#And... you know. Me still getting the hang of drawing these two. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hyunjinsmuze · 27 days ago

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A/N it’s not letting me reply to my requests but this is a request!!! so if you have any send them to my inbox 💞

You Can Join

warnings: cock warming, oral (fem receiving) a little m x m, use of ‘good girl’

contains: ⛔️smut, threesome, a little fluff

summary: you were only supposed to be seeing your childhood bestfriend and now your involved in a secret you can’t forget

pairing: leeknow x han jisung x reader

words: 3.8k

You used to think summers lasted forever. Long days, scraped knees, and the sound of Changbin’s laugh ringing through the sticky heat like a bell. Back then, he wasn’t a famous rapper with millions of fans chanting his name. He was just Changbin from two streets over, the loud, scrappy kid who could never win at Mario Kart but insisted on rematches until the sun went down.

You didn’t grow up inseparable. It wasn’t like the dramas made it out to be. There were years when you barely talked, middle school drama, new friends, life. But the bond never really broke. You always came back to each other in the end, like bookmarks in a story neither of you had finished reading.

High school was when things started to shift. He got serious about music. You got serious about... well, trying to survive exams and not lose your mind. You cheered him on from the sidelines, sent him stupid memes at 3 a.m., sometimes didn’t talk for weeks but always picked back up like no time had passed.

Then came his debut.

You were proud — like, beyond proud. But it also meant distance. Not emotional, not really. Just time zones, tour schedules, and a version of him you could only see through screens and stage lights. Still, when he did reach out, it was always genuine.

Which brings you to now.

The friendship isn’t deep in the way some childhood friendships are, but it’s solid. It’s honest. He’s one of the few people who’s seen you ugly cry after failing a test and laugh until you snorted cola out your nose. That counts for something.

And the rest of Stray Kids? You’ve met them. Not in a fangirl way, you made that clear from day one. You weren’t there to drool over their visuals. They were Changbin’s people, and slowly, over a handful of get-togethers, they started to become yours, too.

Lee Know was cool, in that slightly intimidating “I’ll-read-you-in-two-seconds” kind of way. He didn’t talk much to you at first, but when he did, it was sharp, not unkind, just observant.

Jisung? He was chaos personified. Hyper, a little awkward, full of jokes. You liked him. He made you feel like you belonged even when you were just sitting quietly on the edge of a group.

You’d hung out with them a few times, movie nights, random meals when Changbin dragged you along, that one beach trip where you fell asleep with sand in your hair and woke up to Jisung drawing something obscene near your ankle with sunscreen.

Still, you were careful. You never overstayed. You knew their world was hectic, private. You never wanted to be that person , the childhood friend trying to milk clout or cling to old memories.

But when Changbin messaged out of the blue, “Hey, I miss your dumb face. Come hang out this weekend?” you said yes without thinking.

Because some bonds don’t need daily maintenance. They just exist. And sometimes, all it takes is a text to remind you that yeah, he still thinks of you as one of his people.

And you? Well. You missed being around people who knew you before.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

It’s quiet when you arrive — too quiet, considering the chaos that usually defines anything involving Stray Kids. You press the buzzer and wait, your reflection staring back at you in the gloss of the dorm’s front entrance glass. The door clicks open and you step inside, greeted by the soft hum of electronics and the faint smell of ramen and cleaning supplies, someone must’ve just cleaned.

You slip your shoes off and glance around. No one's in the hallway. No laughter. No shouting. You frown a little but shrug it off. Changbin did say they might be out. Still, it’s kind of eerie being in their dorm alone, even though it’s not your first time.

Text from Changbin [4:38 PM]:

"Running late — got caught in traffic. Be there in 45ish. You can chill, everyone else is probably out too 🫠 Don’t eat all the snacks."

You snort. Typical.

You wander in further, your steps light on the polished floor. The living room is the same as you remember, slightly messy, with throw blankets half-folded and a weirdly large collection of remotes that no one ever knows how to use. There’s a hoodie draped over the arm of the couch. You recognize it, it’s Jisung’s. You pick it up, giving it a small shake before tossing it neatly onto the back of the chair.

There’s something a little too domestic about it all.

You flop down on the couch and stare up at the ceiling, letting the silence fill your ears. It’s weird. Not uncomfortable exactly, but unfamiliar. Like you’re sitting inside someone else’s life. You scroll your phone for a bit, switch to some random playlist, and then let your eyes close.

For a moment, you think about Changbin again. It’s always a little bittersweet, seeing him now. You’re proud of him, always, but it’s hard not to notice how different his world is from yours. You’re still you — still figuring things out, still living in the spaces between job applications and late-night cravings. Meanwhile, he’s out here living the kind of life people only dream of.

And yet... he still invites you back.

Maybe that means something.

You sit up, stretching your arms over your head. “Okay,” you mumble to no one. “What now?”

Your eyes wander toward the hallway. A faint sound catches your ear, not music, not talking exactly, but something. A soft thud. Maybe a laugh? You tilt your head. Could be someone’s home after all. You hesitate. You’re not the type to snoop, but boredom’s a dangerous thing.

And maybe… maybe you’re curious.

You make your way down the hall quietly, your bare feet making barely a whisper against the floor. The noise comes from upstairs, the door to the second floor is slightly ajar. That’s when you hear it again.

Voices. Low. Male. A laugh — breathy, almost choked. Then something like…

A kiss?

Your stomach twists strangely, and for a second, you think maybe you misheard. You’re halfway up the stairs before your mind really catches up with your body. You're not trying to spy. You just—

Okay. You kind of are.

Curiosity gets the best of you.

You step carefully up onto the second floor, trying not to breathe too loudly. You follow the sound to one of the bedrooms. The door is cracked open, just enough. You peer through the gap.

And freeze.

There’s Lee Know, sitting back against the headboard. Jisung is half in his lap, straddling his thighs, his hands tangled in Lee Know’s shirt. Their mouths are moving together, slow, deep, like they’ve done this a hundred times before. It’s intimate in a way that feels like a secret and a confession all at once.

You suck in a quiet breath, stepping back. The door creaks just a little under your weight.

Jisung jolts first, wide eyes snapping toward the door. You can see the panic rise in his expression, the way his body goes tense and stiff like someone flipped a switch.

Lee Know’s gaze follows a second later, but his reaction is the complete opposite.

Calm. Composed. Maybe even amused.

“Shit,” Jisung breathes, scrambling a little, pulling at the edge of his shirt.

You’re already raising your hands. “I-I didn’t see anything. I swear. I just heard someone and thought— I’m sorry—”

Lee Know’s voice cuts in. Smooth. Unbothered.

“Don’t go.”

You blink.

He shifts slightly, and Jisung stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “Hyung—?”

“If you don’t tell anyone…” Lee Know’s gaze slides back to you. “You can join us.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “W-What?”

His head tilts, dark eyes sharp but unreadable. “I’ve seen how you look at us,” he says casually, like he’s stating the weather. “Especially Jisung.”

Jisung turns red, still trying to process the situation.

You stammer something, probably the beginning of a very weak excuse, but then Lee Know adds, “Come here.”

It’s not a question.

Something about his tone sends a small, electric thrill down your spine. It’s commanding. Teasing. Like he already knows what you’ll choose.

And then he looks to Jisung. “Tell her.”

Jisung licks his lips, eyes flickering nervously between you and Lee Know. “I… We’ve both— kind of— We’ve thought about you. A lot.”

There’s silence. Charged. Breathless.

Your heart is thudding way too fast.

You don’t say anything. Not yet. But you don’t move either.

You’re not leaving.

Not yet.

You should leave.

You should turn around, go downstairs, and pretend you never saw anything.

But you don’t.

You stand there, fingers clenched against your palms, heart racing so fast it drowns out the sound of your own thoughts. Jisung is still flushed, hands halfway tangled in the hem of his shirt, looking between you and Minho like he’s waiting for someone to wake him up.

Minho is steady. Always steady. His gaze stays locked on yours.

“Come here,” he says again, voice lower now, smooth like honey with a dangerous edge.

You step into the room.

Because you’re not pretending you didn’t hear him. You’re not pretending you haven’t thought about it, too — maybe late at night, alone, your thoughts wandering a little too far into dangerous territory. You’ve seen the way Jisung looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention. You’ve caught Minho smirking, watching you with those unreadable eyes.

You just never thought they talked about it.

“You’re really not going to tell anyone?” Jisung asks, his voice soft, uncertain.

You shake your head. “I won’t.”

Minho smirks slightly, satisfied. He pats the edge of the bed. “Then sit.”

You do.

Close enough that your knees brush Jisung’s thigh.

He swallows hard.

Minho shifts beside him, draping one arm behind Jisung casually, fingers ghosting over his shoulder. “We’ve thought about you,” he says, the words slow, deliberate. “A lot.”

You exhale slowly, trying to calm your pulse. “Like… thought about…?”

Minho’s eyes flick down your body, then back up, sharp and warm. “Like how you’d sound,” he says, “if we took turns kissing you.”

Jisung lets out a quiet breath, staring at his lap. Minho’s hand moves to his neck, thumb stroking over his pulse.

“Thought about how you’d look,” he continues, “with your head thrown back, mouth open, begging for more.”

Your thighs press together instinctively. He notices. His smirk widens.

“You’ve got no idea how pretty we think you are,” Minho adds, leaning a little closer. “Or how much we talk about you when we’re alone. Isn’t that right, Ji?”

Jisung groans softly, hiding his face for a second. “Hyung…”

“Tell her.”

You glance between them, your skin prickling with heat.

Jisung shifts, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “I—I think about you all the time,” he admits, his voice tight. “Like, fuck, it’s bad. The things I’ve imagined doing to you…”

You shiver.

He looks wrecked just saying it, pink-faced, pupils blown wide, lip caught between his teeth. “I’ve— I’ve jerked off thinking about you,” he blurts out, then immediately covers his face again. “Fuck.”

Minho laughs under his breath. “You’re so shy now, but you’re the one who whines when she texts you at night and you can’t touch yourself.”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

Jisung squeaks. “Hyung!”

“He gets so desperate,” Minho murmurs, leaning in toward your ear. His breath is hot against your skin. “He’ll send me voice notes begging for permission to touch himself. Just because you posted a photo looking too good.”

You don’t know where to look, everything is heat and tension and the sense that a line has already been crossed, and now there’s no going back.

“What about you?” Minho asks, eyes gleaming. “Have you thought about us?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Both of us?”

You glance at Jisung, then back at him. “Yeah. Both.”

There’s a long pause.

Then Minho leans forward and kisses you.

It’s not soft. Not testing. He kisses you like he’s claiming something, like he’s known you’d taste good and now he’s proving it. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, angling your face exactly the way he wants, tongue sliding against yours, hot and sure.

You whimper into his mouth before you even realize you’re doing it.

When he pulls back, Jisung is staring — eyes blown wide, chest heaving.

Minho tilts his head. “You want to kiss her too?”

Jisung nods, almost desperately.

You don’t even have to move — he leans in and captures your lips in a kiss that’s messier, needier, full of shaky breath and whispered sounds. His hands tremble as they cup your waist, thumbs sliding under your shirt just barely.

When you part, you’re breathless, your mouth kiss-swollen, your head spinning.

Minho’s hand slides down your back, warm and confident. “You want to join us, don’t you?”

You nod.

He smirks, pleased. “Good girl.”

Those two words set something off in you, a shudder deep in your gut. You gasp softly, and Minho clearly notices.

“Oh? You like being called that?”

You bite your lip.

Jisung’s hand moves to yours, fingers lacing together. “Can I touch you more?”

