal. Then, there would be room for Thor, and they could finally be together.

In the weeks that followed, Y/n slipped into a deep depression. He spent most days lying in bed, thoughts consumed by the memories of Maya. He questioned everything, from his own worthiness to the nature of love itself. He didn't get it. Why had she left? Was he truly enough? These thoughts ate away at him — like maggots devouring the flesh of the dead.

Additionally, the only thing that stirred him from his bleak existence was his work. The familiarity of the restaurant, the mechanical tasks of serving tables, provided a fleeting sense of normalcy.

And throughout it all, there was only one person who was there for him — Thor.

The God of Thunder checked in on him regularly, offering words of comfort and support for his pal. He brought takeout, watched movies with him, and listened as the man poured out his heart, sharing his heartbreak and confusion. Thor was a great presence during his time of need.

In Thor's presence, he found himself smiling more. His appetite returned, and the dark circles under his eyes gradually faded. Y/n felt a little like himself again.

One evening, after Y/n finished his shift at the restaurant, he found himself with Thor in his bedroom. A movie played in the back, but they were too engrossed in conversation to pay attention to it. Thor had asked Y/n about his deepest desire.

"Well, being here on Earth for a long time made me desire love the most," was his admission as Y/n thought back to when he thought he had found love. "It seems that love is the emotion humans desire the most. I guess I'm one of them too."

Thor's eyes roamed over Y/n's face as if searching for something. And then, with deliberate slowness, he leaned in closer, his thumb gently stroking the back of Y/n's hand, sending shivers down his spine.

"I can give you the love you crave, Y/n," Thor murmured, voice deep and husky, his thumb continuing its gentle caress.

Y/n sat up straighter, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. He grabbed the remote and turned off the television, their conversation now the sole focus.

"What do you mean?" he asked curiously.

"I mean," Thor's voice rumbled. "I can show you what it means to be desired."

Y/n opened his mouth to ask the man to elaborate when Thor surged forward, his left hand cupping the back of Y/n’s neck and capturing his lips in a brutal kiss. Y/n gasped into the kiss as Thor's tongue, invaded his mouth, tasting and claiming, leaving no doubt about his intentions. 

E/c eyes widened in surprise at this, but Y/n didn’t immediately pull away. Thor's kiss was demanding, possessive as his free arm wrapped around Y/n, placing a hand on his back, pulling him closer. Y/n could feel Thor's hardness against his left thigh, straining against the fabric of his pants, and he moaned into the kiss.

Suddenly, Y/n pulled away slightly, breathless. "Thor, I—"

"Shh," Thor placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. "You want this, Y/n. You want my touch, my possession. Admit it, and I'll give you the love that you desire. You’ll forget all about that mortal, Maya." 

Stunned by this turn of events, Y/n could only manage a breathless, "Alright," he knew that he did crave this intimacy and always found Thor attractive. He wanted to feel that type of intimacy once more.

Suddenly, he felt the powerful urge to assert his agreement more physically, more explicitly. So, he pushed Thor onto his back, straddling his muscular thighs.

A devilish smile curved Thor's lips as he tugged on Y/n's shirt, eager to taste the body of the guy that he had daydreamed about countless times. With a sharp tug, buttons flew across the room, revealing smooth skin and toned muscles beneath.

"Dangerous move, little waiter," Thor murmured, his hands roaming across Y/n's chest, thumbs grazing perky nipples that tightened, hardened from his touch. "Now, I get to have my way with you."

Then, Thor trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses along Y/n's jawline and down his neck. His teeth scraped gently over Y/n's pulse point, nipping and sucking until a dark bruise formed. Y/n's breath hitched as Thor's hand glided lower, his fingers tracing the waistband of his sweatpants.

"You like it when I touch you, don't you?" Thor whispered, his hot breath fanning across Y/n's ear, "Tell me what you want."

Y/n craned his neck to allow Thor better access to his neck and shoulders. "I... I want you to touch me, Thor. Everywhere."

Thor didn’t need a further invitation. His hand slipped beneath the waistband of Y/n's pants, exploring the terrain of his six-pack abs before dipping lower. Y/n arched his back, his breath catching as calloused fingers brushed against the length of his already long, stiff cock.

"You're so hard for me, little one," Thor murmured, fingers teasing the outline of Y/n's length before pulling away. "I want to see it. Want to watch it throb for me."

With trembling fingers, Y/n removed his pants, sliding the fabric down his legs, along with his boxers. His cock twitched eagerly, the head already glistening with pre-cum. He had never been so aroused, so desperate to be touched and taken.

Thor's eyes darkened with desire as he reached for Y/n's cock, stroking it firmly, his right thumb teasing the sensitive slit. "That's it, my beautiful God. Let me see you. Show me how much you want this."

The former God's lips parted on a moan, his hips involuntarily bucking into Thor's hand quickly. "Please, Thor... don't stop."

Thor smirked, the possessive gleam in his eyes undeniable. "I plan to take this much further.  But first, I want a taste..."

And with that, Thor leaned down, his hot breath tickling the head of Y/n's cock before his tongue darted out, licking a thick stripe up the underside. Y/n cried out, his hips jerking at the unexpected pleasure, and Thor chuckled, the sound vibrating against Y/n's sensitive flesh.

"So responsive," Thor murmured, his lips wrapping around Y/n's hardness as he sucked and teased with practiced skill.

Y/n threaded his fingers through Thor's hair, his head falling back as sensations bombarded him. Thor's tongue swirled and twirled, his lips sucking on his cock, driving Y/n wild with need. He looked up at Y/n through his eyelashes, reveling in the sight of his pleasure-clouded eyes, and he sucked Y/n's length deep into his mouth, his hands caressing Y/n's thighs, thighs that now tremble with anticipation.

"Please, Thor," Y/n begged, his voice raw with need. "I want to feel you inside me."

Thor released Y/n's cock from his mouth with a lewd pop, saliva dripping from his lips as his fingers unfastened his pants. "Time to see what a real god looks like."

Thor sat up, his eyes flashing with promise as he slowly revealed his thick, veiny cock. Y/n's mouth went dry at the sight, his own spent cock twitching with some renewed interest. Reaching inside the nightstand, Thor discovered a bottle of lube and slicked up his cock for Y/n.

"Damn, Thor, that's huge," Y/n whispered his gaze devouring every inch of Thor's masculine glory. "Even bigger than mine."

A smug grin stretched across Thor's face as he pushed Y/n back against the bed, kicking off his pants in the process. "Get a good look at this and commit this to your memory and your heart, because I intend to make you scream my name."

With that promise ringing in the air, Thor climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself between Y/n’s thighs and lining up the tip of his cock with his entrance. 

"Tell me you want this, Y/n. Tell me you want me to fill you up." Thor's voice was low and commanding, his eyes intense.

Y/n nodded eagerly, his breath coming in short gasps. "Yeah, Thor. I want you. Please, take me. I need you inside me."

Hmm, Thor mused and pressed forward, his thick cock breaching Y/n with a slow, relentless thrust. Y/n cried out, his back arching off the bed as he was stretched wider than Y/n could remember. Thor paused, giving him a moment to adjust, but the reprieve was simply short-lived.

Thor began moving, his powerful thrusts driving Y/n into a euphoric haze. The bed creaked beneath them, the sound joined by the lewd slapping of skin and Y/n's loud moans as Thor’s hips moved.

"That's it, take it," The God of Thunder let out a growl, hands gripping Y/n's hips to gain better leverage. "You feel too good wrapped around my cock. I've dreamed of this... dreamed of claiming you, babe."

Y/n's eyes squeezed shut as he clung to Thor, his nails digging into the tall God's broad shoulders. "Oh, Thor, right there," he gasped, his entire body trembling on the edge of release. "Damn, I'm so close."

Thor's pace quickened, breath coming in hot, ragged gasps. "Open your eyes and look at me," he demanded, causing Y/n's eyes to snap open, his gaze locking with Thor's, and the Avenger's hand found his cock once again. "You make me feel like a true God. I could fuck you forever, but right now, I want you to come for me."

"Oh... fuck..." 

In response to Thor's words, Y/n's body tightened like a coil, and he came with a hoarse cry, his release coating Thor’s fingers. Then, Thor emptied himself into Y/n, his hips stuttering as he rode out his orgasm, painting Y/n’s ass hole in ribbons of white. He maintained eye contact with Y/n the whole time. Mine.

Panting and sweaty, Thor pulled out of Y/n and they collapsed against the bed, hearts beating fast from their encounter.

Thor pressed a tender kiss to Y/n's lips, his hands stroking the sweat-dampened skin of Y/n's torso. "You're incredible, Y/n. We were always meant to be together."

This was a known fact, and tonight was simply proof of their love for each other. Now, he needed to make sure Maya was fully out of the picture (Thor forced her to write that note to Y/n, and had set up a secret camera in Y/n's apartment, the footage transmitted to a hidden monitor in another location where he kept Maya chained and captive). Now that she had seen the love between them, he would tell Heimdall to execute her, ensuring she posed no threat to their happiness again.

Now, all that remained was for Odin to restore Y/n's powers. Then, they would be together forever, unburdened by the constraints that mortality has on people.

Just as it was meant to be. 

XXXXX XXXXX

[ilylovelyz]

Please do literally anything with Kenma I’m obsessed with him rn

⍣ ೋ how they fell in love

˚ · . kenma kozume & oikawa torū

kenma kozume — because you made him an apple pie. it seems silly, yeah–but that's truly what made him began developing feelings with you. not because of the many hours you spent playing with him in silence, talking to basically yourself as he was too shy to respond to a female. not because you gave him your very detailed and simplfied notes you made specifically for him because you knew that he's be too tired out of his mind from the winning-streak he did last night to pay attention today. no, it was because you made him an apple pie, something he only mentioned once in passing.

"hey ken.." you cheekily say, a large grin written across your face. kenma looks up from his nitendo, eyes greeting you silently before they move back to his screen. "wow! such a greeting!" you tease, despite being ignored so blatantly, you couldn't help but giggle at his intense expression that he sports while playing.

you feign a sigh, your hand coming up to tap at his wrist, earning a surprised flinch from the blonde. his hand quickly pulls away, allowing you to take advantage of the opening he gave you and snatch his nitendo from his other hand. "y/l/n-san.. what are you doing..?" he groans out, his hands trying to reach over the desk to steal back his game.

to anyone else, it looks like he hates you. maybe he does–, but to you, that's just the way he speaks. "oh please, you can spare a minute or two." with that, you're smiling greatly at him and suddenly pulling out a black container, setting it on top of his desk. "ta da~!" you laugh, your hands laying on top of your knees anxiously.

his cat-like eyes glance up at your own, confused, he just sits there. you dart your eyes back up to him and to the container, hoping that he'll get the message to open it. it seems to work, "...you wan't me to open it?" you roll your eyes at his response, "noooo, it's just gonna stay on your desk for all eternity.. jeez—just open it already!" kenma jumps at your raised tone, rushing to open the container in hopes of settling you down.

he blinks down at the contents inside the container, his hands resting on the edges. "this is.. apple pie..? for me?" he asks, his tone more soft onces he realizes. "i made it, for you." you smile, urging him on to taste it. "here," you lift a the pink fork on the inside, slicing the apple pie and lifting it up, only stopping in front of kenma's mouth.

he glances up at you once more, his eyes training onto the piece of apple pie. it does look yummy... finally, he moves forward and takes the bite into his mouth, chewing it slowly to inspect it. you watch him closely, watching for any reactions.

with a swallow, he sits there, his eyes looking elsewhere. "it was good," he admits, earning a content laugh from you. before you could ask him anything else, you heard the call of your name. you follow the voice, seeing that it's your friend standing in the doorway. she calls for you, wanting you to come with her.

"enjoy it, kenma-chan," you say, giving him back his console and walking away. kenma stares at you blankly, still holding the fork in his hand as he watches you leave the classroom. his eyes glance back at the miniature apple pie, sighing softly. he digs his fork in for another piece. he's glad you left, that you didn't see him blush so much when he took the first bite of the best apple pie he's had in awhile.

oikawa torū — because you stood out from the others and stood your ground. despite the two of you not dating or talking, you were still running the "relationship". he thought because of his looks, you'd easily give in like the rest of them, fall to your knees and end up heartbroken when he'd leave. but no, you made him work for it–for you. hell, he couldn't even tell if you liked him back. he didn't even realize it, but he was chasing you around like some lovesick puppy, following your orders and looking up at you like you were some goddess. he finally realized it when you called him out for it, and even then, it made his heart pound in his chest for you.

oikawa watches with those pretty brown eyes of his, they reflect of his target, you. he chews on his pretty lips, ripping the skin of their delicate flesh. his features, oh his pretty features, once so relaxed and perfect, are now scrunched up into a face of worry and fear.

he watches you, his eyes occasionally darting to the random guy next to you whenever he talks to you once more. in this moment, oikawa wishes so bad he was in your proximity, he wants to hear what the stranger is saying to you. is he flirting with you? is he asking for your number? maybe he's a family member. no, wait, no family member would move close to you like that.. no, no family member would wrap their arm around your shoulder!?

oikawa leaves the court, running hurriedly to where you sit. he ignores that the game is about to start, and that he hasn't even stretched yet. he makes his way up the bleachers, hastely walking towards you. but it seems your attention isn't even on him, it's on the guy next to you instead. or is it? from what he sees, it is. but really, you're just letting the scene in front of you play, it's cute to see oikawa this way about you.