Minho hums. “Only if she says yes.”

You nod again. “Yes.”

Jisung shifts forward and places a kiss just below your jaw, sweet and a little clumsy. His hand slides up under your shirt, not rushing, just exploring — fingers brushing your ribs, then higher.

“You’re so soft,” he whispers. “So perfect.”

Minho watches you like a predator. “I want you to take your shirt off.”

You hesitate only a second before pulling it over your head.

Both boys groan at once.

“Fuck,” Jisung breathes, hands now on your waist. “You’re actually— you’re so hot, I don’t even know what to do—”

“Relax,” Minho says, voice low. “We’ll show her everything. She’ll beg for us by the time we’re done.”

He moves behind you, kissing down the curve of your shoulder, slow and sensual, while Jisung presses soft kisses to your stomach. Your skin is hypersensitive now, every brush of breath or fingertips makes you twitch.

“You still sure about this?” Minho murmurs near your ear.

You nod again, breath hitching. “Yes.”

“Say it,” he says, licking the shell of your ear. “Tell us you want us.”

“I want you,” you whisper. “Both of you.”

Minho smiles against your skin. “Good girl.”

He moves to unhook your bra, and the moment it falls, Jisung lets out a shaky groan.

Minho slides his hand over your chest, slow and possessive. “Next part,” he whispers, fingers grazing over one of your nipples, “we make you ours.”

Minho doesn’t give you time to overthink.

He nudges Jisung back with a quiet, firm “lie down,” and the younger boy obeys instantly, scooting back against the pillows with wide, glassy eyes.

Then Minho turns to you.

“Strip,” he says simply, voice cool, controlled.

You obey, slowly, nervously, but already burning up. You feel their eyes on you as you slide your pants down, then your underwear. By the time you’re bare, Jisung is chewing his lip and Minho is watching you like he already owns you.

“Fuck, she’s gorgeous,” Jisung whispers.

Minho doesn’t smile — not exactly. He’s too focused. But there’s satisfaction in the way he looks at you, like he’s seeing a fantasy finally come to life.

“C’mere,” he says, and you climb onto the bed.

He positions you right between them, Jisung beneath you, hard and panting, and Minho behind, still half-clothed but completely in control.

“You’re going to take us both tonight,” Minho murmurs in your ear. “You want that, baby?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Louder.”

“Yes.”

Minho hums his approval and kisses down your neck, his hands sliding around your waist to grope your chest again, firmer this time, possessive. “You’re already shaking,” he whispers. “And we haven’t even touched you properly.”

Jisung’s hands find your hips, pulling you down over him so you’re straddling his lap. His clothed cock presses against you, desperate and twitching. “C-Can I take mine off?”

But Minho presses his hand flat against your stomach. “Not yet.”

He glances down at Jisung, who’s panting, already bare, his cock twitching in his pants. “You want her mouth first, Ji?”

Jisung’s eyes are huge, pupils blown. “Y-Yes— wait, I mean—”

Minho smirks. “I meant your mouth on her, baby.”

Jisung’s brain visibly short-circuits.

“Oh—fuck, yes. Yes please.”

Minho grips the back of Jisung’s neck and nudges him downward with calm authority. “On your stomach. Face between her legs.”

You lie back, breath caught in your throat, and Jisung slides down the bed like he’s being summoned by gravity, kissing your thighs, trembling with anticipation.

Minho moves behind him, still fully dressed, and leans over to trail kisses down the curve of Jisung’s spine.

“She’s so wet for us already,” he murmurs, and Jisung groans in agreement as he drags his tongue through your folds, slow and reverent.

Your hips jerk.

“Oh my god—” you gasp, fisting the sheets.

Jisung moans against you, messy and needy — tongue swirling over your clit, then dipping inside you with growing urgency. He clutches your thighs, holding you open, face buried in your heat like he can’t get close enough.

Minho watches over his shoulder, one hand gripping Jisung’s hip, the other stroking down his back.

“Good boy,” he says, and leans in to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss between Jisung’s shoulder blades. “Just like that. She loves it, doesn’t she?”

You whimper a moaned “yes,” toes curling.

Jisung licks you faster, lips wrapping around your clit now, sucking gently — making obscene little sounds between desperate breaths. Minho kisses along his spine again, trailing down to the small of his back.

“Such a slut for her,” he murmurs, voice dark with heat. “Bet you’ve dreamed of this. Her thighs around your head. My hands on you. All of us like this.”

Jisung groans into you, the vibration making you gasp, your legs shaking.

“You’re gonna make her come, aren’t you?” Minho growls. “Make her gush all over that pretty mouth.”

You’re already close.

Your hips buck against Jisung’s tongue, and Minho strokes the inside of your thigh, watching your face intently.

“Let go, baby,” he whispers. “Come for us.”

You cry out, hips jerking, back arching, one hand tangling in Jisung’s hair as the orgasm crashes over you. He groans into it, licking you through every wave, hands gripping your thighs tight.

When you finally slump back, panting and trembling, Jisung pulls back, lips shiny, chin soaked.

He looks completely wrecked.

Minho leans down and kisses the back of his neck. “That’s my boy.”

Then he turns to you, eyes dark and hungry. “you wanna ride him now baby?” you nod eagerly

“Wanna let him fuck you while I play with you from behind?”

Your brain short-circuits for a second.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes—please.”

He pulls off jisungs pants kissing his tights as the boy underneath him squirms and whimpers.

Jisung lays flat on his back as minho moved me to straddle jisung.

He grabs a condom and tosses it to Jisung. “Be quick. Don’t get sloppy.”

Jisung fumbles a little but gets it on, and Minho pulls you back just slightly, slipping a hand between your legs.

“Oh, fuck—” you gasp, jerking as his fingers slide through your folds.

“So wet,” he mutters. “She’s dripping for you, Ji. You feel that?”

Jisung nods helplessly, eyes glued to where Minho’s fingers are working you open. “I—fuck, I wanna be inside—”

“Then do it.”

Minho helps guide you down — slowly, inch by inch, and both of you moan when he finally fills you. You’re tight, soaked, your walls fluttering around him as you sink fully onto his cock.

“Shit,” Jisung groans, grabbing your hips like he’ll lose control otherwise.

You brace your hands on his chest, panting.

Then Minho wraps one arm around you, pressing his chest to your back. “You don’t move unless I say so.”

You nod.

His free hand travels down, teasing your clit slowly while Jisung twitches inside you, already close from the buildup.

“Look how pretty you are,” Minho whispers. “Both of you. Fucking beautiful.”

You whimper, trying not to buck your hips. Jisung is moaning, every muscle in his body tense.

“Please,” Jisung gasps. “Please let her move—hyung, I can’t—”

Minho’s fingers pinch your clit lightly, making you jolt. “What do you say?”

“Please,” Jisung groans again. “She feels so good, I’ll go crazy if she doesn’t—fuck—please—”

Minho chuckles. “Alright. Move.”

You rock your hips, slowly at first, rolling them just right so that both of you moan again. Jisung bucks up to meet you, nearly sobbing your name under his breath.

Minho bites your shoulder. “That’s it, baby. Ride him. Make him lose it.”

You do, building rhythm, faster, needier, until you’re both falling apart. Jisung grips your ass, thrusting up to meet you, whimpering with every motion.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna—” he warns, and Minho grabs your hips, slowing you down.

“Let go,” he says. “She can take it.”

Jisung moans your name as he finishes, trembling beneath you.

You’re still panting when Minho slides away from behind you.

“My turn,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head and shoving his pants down.

You stare.

He’s big.

And he knows it, too, the smug look he gives you as he rolls the condom on is enough to make your stomach flip.

He gently moves you off of Jisung and onto your back. “Open for me.”

You spread your legs and Minho moves between them, stroking himself once, twice, before pushing in, slow, deliberate, making you feel every inch.

You both groan.

“Fucking tight,” he mutters, gripping your thighs. “God, you feel like heaven.”

He starts slow, measured, deep strokes that make your toes curl. His hand slips under your leg, pushing your thigh up to get deeper.

“You’re doing so good,” he says. “Taking me so well. You were made for this, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please—faster—”

He obliges, snapping his hips harder, your whole body rocking with the force of it.

Jisung moves beside you, kissing your neck, your collarbone, whispering praise.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes. “So fucking good, so perfect—”

Minho grabs your jaw and turns your face to his. “Eyes on me.”

You moan louder when he starts pounding into you harder, the bed creaking, skin slapping against skin, sweat dripping down his chest. “You love this, don’t you?” he growls. “Being fucked dumb by both of us?”

“Y-Yes—”

He reaches down, fingers circling your clit again, fast and unforgiving. “Then come for me. Come while I fuck this perfect pussy.”

You break.

The orgasm rips through you, sudden and overwhelming, your vision goes white, your body trembling under the force of it.

“Good girl,” Minho groans, thrusting once, twice, then spilling into the condom with a low growl.

You barely register him pulling out, collapsing next to you on the bed.

There’s a long silence.

Just panting.

Sticky skin and tangled limbs.

Then Minho brushes a strand of hair from your face and leans in, kissing your cheek. “You okay?”

You nod weakly, breathless. “Yeah… more than okay.”

Jisung cuddles up against your other side, nuzzling your neck. “That was the best day of my life.”

You laugh, dazed.

Minho smirks. “Guess Changbin’s gonna be real confused when he gets home.”

You all burst into giggles, tangled and happy and sated.

@hwangjoanna @penguins-in-space @sammhisphere

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daisies-and-domming · 2 months ago

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Zayne: In Heat! (NSFW)

Right Here, Right Now!

Summary: A new sort of Wanderer keeps appearing around Linkon City, sending the Hunters Association into a frenzy trying to figure out just what it does. When killed, it releases some sort of dangerous “pollen”, but that’s all you’re really cleared to know - other than the clear warning to get back to headquarters as soon as possible if you are hit. Turns out, that’s easier said than done.

Warnings: yes this is an A/B/O fic (the demons got me), afab!reader, omega!reader, alpha!characters, heat, swearing, petnames (Zayne calls you "darling" and "wife"), marking/mating, breeding kink (Zayne), office sex, a little bit dubcon!!

This is Zayne's part to this series! Looking for someone else?

Rafayel | Xavier | Caleb

Or use the tag #daisy's series: in heat!

Let me know if you think I missed anything!!

All characters are over 18 :)

– – –

It was a simple mistake, you try and tell yourself. You didn’t know the Wanderer was going to explode like that!

But even the simplest of mistakes gets people in your profession killed. Being a Deepspace Hunter, especially a hunter in the UNICORNS unit, meant you couldn’t afford to make mistakes, not when other people’s lives were on the line.

So you don’t go back to headquarters, not yet anyhow,heading straight for the hospital instead.

You know for a fact Zayne’s in office tonight, because you were complaining about him cancelling yet again your plans to hang out. He was your best option right now - whatever you got hit with is making you feel all sorts of weird.

The first thing you noticed was your vision blurring and your sense of smell dulling; like the world was fading into grey. You smack the side of your head, trying to keep yourself in one piece. The hospital was only two more blocks away, and you couldn’t afford to not make it. Even if Zayne didn’t know exactly what was happening to you, hopefully he could draw your blood or send you for an eval in one of the other offices. There’s no one in your life that you trust quite like Zayne, and you’re certain that he can help you with whatever the hell was going on with you.

The second thing you notice, as you draw nearer to the hospital, is the looks. People always look at you, especially when you’re in your hunter’s uniform, but there’s something…different. Some people look sympathetic, like they know something you don’t. Others jeer at you, making comments that made you wish you were off the clock right now and could kick their ass. But you’re a professional - so you hold your head high, and you keep moving.

You make it into the clear glass doors of the hospital, and that’s when the third thing hits - the smell. Your sense of smell had dropped drastically when this “pollen” had originally got you, but there was a mysterious smell coming from somewhere in the hospital that was calling out to you. It smelled like hot chocolate on a winter’s day, the kind that you have right next to the fireplace after having been outside for too long. It smelled like home, and almost mindlessly, you try to follow it.

You’re stopped pretty quickly by a nurse, who mutters something about “heat” and “omega” to one of the passing nurses. You’re led to sit down, but the bright lights of the waiting room are nauseating, and you almost lose your whole lunch as your world spins.

“-you okay? Is there anything we can do for you? If you forgot your heat suppressants, I can direct you to the pharmacy down the street-”

“Heat? What are you talking about?” You respond, snapping your head towards hers, “I’m here to see Dr. Zayne. He’s my primary care physician? Something’s wrong, I just went through a Wanderer attack, and-”

She shushes you, looking over her shoulder (likely for back-up, even you can tell you’re acting a bit crazed right now).

“Honey, you’re in heat. At this point, all we can do is suggest a heat partner. Do you have a ride home?”

You frown, still not understanding. In heat? You’re a beta, always have been. You don’t have to worry about finicky things like “heats” or “ruts”. You move to try and explain this to her, but a voice from behind the nurse cuts you off.

“Is everything alright? What could you possibly be doing here this late - oh.”

Zayne’s voice sends a spike of heat through your body, and you can’t help the smallest of whines from slipping out of your mouth. It’s quiet, but you can tell he hears it, and his whole demeanor shifts.

“Did they tell you what happened?”

The nurse tries to tell Zayne what you’ve told her so far, but he’s not actually listening - all of his senses are honed in on you. He notes your symptoms - visible fever, shortness of breath, pupils dilated - and he motions for the nurse to move, offering you an arm.

“They’re my patient. They’ll listen to me,” he tells the nurse, keeping his composure as much as he can.

He won’t tell her that it’s because he’s merely a man, a selfish one at that, and he can’t stand the burning looks of the other alphas in the room boring into you. To them, you’re nothing more than a good time, a pretty little omega for them to fuck and move on. Something protective rumbles in his chest before he can stop it. The nurse sends him a skeptical look, about to protest, when you grip on to his extended arm, and oh. Your skin isn’t even touching his, and yet it’s like a wet dream come true. You set him alight, and it takes everything in his power not to coo at you as you lean your weight into him.

“Zayne, what’s happening to me?” You sigh, looking up at him with your eyes blown wide.

“Let me get you to my office, okay? I can tell you everything you need to know there, just need to get you away from-” he sends a weary, menacing look to any wandering eyes behind him, “-from all of these heathens.”

“Okay,” you respond, so soft and sweet it sends a sick sort of thrill down Zayne’s spine.

He knows as he leads you to his office it’s a bad idea. He knows, but he can’t help himself. He’ll regret it in the morning, but for now? For now, he can have you, his darling, all needy for him in his office. He imagines bending you over every surface of the room, pushing your bare body up against the glass for everybody to see - and he’s already leaking. If you were a well attuned omega, you would be able to smell the lust rolling off of him in waves, but you don’t know what’s happening to you. All you know is that something about Zayne is sending your body into a frenzy, and you want nothing more than to burn under his touch.

Finally, finally, you make it into his office, where he guides you to sit on the couch there. He hovers for a moment, as if contemplating his next move, before leaving you there to lock the door (odd - you don’t remember him ever locking the door for your other appointments). He’s almost on top of you in the next instant, and his scent makes your brain foggy and your limbs heavy. He smells like warmth on a winter day, and you’re acutely aware, if only for a moment, that you’d let him do anything to you.

He reaches out with a hand, tilting your chin up so you’re forced to look up at him. His other hand brushes stray hairs from your face, before falling back to his side. He looks just as crazed as you feel, his pupils swallowing the chocolate brown of his eyes. If it weren’t for the lab coat he was wearing, you’d be able to see the wet patch he’s leaving on the front of his slacks, his cock already straining for release.

“So?” Yyou ask, eyeing him curiously. You’re a little on edge now, your senses a little sharper.

You may have been hit by something funny, but you’re not stupid. Zayne, in all of his quiet composure, has a tell - the tips of his ears are dusted with a light pink, and he pushes up his glasses not once, but twice (even if they’re not on his face. It makes you giggle every time). He’s holding something back, and you’re worried all over again.

That’s when a terrible pain rips through your body, like your abdomen is being ripped apart from the inside. It feels like something is trying to claw its way out of you, and a sob wracks your body. Zayne rushes forward as your body goes limp.

“Hey, hey, look at me, darling,” he says, urgency lacing his tone.

“Look at me.”

The pain ebbs a bit as he nears, but you can still feel the way the pain tears at your stomach. Barely lucid, your weary eyes find his, pleading and wet.

“I can help, okay? Are you okay with me helping? Just let go for me, darling.”

He’s close - too close - but God, you could care less right now. There’s nothing in the room right now but him, in all of his glory, hovering just inches away from you.

You give him the smallest of nods, but it’s enough. Enough for him to spring into action, hand already working at the button of your pants. You’re so wet with slick that he has to peel them off your skin, but it’s worth it to see you, poised on his work couch in only your underwear.

He thumbs at the waistband of your underwear, fingers dipping under it teasingly.

“May I?”

“Y-yeah, yeah, go ‘head,” you say back, voice gravelly with want.

But he doesn’t take them off like you thought he would - instead, he shoves his face right up against your entrance, lapping at it through the soaked fabric of your underwear. Your hips buck instinctually, and his hands find their way to your thighs, kneading at them. Your legs try to close around his head, but he gives you a warning look over his glasses, and you try your best to keep them spread. A small smirk appears on his face at your obedience, but it’s gone as quickly as it came, because he’s already diving back in for more.

Even through your underwear, he can taste your arousal so potently, coating his tongue like the sweetest ambrosia. He’s sucking it through your underwear like a pervert. All open-mouthed and nasty, but it’s only making the slick pour from your entrance like a waterfall. Watching the usually cool and collected Zayne fall apart at merely a taste of you was dragging you close to an early edge. His glasses are starting to fog at the heat you’re radiating, but he doesn’t care - just dives deeper into you. He wants to taste you on his tongue forever, to keep his pretty, perfect omega satisfied. He doesn’t need anything from you, the bulge in his pants meant nothing to him. All he can think about is drawing those sweet little noises from you.

Your hand finds its way to his hair, and in a pleasure-seeking haze, you grind his face into your entrance. He groans, rich and deep, and it sends pleasant shockwaves through your system. Everything is hazy, like you’ve stepped into a dream, but you keep rolling your hips against his face, chasing your high. You’re heavy eyelids lift long enough to catch him staring up at you reverently, glasses askew and foggy, and that’s all it takes to send you spiralling over the edge. His unabashed worship for you, even now, made you clench around nothing as you came, the universe exploding into a million stars behind your eyes.

You’re not sure how long it takes for you to come back down, but by the time you do, Zayne has you in his lap, your head resting in the crook of his neck. The sensitive spot just below his ear is where his scent is the strongest, and when your head feels like your own again, you shift to nuzzle your nose into it. When that’s not enough, you start to nip at his neck, placing gentle kisses between lips. You can hear him exhale through his nose, and you feel the way he stiffens beneath you, trying not to interfere with whatever you’re doing. But he’s just so sensitive, and the little “anh!” that escapes his lips at your ministrations sounds almost like a whine.

“Are-mnph-are you feeling-ah-better?” He stutters out, his whole body weak to your touch.

“Mhm,” you mumble out against his neck, still not quite sure what you’re doing.

All you know is that he smells intoxicating, and you need more of him. You want to feel every inch of his skin against yours, want to cut him open and crawl inside of his skin so you can feel him everywhere. It makes you sick just how badly you yearn for him at this moment, and you bite down a little harder at the soft flesh of Zayne’s neck, grinning against his skin when his hips buck up against you.

“Mine.” You declare, before you can stop it.

It feels so natural, to call him yours. Almost like it’s always been that way. It twists your gut in a way you don’t understand, so you don’t try to. Instead, you lean back, taking in Zayne under you.

He’s flushed, a pretty red that spreads all the way from his cheeks down his neck, and he looks like your wettest dreams. He’s gnawing at his lip as he looks up at you so prettily, and your eyes flick down to them - a question. As you lean in, you give him enough time to back out, but he sinks into you instead, meeting your lips halfway. It’s a juxtaposition to the filthiness that went on earlier, the way he kisses you like you’re something delicate. You can still taste the hints of yourself on his tongue, and it makes you melt against him, fingers tangling into the short hair at the back of his neck. The moment shifts, and everything starts to feel more intimate. With the worst of the pain gone, you realize this is Zayne, your Zayne, the one who made you little snow seals when the seals at the aquarium made you feel bad. The one who texts you to make sure you’ve eaten lunch, and to make sure you’re not overworking yourself (to which you usually respond “hypocrite”, which shuts him up awful fast). You’re overwhelmed with something akin to embarrassment, and you pull away.

“Are you okay, darling?” He searches your face, concern written all over his expression. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

You hum, a noncommittal thing, still too embarrassed to properly look him in the eyes. He huffs, and squeezes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, dragging you so close that your forehead knocks against his.

“Talk to me.”

It’s not a question, this time. It’s a command, and heat sparks in your stomach anew.

“I just…’m sorry I dragged you into whatever this is,” you say, unsure of yourself.

“I know this is probably just work to you, but-”

“It’s never just work with you.”

He says it with such sincerity you can’t help but lean in to kiss him again, short and chaste. You hope he can feel your love in every move you make against him, that this means something more than just sex to you.

And then it hits again - that twisting heat in your abdomen, like a punch to your stomach. It’s less bad, now that you’re pressed against Zayne, but it still makes you hiss, hand moving to put pressure on your stomach. He moves to pull you closer, looking down at your shaking frame.

“Anything you need, darling. Anything.”

So you beg. You plead until all that’s left of your voice is wispy breaths. You’re not even quite sure what you’re saying anymore, overwhelmed by the raw need to feel him fill you up, to have him carve the shape of himself into you. Your lips find his neck again, and your hands fumble for his belt, buried under the thick weight of his lab coat. His thighs twitch underneath you, and you shift just enough to yank his pants and boxers to his mid-thigh, enough for his cock to spring out of its confines. It smacks heavily against his black button-up, and god, is it glorious.

He’s impressive in length and in girth, the kind of thickness that would just split you apart if you weren’t already dripping for him. A lone blue vein runs up the underside of his cock, prominent and glistening with his own precum.You can feel your mouth watering at the idea of tracing it with your tongue. But when you go to slide off of Zayne to do so, his fingers find purchase on your hips, dragging your dripping heat to rest just over his leaking cock. You both groan at the contact, and you can’t help but press down into him, catching your clit right on the throbbing head of his dick. Heat overtakes your body, and your hips can’t help themselves as they began to rut down into him, your body begging you for more.

“I-fuck-I need t’feel you, need it, alpha,” you pant out, already forgetting your desire to taste him.

His eyes roll back in his head, fingers digging into the meat of your hips, hard enough to bruise. Something inside of you purrs at the idea of him marking you up with the kind of bruises that leave no doubts about what happened tonight.

“Darling I-hngh!-can’t hold b-back anymore,” Zayne starts, heaving as your hips refuse to slow down, “I have to have you. Can I? Please, can I have you?”