"y/n-chan." he says, trying to make his voice sound as stern as possible. you feign a giggle at the guy next to you, pretending to not hear oikawa to bait him even further. it works, as before you can react he's wrapping his hand around your wrist and pulling you up from your seat and down the bleachers, practically dragging you out of the gym.

you hold back a menacing laugh as oikawa pushes you against the wall of the gym, seeing the hurt and fear on his handsome face. "y/n-chan, who was that? why'd you ignore me?" he asks, his lips pulled downwards into a frown. he cups both of your hands into his own, holding them tightly. "huh? what are you talkin' about? i didn't even know you were there." you say, acting dumb about the whole situation.

"yes you–, y/n-chan who was that guy?!" he whines, desperate to know the answer. his whining is cut short when you snap back your hands from him, lightly pushing him away from you. "why do you care? we aren't even dating." your voice is feigned with annoyance, your arms crossed upon your chest.

his heart drops at the realization. right.. the two of you aren't even a thing. his eyebrows furrow at the thought, he thought, just like the rest, you'd be the one to ask him out, not the other way around. if the two of you aren't even a thing, then why does he care? much to his own expectations, he doesn't even know.

he sighs deeply in defeat, his hand subconsciously moving towards yours. his eyes are glued to the ground, lips stuck into a thin line. you try not to let it show, but it breaks through, your laugh just escapes through your throat, confusing the already upset oikawa. "what's so funny?" he asks, his eyes wide at your sudden outburst. "haha–it's–it's, really nothing, heh–, you're so cute, toru," you struggle to say, emphasizing the use of his first name, he's begged you to call him by his first name, but you've just never done that.

his heart fluters at the use of his name, blush coating his cheeks so nicely. cute? "oh.. oh, were you messing with me?" he asks timidly, his hand coming up to scratch at his nape. oikawa lightly scoffs when you nod, still laughing at your own cruel joke.

finally, with a last chuckle, you nod your head, smiling mischievously at him. "so then.. who was that guy?" he asks, feeling more confident within himself. you shrug your shoulders, "a friend i paid $5 to act like he was flirting with me."

oh. oikawa sheepishly backs away, his face painted a light color of pink. he feels his phone vibrate, probably a text from iwaizumi calling to see where he's at. just as he takes out his phone and is about to open it, you're pushing yourself forward, your hands planting themselves flat on his chest as you get onto your tippy toes to give a longing kiss onto the apples of his cheeks.

"good luck," you say cheekily, returning flat onto your feet and walking away from the dazed oikawa. he can only turn his head to watch as you walk back into the gym, his cheek tingling in the spot where you kissed him. god, you just have him wrapped around your finger.

please like and repost with tags

[fefern]

OMFGGG I LOVED UR WUWA DATING HCS THEY WERE SOO CUTESHSJAJAJASNZJ<33 since your requests are currently open, can I request headcanons of wuwa Jiyan on how would he react to his s/o (gender neutral) who’d always swoon and admire the way he fights his enemies/protect others? Tyyyyyy!

✧˖° admiring jiyan when he fights. | jiyan headcanons.

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴ synopsis: the general is the toughest guy around, and one amazing fighter too! what's it like when he catches you admiring his fighting skills?

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴ characters involved: jiyan, gender neutral reader.

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴ warnings: none! only a hint of suggestiveness if you really, really squint.

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴ notes: UWAHHH thank you for the kind compliment on my dating hc's, you're such a sweetheart (๑˘ᵕ˘)! i hope you enjoy this tons! requests are still open so send them as you please! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ jiyan ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

ever since you’ve come into his life, jiyan will sometimes bring you along when he trains or goes out on his daily rounds to make sure everything is going smoothly. 

he’s hesitant to agree at times when you ask to come along, mainly because he really cares about you and your safety (as both the general and your lover.)

very protective and almost overreactive to his surroundings, the slightest of sounds is enough for him to gently grab you and put you safely behind him.

when danger does arise on rounds, he’s swift to protect you, pulling out his weapon and eliminating the enemy with a precision that’s unlike anything anyone has ever seen. 

or, he’ll put multiple dummies on the ground and within a few seconds, they’re all chopped up into pieces as he wipes his brow and repeats the process. 

when he’s in his element like this, everything around him is a bit blocked out, but one day, he hears you gasping when he eliminates some tacet discords. 

he turns around, worried that you got hurt, but instead, there you are, admiring with a sparkle in your eye the way he eliminated those enemies. 

he’ll give you a small tilt of his head, asking you what he did to get you to look at him like that.

when you mention how good of a protector and fighter he is, he’ll try to brush it off as it just being his duty at first, but when you persist, he’ll feel a small blush creep onto his cheeks. 

he was so cool! the way he would slash enemies like it was nothing, how he'd look so calm and focused, how precise he was with his weapon, the more you take note of, the more his eyes widen.

jiyan will give a small smile to you, bowing a bit as a thank you. 

he has been a general for so long that fighting and protecting the people like this was second nature, so for you to find him cool while doing so makes him feel sheepish. 

“thank you, my love. until my last breath, i will continue to fight and protect you with everything i have.”

a few other points i thought of:

if you cheer after he’s done training, a few of the other midnight rangers will chuckle a bit at the enthusiasm. he waves them off, but his cheeks do turn a soft pink as he watches you hype him up.

once you pat him on the back where his tacet marks were and he was quick to take your hand. suggested you pat…elsewhere, for next time. those areas are sensitive after all.

one time, a tacet discord got close to him and broke the ponytail keeping his hair up. he finished them off easily, but having his hair flowing down behind him is enough for you to begin swooning again. your compliments on his hair make him give a small smile as you two walk along. 

(imagine his hair down,,,FROTHING AT THE MOUTH-)

[skalfy]

Misunderstandings

alexia putellas x reader, ~4.1k words, part 1/probably 2

angst in this part, but planning for a happy ending.

Hi! for people waiting for part 3 of the Misa story I promise I am working on it, just been busy and got caught with some other ideas, including this one. Hope y'all enjoy this in the meantime!

Also please feel free to send me requests, I am not very quick, but would love to take on some ideas. I don't really have a complete list of players I will/won't write for, but if you send me one for someone I won't, I'll reply and let you know so you can send it elsewhere :)

--

You had no idea how you had gotten off on the complete wrong foot with Alexia Putellas.

It had only been a month since you joined Barcelona on a three year deal, fulfilling a lifelong dream while launching you far out of your comfort zone. You were shy, and coming from Tigres, and before that, college football in America, you hardly even had a former opponent to befriend. All of your new teammates were strangers, and in some cases, even strangers you’d looked up to for years. All of your teammates except one, that was.

In a strange twist of fate, you had met Ingrid Engen almost a decade prior, when the two of you were both 17. You had an aunt--not a real one, but one of your father’s old friends from college-- who had moved to Norway a few years before you were born. Your family had gone to visit Aunt Anna every couple summers, spending a week or two seeing the fjords and the beautiful traveling the countryside. The summer you were 17, Aunt Anna had invited you to stay for a whole month. It was meant to be a sort of final hurrah before you started college in the fall, and your parents agreed without much debate.

Your second night at Aunt Anna’s house in Melhus, you had headed to the football pitch down the street with the intent to complete your assigned summer workout, and instead you had met Ingrid. That evening on the pitch was the start of a whirlwind month-long friendship as the two of you bonded over your love of the sport, then grew to find you had much more in common beyond that. One night as you sat on your bed in Anna’s house, Ingrid had told you that she was gay, opening up about the feelings she had for one of her U-19 national teammates. She held you in a tight hug as, for the first time, you said out loud that you thought you might be gay too.

You had said a tearful goodbye at the end of the month, but stayed in touch with Ingrid somewhat throughout the years, exchanging infrequent texts congratulating each other on football achievements or to check in on life. You had been pleased to hear that things worked out with her national team crush, Marie, though sorry to hear it ended a few years later. She had cheered you on in turn when you had your first serious relationship with a girl at college. When you first arrived at Barça, the two of you hadn’t seen each other since that month in Melhus, even with your respective places on your senior national teams, but you still considered her a trusted friend.

During the your first month with the Blaugrana, you had gravitated immediately toward Ingrid. You were delighted to fall back into the easy friendship you had shared so many years ago, and it helped that you were nervous to attempt to befriend your other teammates. You worried that you were monopolizing Ingrid’s time, but she easily assuaged your concerns, telling you that she was happy to spend the time together and that she would be there to support you as you took opening up to the team at your own pace. She offered you an open invite to have dinner with her and Mapi whenever you were ready to branch out.

Though you mostly kept to yourself and Ingrid, the rest of the team seemed friendly and open for the most part. Pina and Patri didn’t seem to mind your shyness and often chattered happily to you, managing to include you as a third member of their two person conversations in the changing room. Your spanish wasn’t perfect, but three years playing in Mexico had brought you up to a passable level.

Keira and Lucy, often accompanied by Ona, would also frequently bring you into conversations. You got the sense that it was as much for Keira’s sake as yours, she seemed more than pleased to have another native english speaker to chat to. You appreciated their dynamics, full of biting wit and teasing that reminded you of time with your national teammates.

The one person who seemed to hold nothing but animosity towards you was the one who you had been most excited to play with. You racked your brain, but couldn’t place any reason why you so often seemed to be at the receiving end of Alexia’s ire, but it was unmistakeable. At best, she ignored you-- the few mornings you had arrived early enough for the two of you to be the only ones in the changing room, she remained stubbornly silent, hardly acknowledging you at all besides a flat look as you entered. At worst, she singled you out in training, barking critique after critique. You had a relatively thick skin, but the captain’s intense disapproval wore on you as it never seemed to relent.

The obvious explanations that you could think of for her behavior were out. You were a forward, used to playing out and out striker or tucked under as a false 9, but you hadn’t played midfield since a few times in a pinch in college, so even setting aside her unmatched abilities, she couldn’t possibly think you were threatening her place. You had hardly ever played against her, coming off the bench late in a game once against Spain, and playing most of a friendly with Tigres. You had certainly never put in a risky tackle against her, you didn’t think you had even made any impact on her. Certainly nothing she might hold a grudge for-- you hadn’t, say, nabbed a winning goal.

As far as you could tell, it seemed like it was something you had done since joining Barça, because she hadn’t seemed so frosty on your first meeting. The captain had been quiet but polite as she welcomed you to the team, even returning the shy smile you had given her when you were introduced, but by the end of the first week it became clear that you had drawn her ire.

You had asked Ingrid for her opinion, and, while she agreed that Alexia did seem to be especially critical of you, she couldn’t come up with an explanation. After thinking through it, she optimistically suggested that it could be a misguided attempt to help you adjust to the Barcelona playstyle. At the skeptical wince you gave her in response, she offered to ask Mapi to weigh in. You thanked her, but declined. Alexia’s best friend’s opinion would likely be your best chance to understand, but you were wary of putting either Ingrid or her girlfriend in an awkward position.

--

A few days after that conversation with Ingrid, a particularly bad day of practice with Alexia all over your every move had you feeling desperate. You had stuck it out to the end of the session, but raced away as soon as you could, eyes hot with unshed tears and face red with embarrassment and exertion. You passed through the changing room only long enough to kick off your boots and grab your keys and phone. Jana was inside and changed already, on a slightly shortened training plan as she returned from injury, and she called out in concern as she saw you dart for the exit.

“¿Estás bien, Y/N? ¿Qué pasó?” You shook your head as the younger player stepped toward you, not sure whether you were answering no to the first question or trying to deny anything was wrong. Either way, Jana took matters into her own hands, grabbing you gently by the elbow and guiding you to face her. “Let me drive you home, vale?” you choked back a sob and let the defender walk you towards her car.

You told Jana which apartment building you were in and she didn’t bother to plug it into the GPS, navigating the short drive easily. She had turned on some music and you were grateful that she let it play quietly without asking you any more questions. When you reached your building, she turned the car off and climbed out, circling around to meet you at the passenger side door, clearly intent on seeing you all the way in. You let her walk you through your apartment door, sinking onto one of your kitchen chairs once you were in. The defender stood at the edge of the kitchen, looking a little uncertain.

“¿Quieres que llame a alguien? Call someone?” she asked.

“Voy a llamar a Jenni. Gracias por todo. Puedes quedarte si quieres.” you replied, managing a genuine smile at the young defender. She smiled back, pulling out the chair nearest you to sit.

Jenni had been one of your closest friends at Tigres, and she was eagerly checking in on your move to Barcelona every day, but you had held back about the challenges you were having with Alexia. You were afraid to gossip about the captain, especially with Jenni, and you weren’t entirely sure what kind of reaction to expect. But after the day you had, you craved Jenni’s support and guidance too much to keep holding back.

The phone only rang twice before Jenni picked up, greeting you with a cheery “¡hola, cariño!” you tried to answer her in return, but you were caught off guard by the wave of tears that surged back at the sound of her voice. All you managed was an urgent sniffle as you fought to hold the tears at bay.

“¿Cari? ¿Qué pasa?” Jenni’s voice, now concerned, crackled through your phone’s speakers again. After a moment, you felt Jana’s hand slide onto your knee comfortingly. You turned to her and saw that she had reached her other hand out, palm up. You handed the phone to her and watched as she immediately brought it to her ear.