You can barely nod before an obscene rip echoes in the room. Between Zayne’s fingers is the tattered remains of your underwear, a lewd string of slick connecting it to your entrance still. You watch in awe as he presses the ripped fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply. His tongue darts out, and a groan rumbles out of his chest when he gets another taste of your slick, his dick twitching pathetically against your now bare entrance.

And when his tip just barely catches against your entrance? It’s over, his cock already spurting hot cum against you, coating his abdomen.

“W-what a waste, darling,” he murmurs, muffled by the underwear still pressed to his face. “Should-hah-should’ve been i-inside.”

And his free hand moves from its place on your hip down to his release, scooping up some of the sticky mess onto his fingers. Before you have a chance to question him, he’s pressing his fingers to your entrance, forcing his cum inside of you. The feeling of his thick fingers stretching your entrance has your head falling back and your mouth falling open in a silent scream. His fingers reach so deep, and you wonder, briefly, if you’ll even be able to take his cock. They escape your entrance once again, just to messily smear more cum into your hole, mean and unforgiving.

If you weren’t so lost in your own pleasure, you’d be able to see how Zayne couldn’t look away from your entrance, now dripping with a mix of your slick and his release. He was hypnotized by the way you can’t help but grind down on his fingers, begging for more of him. He curls them just right, and his breath catches in his throat when you fall forward into him, moaning out his name. No pleas, no “alpha!”, just Zayne.

A sick, twisted part of him hopes it takes. He can already see it - how beautiful you’d be all round and heavy with his pups - and it makes him burlly another finger into your entrance, trying to dig his cum deeper into you. All he can think about is you, his sweet little darling, all powerful and strong, reduced to his little housewife.

“Can’t take it anymore,” you whine, snapping him out of his perverted daydream. “Want your knot, want to feel you fill me up, please.”

And something mean twists in Zayne’s gut, something sharp twinkling in his eyes as he looks up at you. He slips the tattered underwear into the pocket of his lab coat, and his now freed hand moves to tilt your head to look at him.

“Are you sure, darling? I’m not sure I believe you,” he responds, eyes glowing with mirth, “Beg for it.”

What a cruel alpha he is, making a heat-riddled omega beg for his cock. But the idea of him not filling you up sends you into a frenzy, frantic pleas falling from your mouth as you squeeze around his fingers pathetically.

“No, no! Need it, promise I do. C-can’t you feel how-ahn!-wet I am? Please, ‘m drippin’ for you, need to feel your cock fill me up, need you to mark me as yours-uhn! I’m yours, aren’t I, Zayne?”

At the sound of his name, so sweet falling from your lips, Zayne rips his fingers from your entrance, fumbling to grasp at the base of his aching dick. It’s flushed red and he’s not sure how long he’s going to last inside of you when you’re looking at him like that. Like he’s the only thing left in the world, like you love him.

But neither of you can even think once his cock slides into your entrance. No amount of fingering could have prepared you for just how thick he truly was, and tears bead at the corners of your eyes at the stretch. And it just keeps going, keeps sinking into your heat until you feel him all the way in your stomach. His tip is kissing your cervix so sloppily, and it makes your walls clench around him.

And suddenly you’re in the air. You’re dizzy and disoriented as you move, his dick sliding impossibly deeper in a way that has your legs locking behind his back, keeping him there. His teeth dig into your shoulder at that, trying to keep his sounds down, but it’s impossible when you just feel so good.

With one hand, Zayne balances you against his body, and with the other, he sweeps the papers and trinkets off of his desk, not caring where they end up. He cradles your head as he drops your back to meet the cold surface of his desk, always worried about your safety, even when he’s balls deep in you. It makes your heart squeeze in your chest, an unfamiliar warmth flooding your body.

You don’t have much time to think, though, before he’s pulling his hips back until only his tip is still inside you. He stays there for a moment, loving the way you pulse around his sensitive head, before his self-control fully snaps, and he’s bucking into you wildly. The desk creaks under you, shifting under the raw power of Zayne’s thrusts, until you hear it roughly thunk against the wall.

You’re certain the whole wing can hear you two, bodies sliding and humping at each other like animals, but you don’t care, not when his cock is slamming into that spot that makes you see stars. Your body surrenders to the heat overtaking it, surrenders to him, and you’re limp in his hold, forced to take until your body is satisfied.

“Z-Zayne, mark, pl-uhn-please?” You beg between moans.

And this isn’t really consent, not when you’re so deep in an unfamiliar heat, and the back of Zayne’s mind is screaming at him to stop, don’t give in. But when your head falls to the side, baring your neck to him so submissively, how was he ever supposed to resist?

His canines sink into the delicate flesh of your skin, right in the juncture where your scent gland rests, and it’s like fireworks explode behind your eyes. It feels like your souls are intertwining, a metaphysical connection that fills your entire being with the warmth of a thousand suns. Your body convulses under him, but that just makes him dig his teeth into your skin harder, the metallic taste of your blood filling his mouth. Only when your convulsing turns into weak twitching does Zayne’s jaw unlock. He presses gentle kisses into your shoulder, licking at the blood dripping from his mark, unable to stop his hips from still bucking into your sensitive body.

“You’re mine, mine, you hear me?” He babbles, not even realizing he’s saying anything at all.

“My omega, my perfect little darling, a-aren’t you? Fuck, ‘m gonna fill you up so good, make you-mhm-round with my pups, make you a pretty momma, knot you again and again and again until i-it takes. Do you-hah-want that, darling? Want to be my perfect little wife?”

Your head is filled with cotton and your limbs don’t feel like they’re even yours anymore, but you blink your weary eyes up at Zayne. His silhouette is blurry from the tears you can’t seem to control, but even blurred he’s still a sight to behold.

His glasses are barely still on his face, askew and only really still hooked on one of his ears. He’s still almost fully dressed, but his collar is mussed, and his pants and boxers have made their way around his ankles. His belt, still looped through his pants, clanks against the floor with every harsh thrust of Zayne’s hips, mixing into the symphony of moans and squelches filling his office.

It’s obscene and sloppy, everything is dishevelled in a way that is so markedly not Zayne, but it makes you clench around him nonetheless. Only you get to see him like this, make him like this. It sends a thrill down your spine, and a rush of heat floods your abdomen, your walls fluttering around Zayne’s girth.

“Darling, darling, feel so good for me, are you going to let go? Let go, let me feel you cum around me.” Zayne coos, looking down at you adoringly.

You frantically shake your head. You’re close, unbearably so, but you want-need Zayne to come undone with you. So you lift your feeble hands to grip at the hair at the back of Zayne’s neck and to pull his collar to the side. With the last of your strength, you yank him down to you, right into your eager mouth. He gasps as your teeth sink into his scent gland, and that’s all it takes - the base of his cock swells, and you can feel his knot start to take. The pathetic whimper that escapes Zayne’s mouth as your teeth sink deeper into his skin is enough to tip you off the edge, and you cum hard, biting into Zayne’s neck in a weak attempt to muffle your noises. It doesn’t matter anymore, really - the slam of the desk against the wall and the wailing you did earlier was certainly enough to tip anyone off to what was happening in here. But as you start to come back down to Earth, a wave of embarrassment overcomes you. This was your best friend. You just had sex - you just mated - your best friend, and an embarrassing part of you doesn’t even care. You’ve just claimed and marked the illustrious Doctor Zayne as yours, and he’s going to have to walk around the hospital after this, smelling like you and wearing your mark on his gland.

“It’s going to be a while before my knot goes down.” Zayne says, his voice still strained but mostly back to his normal matter-of-fact tone.

His knot. It all floods back to you - how you pleaded for his knot, how you begged him to mark you - and you fluster under his watchful eye.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, still unable to really even look at him, “I shouldn’t have forced you to do this, to…to mark me.”

You say it with so much contempt that it makes the ever-stoic Zayne frown, concern written in the creasing of his eyebrows. The hand thumbing at your hip moves to cradle your face, and he leans closer to you, wincing at the way his sensitive cock shifts inside of your gummy walls.

“Do you…” he ponders for a moment, “Do you regret it?”

He looks at you, searching your eyes for even a hint of anger at him, but all he finds is guilt. Like somehow you were at fault for all of the sick things Zayne did to you when you didn’t know what was happening to you. It makes something in his stomach flip, sadistic and cruel. You were so sweet, thinking that any of this was somehow your fault, and it makes him want to bite into your scent gland all over again. It was likely that the effect of whatever hit you would soon fade, but a little voice in the back of his head hopes that the mark he left doesn’t fade with it. That when you have to go back to work, all of the people that so much as glance at you can tell that you’re his, that you’re off-limits forever. In every lifetime, he’s given himself up to get even a taste of your love, and a certainty settles into his gut that he’ll never be able to let you go again, not after he’s had you.

“Do…do you regret it?” You ask, still carrying that heavy guilt in your eyes.

“Of course not,” Zayne responds, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I could never regret anything if it’s with you.”

– – –

ehehe thank you for reading!!! I don't have a sylus part planned, buuuut if anybody wants it please let me know! I just unlocked him and I wouldn't be opposed...

(also if you have other ideas for LADS send them in! I am so feral about them right now I will write just about anything)

#daisy writes<3 #daisy's series: in heat!#lads smut #love and deepspace smut #lads a/b/o #a/b/o #omegaverse #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #zayne smut #zayne x reader #yes i'm on my freak shit again i'm so sorry

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realcube · 1 month ago

Text

CONNECTED!

desc ;; how can two best friends be connected forever?

tws & tags ;; best friend ! atsumu, nsfw, food sharing, vaginal, degredation, praise, impact play, slight daddy kink, breeding kink & begging

it started with an innocent question..

you're sprawled out upon his bed, laying on your stomach and scrolling on your phone, while best friend! atsumu does the same, except he is sat with his back against the headboard, and one of his arms stretched out behind his head, drawing attention to his flexing bicep in his black MSBY t-shirt.

you've spent the majority of the day hanging out, which you rarely get to do because he's so busy with practise and his contract with the jackals. but today was like a blast from the past, as you went on a run through the neighbourhood, talked shit and played videos games for hours like you used to. now you were both tired out and waiting for your delivery from onigiri miya to arrive.

but you were feeling peckish so you had a small bag of chips with you on the bed. plucking another one from the bag, you idly took a bite, and you were about to pop the rest into your mouth until atsumu leaned forward and snatched it right out of your hand and gobbled it up himself.

you gasp in horror, " 'tsumu! gross, you realise i already bit that one?"

atsumu quirked an eyebrow, but didn't avert his gaze from his phone screen. "so?" he grumbled through a mouthful of chip.

you saw his point. the two of you have been friends for so long, since before you could even properly remember. and he's been stealing and eating your food since the very beginning — and vice versa. without a care in the world as to whether the other's saliva was on it or not. usually you're quite weary about other people's germs, but with atsumu it was different since you're so familiar with each other and you know that neither of you have any oral illnesses. so what's the big deal if you eat something that's his mouth has already been on? you've already done so hundreds of times before.

but considering the sheer length of time you've known each other, the situation sparked a query in your mind. "we must share a lot of dna, huh?" you thought aloud.

atsumu halted chewing, and hesitantly looked up at you. "... what?"

"not in a genetic way! i just mean that we've been sharing food for so long. surely some of my dna must have incorporated itself into your system by now. maybe that's why you're so good at volleyball.." you suggested.

atsumu just stared back at you, dumbfounded. while you prattle on.

"i probably don't have as much of your dna in me, since i'm not a greedy food-stealer like you are." you tried to make a comment about his thieving habits, but atsumu seemed to be focussed on the wrong parts.