“Hola, Jenni. Es Jana.” she greeted her former teammate before launching into a stream of spanish too quick for you to try to follow. You zoned out to the sound of Jana’s voice, focusing on deep breaths to unclench the tight knot of tears high in your throat.

You had managed to relax yourself considerably by the time Jana brought your attention back with a light squeeze to your knee where her hand still rested. You looked up to see her holding the phone between the two of you, an expectant look on her face.

“Jenni asked if you are ready to tell what’s wrong.” You nodded and took a deep breath.

“Alexia hates me. I don’t know what I did, but she hates me and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“How do you know, what is she doing? Cari, Alexia is shy and competetivo. Maybe she doesn’t know she is hurting you.”

“No, Jen.” you felt a tear roll down your cheek. “She knows. If it’s just the two us she will ignore me, she can’t even look at me. When we are with the team she tells me everything I do is wrong, my touch, my passes, my shots. I know I am not as good as everyone else here, but I’m trying and none of it is enough for her. I can see how she is patient and kind with the young ones, so I know it is about me.”

“Es verdad, I haven’t been in the practices, but the others have been worried about it. I didn’t know it was so bad, but Ale has been muy dura.” Jana chimed in, and you were a little surprised to hear her mention the team was concerned.

“I thought I wanted to play here, but I can’t do this for three years. I just want to be back at Tigres.” you admitted.

“Lo siento, Y/n. Lo siento mucho. I wish I was there to hug you.” you could tell she meant it by the waver in her voice, and it made you miss her even more fiercely.

You talked through everything you could think of, all your interactions with Alexia, every idea you had eliminated for what went wrong. Jenni and Jana alternated between outrage and murmured words of comfort, but mostly just listened as you vented everything you had been holding in for weeks. By the end, you actually felt better. Whether it was the release of finally letting everything go, or the relief of hearing two people who knew Alexia agree that something wasn’t right, a weight was definitely lifted from your chest.

“So what should I do?” You finally asked Jenni. “How can I fix whatever this is?”

“Oh, nena, you shouldn’t fix this, it’s Alexia who needs to. Quandó ella escuche lo que tengo--”

“Jenni, no porfa! You can’t talk to her about this.” You loved Jenni, hot head and all, but you couldn’t let her go off on Alexia about this. “Thank you, I know you would do that for me, but I need to do this. I don’t want her to think-- I can’t ruin—”

“Vale, I understand, cari. I won’t say anything, prometo.” Jenni saved you from struggling to explain further. In the pause that followed, Jana spoke suddenly from next to you.

“I think you need to talk to Ale. O sea, if you want to understand what is in her head. Maybe Mapi knows, but,” she stopped with a shrug, and Jenni finished for her,

“Only Ale knows what Ale is thinking. Jana is right.” You nodded, even though Jenni couldn’t see you. She sighed over the phone, then continued. “It might be easier if you are gentle. Even if she doesn’t deserve it.”

“Gracias, Jenni.” You were suddenly very tired. “Te amo mucho. I wish I was back with you.”

“Yo también, nena. Te amo mucho. I am here if you need me.”

“I know. Good night.”

“Good night.” You hung up the phone and placed it on the table.

Jana stood from the chair next to you and held a hand out to you. When you took it, she pulled you gently to your feet, then wrapped you in a hug. You immediately softened into the embrace, grateful for the comfort. She held you close for a long moment, then released you into a light hold.

“I know you have Ingrid, but I’m here for you too, Y/n. We haven’t had much time to get to know each other, but I’m glad you are at Barça and I want to be your friend.” The earnest look in her eyes as she spoke nearly had your own tearing up again. You tugged her back into a hug, squeezing her fiercely before you let go.

“Gracias, Jana. I want to be your friend too. Thank you.” You could feel a smile break across your face, and she grinned in return. “I should let you go home before it is too late. Are you okay to drive?”

“Yes, gracias. It is a short drive, we are almost neighbors. You can visit me soon and I will show you!”

You walked Jana back down to her car, exchanging numbers before you said your goodbyes. Despite everything, you felt a glow of hope for your future at Barcelona. At least you had a new friend and some kind of plan.

--

You were halfway through your pre-practice routine the following morning when your phone chimed with a message. It was Jana.

Jana: ¡Hola! Do you need a ride this morning?

Jana: Because I made you leave your car

Jana: Not sorry for that 😋🚙

You had completely forgotten about your car, so you were grateful for both the reminder and the offer.

You: Yes, thank you! I can walk to you if that is easier.

Jana: Do not worry, I will pick you up. 20 minutes?

You: Perfect

True to her word, Jana picked you up outside 20 minutes later. The drive was much more lighthearted than the previous night. You asked about Jana’s english, curious about why it was so good when she had spent her whole career in Spain. She started to explain that it was part of the curriculum at La Masia, but then cracked a smile and confessed that it was mostly because she was dating Jill and it was much easier than learning Dutch.

You had been curious about the rumors around the two, and seeing the way Jana lit up made you glad to hear they were true. You said as much to the defender, which led to her telling the story of how they met during the rest of the drive. The sweet story left you both in a good mood as you pulled up to the training center.

You climbed out of the car and grabbed your bag, laughing with Jana as she came up next to you and bumped into your shoulder as you started to walk together. For the first time in a while, you didn’t feel dread at the thought of walking into training, and you weren’t desperately searching for any sight of Ingrid. Jana seemed to be noticing the same thing.

“You will have to let me take you home more often if it puts you in this good of a mood!” She said, wrapping one arm around your shoulders.

You were about to respond when another voice beat you to it.

“Jana. Y/N.”

You froze, looking up to see Alexia approaching. Jana squeezed your shoulder where her hand rested. The captain had an unreadable expression on her face, eyes darting from you to Jana, then back to you.

“Hola, Capitana.” You said, lowering your gaze as her eyes met yours.

“Can I talk to you?” It was clear that the question was directed at you. When you didn’t immediately respond, she spoke again, voice softening almost imperceptibly. “Jana, vé sin nosotros. Iremos pronto.”

Jana caught your eye and you nodded slightly. You appreciated her willingness to look out for you, but you didn’t want to get her in trouble, not to mention you wanted to speak to Alexia anyway. The defender gave you a final squeeze to your arm before walking past Alexia toward the training center.

The two of you stood in silence. For a moment, your mind raced to guess what she had stopped you to say, but you pushed the worry down. With the way your relationship was going, it hardly seemed worth predicting what her latest criticism would be. You stared over Alexia’s shoulder, waiting.

“Jana has a girlfriend.” It was maybe the last thing you expected the midfielder to say, and you were caught completely off guard.

“What? I—I know.” You sputtered out. Jana’s last comment jumped into your mind, and when Alexia didn’t say anything else, you felt the need to continue and clarify. “What Jana said… She didn’t mean what it sounded like. She gave me a ride home last night and then this morning.”

“Bueno.” Alexia finally said, quieter than before.

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” You asked, voice flat.

“Ah...” she hesitated. “No.”

The blonde turned and walked away as you watched. The good mood you had only a few minutes earlier was gone, leaving behind a sort of hollow feeling. Jana had been the one to drive you, the one with her arm around your shoulders, and the one to make a silly joke about taking you home, but still, Alexia assumed the worst of you and you only. Suddenly, you felt like an idiot for thinking you could talk anything out with the captain. A surge of hopelessness washed over you as you imagined her scrutinizing every interaction you had with your teammates in addition to your skills on the pitch, and you felt sick. You walked to where you left your car last night, pulling out your phone to text Jonatan.

You: Lo siento, estoy enferma y no puedo ir a practicar.

--

Once at home, you buried yourself under the covers on your bed. You still felt awful from the interaction with Alexia, but you were overwhelmed by a wave of other emotions-- guilt for missing practice, anger at yourself for letting a personal issue get in the way of your career, and a deep fear that things were not going to get better.

Your phone was vibrating in the other room, but you ignored it, certain it wasn’t anyone you wanted to talk to right now. Ingrid was at the practice you just left, and it was far too early for Jenni or your family to be awake in their timezones.

As you lay bundled in your bed, the adrenaline from your high emotions faded, and you found yourself suddenly fighting heavy eyelids. Slowly, you faded into sleep.

--

You awoke to a loud pounding on your apartment door. Disoriented, you dragged yourself out of bed, padding out into the living room as the noise continued. You flipped the deadbolt and yanked the door open, coming suddenly face to face with your insistent visitor.

“Alexia?”

The blonde shouldered her way past you without a word, marching into your living room and looking wildly around. You closed the door and locked it before turning back to see Alexia peering into your bedroom. You snapped.

“Alexia! What the hell are you doing?”

“Looking for Ingrid!” She turned to snarl at you, eyes cold.

“What? Ingrid’s not here, what are you talking about?” You were genuinely confused, and Alexia barreling her way through your apartment wasn’t helping. You reached out and caught her by the elbow as she made to walk into your bedroom. “Stop, please! Can you just explain what’s going on?”

Alexia shook your hand off her arm, but stayed put.

“I’m not stupid. You show up here while Mapi is injured and try to steal her girlfriend. I see you every day at practice all over Ingrid. You don’t talk to anyone except her, you follow her around, you take her out for coffee, all while my best friend isn’t there to see. At first I thought you were just friendly, but it’s only with her.” Her chest heaved as she paused to take a breath. “Then I realized today you skipped practice and convinced Ingrid to join you and I knew.”

Your head was spinning and you were certain your jaw was nearly on the floor. You understood Alexia’s words, but struggled to comprehend what she was saying. As it finally clicked, a burst of laughter rose up in your chest. Alexia looked on, eyes narrowed, as you found yourself almost giggling.

“I’m, I’m sorry. It’s not funny!” You managed, pulling yourself together with a deep breath. “It’s just… you’ve been making me feel awful for weeks now because you think I’m trying to steal Ingrid from your friend? Did you even think to bring it up to Mapi herself?”

The blonde made no move to respond.

“I’ve been friends with Ingrid since we were 17. Mapi knows that. If we had any interest in each other we would have sorted it out long before now. You’re completely right that I’ve been following her around and sticking by her side, but you’re completely wrong about why. God, Alexia, I just came from halfway across the world to play for a team full of people I’ve looked up to for years. I miss my family and Jenni and the rest of my old teammates. A month ago, Ingrid was the only person I knew in this entire stupid country!”

You closed your eyes for a long moment, trying to calm your racing heart. Your body felt like you had just played 90 minutes of a championship final. When you eventually opened your eyes again, it was to the sight of Alexia still rooted to the same spot. She had hardly moved a muscle other than to drop her gaze to the floor, back and shoulders. rigid with tension. You left her in the bedroom doorway and walked over to sink into the same kitchen chair Jana had occupied last night.

“Y/n, I—” she started, but paused at the sound of the lock, then the knob turning on the door. It swung open.

“Y/n! Sorry to use your spare key, but you weren’t answering my texts! I would have come sooner, but I had a dentist’s appointment I had to leave practice for. Are you okay? Are you sick? Jana said you seemed fine until you talked to Alexia this morning, did she say something?”

“I’m okay.” Ingrid’s gaze caught you when you spoke, then rose to look past you as she responded.

“Good, I-- Alexia?”

“Alexia was just leaving.” You spoke before the blonde could. “Are you okay to drive home, Capitana?”

“Sí. Yes.” She answered quietly, finally moving away from your bedroom and towards the door to leave. Before she stepped out, she paused to turn your way. “Lo siento, Y/n. I will fix this.”

When the door shut behind her, you dropped your head into your arms on the table.

[weemssapphic]

hii, could i request a fic with reader and handsy drunk larissa?? they have a crush on each-other but they won’t admit it until one night where larissa calls reader in her office for a glass of wine and became too drunk, this leads them to a make-out session and sex with some after care. if you want can you add some comfort for larissa who has old wounds from old lovers that comes up at the end?

hey feel free to change what you want, it’s completely fine if you don’t want to do it or you are not comfortable with it!! i hope you have a wonderful day!! <3 (sorry for my english!!) i’m sorry i don’t know how to do a request 😭

:)

hi bestie!!! this fic has been a LONG time coming and i'm absolutely just as feral about it as i was the first time we talked about it. hope you enjoy, love 🥺

taking a chance

Larissa Weems x shapeshifter!reader

words: ~8.5k

content/warnings: smut (minors dni pls), g!p (reader is a shapeshifter), virgin!larissa, drunk sex, nipple play, cunnilingus

Platinum curls catch the sunlight that follows the curve of a high cheekbone and a defined jawline. The same golden rays glint in deep, sapphire eyes, making them shine clearer and brighter. Ruby red lips curl into a smile around brilliantly white teeth, parting as the principal addresses the crowd of students and teachers with passion and enthusiasm.

You can see her warm breath slightly against the chilly fall air, her cheeks and the tip of her nose turning ever so slightly rosy with the cold - it makes her even more beautiful, if that’s at all possible, and you’re certain that you’re gaping at her with a dreamy expression on your face but you’re helpless to stop yourself.

Sometimes, being in her presence causes you to hang onto her every word, memorizing every syllable and the way it tumbles from her painted lips. At other times, you’re lucky to even catch a gist of what she’s saying, far too busy admiring her beauty and daydreaming about a life where you might just have a chance with this stunning goddess. Today seems like the latter kind of day.

Principal Weems - Larissa - pauses her speech and scans the crowd. As her gaze lands on you, she offers you a closed-lip smile - almost shy in its nature. You accept the offering, you’d be stupid not to, beaming back with a faint blush spreading across your cheeks. She winks in your direction before turning her attention elsewhere and resuming her speech as if nothing had happened. How she can move on from that moment so easily, you can hardly fathom - you’re rooted to the spot, your heart beating against the constraints of your rib cage, your mind replaying the wink over and over again. 

After the speech is over and the students and faculty have begun to disperse, chatting amongst themselves in small groups or hurrying to get out of the quad and back into the warmth of Nevermore’s rooms, you expect Larissa to head back to her office. What you don’t expect is to feel a gloved hand on your shoulder, long fingers giving you a surprisingly gentle squeeze.

“Principal Weems,” you manage to say, your voice only slightly breathy as you turn your head and realize that her face is a lot closer than you were expecting.

“Darling,” she says with a chuckle. “You’ve been at Nevermore for almost a year now, you’ve more than earned the right to call me Larissa.” Her cheeks grow even rosier as she talks to you - from the cold, probably, you think.

“Larissa,” you concede with a soft smile, your blush matching her own - definitely due to the wind nipping at your own skin. “What can I do for you?”

“I was actually wondering if you’d like to join me in my office this evening for a glass of wine.”

Your heart skips a beat, your smile growing in spite of yourself. “What’s the occasion?”

“We haven’t had much opportunity to get to know each other one-on-one this year - I’d like to change that.” Larissa looks almost nervous as she explains herself, but you shake it off - she couldn’t possibly be nervous asking you to join her for a drink. If anything, it’s the other way around - not that you’d ever admit that out loud. You’re sure your boss wouldn’t appreciate you openly crushing on her, and you want to remain professional.

“I’d love to, Larissa.” The name feels foreign on your tongue, but you could definitely get used to it. “What time were you thinking?”

The principal’s returning smile is bright - it melts your heart with its sincerity. “Does 7 o’clock suit you?”

~~~

That’s how you find yourself pacing anxiously in front of the door to Larissa’s office at 3 minutes to 7, not wanting to appear too eager - the decision on whether or not to knock already, however, is taken from you when the door creaks open, startling you and causing you to freeze in place as Larissa pokes her head into the hall.

“Principal Weems.” You hope you don’t sound as nervous as you feel, and you slide your hands into your pockets to keep them from shaking.

“Larissa,” she scolds playfully, stepping aside to let you into her office and closing the door behind you.

“Sorry. Larissa.” You like how the name rolls off your tongue - it makes you smile, and it appears to have the same effect on the principal. “How did you know I was already here?”

Larissa smirks - you could swear she’s giving you a once-over, her gaze sweeping your form, but she’s so quick about it that you wonder whether or not your brain is playing tricks on you. “I heard you pacing.”

You flush instantly, dropping your eyes to the floorboards in embarrassment. “Keen hearing,” you mutter, mostly to yourself, but it gets a laugh out of the blonde - you glance up to see her grinning at you, which only makes you blush harder. 

To your relief, she’s turned just as red as you have, a fact that she seems eager to distract you from. “Please, have a seat,” she says, gesturing to the sofa in front of the roaring fire as she walks in the opposite direction, fetching a bottle of red and glasses from a small cabinet in the corner of her office.

The room is cozy, you think, as you sit on one end of the sofa, basking in your surroundings. Of course you’ve been in here plenty of times before, but never in such an intimate context - it’s always been business, never pleasure, and there’s never been time to properly admire how very Larissa the office is. 

The sofa dips beside you, the woman in question placing two glasses on the decorative coffee table in front of you and filling each with a bit of wine. You thank her, gingerly taking the stem of the glass between your fingers and raising it - Larissa does the same, smiling warmly as she clinks her glass against yours then takes a sip.

“I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable by inviting you here,” she says, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. Your eyes follow her leg as she moves it, trailing down her calf as the firelight flickers against her pale skin - it’s both fascinating and arousing to you just how long her legs are, you’d love to get the chance to run your hands along her toned calves, rest them on her knees…

Fuck, you’re staring. You quickly look up to meet Larissa’s gaze, the only indication that she’s caught you staring is a faint blush on the apples of her cheeks. “N-no, of course not.” Shit, you’ve been caught. 

“Are you sure?” Larissa raises a thin, perfectly plucked eyebrow, and your stomach does a backflip.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Biting your lip, you take a sip of wine to calm your nerves. “I’m not uncomfortable at all, I promise. It’s just weird being so casual with you - I mean, you are my boss, you know.” You giggle nervously and Larissa takes a large swig of her wine, nearly draining the glass in one go.

“I hope it becomes less weird for you, otherwise you’re free to leave at any time.” There’s a hint of hardness in Larissa’s voice, and you frown. 

“I’m actually really glad you invited me,” you try to reassure her quickly. “I think it’d be nice to get to know you, I’m just a bit awkward. It has nothing to do with you.” You offer her a shy smile - she seems to recognize its earnestness, and she smiles back, nodding in acknowledgment. 

Larissa seems to relax quite a bit after that - once the tension has subsided, conversation begins to flow freely (as does the alcohol). One of the things that had drawn you to Larissa in the first place was that you’d never worked with another shapeshifter before - even meeting other shapeshifters is rare. Your shared ability is a natural icebreaker - as you begin to talk about school and students and classes, you manage to open up to each other a bit about the struggles you’ve faced with your abilities. The conversation doesn’t stop there, and you delve into topics like media and art, books you’ve enjoyed (and ones you’ve detested) and music you have on repeat. 

Getting to know the woman behind the title of ‘principal’ only intensifies your feelings for her - with every new topic, you feel as though you’re peeling back another layer to who she is, revealing a softer Larissa, just as passionate but also weird and quirky and wonderful - just as wonderful as you’d imagined her to be, possibly more so, and you’re starting to realize this is more than just a mere crush.

As the evening wears on, a different kind of tension fills the room. With every minute, the distance between the two of you seems to get smaller and smaller - with every new topic, every new layer discovered, Larissa gets closer, until her knee is only a hair’s breadth from your own. You’re not sure if the heat flooding your body is from the fire, the alcohol, your own arousal, or maybe even Larissa’s body heat as a result of her close proximity - perhaps it’s a mixture of all 4, you think. 

Though it seems thinking has become a bit of a problem for you - how many glasses of wine have you had, you wonder, as Larissa pours you another one, each somehow fuller than the last. Glancing at the table, you realize the second bottle is half empty - right. She’d gotten a second bottle about an hour ago. 

Larissa seems to be faring no better than you - she’s a lot more giggly than you’ve ever seen her and, honestly, a lot more flirtatious. You may be more than a little tipsy but you’re certainly not hammered, and you’ve noticed her eyes traveling the length of your body more than once throughout the evening, often lingering near your cleavage for just a moment too long.

You’re telling a story about an annoying coworker from your previous job when Larissa sets down her wine glass, resting her elbow on her knee and propping her chin up with her hand, getting even closer to you in the process. She watches you with great interest, hanging onto your every word with her lips pulled up into an amused smile.

“I really hope your colleagues here aren’t nearly as incompetent,” she says with a chuckle, placing a hand on your thigh - you feel as though she may as well be burning a hole straight through your trousers. 

You find yourself giggling as you subtly shift closer to her. “Don’t worry, Riss.” The nickname slips out before you can stop yourself, but from the way Larissa’s lips part and her thumb begins to gently rub your inner thigh just above your kneecap, you don’t think she minds. “I think you were a lot more thorough during the hiring process than my old boss.”

“I definitely was.” Her voice drops an octave - heat pools in your core, and you feel your mouth go dry as Larissa’s gaze pierces your own, her eyelids hooded. You lick your lips, which suddenly feel dry as the Sahara.

“Tell me darling,” she husks. “Do I make you nervous?”

The sudden question does make you a little nervous - at a loss for words, you nod your head, and Larissa smirks in response. 

“I don’t mean to,” she coos, her hand remaining on your thigh as her other hand cups your cheek. Suddenly she’s right there, it would be so easy to just lean in and…

Larissa catches you staring at her lips and she parts them as she cocks her head - they look so soft and full, so incredibly inviting… 

You’re not sure who’s closed the gap, all you know is that your eyes have fluttered shut and that her lips feel even softer than they look. They’re warm, and they taste like lipstick and wine, and before you know it, you feel her tongue soothe over the seam of your lips as her fingers curl behind your ear. 

The groan that you let out when you part your lips and feel Larissa’s tongue slip inside of your mouth is so loud that you feel yourself blush. The blonde doesn’t seem to mind, however - she licks into your mouth with an eagerness with which you’ve never been kissed before, flicking her tongue sensually against your own. You feel her smile into the kiss as she deepens it, her hand sliding to the back of your head and holding it in place.

Placing your hands on her waist, you slowly lean back and pull Larissa with you, until you’re on your back and she’s on top of you, her body weight pressing you down into the upholstery. It sends a prickling wave of heat throughout your entire being, every nerve-ending in your body seemingly alight as your head swims. 

Your hands slide lower until you’re palming her ass - Larissa moans into your mouth, and the sound jolts you back to reality for a moment. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” you pant as you pull away to catch your breath, moving your hands back up to her waist, where they feel a bit safer. 

“I’m not.” Her boldness shocks you, and you meet her gaze only to see that her pupils are blown wide, filled with unfiltered desire. 

“You’re drunk…” You want it to sound firm yet gentle, and yet it comes out sounding more like a question.

“So are you,” she retorts, raising her eyebrow at you. Touché. “I want you.”

Any resolve you might’ve had had been torn down a few glasses of wine ago, and was now rapidly crumbling into dust. A whimper claws its way from your throat as Larissa’s hands find their way underneath your shirt, her palms warm and soft against your abdomen as she gently and ever so slowly pushes your shirt higher and higher, searching your face for consent. 

Fuck it. 

You help her make quick work of your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. She fumbles a bit with the button of your trousers, her fingers moving clumsily - you giggle, attributing it to her inebriated state, and help her to remove them, sliding your underwear right down with them. 

You’re left only in your bra, something Larissa seems intent on changing as her fingers trace along the straps. You sit up a bit, allowing her to reach around your back and find the band with her hands.

“Fuck,” she mumbles as she struggles to unclasp your bra - you’ve never heard her curse before, and the word fills you with heat. 

“Let me help,” you whisper breathily, reaching behind yourself and swiftly undoing the clasp of your bra, allowing it to fall away from your body to reveal your bare chest. There’s a sharp intake of breath and Larissa’s eyes darken as they fall to your breasts. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, her cheeks flushing to a beautiful, rosy hue. She leans down to kiss you and your hands find her waist again, holding her close. 

Larissa’s lips soon leave your own, only to trail sloppy, heated kisses along your jaw, down your neck, onto your sternum. She pauses there for a moment, her breath hot against your skin. She slowly pulls back, looking into your eyes with a hint of a question swimming in her pupils. “Is it okay if I…” Her demeanor is suddenly a bit shyer, more timid and hesitant as the forceful dominance from before slips away like sand.

“If you…?” you try to encourage her, but then you see her gaze lingering on your tits. You smirk, arching your back so that your chest is on full display for Larissa - she licks her lips involuntarily as her cheeks flush even further. “You can do whatever you want with me,” you husk, feeling your heart skip a beat when Larissa’s pupils dilate. 

She hesitates for only a moment longer, before leaning in again. Her breath ghosts over your nipple, goosebumps rising on the flesh around it as you feel yourself begin to tremble with anticipation. A soft whimper escapes your throat as Larissa’s lips close around the sensitive bud, her tongue flicking against it. 

A hum vibrates against your nipple, sending a shiver down your spine as Larissa begins to suck eagerly, her hands coming to rest on your hips to steady herself as she loses herself in you, making muffled noises of pleasure against your breast.

“Fuck, Larissa,” you groan, growing wetter by the second as you watch her get carried away, her eyes closed in bliss. At the sound of your voice, her eyes fly open - she looks up at you with doe eyes, her irises barely visible around her black pupils, yet so very bright and blue that you could drown in them. There’s something about her soft gaze, the gorgeous flush to her cheeks, the wispy blonde curl that’s come loose near her temple - she looks so eager and innocent, so submissive that it sends a flood of warmth to your cunt, and you can feel your arousal wet your thighs as you press them together.

You bring a hand to the back of her head, gently scratching her scalp in encouragement. “Good girl,” you whisper softly, watching for a reaction. And what a reaction you get - Larissa’s cheeks redden, her eyes falling shut as she moans against your breast. 

As she switches sides, you allow your head to fall back against the armrest of the sofa - you’re surprised to find your own reflection staring back at you in the mirrored ceiling, your cheeks flushed and your jaw slack. Your chest and the lower half of your face are littered in deep red lipstick marks, some shaped perfectly like Larissa’s lips, others smudged messily across your skin like strokes on a canvas. Larissa’s canvas. 

The back of her head bobbing against your chest in the mirror turns you on beyond belief, but it feels tragically unfair that her body remains hidden to you, her silhouette masked by her dress. You look down at her, her brow furrowed as her painted lips wrap around your nipple, leaving smudged red stains on your skin. Gently easing your fingers into her updo, you pull her back by the hair a little - only a slight tug, just enough to stop her ministrations and have her look up at you, her expression dazed. 

You smile softly, pushing yourself up a bit and reaching for the belt of Larissa’s dress. “May I?”

She nods and you raise your eyebrow. “Use your words.” 

“Y-you may.” The words come out breathy as warmth floods Larissa’s cheeks, and she sits back to allow you to peel her dress from her body. One by one you remove her clothing, until every inch of her skin is bare before you. 

“Jesus, Larissa, you look like you’ve been sculpted by the Gods…” You’re in awe of her body; the womanly curve of her hips, the tantalizing swell of her breasts, the soft curve of her stomach, those long, long legs. Her cheeks and chest turn red at your compliment and her smile is almost timid as she places one hand on her stomach, the other over her chest. 

You take her hands in your own, uncovering her body and interlacing your fingers with hers, stretching up to kiss her. She melts into the kiss, a soft moan escaping her lips, and you take the opportunity to place your hands on her waist, pushing yourself onto your knees and switching places with Larissa, guiding her onto her back.

She watches you intently, lips parted to let out shaky breaths. Her lipstick is smudged around her mouth and up to her nose - it’s adorable, and it makes you want to kiss her senseless to mess it up even more, so you do. Larissa begins to let out soft noises of pleasure into your mouth as your tongues meet, and she protests when you pull away - she’s so needy that it makes you melt. 

“Can you do something for me?”

Larissa’s brows furrow as her chest heaves, her breathing short and heavy. She nods.

“I want you to watch yourself as I fuck you.” A confused stare is all you receive in return and you chuckle. “Look up, Riss.”

Her eyes leave your own as she tilts her head back and glances at the ceiling - a soft “oh” escapes her lips, and you can see her chest redden. With a satisfied smirk, you begin to place soft kisses to her chest, trailing your lips down her stomach as your hands busy themselves fondling her breasts. She seems to be sensitive there if her stuttering breath is anything to go by, and you’re pleased to pull a gasp out of her as you roll her nipples between your fingers, working the little buds into hard peaks. 

Your lips travel over the little patch of curls at her mound, then even lower. The scent of her arousal fills your nostrils and your mouth begins to water - your hands leave Larissa’s breasts to hook her leg over your shoulder and spread her thighs wider. She squirms a bit as your warm breath ghosts over her sex - you glance up to see her looking obediently up at the ceiling, biting her lip, her hands resting on her belly. 

“You can tell me to stop any time,” you remind her gently. 

“Don’t stop,” she whispers after a moment’s silence - your heart flutters.

“Be a good girl and play with your tits for me,” you say, your tone commanding. Her breath hitches and she hesitates for a moment, before fondling her own breasts, a breathy whimper leaving her lips as she tugs at her nipples.

Flattening your tongue, you lick a path up her slit - the moment your tongue makes contact with her cunt, Larissa’s hips buck into your mouth, twitching of their own accord. You take your time exploring her folds, even using your fingers to part her labia so that your tongue can indulge itself in every inch of her pussy. You alternate between teasing her entrance with the tip of your tongue and sucking her labia, getting even more drunk off the way her thighs tremble against your head and the way she rolls her hips, letting out frustrated whines as her clit is neglected. 

Finally, you lick your way up to the little bundle of nerves, wrapping your lips around it - the second you do so, Larissa cries out in relief and pleasure, her hips twitching. She begins to grind desperately against your mouth, every gentle suck seeming to send her into orbit as she finally gets the stimulation she’s been craving.

You glance up, arousal pooling in your core as you see the way Larissa’s fondling her breasts, her back arching and her head tilted back as she rubs her nipples. You flick your tongue against her clit and her mouth drops open, a steady stream of “ah, ah, ah’s” spilling out of her as the grinding of her hips becomes more erratic.

Her moans are cut off for a moment as your finger teases her slit, finding her entrance and pushing in with ease due to just how wet she is. She’s tight and her walls clench around your finger - you moan against her clit, a shiver of lust going down your spine as you slowly curl your finger into her sweet spot. 

“Think you can take another?” you husk, waiting for Larissa’s breathy “mmpf… y-yes” before pushing a second finger inside of her to join the first and slowly pumping them in and out. “Good girl…” Your mouth returns to her clit, lapping up her juices and smearing them around the sensitive nub.

You’re completely lost in pleasure, drunk not only on wine but on the taste, the scent, the feeling of Larissa on your tongue, against your fingers, consuming your every sense. Your eyes are closed in bliss as you work her to the edge - so you can’t help but jump a bit in surprise as you feel a pressure on your scalp. 

Opening your eyes, you find that Larissa’s hands have left her breasts in favor of cupping your head, her fingers weaving themselves tightly into your tresses. She pushes on your head, using you as leverage as she rolls her hips against your face - she’s so lost in the moment that she doesn’t seem to realize she’s doing it, and it drives you wild. 

A few more flicks of your tongue against her clit are all Larissa needs to come undone - her moans are like music to your ears as she finds her release, her fingers tugging at your hair with a white-knuckled grip as her thighs snap shut around your head. You fuck her through her orgasm, not relenting a bit - you’re rewarded when she cums a second time shortly after, and this time you slowly pull your fingers out of her to hungrily lap up the juices that are leaking out of her.

Gently pushing her leg off your shoulder, you crawl up her body, eager to have her taste herself on your tongue. As you’re hovering over her, you can’t help but blurt out “you’re gorgeous” - because she really is, lying there panting, her chest pink and heaving, a thin sheen of sweat coating her body and collecting at her brow. A breathy giggle escapes her lips at your words, and her eyes are glazed over as she meets your gaze. You lean down to capture her lips in a kiss - Larissa instantly opens her mouth and flicks her tongue against yours, a whimper clawing its way out of her throat at the taste of her own arousal.

“You taste so fucking good,” you mumble into the kiss - Larissa whimpers again and deepens the kiss further, placing a hand on the back of your head and weaving her fingers into your hair to hold you in place.

The gentle tug of your hair makes a fresh wave of arousal pool between your thighs, and you find yourself searching for friction against your aching clit. Pressing against Larissa’s thigh, you tilt your hips - the relief you feel as your clit makes contact with Larissa’s skin is overwhelming, as is the desire to rut against her and use her to reach your peak. So you do.

Your slick drips onto Larissa’s thigh as you grind against it, your eyes rolling back in your head and your kisses turning sloppy as you chase your high. With the taste of Larissa still fresh on your tongue, it takes you almost no time at all to cum - the principal swallows your cries as you tumble over the edge, then, as you allow yourself to sink into her, she wraps her arms around your body and holds you tightly against her.

You’re a little annoyed by the fact that your stamina seems to be impacted by the alcohol - a part of you is desperate to go another round, but you seem to have worn yourself out as exhaustion tugs at your limbs and a drunken, post-orgasmic haze clouds your mind.

Still, you’re desperate to take care of Larissa after she was so good for you. You lift your head and rest your chin on her chest, looking up at her with a soft, adoring smile. She looks down as you move your head and blushes as she sees you smiling up at her - her rosy cheeks are a sight to behold, and you suddenly find yourself getting a bit nervous again. 

“Is it alright if I clean you up a bit?” you whisper softly, your voice a little raspier than usual - you can’t tell if it’s that or your request that causes Larissa’s blush to grow.

“You would do that?” She sounds shy, and it makes you wonder if her past lovers had never afforded her with aftercare - assholes, you think.

“Of course I would.” You push yourself up off the sofa, a bit unsteady on your feet at first - you stumble a bit, then you giggle. “Shit. Where’s your bathroom?” 

Larissa giggles too and points to a door at the back of her office. “Straight down the hall.” 

You feel a bit like you’re floating - you’d like to attribute it to the way it felt to have Larissa look at you with such unadulterated desire in her eyes (you’ve never been looked at in quite that way, and certainly not by anyone as perfect as her) - but it’s probably more so a combination of the wine and the orgasm. Finding the bathroom with ease, you rummage around in search of washcloths, then proceed to wet them in the sink - you’re so focused on your task that you hardly notice Larissa come in, until her naked body is pressed against your back, nipples poking at your skin and sending a delicious shiver down your spine. You look up and meet her gaze in the mirror as her hands find a home on your hips - she smiles and blushes, ducking her head to press a tender kiss to the junction where your shoulder and your neck meet. 

It takes all your strength to keep yourself upright - your legs feel like jello and your knees threaten to give out. Focusing on the task at hand, you spin around in Larissa’s arms and maintain eye contact as you sink down in front of her, the scent of her arousal, her sweat, lingering notes of perfume all making you even dizzier than you already are as you gently clean up the insides of her thighs, her pussy. 

You stand, using another washcloth to quickly clean yourself up and discarding both on the counter, before pushing yourself onto your toes to give Larissa a kiss. 

“I should probably get going,” you murmur sheepishly against her lips - immediately feeling her pout. It makes you grin, and you pull back a bit. “If you want me to stay, you just have to say so, you know?”

Larissa’s cheeks are blazing red, and she stutters a bit - it makes your heart melt. “I-I certainly wouldn’t want to keep you here against your will…”

You laugh, reaching out for her hand and intertwining your fingers with her own. “I’d lead you to your bed now if I had any clue where it was.”

Shooting you a grateful smile, Larissa takes the lead. The moment you’ve climbed into bed, you feel an inescapable sleepiness settle into your bones. You dimly register the bed dip beside you as Larissa crawls in, and then she hastily pulls the pins from her hair and drops them on her nightstand. Her arm tugs at your waist, a sleepy hum vibrating from her chest. She must’ve used her other arm to flick off the lamp on the bedside table as the room is bathed in darkness - then you’re out.