"that's not fair, is it?" he purrs with a smirk.

"what's not fair?"

"that you've not got any of me in you. like you said. even when we aren't together—"

"like when you are on the other side of the country competing in volleyball tournaments!" you add.

"yeah," he replies softly, "we're not really apart; i've still got a lot of you inside me. 'cos of that chip i just ate." you nod hesitantly in agreement, since he's got a good point but you can tell by the sinister glint in his eye that he's plotting something strange.

"but," he continues, "you've not got any of me in you. so how can we be connected?"

you blink. slowly, you take a chip from the bag and hand it to him. he takes a bite then gives it back to you and allows you to finish it with a smile. as you gulp, you declare profoundly, "there! now you're a part of me too."

atsumu tilts his head in amusement, and leans forward until his lips are mere inches from yours. "i think you can do better then that."

before you can even respond, his lips come crashing down against yours, and he captures you in a heated kiss. you're stiff at first due to this unexpected behaviour from who you thought was your friend, but there's something so addicting about the way his skin feels against yours. you let him guide you and soon you're melting into his touch, allowing your lips to weave together rhythmically, a small moan even slips past your defenses and rumbles against his mouth.

your basically sucking at each other's faces like deprived animals until he yanks himself away and rasps, "want something else inside you? something you can keep, angel?"

the moments after the faintest mewl of 'yes' escapes your mouth was a blur of atsumu lunging off the bed, readying himself at the other end and flipping your skirt up to rip your panties clean off in a matter of seconds. conveniently you were already in the perfect position, laid on your stomach with your ass hanging off the bed. all he really needed to do was spread those pretty legs and fix himself between them.

he rubbed at your folds with his fingers, and relished in your growing wetness. you could hear him groaning and thankfully for him, you couldn't see his obscene expression as his pupiled were stuck to your pussy. "fuck, such a pretty girl. where've you been hiding this?" he bit his lip, the mere sight of your delicious cunt alone was enough to get his cock throbbing his pants.

with no time to waste, he unzips his fly and smears his leaking tip across your hole, lubricating it further with his own precum. then, without warning, he thrusts himself inside your tight hole and gasps at the constricting sensation of your cunt suffocating his length. "damn, knew you'd be tight but— this is— fff.. fuck." he can barely get his words out. his thoughts were scrambled by your sweet walls clamping down on him like there were trying to keep him there.

his hands held onto your waist and his fingers dug into your soft skin. looks like he was giving you scars to keep too. due to his inability to move while your pussy was gripping onto him, your were allowed some time to adjust to his absurd length.

his girth shoved at your sensitive walls and it felt like he was pushing against your stomach too. he was just too much for your insides to handle, but it's not like there was anything he could do about it. plus, it didn't help that the stretch of your cunt to accomodate him was so euphoric and overwhleming, leaving you unable to form any more than a couple of slurred sentences, " 'tsumu, you're so big.. it's too much.."

"just need to take it, baby. i know you can." he reassured you in a low voice. you've never heard him quite so hoarse before; it was only feeding the growing pool of arousal between your thighs. his dick twitched eagerly within you and as soon as he bottomed out, he began to vigoursly thrust into you. piercing into your sopping hole at a rapid speed, despite how your walls desperately clung to him.

"atsumu!" you gasp, arching your back against the mattress as your fingers dug into the sheets beneath you, trying cope with the ecstasy coarsing through you from his thick girth. you weren't certain as to what was going on; a part of you still thought this was all one big overwhelming dream because of how surreal it felt.

you didn't understand what had overcome him. the two of you have been best friends since forever, and yeah, there was maybe a little bit of chemistry and flirtation before he left to join the black jackals, but any lingering feelings were shut down by the distance seperating you. never did you think he'd randomly get up and start frantically rearranging your guts on his bed. but fuck, it was a long time coming, you could feel the pent-up emotions behind each and every brutal thrust into your cunt. amplified by the lewd slapping of his balls against your sticky folds.

still, it confused you as to why he chose now to act on these feelings, and that manifesting through your feeble cries of, "why.. nghh— what're y'doing?" so weak and delicate, if it wasn't for your moans of delight and your hips instinctually rocking against his, atsumu might've thought you wanted him to stop (but that couldn't be any further from the truth.)

"sorry, (y/n).. couldn't— shit, hah, couldn't hold back anymore." he huffed out with his teeth grinding together, lips pulling into a wide smirk as he watches your tits bounce from the force of his cock. "gettin' too old for these games. and you're gettin' too hot for me to— mmph, to not do something 'bout it."

if it wasn't for the fact you were choking on your own moans from the way his length was splitting your poor pussy in half, you would've chuckled at his previous comment. you were both only in your twenties but he was claiming to be 'too old' for games.

but you kinda understood what he meant. being coy and play-flirting was cute in high school, but now it was time for you to come to terms with your feelings and act on them. you couldn't be more relieved that he took action; atsumu's dick working your needy insides was akin to receiving a long awaited massage, and finally undoing an strenuous knot that's been irrating you for ages. years, even.

"please keep going. i need you so fucking bad." you whined.

"drivin' me fucking crazy with this perfect pussy.." his jaw is clenched yet he spits onto his fingers and draws sloppy circles over your clit while he continues to ram into you. however, his pace grows sporadic and begins to faltered with each staggered breath he inhales. his eyes squeeze shut, "shit, angel, what've you done t'me? 'm close already.." his voice trails off, almost like he's losing steam until a final surge of lust-fuelled adrenaline shoots through him.

his eyes shoot open as his hips pick up the pace, piercing into your aching cunt even faster than they were previously, slamming all the way into your cervix repeatedly. "almost there. gonna fill up this little hole with all of me. that's what you want, huh?" deranged ramblings fall from his lips, while his brows are knitted together and his energy is focussed solely on ploughing into you, "you want me to leave a big mess in ya? so you keep apart of me forever. that what you want, slut? my cum dripping out of ya?"

your eyes screw shut at the intense sensation, and you bite down on the blankets in attempt to cope with it all. that is, until he delivers a harsh slap to your ass, which causes you gasp and squeal, "yes, 'tsumu! leave it inside me, please. all of it."

"you sound like such a whore." he chuckles, but only to conceal how badly that turns him on. he knows it's perverted, but there is just something so sexy about hearing his sweet friend beg for it like a desperate slut. it was humorously uncharacteristic. "ask again, baby. let me hear you, scream for daddy."

"i need you to— nghh, fuck! oh my god, i need you to cum in me. pleasee~." you pant, head spinning as he relentlessly pounds into your cunt, not faltering for even a split second. "i want you so bad.."

and that'll do it. your final breathless comment was enough to send him flying over the edge of his climax. one hand gripped your ass while the other held your thigh, and he heaved out a deep sigh as his thick load released from his tip and spurted into the safe confines of your pussy.

the warm sensation spread throughout your insides, like a sticky blanket coating your walls. it was beauitful, and there was no way he was going to let go just yet. not when your cunt was still gripping onto him; he wanted to savour it for as long as possible.

he leaned forward, and pressed gentle kisses across your spine and the nape of your neck, "you did so good.." you could feel him smile against your skin, as he whispered, "can you promise me something, doll?"

"mhm.."

"gonna keep that inside you?"

"of course." you hum, amused that he was still attached to what you were discussing earlier, "now we're connected."

"yeah." he nods, resting his head against your upper back and relaxing his frame against yours, "for a week, at least. then you'll have to visit me in osaka, and we can do this all again."

#atsumu x reader #atsumu smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x you #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x female reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu!!

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pucksandpower · 4 months ago

Text

Looking Up

Max Verstappen x tall!Reader

Summary: despite being Dutch, Max isn’t exactly surrounded by many particularly tall people — Formula 1, after all, is one of the few sports where height can be a disadvantage — so maybe he shouldn’t be surprised when a strikingly tall beauty queen catches his eye and refuses to leave his thoughts

Based on this request

Max drags his feet through the paddock, the sun glaring down in waves that seem to radiate off every surface. His Red Bull PR officer, Gemma, walks two paces ahead of him, clipboard in hand, her voice relentless.

“… and it’s a fantastic opportunity for engagement, Max. She has millions of followers, the Miss Universe Netherlands title — it’s a dream crossover. Positive PR for both of you. You’ve seen her photos, right? She’s stunning-”

“I don’t care,” Max cuts in, irritation dripping from his voice. He pulls at the neck of his race suit, already sick of the day, and now they’re parading him around like a puppet. “I don’t need a gimmick.”

Gemma ignores him. “It’s not a gimmick. This is strategic. A guest with her profile draws attention to you. To the team. Think of it as-”

Max stops walking, forcing Gemma to halt and turn back. “I already get enough attention,” he mutters, folding his arms.

She raises an eyebrow. “Yes, but not all attention is good attention. Just try, Max. Be charming. Be … approachable for once.”

He groans but resumes walking, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Charming,” he mutters under his breath. “Sure.”

They turn the corner into the Red Bull hospitality area, the usual mix of engineers, staff, and guests milling around. Max’s eyes are already scanning for the nearest exit when Gemma stops abruptly.

“There she is,” she whispers, nodding toward the seating area.

Max follows her gaze — and stops dead in his tracks.

You’re sitting at one of the tables, long legs crossed gracefully, an effortless posture that radiates confidence. The light catches on your hair, making it shimmer. You glance up, and your eyes meet his.

Max’s mouth snaps shut mid-complaint.

“Max!” Gemma hisses, but he doesn’t move.

You stand up, impossibly tall in your heels, the hem of your dress brushing against your thighs as you extend a hand toward him. Max blinks, his brain tripping over itself.

“Hi,” you say, your voice smooth, warm, unhurried. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m-”

“You’re, uh-” Max’s voice cracks. He clears his throat, willing himself to act normal. “I know who you are.”

You smile, a touch amused. “And you are Max Verstappen. Right?”

“Uh, yeah,” he manages, shifting awkwardly. Your hand is still extended, so he reaches out to shake it. Your grip is firm, your hand soft against his calloused one.

“Pleasure,” you say, tilting your head slightly. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Same,” Max blurts, though he hasn’t. Well, not much anyway. His mind scrambles for something else to say, but all he can focus on is how tall you are — how he has to tilt his head up slightly to maintain eye contact. And the heels. The heels are making it worse.

“Max?” Gemma prods, her voice sharp in his ear.

He jerks his hand back, realizing he’s been holding yours a beat too long. “Right, uh, welcome. To … the paddock.”

You laugh softly, a sound that feels like it cuts through the noise of the entire paddock. “Thank you. Everyone’s been very kind so far.”

Max swallows hard, his eyes darting to your legs, your dress, and then back to your face. He knows he’s staring too long.

“So,” you continue, filling the silence he’s left hanging, “are you excited for the weekend?”

“Yeah. I mean, sure.” He rubs the back of his neck, feeling his face heat up. “It’s … racing. That’s what I do.”

You laugh again, and Max swears his brain short-circuits. “That’s what you do,” you repeat. “Good to know you’re consistent.”

Gemma clears her throat loudly. “Max, why don’t you show her around? Make her feel at home.”

Max shoots her a glare. “I’m sure she doesn’t need me to-”

“I’d love that,” you interrupt, smiling at him. “If you don’t mind.”

He freezes, his excuses dying on his tongue. “Uh … sure. Yeah. I can do that.”

You step closer, and Max’s breath catches. “Lead the way,” you say.

He’s acutely aware of the way everyone’s watching as he starts walking, you falling into step beside him. His PR officer gives him a pointed look before disappearing into the crowd.