~~~

You’re woken by a harsh light falling into your eyes - you groan and turn your face into the pillow to block it out, your head throbbing at the sudden movement. Shit, you really overdid it last night… 

As the memory of the previous evening hits you, your stomach fills with butterflies all over again - the way Larissa’s hand had felt on your thigh, the way her lips had felt against your nipples, the way she’d pulled you close as you’d fallen asleep… your heart drops and you lift your head, your eyes taking a minute to focus as they fall onto the woman sleeping next to you.

Her lips are parted to let out heavy breaths, her hair sticking to the side of her face as a puddle of drool forms on her pillow. Her eyelids move as she dreams but she looks content. In spite of the drool and the messiness of her curls, you’ve never seen someone look so beautiful sleeping - your heart skips a beat as you realize this isn’t a dream, you’re actually in Larissa’s bed.

The urge to sneak out and run overcomes you for a moment - you don’t know how Larissa will react upon seeing you, if last night would have taken the same course without the alcohol. But you’re no coward, and leaving her alone feels like a shitty move - best to face the consequences of your actions head-on.

Tentatively, you reach out and brush your fingers against her cheekbone, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear - her nose twitches and her eyelashes flutter a bit. The touch seems to rouse her - it takes a moment, but she eventually opens her eyes, looking a bit disoriented and squinting against the brightness of the room.

“Good morning,” you whisper softly, unable to disguise the nervous edge to your voice. 

You can tell Larissa is thinking - hard. Her brows furrow the slightest bit and her eyes dart between your own as she lifts her head off the pillow. She glances down the length of the bed - the two of you are close, the sheets a tangled mess, barely covering your still-naked bodies. She takes a long time to respond, so long that you’re beginning to worry, and you find yourself breaking the silence.

“Do you regret it?” you murmur - your stomach is in knots at the idea that Larissa only decided to seduce you because she was drunk, perhaps even too drunk to properly consent - you find yourself swallowing down a bit of bile at the mere thought. Time seems to slow as you watch her lips part, and you find yourself having to concentrate to catch her whispered response.

“No,” she confesses, her cheeks dusted pink as she glances away from you, unable to meet your gaze. “Do you?”

Your heart skips a beat and you can’t help the way your lips are pulling up into a smile. “No.”

Larissa’s gaze snaps to yours, as if your answer has caught her off-guard. Then she smiles shyly, taking a shaky breath. “Although I must apologize for drinking so much… it wasn’t my intention, nor was it my intention to seduce you when I invited you to share the evening with me.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure her. “If I hadn’t been drunk I probably wouldn’t have been able to go through with it…”

“Nor would I…” A faint smirk crosses Larissa’s face. “Is this the right time to admit that I like you?”

You feel your face flush - you can hardly believe your ears. Larissa actually likes you? “I like you, too,” you whisper hoarsely. “I like you a lot.”

Larissa smiles, one of those smiles that make her nose scrunch and her eyes crinkle at the corners - then she hesitates for a moment, her expression falling. “Darling?”

The pet name hits different when you’re in bed with her, though her expression makes you pause. “Yeah?”

“That was the first time I’ve ever actually… had sex with someone.” Her gaze drops to the bed as she speaks. “I don’t think it’s fair for you not to know that.”

At first, her confession shocks you - she’s the most beautiful, sensual woman you’ve ever met, there’s no way she’s never had sex before. But, as you think over your interactions the previous evening, it starts to make sense. Her sudden shift in demeanor, her hesitance after initially seducing you. You cup her cheek, urging her to look at you - her sapphire eyes are swimming with worry.

“Thank you for telling me,” you whisper. “Can I, um, ask why? Were you saving yourself for marriage or something?”

Larissa snorts. “Nothing like that…” She takes a deep breath, pausing for a moment to think. “I didn’t accept that I liked women until much later in life, I didn’t realize why the thought of being with a man put me off so much. I didn’t want to realize it. And by then I had started my career and it became increasingly harder to find the time to date, and to open myself up to people.”

“You didn’t have trouble opening yourself up to me last night,” you point out with a smirk.

“I wanted to take a chance…” Her eyes dance between your own - her vulnerability is enough to make you melt.

“Did it pay off?”

“Yes.”

You pause for a moment. “Well… then I guess I’m sorry that your first time had to be when we were drunk,” you finally whisper shyly.

“I enjoyed myself either way,” she whispers back. “Perhaps we could try again sober?”

Her wry smile makes you laugh, and you lean in to kiss her. You can feel her arm wind its way around your waist and you eagerly scoot closer, threading your fingers through her soft curls as you deepen the kiss.

Larissa moans into your mouth, her hands sliding down to cup your ass - you can feel yourself grow wet as she palms and squeezes the soft flesh, and you tug gently at her hair, exposing her neck as you kiss your way along her jaw and towards her pulse point. You feel her pulse hammering away underneath your tongue as you suck a bruise into her pale skin, drawing a whimper from her throat. 

“Is this okay?” you whisper. Larissa nods eagerly, and you pull away. “Words, Larissa… you need to tell me what you want.”

Her eyes widen and her face flushes as she stutters out an apology and says “yes, it’s okay.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” you mumble as your lips trail down her neck and find her collarbone - Larissa whimpers and tilts her head back, her lips parting to let out shallow breaths. You shift your leg against her, your thigh slipping between hers - her slick immediately coats your skin and draws a groan from your chest. “Fuck, you’re so wet…”

The breathy, strangled moan Larissa gives you in response has you wishing you could pound her into the mattress, and you’re not sure where the sudden courage has come from but you find yourself asking if she owns a strap. Her pupils dilate instantly but she bites her lip and shakes her head. You can’t help the way disappointment briefly swells in your chest - until an idea has you blushing profusely. 

“W-what’s wrong?” Larissa asks breathlessly, her brows knitting together in worry at the look on your face. 

“I, um… I just had a thought, but it’s silly…”

“What is it?”

With a deep breath, you steel yourself for rejection. “M-maybe, if you wanted, since we don’t have a strap, I could shift… you know, that part of myself?” The urge to bury your head in the crook of her neck is stronger than ever but you’re glad you don’t as Larissa’s expression ignites a fire in your core. Her cheeks flush and her mouth hangs open, and she subconsciously tugs you closer from where her hands are still resting on your ass.

“I think I’d like to try that,” she whispers.

You nod, feeling a bit dazed as you wonder if this is all some sort of fever dream. After a moment, your cock grows against Larissa’s thigh - you watch her face intently and see her swallow visibly, pale lashes fluttering against her cheekbones. 

“Say the word and I’ll stop or shift back, no questions asked,” you whisper hoarsely. 

Larissa nods, her arousal plain as day in her expression. “P-please…”

Cupping her cheek, you pull her in for a searing kiss, which she quickly deepens as she licks into your mouth and flicks her tongue against yours. Flipping her onto her back, you hover over her, your cock brushing against her folds and making you both moan at the same time.

You prop yourself up above her, breaking the kiss for a moment as you grasp your cock and guide it up her slit, watching Larissa’s face as her breathing stutters. Her hands fly to your waist as you tease her entrance with the tip, a soft whimper escaping her lips.

As you slowly begin to sink into her, you hear a sharp intake of breath. Your eyes snap to her face and you notice she’s holding her breath, so you pause to take her hands in your own and intertwine your fingers with hers. “Breathe... I won’t move again until you do.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Larissa takes a deep breath, then another - you continue to sink into her as slowly and carefully as you can, and she squeezes your hands as her brow furrows a bit. You stay perfectly still once you’re fully sheathed inside of her, giving her as much time as she needs to adjust before moving.

“Fuck, Larissa,” you breathe out with a chuckle. Her gaze is equal parts questioning and shy, and you smile down at her. “F-feels really good… just tell me when to move…”

Larissa nods, resting her hands on your hips and rubbing her thumbs over your hip bones as her gaze wanders down your body. 

“Are you okay?” you ask softly. 

“I am,” she whispers hoarsely. “Just feeling a bit out of my depth…”

“You don’t have anything to worry about. I got you.”

A grateful smile tugs at the corners of Larissa’s lips and she wiggles her hips a bit - your eyes flutter shut as a wave of pleasure washes over you, your lips parting to let out a soft moan.

“Y-you can move,” Larissa encourages, pressing her hips up a bit. With her consent, you start to thrust, pulling out almost all the way before bottoming out, your pelvis resting against hers. Larissa’s mouth falls open as her eyes fall shut, her grip on your hips tightening. For a moment you’re worried that she’s in pain but then, with the next slow thrust, a loud moan tears from her throat and her lips curl into a blissful smile. 

“Is it okay like this?” you ask through gritted teeth, your body prickling with heat at the feeling of her walls squeezing your cock.

“Y-yes… you can go f-faster if you’d like…”

You increase the pace of your thrusts, Larissa’s hands helping to guide your hips as they roll against her. The perks of being a shapeshifter, you think as your mind grows slightly fuzzy - being able to feel Larissa squeeze your dick as you move inside of her feels like absolute heaven, a feeling you wouldn’t know with a strap alone. Your eyes can’t seem to decide what they want to focus on - Larissa’s face scrunching in pleasure, her tits bouncing with every movement, the sight of your cock disappearing inside of her.

Leaning down over her, you bury your hands in Larissa’s soft curls as your lips meet hers - her breath is hot and uneven against your mouth and she whimpers as your tongue dances with her own.

You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge with every thrust, Larissa’s body pressing against your own turns you on beyond belief, but you know she isn’t quite there yet. One of your hands leaves her hair and trails down her body to her clit. Larissa arches her back into your touch, her breath growing shallower and her kiss turning sloppy as you begin to rub her clit, smearing her arousal over the sensitive bud.

“Mmh… ssso good,” Larissa whimpers as her hands fly to your hair and push your head down - getting the hint, you trail kisses down the valley between her breasts, before taking her right nipple between your lips and sucking eagerly. The combination of stimuli have Larissa’s orgasm rapidly approaching, her walls fluttering around your cock as her thighs begin to tremble.

“Bend - mmh, fuck - bend your legs m-more,” you mumble - as Larissa follows your instructions and draws her knees closer to her chest, her eyes roll back in her head and she lets out a broken moan as you’re able to thrust even deeper inside of her. Every thrust jolts her entire body and tears deep, broken moans from her chest. 

“Good girl,” you purr as you latch onto her left nipple, recalling the way she’d reacted to your praise the previous night - it seems to send her over the edge this time as she cums around your cock, her moans dying in her throat as her face contorts in pleasure.

Her orgasm causes your own to crash over you like a wave - you cum deep inside of her, your hips stuttering and your fingers breaking their steady rhythm on her clit. As Larissa’s orgasm begins to fade, her hands gently tug at your hair and pull you up for a heated kiss. Her lips feel like heaven, the euphoria from your orgasm makes you feel like you’re floating as you slow your thrusts.

“S-sensitive,” Larissa murmurs as her hands drift from your head to your hips, gripping tightly to still your movements - you stop thrusting and pull back slightly to meet her gaze. Her face is flushed and her pupils still blown wide, though her brows are slightly furrowed.

You reach up to cup her cheek, gently stroking your thumb across her cheekbone - she smiles softly, nuzzling her cheek against your hand. “Is it okay if I pull out and shift back?”

At Larissa’s nod, you move your hips - a soft groan tumbles from her lips as your cock slips out of her. Within seconds you’ve shifted back, lowering yourself carefully onto Larissa and pressing a kiss to her lips. You feel her smirk into the kiss - it makes every nerve-ending in your body tingle.

She rolls you onto your side without breaking the kiss, then pushes you onto your back and leans over you, her nipples pressing against your own. The friction makes you gasp and you feel yourself grow wet as a rush of arousal pools in your core.

Larissa’s lips leave your own to travel along your jaw and down the center of your throat. You arch your back into the touch as each press of soft, plush lips leaves your skin burning. As she settles between your legs, her lips alternate between each thigh, getting closer and closer to where you need them with every kiss. “Is this okay?” she asks hesitantly, her warmth breath ghosting over your clit and pulling a whimper from your throat.

Looking between your thighs, you’re met with wide blue eyes gazing questioningly up at you, her pupils blown and her cheeks flushed. You nod frantically, only to see her lips curl up into a smirk.

“I need words, darling,” Larissa purrs, using your own words against you - you can’t help but let out a breathy laugh, allowing your head to fall back against the pillows for a moment. 

“Sorry,” you giggle, peering down at her with a sheepish smile. “Y-yeah, it’s okay.”

A faint blush adorns Larissa’s cheeks as she places her hands on your inner thighs, gently pushing them apart and spreading you open in the process. She sucks in a breath as her eyes drop to your glistening cunt - after a moment’s hesitation, she leans in and runs her tongue up your slit, her accompanying moan vibrating against your pussy and sending a wave of pleasure through your entire body. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows, your eyes glued to her as her head bobs between your legs, her eyes shut as her tongue explores every inch of your cunt, running through your folds and teasing your entrance. Every little hum and whimper of pleasure that escapes her lips makes you wetter, and you find yourself spreading your legs as wide as you can and rolling your hips against her face, desperate for attention to your aching clit.

She seems to enjoy teasing you - you can almost feel her smile against your pussy as she eats you out, her tongue getting close to your clit but never fully touching it. It takes a whimpered “please, Larissa” for her to finally circle the throbbing bud with her tongue - the feeling makes your toes curl and you fall back against the pillows, a deep moan drawn from your chest. 

Larissa’s lips close around your clit, sucking gently at first, then harder as you buck your hips against her. She gets bolder as time goes on, curling her arms around your thighs and tugging you even closer as she slowly builds you to an orgasm. The little noises she’s making combined with the obscenely wet sound of your slick mixed with Larissa’s saliva only serve to turn you on further - a few licks later you’re tumbling over the edge, your eyes rolling back in your head and your back arching off the bed as your hips stutter against her face and your clit pulses against her tongue.

As you slowly come back down to earth, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, Larissa crawls up your body, planting soft, wet kisses up your stomach and chest before hovering over you and capturing your lips in a deep kiss. You eagerly suck your juices off her tongue, humming in delight even as your cheeks turn pink.

Larissa’s blush matches your own as she pulls back, her eyes sparkling as they dart between your own. “Was that okay?” 

“That was perfect.” Your grin is practically giddy as you cup her cheek, your fingers curling behind her ear as you draw her in for another, longer kiss. Your hands come to rest on her waist, gently urging her onto her side as you kiss until both of you have run out of air. When you pull back and open your eyes, her warm breath hits your face and she’s smiling peacefully. A lock of platinum blonde hair is stuck to her temple and you reach up to brush your hand through her hair, pushing it back - her smile grows and she lets out a contented hum.

“To think yesterday you couldn’t even call me by my first name,” Larissa whispers playfully - her voice still has a bit of a husky quality to it that makes your stomach flip. As her words sink in you find yourself blushing like mad - you wish the statement weren’t as true as it is, but somehow in the span of one night everything has changed, and you can’t say you’re complaining.

“I can still call you Principal Weems in bed if you want,” you joke, your heart hammering in your chest.

“Oh? Is that what you’re into?” Larissa teases with a laugh, though her own cheeks are growing warmer by the second.

“I’ll try anything once.”

Larissa’s laugh catches in her throat and her pupils dilate - you take the opportunity to steal a kiss, one which catches her off guard at first but is quickly and happily returned.

“So you’d want to continue this?” she asks breathlessly against your lips.

You nod, swallowing nervously. “I’ve wanted you in this way and every other way for so long, Larissa. I’d love nothing more, if that’s something you’d also like.” Your eyes search hers for a hint of uncertainty, apprehension, disappointment - instead, you’re met with softness and affection as Larissa’s lips curl up at the corners.

“Then it appears we’re on the same page.” 

“It appears we are…”

x

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[murdrdocs]

she’s driving me crazy

description. STILES STILINSKI finally gets another chance with you, and he won’t take it for granted

includes. SMUT 18+, riding, car sex, fem!reader, protective p n v, lots of making out, loser!stiles, awkward stiles, bi!stiles, exes getting back together, slightly manipulative reader, reader has easily malleable hair, reader wears makeup, drinking (but no drunk intercourse), bickering, scott guest appearance

wc. 6k+

a/n: long awaited stiles fic. bestie boo this one's for u. title from confidence by ocean alley. art credits unknown.

Stiles knows he fucked up. 

He had you, after almost a full year of tortuous pining, and he let you slip through his hands. All of it, your relationship with Stiles, really didn’t last more than two months. Two months where date nights were rain checked and eventually canceled. Sleepovers were lackluster, and nothing more than a movie playing in the back while Stiles worked over something that wouldn’t rest in his brain, leaving you alone in the center of his unmade bed. Promises were made, and never kept. It was a mess, a horrible, murky mess of Stiles’ own creation. 

He knows this. But he still allows himself to mourn what could have been. He grieves what was. All while nursing a warm beer that doesn’t sit well in his stomach, mostly because of the sight he has been doomed to acknowledge—also his own doing as he could definitely turn his gaze elsewhere. 