“So,” you say, your voice light, “is this how it always is? Chaos, cameras, and all?”

“Pretty much.” Max glances at you, trying not to trip over his words — or his feet. “It’s, uh … normal.”

“You make it look easy,” you say, and he catches the genuine note in your voice.

He laughs, short and awkward. “Not as easy as you make the whole pageant thing look.”

Your smile widens, and he immediately regrets how stupid that sounded.

“Thank you,” you say, your tone teasing. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was,” he insists quickly. “Definitely was.”

You keep walking, asking questions about the team, the cars, the track. Max answers them, though his usual confidence is nowhere to be found. Every time you laugh or nod, he feels his brain falter.

“You’re taller than I expected,” he blurts out at one point, then immediately regrets it.

You stop, turning to look at him. “Taller?”

He stammers, waving his hands. “I mean, not in a bad way. Just … I didn’t realize.”

You glance down at your heels and back up at him. “It’s the shoes,” you say, but your grin tells him you know exactly what you’re doing.

“Right. Shoes,” Max mutters, his face burning. He clasps his hands in front of his groin, trying to hide the very visible reaction his body is having to … all of this.

You don’t seem to notice — or maybe you do, and you’re kind enough not to mention it. Instead, you keep walking, asking another question about the weekend’s schedule.

Max answers automatically, but his mind is elsewhere. He’s never felt like this — off balance, awkward, like he’s two steps behind and doesn’t know how to catch up.

As you reach the edge of the hospitality area, you stop and turn to face him fully. “Thanks for showing me around,” you say, your voice softening.

Max shoves his hands into his pockets, looking anywhere but at you. “No problem,” he mumbles.

You tilt your head, studying him for a moment. “You’re not as scary as they say.”

He looks up, startled. “Scary?”

“Yeah.” You smile again, and it feels like a punch to his chest. “People talk. But you’re … normal. Almost sweet.”

Max doesn’t know whether to laugh or crawl into a hole. “Sweet,” he repeats, deadpan.

“Almost,” you tease, stepping back. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” he says, watching as you walk away, heels clicking against the floor.

It’s only when you’re out of sight that Max exhales, running a hand through his hair. His heart is pounding, his thoughts a mess.

Gemma reappears, smirking. “See? Not so bad.”

Max glares at her. “Shut up.”

***

The sun blazes high over Mykonos, the air thick with salt and the faint thrum of music from a nearby DJ booth. The exclusive beach club is buzzing with energy — groups of friends lounging on cushioned chairs, waiters ferrying trays of cocktails, and the occasional splash of laughter from the turquoise water.

Max leans back on his chair, sunglasses perched on his nose, a cold drink in hand. Lando’s perched on the chair next to him, scrolling through his phone, while Martin Garrix, their mutual friend and the reason they’re here, chats animatedly with someone by the bar.

“Tonight’s going to be wild,” Lando says, nudging Max’s arm. “Martin’s set at Cavo Paradiso? Epic. You ready?”

Max shrugs. “Sure. It’s just a party.”

“Just a party?” Lando scoffs. “It’s the party. You’re lucky to even get in.”

Max rolls his eyes, half-listening. The heat makes him drowsy, and the rhythmic sound of waves is almost enough to lull him into a nap. Almost — until something catches his eye.

A woman, her long limbs moving gracefully through the water, emerges onto the sand, droplets glinting like diamonds on her skin.

It’s you.

Max freezes, his drink hovering mid-air.

You walk toward a cluster of lounge chairs, your friends laughing and talking around you. One of them — a petite brunette — stands on her tiptoes, trying to reach a bathing suit cover-up that’s hanging from an umbrella. She jumps, stretching her arms, but the fabric remains just out of reach.

“Short girl problems,” Lando mutters, following Max’s gaze.

Max doesn’t respond. He’s too busy watching you stroll over, your laughter mingling with the sea breeze. You reach up without effort, your long fingers plucking the cover-up from the umbrella.

“Here,” you say, handing it to your friend, who thanks you with an exaggerated bow.

You laugh again, and Max feels a familiar heat creeping up his neck — and lower.

“Uh oh,” Lando says, his tone teasing.

“What?” Max snaps, glancing at him.

Lando’s eyes drop pointedly to Max’s swim briefs, where the outline of his very obvious arousal is already visible.

“Oh, man,” Lando says, grinning. “You’ve got a situation.”

“Shut up,” Max mutters, crossing his arms over his lap in a futile attempt to hide the problem.

But Lando’s not letting it go. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you actually — because of that?” He gestures toward you, who is now tying your hair back into a loose bun, oblivious to the chaos you’re causing.

“It’s not-” Max starts, but before he can finish, Martin strolls over, a fresh drink in hand.

“What’s going on?” Martin asks, looking between them.

“Max has a problem,” Lando says, his grin widening.

“What problem?”

“This one.” Lando points directly at Max’s lap.

Max’s jaw drops. “Lando!”

Martin looks down, then bursts out laughing. “Oh, no. Max, really?”

“Stop it,” Max hisses, his face burning. He adjusts his position, but it’s no use. The snug fit of his swim briefs makes everything painfully obvious.

Lando’s laughing so hard he nearly falls off his chair. “This is gold. I’m never letting you live this down.”

“Will you two shut up-”

“Problem solved,” Martin interrupts, his voice dropping into a mock-serious tone. “We’ll just get you a bigger towel. Or a cold shower. Or-”

He doesn’t get to finish because your voice cuts through the conversation like a knife.

“Is everything okay over here?”

Max’s stomach plummets.

You’re standing a few feet away, one hand on your hip, the other holding a glass of something bright and citrusy. Your impossibly long legs seem to stretch on forever, and the sunlight makes your skin glow.

Lando and Martin exchange a glance before dissolving into more laughter.

Max wants to die.

You tilt your head, your gaze dropping briefly — too briefly — to his lap. A slow, knowing smile spreads across your face.

“Is that a banana in your shorts,” you ask, your tone teasing, “or are you just excited to see me?”

Max’s mouth opens, then closes. His brain has officially checked out.

Lando is wheezing, clutching his sides. Martin’s not much better, his laughter loud enough to draw a few curious stares from nearby tables.

“I, uh-” Max stammers, every coherent thought fleeing his mind.

You take a step closer, setting your drink down on the table. “Relax,” you say, your voice low enough that only he can hear. “I’m just teasing.”

Max swallows hard, his gaze fixed on your face. You’re even more beautiful up close, and it’s doing nothing to help his situation.

“Uh … thanks?” He manages, the word coming out like a question.

You laugh softly, and the sound sends a shiver down his spine. “For what?”

“I don’t … I don’t know,” he admits, running a hand through his hair.

Your smile softens. “Don’t be so tense, Max. It’s a beach. Everyone’s here to relax.”

“Yeah. Right. Relax.” He shifts awkwardly, wishing he could sink into the sand and disappear.

You glance over at Lando and Martin, who are still trying — and failing — to stifle their laughter. “Are these your friends?”

“Unfortunately,” Max mutters, shooting them a glare.

“They’re fun,” you say, your tone neutral but your eyes sparkling with amusement.

“They’re idiots,” Max corrects.

You shrug, picking up your drink. “Sometimes idiots are the best company.”

“Not these two,” Max mutters under his breath, which only makes you laugh again.

“Well,” you say, taking a step back, “I’ll leave you to your … situation.” You give him one last lingering look before turning and sauntering back to your friends.

Max watches you go, his heart pounding in his chest.

Lando wipes tears from his eyes. “That was the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Shut up,” Max mutters, throwing a towel at him.

Martin grins. “You’ve got it bad, mate.”

Max groans, leaning back in his chair and covering his face with his hands. “I hate both of you.”

But even as they continue to tease him, he can’t stop glancing in your direction. And when you catch his eye and smile, he knows he’s in trouble.

***

Monaco bustles with its usual mix of tourists, luxury cars, and locals navigating narrow streets. Max walks along Rue Grimaldi, a paper bag from the pet store swinging at his side. Inside are bags of treats for Jimmy and Sassy, who are definitely more spoiled than they have any right being. He’s dressed low-key: a plain t-shirt, jeans, and sunglasses, blending into the crowd as much as someone like him can in a town where everyone knows his name.

The walk back to his apartment is uneventful — until it isn’t.

He sees you first out of the corner of his eye, a flash of long legs and vibrant fabric catching his attention. He stops in his tracks, his brain taking a moment to catch up.

You’re standing in front of a brightly painted wall, posing effortlessly as a photographer circles you, snapping shot after shot. A team of stylists, assistants, and what Max assumes is a creative director hover nearby, adjusting lights and offering directions.

It’s undeniably you.

Max exhales, staring like an idiot. Once is chance, twice is coincidence, but three times? That’s a pattern. And this time, he’s not letting the moment slip by.

He squares his shoulders, hyping himself up. You’ve won four world championships, he tells himself. You’ve faced wheel-to-wheel battles at 300 kilometers per hour. You can do this.

He takes a deep breath, straightens his posture, and marches toward the photoshoot.

The moment he steps into the circle of activity, the entire team freezes. The photographer lowers his camera, the stylists stop mid-conversation, and all eyes turn to him.

You look up, startled, and your gaze meets his.

“Hi,” Max says, suddenly acutely aware of how everyone is staring. His confidence wavers, but he pushes through. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

The photographer blinks. “Uh, we’re in the middle of a shoot-”

“It’s okay,” you say, holding up a hand to stop him. You step toward Max, your heels clicking softly against the pavement. “What’s up?”

Now that you’re standing in front of him, Max’s brain short-circuits. You’re even more striking up close, the sunlight catching on your skin, your outfit perfectly tailored to highlight every line of your frame.

“I, uh …” He glances around, suddenly aware of the audience. He clears his throat, his voice steadying. “I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight.”

You blink, surprised. “Dinner?”

“Yeah,” Max says quickly, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I mean, I’ve seen you a couple of times now, and I figured it’s not just … random, you know? So I thought — why not? Dinner. Tonight.”

You tilt your head, a slow smile spreading across your face. “You interrupted a photoshoot to ask me out?”

“Yes.” He hesitates, then adds, “Was that a bad idea?”

The creative director mutters something under his breath, and Max hears someone else stifle a laugh. He feels the tips of his ears burn, but he refuses to back down.

You glance back at your team, who are all watching with varying degrees of amusement and disbelief. Then you look at Max again, your smile softening.

“What time?” You ask.

Max blinks. “What?”

“What time should I be ready?”

“Oh.” Relief floods his face. “Uh, seven? I can pick you up at your hotel.”

You nod, clearly entertained by his flustered state. “I’m staying at the Hôtel de Paris. Does that work?”

“Perfect,” Max says quickly, ignoring the murmurs from your team.

“Great,” you say, stepping closer. You lean down slightly — because of course you’re taller than him — and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

When you pull back, there’s a faint smudge of lipstick on his skin. “See you at seven, Max,” you say, your voice teasing.

He nods, unable to form a coherent response. You turn back to your team, who are all pretending not to stare, and resume your pose in front of the camera.

Max walks away in a daze, the paper bag swinging at his side. He touches his cheek where your lips brushed, his mind replaying the moment over and over.

By the time he makes it back to his apartment, he’s smiling so widely that even the cats look suspicious.

***

Max pulls up to the Hôtel de Paris in his Aston Martin Valkyrie, the car’s sleek design gleaming under the soft glow of Monaco’s streetlights. He knows it’s over the top, but if there’s ever a time to make an impression, it’s now. The low hum of the engine draws a few curious glances from passersby, and Max shifts in his seat, checking the dashboard clock.