You’re tucked under the arm of some guy who looks nothing like Stiles, and he doesn’t know if that makes him feel better or worse. Is that your dream guy? Or are you forcing yourself to branch out and try something that wasn’t him? He tries to resist the spiral that sends him on, and is only able to start crawling out of the self-deprecating and insecurity tunnel through Scott’s voice beside him. 

“What’re you staring at?” 

Scott reeks of alcohol and fruit-flavored syrup. If he wasn’t a werewolf, Stiles knows his best friend would be unable to stand straight by now. But Scott stands like his usual self next to Stiles, a big grin on his face probably from the attention he’s been getting from Kira. (It was sickening for Stiles to watch but he forced himself to be happy for the strong relationship his best friend has.)

Stiles’ immediate instinct is to lie. “Nothing.” He says it a little too fast. He tries to cover his slip up by taking a sip of his beer, but the flavor is unappealing to the point where the face of disgust he presents makes him look more guilty than he really is. 

Scott stares at Stiles, waiting. Stiles knows he won’t lie to Scott, not about something this small anyway, and it is only a matter of a few seconds before Stiles sighs. 

“Look,” he points at you and your suitor. “Don’t you think he’s making her uncomfortable? Look at that. He’s all over her. Probably reeks of Axe body spray.”

It’s then that the guy cracks another joke, your head throwing back in laughter just before you rest your ear against his chest. It’s so affectionate. As if you’ve known this guy for years, and not just mere minutes. 

Stiles flicks his eyes over to Scott, expecting to see his best friend analyzing the situation with at least a small amount of attention that Stiles is. Instead, Scott is looking over at Stiles, wearing what Stiles can only describe as a knowing smirk on his lips. 

Stiles steps back, a little bewildered. “What?” 

Scott, annoyingly, shrugs. He sips his drink, one he has solely for taste as Stiles knows, and only responds once he’s taken a long, slow swallow. 

“She seems fine to me. I thought you guys were broken up anyway.” 

“We are!” 

“Then why do you care so much?” 

Stiles can’t help but petulantly roll his eyes. He turns to face you and your human shaped bag of bricks once again, gesturing for Scott to do the same. His mouth opens, lips parted and tongue ready to spew out the analytics he’d been gathering this entire time in lieu of an excuse. 

Then Scott interrupts. 

“Do you want me to see what’s going on?” Scott throws a finger up towards his ear, one eyebrow lifted as he waits for Stiles to gather the implications and then make a decision. 

It takes Stiles longer to complete the latter than the former. 

He waits, thinks, looks at you and the guy. And then remembers the strict ‘no listening’ rule you all have set in place, the one he most definitely won’t betray in the name of jealousy, even if you aren’t particularly aware of all of the intricacies. 

When he sighs, it’s defeated and with his entire body. He knows he’s pouting, he assumes he resembles his teenage self—mopey and brooding. He doesn’t mean to speak through gritted teeth, but he ends up doing it anyway. 

“No. She’s probably … fine. I guess.” It hurts to admit, deep in Stiles' jealousy-filled gut. Scott’s way of comforting him is by clapping a hand on his shoulder, and telling him that you’re a grown adult who is allowed to make her own decisions, the same as him. 

Scott’s intentions aren’t understood until he points at someone in the opposite direction of you. A guy who, from the looks of it, has been eyeing Stiles for a while. He’s Stiles’ type. Exactly his type, actually, and Scott knows this. 

“Instead of sulking around …” Scott doesn’t need to finish his sentence in order for Stiles to understand. He only lingers for a few seconds, and then is pulled back towards the larger group by Kira’s eyes and grin. 

The guy on the other side of the bar is still watching Stiles. He’s smiling a small but confident smile, like he knows Stiles wants him as much as he wants Stiles. He tilts his head in a beckon, and Stiles is close to letting the guy pull him over there. Until he sees you step away from the man, smile dismissively up to him, and start towards Stiles instead. 

Instantly, it’s like a flip has been switched. 

He starts to feel the effects of the alcohol, even though he’d been nursing the same bottle the entire night. Still, he chooses to attribute the buzz flowing throughout his body to the overpriced beer and not excitement of finally having your attention. 

He watches your path, trying not to feel too disappointed as he takes notice of the way you’re struggling to walk in a straight line. 

You fall into his arms in a fit of giggles. Your head resting on his chest, your hands circling around his back. 

“Stiles,” you sing, long and drawn out and definitely drunk.  

He repeats your name in the same tune, placing his drink onto a tabletop next to him and abandoning it for good. Keeping you away from self destruction is his new main priority. 

You slump against him even more, turning yourself around and leaning back against his body. Your position leaves Stiles with nothing else to do other than stand stiffly. He knows that if you were sober, you wouldn’t be nearly as affectionate as you are now. He ignores the way your ass brushes against his crotch. He ignores the smell of your perfume wafting up to him, a scent he had the privilege of seeing you apply a few times before when you were dating. (The image of you getting ready for the day, lathering yourself in the oils and lotions and scents that worked to create your unique scent will never leave his brain, for better or for worse.)

He does his best to remain unaffected, but then you tilt your head up, the crown of your hair rubbing against Stiles’ shirt as you look at him. As soon as he glances down, he sees you pouting, clearly over exaggerated but it’s a look he, pathetically, will never be able to resist. 

“Why won’t you touch me?” You manage to sound pitiful, as if you had lost every single thing you hold dear to your heart in the last couple of minutes. 

In his response, he tries to remain neutral. Drunk or not, you know the game you’re playing, and Stiles foolishly believes that his knowledge of the ploy makes him insusceptible. 

“Because you’re drunk,” he platonically rests his hands on your shoulders and encourages you off of him. “And we aren’t together anymore.” 

You turn around to face him, grinning up at him like the cat with the canary as you tell him, “it didn’t stop us last time, right?”

That, and the way you almost throw yourself at some guy walking past, is enough reason for Stiles to link his hand in yours and pull you towards the others. Scott stares down at your interlinked palms for only a moment before Stiles explains his plan, which entails getting you back to your apartment before you do something you could regret. 

This isn’t an excuse for Stiles to continue hanging out with you. He makes sure he clarifies that to himself and his best friend before he’s pulling you out of the bar and towards his Jeep.

You’re both less than ten steps away from the entrance to the bar when you suddenly have your lips pressed to Stiles’. 

There is a moment where Stiles fails to resist. Where he reciprocates quicker than his brain can realize, acting on pure instinct and muscle memory instead of logic. He is unable to stop himself from getting comfortable, from linking this kiss to the last one he’d received from you. Hotter and messier than this one. (Lost in his appreciation to finally be kissing you again, Stiles fails to notice how you don’t taste like alcohol at all)

Only a few more seconds pass before Stiles reminds himself that you’re drunk, and that this is wrong. When he pulls away from your lips—regretfully, that is—he’s tempted into staying by the slight stickiness of your lipgloss and the almost-disgusting string of saliva that briefly keeps you two sewn together. 

You try to lean back in, but Stiles stops you with his hands on your shoulders. 

“You’re drunk,” he reminds you. 

You’re fixing him with a look, one that feels strong and weirdly sober. His suspicions have more proof to back them up when you say his name with the same matter-of-fact tone he had just used on you. 

“I’m not drunk.” 

He scrunches his eyebrows together, the muscles in his face mimicking the movement as well. His lips part as he nonverbally exclaims his confusion. He lifts one of his hands from your shoulder to hook his thumb towards the bar entrance. He looks around, for nothing or no one in particular, but as if the night will have an explanation that you would surely be willing to provide if he asks. 

He didn’t even need to ask before you provide an explanation. It’s cut and dry, matter-of-fact, spoken like it is the most casual thing in the world. 

“I faked being drunk so you could take me home.” 

Stiles knows what you mean. He’s not dumb. But he surely does feel it when he says, “If you didn’t feel well you could’ve just told Lydia. She would’ve taken you back to yours.” 

You roll your eyes. “If you don’t wanna sleep with me, that’s fine. Just let me know before I waste my time.” 

Stiles should stand up for himself. He should reprimand your attitude, and exclaim how unnecessary it was. Instead, he flounders and almost falls to your feet with the speed he clarifies himself. 

“No. I do wanna sleep with you. Like, really bad. But … um … well,” you lift your eyebrows and Stiles clears his throat. “How many fingers am I holding up.” 

“Jesus, fuck, Stiles.” He continues holding up his first three fingers on his right hand until you answer. “Three.” 

You lean in but Stiles takes a step back. And then another. And then another, until he’s standing against the wall of the bar and you’re standing at the edge of the sidewalk. 

“Walk in a straight line towards me.” 

You don’t seem happy about it, but you place one foot in front of the other over and over again until you’re in front of Stiles. Nothing more has to be said before Stiles places his hands on your hips, pulls you flush to him, and finally allows himself to kiss you. 

It’s been a while since Stiles had the privilege of kissing you. The last time, just a month ago, didn’t count in his mind. Sure, he remembered nearly every detail, but your shared inebriated state at the time overruled any legitimacy the encounter could have held. Now, it only acts as a reminder and motivator for Stiles to enjoy every moment of this that he can. 

Eventually, it would be smart, and preferable, to leave the outside of the bar and actually take you home where you two could be alone. But for now, Stiles presses his hands into the middle of your back as a way to pull you as close to him as possible. He has his legs spread, creating space for your limbs to stagger. Your hands rest on his shoulders, then at the back of his neck, then in his hair. Both of you are attempting to get as close to the other as possible, all while engaging in the sloppiest kiss you’ve ever had. You both kissed cleaner when you were drunk. 

Now, outside this bar with your closest friends inside, and with nothing but the night (and the bouncer) as witness, you submit to the other. There is a level of appreciation in the way your lips slide together. There is a level of gratitude in the presses of your tongues against each other. There is an exorbitant amount of longing that is solved each time you jerk your hips into Stiles and each time he reciprocates. 

You thread your hands through Stiles’ hair the same time that he slides his hands down to your ass and squeezes, pulling you as close to him as possible and rubbing his thigh against the center seam of your jeans. You both groan into each other's mouths—Stiles from the way you tug just right on his hair, and you from the feeling of his leg between yours. 

Sensing—knowing that he did something right, something good, Stiles does it again. And again. And again. The steady slide of his thigh between your legs does the job. You let your head fall, leaning the top of it against Stiles’ chest just right under his sternum. 

The sound of you moaning Stiles’ name goes straight to his dick, with a few remnants traveling to his head, leaving him dizzy and with a steady growing semi. His actions make you grip his hair stronger. His actions indirectly cause pleasure for him, too. 

It all disappears when the sound of spitting—loud and boisterous, almost cartoonish—breaks up the moment. Stiles stops his movements. He lays his hands flat on the back pockets of your jeans as he turns his head to the side. 

The eyes of the bouncer meet Stiles and Stiles’ ears burn. 

While the bouncer doesn’t say anything to him, Stiles knows the message he’s trying to communicate. 

Get the fuck out of here. 

Stiles is forced to push you back by hooking his fingers in your belt loops. He’s still touching you, at least an extension of you, but then your hands drop to your sides and Stiles can feel his body crying out for you. The same way his body calls out for vital needs—food, water, sleep, entertainment. He squashes his emotions for a second, plasters on a—truthfully sympathetic—face, one that comes off more as a tight lipped smile than anything else. 

“Sorry, man. You — uh. You have a goodnight.” He throws a hand up to the bouncer, hoping it is received as friendly. When the bouncer returns the gesture, still with that same look in his eyes, Stiles heads down the street and pulls you with him. 

The walk to the car is tortuous. His boner keeps rubbing against his jeans, leaving him to stop every few paces, face away from the street, and try to adjust himself. After the third time, you were voicing your frustration, claiming that it was taking forever to reach the car because of Stiles’ worry about who could see his erection. He tries things your way, ignoring the way his dick calls for his attention and instead focusing all of his attention on you. 

The way your hips sway in your tight jeans. The way the wind blows your perfume to him and lifts the edge of your shirt in one, giving Stiles a peek of your skin. It’s such a small look, nothing more than a glimpse, and Stiles feels like a Victorian man the way he’s having to bite his fist at the next crosswalk to avoid groaning. The street lights illuminate your face in just the right ways, highlighting your makeup in an unnaturally ethereal way. Everything about you is driving Stiles crazy. There’s no way he’s going to make it to your house. If he doesn’t get to his car soon, he might pull you into the next bar bathroom that he could find just for a semblance of privacy. 

If he could just get to his Jeep. 

It’s then that Stiles realizes he’s been walking for far too long. He stops in the center of the sidewalk. You stop right beside him. 

Stiles doesn’t say anything as he turns around and leads you three blocks down the street, one street over, and then into the parking garage elevator. 

The way you’re grinning at him alerts Stiles of the words soon to come out of your mouth, definitely words that would be at his expense. He stops you while you’re ahead. 

It’s nice to have the position switched. Your back against the wall instead of his. His hands are still on your hips, but he uses them to push you into the metal instead of pulling you into him. You have that part covered, your arms once more thrown over his shoulders, pressed into the back of his neck and head, drawing him in until the pressure of his lips against yours is a little painful. 

In the rush neither of you have pushed the button, leaving the elevator stagnant on the ground floor. Stiles notices at the same time that you scratch his scalp. He moans, he really can’t help it. His mouth opens as you purse your lips again, and he feels a little bad but you aren’t deterred. In fact, you do it again, your nails scratching in just the right spot and Stiles feels like an animal the way he shudders and keens. 