6:50 PM.

He’s early. Not by much, but enough to take a deep breath and give himself a mental pep talk.

“She said yes,” he mutters to himself, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “You can handle this. You’ve faced down Lewis Hamilton in a championship battle. This is dinner.”

At exactly 7:00 PM, the hotel doors glide open, and there you are.

Max’s hand freezes on the steering wheel as he watches you descend the steps. You’re wearing a sleek, floor-length dress that shimmers faintly in the light, paired with towering heels that make your legs seem impossibly long. Your hair is styled perfectly, and you move with the effortless grace of someone who knows how to command attention.

His throat dries. Wow.

By the time you reach the car, Max is already out of the driver’s seat, jogging around to meet you. “You look — wow.”

“Thank you,” you say, smiling warmly. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

Max glances down at his tailored suit, a rare choice for him outside of mandatory galas, and tugs at the collar. “Figured I should try.”

You laugh softly, and the sound sends a flutter through his chest.

He opens the passenger door and instinctively places his hand on the edge of the roof, subtly cushioning the space so you don’t bump your head as you fold into the car. The move is smooth, almost second nature, but he catches the slight lift of your brow and the amused curve of your lips as you settle in.

“Chivalry isn’t dead, I see,” you tease as he closes the door.

By the time he rounds the car and slips back into the driver’s seat, his ears are burning. “Figured I’d give it a shot tonight.”

The Valkyrie roars to life, and you glance around the car’s interior, visibly impressed. “This is … something.”

“Just a car,” Max says, trying to sound casual.

You shoot him a knowing look. “A very subtle one, I see.”

He chuckles, pulling out onto the road. “What can I say? Monaco brings it out of me.”

The drive is short, but Max is hyper-aware of every moment — your laughter as he navigates the narrow streets, the way your dress catches the light when you turn to look at him, and the soft sound of your voice as you ask him about his day.

When you arrive at Le Louis XV, one of Monaco’s most exclusive restaurants, Max pulls up to the valet. The grandeur of the restaurant is impossible to ignore, its gilded facade shimmering under the night sky.

“Wow,” you say, leaning slightly to take in the view. “You really went all out.”

“I figured you deserved more than takeout,” Max replies, his tone light but his heart racing.

He steps out, handing the keys to the valet, and once again circles the car to open your door. This time, he offers his hand to help you out, and when you take it, his palm is warm and steady.

“Thank you,” you say, your smile soft but genuine.

The moment you’re both standing, it’s impossible not to notice the height difference. Max isn’t short — he knows that — but next to you, especially in those heels, he feels positively average. For a split second, he wonders if it bothers you.

But then you loop your arm through his as the valet takes the car, and the thought dissolves.

The two of you walk toward the entrance, and Max is acutely aware of the growing crowd around you. Fans have gathered, some holding their phones up to record or snap pictures.

“Max! Max, over here!” Someone calls.

He doesn’t flinch, used to the attention, but when he glances at you, he notices your calm expression. If you’re fazed by the cameras or the whispers, you don’t show it.

“You get used to this?” You ask under your breath, tilting your head toward the crowd.

“Kind of,” he admits, keeping his pace steady. “Does it bother you?”

“Not really,” you say, your tone amused. “But I think they’re more interested in you than me.”

He glances at you, his gaze sweeping up to meet your eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

At the door, the maître d’ greets you warmly, escorting the two of you to a private table near the back of the restaurant. The room is elegantly decorated, the ambiance intimate yet luxurious. A soft glow from crystal chandeliers bathes the space in golden light, and the quiet hum of conversation adds to the atmosphere.

Max pulls out your chair before sitting across from you, trying not to overthink every movement.

“This place is beautiful,” you say, looking around.

“Glad you like it,” Max says, reaching for the menu. “The food is incredible.”

A sommelier approaches, recommending a bottle of wine, and the conversation flows naturally as the first course arrives.

“You’ve been here before?” You ask, raising a brow as you take a sip of wine.

“Once or twice,” Max admits. “Usually for team stuff. Not exactly a regular spot for me.”

“So this is a special occasion?”

He hesitates, meeting your gaze. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

The corners of your lips lift, and Max feels the tension in his chest ease slightly.

As the meal progresses, the conversation deepens. You ask him about racing, and he asks you about pageantry, genuinely curious about your career and the places it’s taken you.

“What’s the hardest part of it?” Max asks, leaning forward slightly.

“Probably the constant travel,” you say, swirling your wine. “It’s amazing to see the world, but it’s exhausting sometimes. You must get that, though.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “The travel’s a lot. But I guess it makes the quiet moments at home more meaningful.”

“Home is Monaco?”

“Mostly now. Though I spend more time at the track than anywhere else.”

You nod, studying him. “Do you ever wish you had more time to yourself?”

He thinks about it for a moment. “Sometimes. But I love what I do. It’s worth it.”

There’s a pause, comfortable and filled with mutual understanding.

“And you?” He asks, his voice softer. “Do you ever wish for something different?”

You smile, but there’s a hint of wistfulness in your expression. “Sometimes. But I think we all do, no matter how much we love what we have.”

Max nods, his gaze lingering on you.

By the time dessert arrives, the tension has completely melted away, replaced by an easy camaraderie. You tease him about his driving habits, and he counters with stories of other drivers’ antics.

As the evening winds down, Max finds himself reluctant for it to end. He can’t stop glancing at you, at the way you seem completely at ease, despite the crowd of fans still waiting outside.

When the check comes, Max reaches for it without hesitation.

“Chivalry again?” You ask, arching a brow.

He grins. “I’m on a roll tonight.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fine. I’ll allow it.”

Max leans back in his chair, his gaze fixed on you. “So, was it worth it?”

“Was what worth it?”

“Interrupting your photoshoot.”

You smile, resting your chin on your hand. “I think so. But I guess that depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’re planning to ask me out again.”

Max feels his chest tighten, his pulse quickening. “I was thinking about it,” he admits, his voice low.

“Good,” you say, your smile widening. “Because I’d say yes.”

***

The paddock buzzes with its usual pre-race energy: the hum of machinery, the chatter of teams, and the occasional roar of a nearby engine. But today, Max isn’t thinking about the upcoming race, his strategy, or even his car. No, today his focus is entirely on you.

You’re walking beside him, effortlessly chic in an AlphaTauri knit dress paired with stilettos that highlight your impossibly long legs. The team had sent you the gear ahead of time, but you’ve somehow managed to make it look runway-ready.

Max steals a glance at you as you navigate the chaos of the paddock with ease. You greet every camera pointed your way with a polite smile, and even the hardened mechanics pause to give you a second look. Max can’t help the small, smug grin tugging at his lips.

“Having fun?” He asks, leaning slightly toward you.

You look at him with a raised brow. “Are you asking me or the twenty people currently taking our picture?”

He laughs, brushing a hand over his face as if it could hide the grin. “Both, I guess.”

“Definitely more fun than the first time,” you tease. “I don’t think you’ve complained once today.”

“Because you’re here,” Max says simply, shrugging.

The honesty of his answer catches you off guard, and for a moment, you just look at him, your expression softening.

“Come on,” he says, clearing his throat and grabbing your hand. “I want you to meet some people.”

Max doesn’t miss the way heads turn as he guides you through the paddock, his hand securely wrapped around yours. He’s used to being the center of attention here, but today it’s different. The whispers and double takes aren’t about him — they’re about you. And if he’s honest, he loves it.

As they approach the Ferrari motorhome, Charles Leclerc steps out, chatting with one of his engineers. His conversation halts the second he spots you.

“Charles!” Max calls, waving him over.

Charles smiles, walking up to the two of you. “Hey, Max. And-” He pauses, his eyes drifting up as he takes in your height. His grin widens. “-and you must be the famous girlfriend.”

You laugh, offering your hand. “I suppose I must be.”

Charles takes your hand, shaking it warmly. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve been hearing about you nonstop.”

“Oh, really?” You ask, shooting Max a playful look. “Nonstop, huh?”

Max rolls his eyes. “Don’t start.”

Charles chuckles, his gaze flicking between the two of you. “I have to say, you’re even taller than I expected.”

“Thanks, I think?” You say, laughing.

Max grins, clearly enjoying the sight of Charles craning his neck to meet your gaze. For once, the usually confident Monegasque driver seems slightly flustered, and Max files the moment away as one of his new favorite memories.

As they part ways with Charles, you nudge Max gently with your elbow. “Are you introducing me to people just to see them react to my height?”

“Maybe,” he admits, his eyes sparkling. “It’s fun.”

You shake your head, laughing, but let him lead you further down the paddock.

Then, as you near the motorhome, you spot Yuki Tsunoda walking toward you, his petite frame standing out among the crowd.

“Yuki!” Max calls out, and Yuki looks up, his face breaking into a grin.

“Max!” Yuki replies, jogging over. His gaze shifts to you, and his steps slow slightly. “Oh, hi.”

“Yuki,” Max begins, his tone dripping with barely contained amusement. “This is my girlfriend.”

Yuki’s eyes widen as he looks up — way up — to meet your gaze. He blinks, his mouth slightly open, before glancing back at Max.

“She’s … tall,” Yuki says bluntly, his expression both amazed and confused.

You laugh, offering your hand. “Hi, I’m-”

“Yuki,” Max interrupts, clearly enjoying himself. “Why don’t you stand next to her for a second?”

Yuki looks at Max, then at you, and then back at Max. “Why?”

“Just humor me,” Max says, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

Yuki sighs but steps closer to you. The height difference is … staggering. Yuki barely reaches your shoulder, even without your heels, and when you smile down at him, he looks like he’s reconsidering every decision that brought him here.

Max takes one look at the two of you and doubles over laughing.

“Max!” You exclaim, though you’re laughing too.

“It’s not fair,” Yuki says, crossing his arms but grinning despite himself. “Why do you always have to make me look short?”

“You do that all by yourself, mate,” Max manages between laughs.

Yuki looks up at you again, shaking his head. “How do you put up with him?”

“It’s a challenge,” you say, your tone light.

Yuki snorts. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

Max steps back in, his grin still firmly in place. “Thanks, Yuki. That was everything I hoped for.”

Yuki rolls his eyes but can’t help grinning. “Yeah, yeah. You owe me for this.”

Eventually, the shorter driver waves goodbye and heads off, leaving you and Max to continue toward the motorhome.

“That was cruel,” you say, though you’re smiling.

“That was perfect,” Max corrects, his grin wide. “I’ve been waiting for that moment since the second I realized how tall you are.”

“You’re terrible,” you say, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

“Terribly lucky,” he replies, his voice softening slightly.

You glance at him, your expression shifting from amused to affectionate. “You really don’t mind the height difference, do you?”

Max stops walking and turns to face you, his expression serious. “Why would I mind? You’re gorgeous, and I love that people notice when we walk into a room. It’s like … I get to show you off, and they get to see what I already know — that you’re amazing.”

His honesty catches you off guard, and for a moment, you just stare at him, your heart swelling.

“Max,” you start, but he cuts you off with a shrug and a playful smile.

“Besides,” he says, leaning in slightly, “I think it’s hot.”

You burst out laughing, and Max joins in, his arm sliding around your waist as the two of you continue toward the motorhome, drawing every eye in the paddock.

***

Five Years Later

The hospital room is warm and quiet, save for the occasional soft coo of the newborn nestled against Max’s bare chest. The baby boy, barely a few hours old, rests peacefully, his tiny fists curled against Max’s skin. Max sits in a reclined chair, his head tilted back and eyes half-closed, utterly absorbed in the weight of his son and the moment itself.