He’s more human when he admits, “Missed this.” He presses his lips to yours again, pulling back with a smack. “Missed you.” 

Your lips slide against his with what Stiles can only describe as desperation. Pure, unadulterated desperation and desire. You’re breathing a little heavy, deep exhales through your nose and inhales in the in between moments, and it doesn’t turn Stiles off at all. He wants more of you. He takes more of you. 

He doesn’t know how long you two are in there, but it is eventually you who pulls back first, your lips visibly swollen and lacking any of the makeup that was previously on it. 

“Has the elevator been moving at all?” You could check for yourself. Just one look over Stiles’ shoulder and you could see that the small screen still displayed a digital ‘1’. Yet, you’re looking up at him instead. Like Stiles is the most important thing in the elevator. Like he’s the most important thing in the world to you. (Maybe it’s Stiles’ delusion talking, but he chooses to believe it either way)

Still, Stiles looks over his shoulder, confirms that he hadn’t hit the button at all, and leans back to correct his mistakes. 

The elevator beeps twice, bringing you both to the third floor, and as much as Stiles’ wants to continue standing there and just admire you, he can hear the door daring to slide close. Again, he pulls you out behind him. 

As soon as he turns the corner, Stiles is immediately made aware of the lack of other cars on the level. It’s a little eerie, and if he wasn’t about to get his dick wet he would possibly be on the lookout for potential threats that could turn one of the best moments of his life into another inconvenience. 

Your hands are on his shoulders, his back, his arms, as you hold onto him. 

“Why did you park all alone? Did you plan this? Were you trying to get in my pants all night?” 

Stiles digs into the front pocket of his jeans and searches for his keys. “No. There were other people parked here earlier. They’re just all gone now.” 

You hum unconvincingly. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Stiles.” 

As soon as Stiles has the passenger door unlocked, he holds the door open for you and stares, hoping the annoyance is overpowering every other feeling he’s currently having towards you. 

“In the back,” he tells you. You smile up at him, big and entertained, and then do as he says. 

He climbs in right behind you. At this point in the night, there was no point in attempting to get back to your apartment or his. Stiles couldn’t wait much longer, and you two are no stranger to the back of his Jeep. You’ve been in this situation before. 

It’s all completely effortless. You’re already in the process of slipping your jeans off whenever Stiles has the door closed. He mourns for just a second, pouting to himself over not being the one to take those sinful jeans off of you. But then you climb over his lap, situating yourself to hover just a bit above him. 

Stiles plants his hands on your hips, just like he did before, and pulls you to sit right over him, just like you have before. He knows that the status of your relationship has changed since the last time he had the privilege of being in this space with you like this, but that doesn’t mean the way you do things has to change, too. 

You were never shy before. You would always be quick to attach yourself to Stiles in whatever ways you could, just like you had been doing just a little earlier into the night. But that’s gone now. Now, you’re staring at him, your teeth pressed into your bottom lip. 

Before you were together for a short time, Stiles had spent months pining. Months analyzing whatever he could about you. Months mentally cataloging your tells. And now, he calls on that information to declare that you’re hesitant. You’re nervous. No, not just nervous. You’re worried. Almost regretful. 

He tilts his head. “What’s wrong?” 

You shrug but Stiles knows you’re aware of what has you like this. He just gives you the time to voice it. 

Eventually, you say: “Will this change anything between us?” 

It’s his turn to shrug. “I dunno. Do you want anything to change?” 

You shrug again. 

“Well … do you want to keep going? And we decide that afterwards?” Stiles really wants to fuck you, but deep down he knows that if you stopped and got up off of him in this moment, he would be okay with it. Well, he would be okay with it after a few days. Maybe a week or two. 

A little part in him swells, jumps, and clicks its heels when you nod. 

“Yeah. That sounds good.” You press your lips to his once. 

“You just tell me when you decide, okay? I’m cool with whatever you’re cool with.” And Stiles means that. If he gets just one more time with you, if this is his final time with you, he would cut his losses and be grateful for the time that he was allowed. What else was he supposed to do? He would never dream of doing anything that could jeopardize his spot in your life. 

Stiles can feel the warmth of your center is his hand when he trails his touch down. He cups your mound and his eyes flutter shut. He feels like a pervert for only a second before you start to work your lips down his neck and rock your hips into his hand. The way your mouth suctions around his favorite spot almost has him distracted enough to not notice your hands working on his pants. Almost. 

He can’t really tell in the dark, but he can slightly feel your once confident movements start to falter. You stop on his neck, keeping your lips as nothing but a pucker against his skin before you pull away completely to look down between the two of you. 

“When the fuck did you start wearing a belt?” 

Stiles doesn’t want to tell you the truth, he feels like it would be too embarrassing. Really, he knows it wouldn’t, but something about having to tell you that he decided to wear a belt because you always said he should makes him feel a little meek. So instead of filling the silence with the truth, he fills the silence with the clinks of his belt buckle as he undos it himself. 

“Recently,” is all he tells you when you’re still staring at him for a response. Somehow, it’s enough for you and your hands are back on his waistband. 

In record speed, your hands are down the elastic of his boxers and wrapping around Stiles’ cock. He doesn’t hiss, but he does shudder. He tries to hide it by pretending that the car is cold, which it was beforehand, but now it’s warm. It becomes warmer when you spit in your hand, wrap it around Stiles’ cock and pump him a few times, and then push your underwear to the side and hover above him. 

It really pains Stiles to stop you, but he does. He asks if you have a condom, then he asks if you want to use a condom, and the entire time he’s kicking himself. Because he can feel the warmth radiating. He has his tip already nudged between your folds, and just this small touch is already making him lose it. His nails are digging into your hips, he’s breathing harder than he was before, and he has to blink a few times to really focus on you. 

It feels like Stiles blinks and suddenly you’re tearing the foil packet open and slipping the condom over him. He watches it go down as best as he can, and the light doesn’t reveal much. Just the bottom of you and the tip of him is visible, the rest Stiles is forced to make out through squints and memorization. 

He’s just briefly dejected about the lack of visuals, but then your hands rest on his shoulders and he hears you take a breath and he knows it’s time. 

Stiles rests his hands on your side and looks up at you. 

You go down slowly. Softly. It allows Stiles to feel each delicious inch as they go by, revealing more and more of the inside of you as time passes. He battles between watching your face and simply basking in it. Eventually, he settles on the former. 

Your eyebrows are tightened just enough to show your discomfort. You have your lips parted, long breaths leaving them every so often, usually right before you sink down again. And Stiles has seen you take him before. He knows that you have been able to take him faster than this before. And then he wonders: is this your first time doing this, with anyone, in a while? Have you been as lost without him as he has been without you? Have you even attempted to fill that hole, and was your stunt earlier tonight just that: a stunt?

There isn’t time for him to ponder over his questions like he would have wanted to whenever you bottom out. It’s with a sigh, the back of your thighs meeting the top of his just briefly. 

You rest your forehead against his, and you both breathe together. Or, it’s more so you breathing and Stiles matching the pattern. 

You lean up, you move your hair out of your face, and you tell him, “Don’t remember it being this hard.” 

Slightly cocky, Stiles tilts his head.  At first he doesn’t say anything. He smiles, his eyes are heavy when they look you up and down, and then he rubs your back. “Take your time.” 

You take the time you need and then you start moving. Up and down. Up and down. Agonizingly slowly at first, and then faster when you get more comfortable. 

This is what Stiles has needed. This is what he has been missing in his life. You’re like a drug for him, and one hit seems like enough at the time, but by the time this is all over he knows he’s going to be searching for more. He’ll do anything he has to, so long as it gets him in a spot similar to this again. 

He searches for your hand, refusing to look away from the way your body moves atop of him for even a second. You help him out, bringing your hand to his, pressing the fingertips together, leaving Stiles to interlock them. He lifts your hands, looking at them in the white light that enters the foggy window. Somehow, this image is even more captivating. There is a more pornographic way the two of you are connected, one that demands Stiles’ attention. There is something about the innocence of this. He’s doing nothing but holding your hand, and Stiles feels like he might either lose his mind, or cum too quickly. 

He might do both. One after the other. 

You sink down on him again, a little awkwardly this time, but it does it for you. You hit a spot that makes your mouth widen and your eyes flutter shut. You search for it, and find it miraculously. Your head throws back as you hit that spot over and over again, pleasing yourself on Stiles’ dick. The image is heavenly for him. It’s euphoric. 

He lets his eyes wander down your neck, along your clavicle, and your shirt reveals just a bit of your bust but it’s not enough. With his free hand, he pulls the rest of the fabric down, and when he sees that you’re not wearing a bra, he almost cums into the condom then and there. He doesn’t wonder how he hadn’t noticed, he doesn't consider how he hadn’t taken into account the natural shape of your breasts pushing through the fabric, almost reaching out to him. Instead, he leans forward, presses his hand into the curve of your back, and attaches his mouth to the untouched skin. 

Your free hand sinks into Stiles’ hair. Your fingers weave through the back of his hair first, and then you make your way up to the front, pushing back his bangs blindly. 

Stiles peers up at you from his spot around your nipples. You’re still in ecstasy—your head now level once more, but your mouth still open and your eyes still closed. 

He detaches from your nipple to tell you: “Look at me.” 

It fuels Stiles’ ego when you do as told quickly. 

You’re looking at him on his command yet Stiles feels like he’s the one entranced. Because of your eyes. Fuck, your eyes. Watery, lazy, but your pupils are dilated. Your mascara has transferred to under your eyes by now, and it’s smudged a bit, making you look completely fucked out. Stiles thinks some of your makeup along your face has disappeared too, but it allows for a fresh skinned appearance instead. 

Really, there is nothing else for him to do except kiss you. It’s so messy but so good. You flatter in your movements on his cock, but Stiles feels absolutely no remorse when he takes over. 

He unlocks your hands and plants them both on your hips again. This time, he uses the leverage to pull you down on him again and again. He lets you lead the kiss, while he leads this. 

Your hands land on the leather of the seat behind Stiles' back and the foggy glass pane of the window. He hears your fingertips glide down the surface as he starts to fuck you harder, and then the sound is combined with your moans when your lips separate from Stiles’. 

You call his name, low and breathy. 

He hums. 

“‘m so close. Keep going. Just like that.” He nods. Then you add, “Little faster.” And he does as told. 

Your forehead pressed against his, the sweat on both of your skin making your heads glide more than anticipated. It doesn’t deter either of you. When your nose bumps against Stiles’, he kisses you again. When your head becomes too heavy for you to hold it up, he presses his thumb under your jaw, rests his fingers on the side of your neck, and holds the weight for you. 

“You’re so pretty,” he tells you, adding your name at the end to seal the deal. “Baby,” he says, and his heart swells when you hum in response. So he says it again. “Baby, you feel so good. Feel so good, babe.” 

He doesn’t know what more he says. He can vaguely recognize his lips forming the words and his own voice in his ears calling you the prettiest girl ever, telling you that he could never get this anywhere else, telling you he never wanted to get this from anywhere else. 

“Needed this so bad. I needed you so bad. I’ve missed you.” And just as his words finish, yours begin. 

“Stiles, Stiles. Right there. ‘m … I’m…!” 

He singles two fingers out, slips them between your thighs, and rubs along your clit until you’re shaking above him and holding onto his wrist between your bodies. He doesn’t know if you’re trying to pull him closer or push him away, but watching you cum is too gorgeous for him to ever dream of making it stop. 

So he doesn’t. 

Not even when your eyes start to leak and your lips start to plead and you contract around him. 

“One more,” he asks. “I just need to see it one more time. Please.” 

The sound of him moving in and out of you is loud. He drifts his eyes down to watch it happen, groaning when he just barely sees a broken ring of white glinting in the fluorescents from the parking garage. 

It feels a little romantic when you cum and then Stiles follows right after. 

The Jeep is warm, the windows are foggy, and there’s an ache in Stiles’ thighs. He knows for every one of his aches, you have three. The condom has been removed, tied, and disposed of in an old paper bag Stiles had sitting on the floor of his car. His pants are pulled back up, but his belt is still undone. His shirt sticks to his skin and he really needs greasy food and a shower. 

But if that means leaving this moment, and never returning to it, he could put off his needs and wants for an eternity. 

You’re sitting next to him, redressed with the button of your jeans still undone. You’re staring straight ahead, trying to catch your breath as you rub the muscles in your thighs. 

Stiles doesn’t know what to say, so he licks his lips and he says, “Uh … do you … um. Would you like some … ice or something? For your legs?” 

You smile ahead, turn to face him, and shake your head. “It’ll be fine. Nothing a shower and good sleep won’t fix.” You pause. “And maybe some food.” 

Which is how Stiles ends up sitting in your bed, sipping the remnants of his Dr. Pepper as he watches you lather lotion on your legs with your towel still hanging off of your body. 

“Your food’s cold,” he tells you. He doesn’t tell you about the handful of fries he stole earlier, but he knows you’ll notice it and hold the grudge for later. 

Later. Will there be a ‘later’? 

“Be there in a second.” You start to walk back to the bathroom. “Should we go to that place in the morning? Or …” you look at your clock and wince at the time. “Later. The one with the really good pancakes?” 

Stiles is quick to agree. He would love to do something with you later.