In the bed next to him, you stir, your head turning toward the two of them. The exhaustion of labor still lingers in your features, but there’s a gentle smile on your lips as you take in the sight of Max cradling your son.

“Are you comfortable over there?” You ask, your voice soft but teasing.

Max’s eyes flicker open, and he glances at you with a faint grin. “More comfortable than you, I think,” he murmurs.

You chuckle lightly, wincing as you shift in the bed. “I don’t know. He looks pretty cozy to me.”

Max looks down at the baby, his expression softening. “He’s perfect.”

“He is,” you agree, your gaze lingering on the two of them.

The door creaks open suddenly, startling both of you. Max’s head snaps up, and his body stiffens when he sees who’s stepping into the room.

His father.

“Max,” Jos says, his voice gruff and clipped. He doesn’t wait for an invitation, stepping further into the room, his eyes scanning the scene.

“What are you doing here?” Max’s voice is low, measured, but there’s a sharp edge to it as he shifts in his chair, pulling his son closer.

“I came to see my grandson,” Jos replies curtly, his gaze settling on the baby. There’s no warmth in his tone, no trace of the pride or joy one might expect from a grandfather.

Max stands abruptly, careful not to jostle the baby. He moves toward the door, positioning himself between Jos and the rest of the room. “Now’s not a good time.”

Jos ignores him, his eyes narrowing as he takes a step closer. “Looks like he’s going to take after his mother,” Jos remarks, his tone disdainful. “With those long legs, he’ll be too tall for single-seaters. Not exactly ideal for racing, is it?”

The air in the room shifts instantly. Max’s jaw tightens, and a flicker of anger flashes across his face. His arms instinctively tighten around his son as if shielding him from the words.

“Get out,” Max says, his voice dangerously calm.

Jos scoffs, crossing his arms. “I’m just saying. If you’re hoping for another Verstappen on the track, you might want to manage your expectations.”

“Stop.” Max’s voice is sharper now, cutting through the tension. He glances at you, his expression softening briefly before returning to Jos. “I mean it. Get out.”

But Jos doesn’t move. “You know I’m right. Height matters in racing. You’ve seen it yourself. It’s not about love or coddling, Max. It’s about preparation, discipline-”

“Enough!” Max’s voice rises, and the baby stirs slightly in his arms. He immediately takes a deep breath, rocking gently to soothe the infant before continuing, his tone quieter but no less firm. “I won’t let you do this. Not to my kids.”

Jos raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “Do what?”

“Turn them into something they’re not,” Max says, his eyes blazing. “Make them feel like they’re only worth something if they win. If they race. If they’re … perfect.”

Jos frowns, but Max presses on.

“If either of my kids wants to race, I’ll give them every opportunity. I’ll teach them, support them, and make sure they have everything they need — whether they’re five feet tall or six and a half. But if they don’t want to race, if they want to do something completely different, that won’t make me love them any less.”

There’s a beat of silence, heavy and charged.

Max shifts his son in his arms, his voice softening but remaining resolute. “I’m not you, Dad. And I never will be.”

Jos’ mouth opens slightly as if to argue, but whatever words he was planning to say seem to falter. He looks at Max, at the baby, then back at Max, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something almost like understanding in his eyes.

Almost.

But Jos says nothing, his jaw tightening as he turns and walks out of the room without another word.

The door clicks shut behind him, and the tension dissipates like a released breath.

Max exhales shakily, lowering himself back into the chair. He looks at you, his eyes apologetic.

“Sorry about that,” he murmurs.

You shake your head, your voice soft but firm. “You don’t have to apologize. You did the right thing.”

He nods, looking down at his son, who has settled back into a peaceful sleep. “I just …” His voice catches, and he clears his throat. “I don’t ever want him — or her — to feel like they’re not enough. Not for me.”

You smile gently, reaching out to rest a hand on his arm. “They won’t. Not with you as their dad.”

Max’s lips quirk into a small, grateful smile. He leans down, pressing a tender kiss to the top of his son’s head. “He’s not going anywhere near a kart until he’s ready. If he even wants to.”

“Good,” you say, your tone teasing now. “Because I think Mariska has already claimed the first shot at it.”

Max laughs softly, shaking his head. “She’s three.”

“And already faster than you in her Little Tikes Cozy Coupe,” you counter, grinning.

Max chuckles. “She’s going to be trouble.”

“Good trouble,” you say.

He looks back at you, his expression softening again. “Yeah. The best kind.”

As the room settles into a calm silence once more, Max leans back in his chair, his son still resting against him, and he allows himself to soak in the moment — a moment of peace, love, and the quiet certainty that he’ll never repeat the mistakes of the past.

***

Seven Years Later

The karting track buzzes with energy — engines revving, parents-turned-mechanics making last-minute adjustments, and young drivers darting around in full racing gear. Among them is Mariska, standing tall in her dark blue suit with “Verstappen” emblazoned across the back. At ten years old, she’s already a striking presence, her confidence tempered by the nerves of a child shouldering a big name.

Max watches from the sidelines, his arms crossed, a proud but protective look on his face. He’s been here countless times before, both as a driver and as a father. He knows this world, knows the pressure and the teasing that can come with standing out. And Mariska, with her long limbs and sharp mind, stands out in every way.

You’re beside him, your hand brushing against his. “She’s got this,” you say softly, your eyes never leaving your daughter.

“She does,” Max agrees, though the tightness in his jaw betrays his worry.

The race begins, and Mariska takes off like a bullet. Her natural talent is undeniable, her lines clean and her determination fierce. But the other kids aren’t just racing her — they’re ganging up, cutting her off in corners, and one boy even leans too aggressively, nudging her kart as they pass.

Max tenses, his fingers curling into fists. “That little-”

“Max,” you warn gently, placing a calming hand on his arm.

“She’s fine,” you add, your voice steady. “She can handle them.”

And she does. On the next lap, Mariska out-brakes the boy who had bumped her, overtaking him with a sharp precision that leaves him scrambling. A few laps later, she claims third place, her kart crossing the finish line with a triumphant roar.

The moment the race ends, Max strides toward the pit lane, his eyes scanning for Mariska. He finds her climbing out of her kart, her helmet tucked under her arm. A group of boys stands nearby, whispering and snickering.

“You’re too tall for this,” one of them says loud enough for her to hear. “Shouldn’t you be playing basketball or something?”

Mariska freezes, her posture stiffening.

“Yeah,” another chimes in. “You’ll never fit in a real car anyway.”

Max’s jaw clenches, and he’s ready to storm over, but Mariska surprises him. She turns to the boys, her expression calm but fierce.

“At least I don’t need dirty tricks to keep up,” she says coolly, her voice steady.

The boys’ smirks falter, and they shuffle awkwardly before walking away, muttering under their breaths.

Max approaches, his heart swelling with pride. “Hey, Mari.”

She turns to him, her face still set in a determined line, but her eyes betray a flicker of uncertainty.

“You okay?” Max kneels down to her level, his hands resting on his knees.

“Yeah,” she says after a pause.

He tilts his head, studying her. “You sure? Because you were amazing out there. Third place is a big deal.”

Mariska shrugs, her gaze dropping to her helmet. “They’re just … they’re always saying stuff, you know? About how I’m too tall. That I’ll never fit in a car.”

Max’s heart aches at the vulnerability in her voice. He reaches out, gently lifting her chin so she looks at him.

“Do you think Mama is pretty?” He asks softly.

Mariska blinks, startled by the question. “What?”

“Mama,” Max repeats, his tone light but serious. “Do you think she’s pretty?”

Mariska’s face scrunches in confusion, but she nods. “Of course I do. Mama’s the prettiest girl in the world.”

Max smiles. “I think so too.”

Mariska tilts her head, still unsure where this is going.

“You know,” Max continues, “you got your height from Mama. And she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. So, what does that make you?”

Mariska stares at him, her brows furrowing. “I don’t know.”

Max leans closer, his voice steady and full of warmth. “It makes you beautiful too, Mari. You’re tall because you’re strong, and you’re special, just like Mama. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel small because of that.”

Mariska’s lips tremble slightly, and she nods, a small smile breaking through.

“And for the record,” Max adds, a mischievous glint in his eye, “if you keep driving like that, those boys are going to have a lot more to say. But it won’t be about your height — it’ll be about how you’re faster than all of them.”

Mariska giggles, her confidence returning. “I was faster than them, wasn’t I?”

“You were,” Max says, his pride unmistakable.

You walk over then, crouching down beside them. “What’s going on here?”

“Papa says I’m beautiful like you,” Mariska says, her voice filled with a newfound certainty.

You smile, your hand brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “That’s because you are, schatje.”

Max watches the two of you, his heart full as he pulls Mariska into a hug.

“Now,” he says, pulling back with a grin, “what do you say we go celebrate? Ice cream from that little place down the road.”

Mariska cheers, her earlier doubts forgotten, and the three of you walk off together, leaving the track and its pettiness behind.

Max knows there will be more challenges ahead — more races, more comments, more moments of doubt. But he also knows his daughter is strong, just like her mother. And with a family like yours, there’s nothing she can’t face.

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daisymooonart · 4 months ago

Text

May my Emperor live ten thousand years!

An (un)official painting of the Emperor and Empress of Huaxia. I would absolutely bow for Wu Zetian. Maybe not Qin Zheng, but he is hot and communist so I am tempted.

This took me around 15-20 hours to make and it was so worth it <3

Details under the cut!

First off: the faces.

Because of how obscured it was going to be, I wanted to get a good sense of what Zetian would look like before the makeup and the mask. I tried to give her a kind of average appearance, because I wanted to try and make her look like a normal person under all of that Empress garb (she's only 18... she should have been at the clurbbb). Her face is purposefully a little asymmetrical.

For makeup, I went for the blush-that-makes-you-look-drunk look that was apparently fashionable among Tang ladies. Her lips and yedian are pretty standard. I saved the xiehong on the wrong layer like a clown 😭 but it's still visible under the mask. Not entirely sure if her huadian would be accurate, but it's the one on the painting of Empress Wu that I see most often.

Would Qin Zheng have a stroke if he saw Zetian hang out with men wearing this mask? Absolutely. Am I Qin Zheng? Nope I'm an artist who spent wayyyyy too long drawing Zetian's face and didn't want to cover it up fully. Her haircomb is in the shape of an upside-down butterfly. The sharp bit on the collar is inspired by a shirt I saw in the Hunger Games once, it's a style that's supposed to force you into keeping good posture. I hc that Qin Zheng included it to piss her off, and it's definitely working...

Now for Qin Zheng's face. I tried to go for a simple, smooth-wing look. I never really envisioned him as twink-y when I read the book and tried to go for a hot-and-scary-man look whilst keeping it a little bit androgynous. He'd never ever have his hair down for a formal painting but I want to separate his face from the rest of the piece. His eye is weaker on his scarred side. He looks a little feverish and a little bit infuriated: he is probably wondering why the hell he needs to be painted when photographs now exist.

It's a very busy painting and I fully expect people to gloss over this, so here's a little zoom on Qin Zheng gripping Zetian's armour. He's a freak.

Now for the throne. I tried to do a dragon/phoenix piece but it didn't show very well in the actual painting, so here it is. You can really tell how much I love scribble art lol.

And here's the base of the throne, with two dragons to keep our lovely tyrants company

I opted for a double-seated throne because I accidentally drew them too close together and couldn't move them because of the layers because feminism <3

Now for clothing. I noticed that on the HT cover, Zetian has a white gem whilst Qin Zheng has a black gem, but the clothes underneath are the opposite colours. I made the details on Qin Zheng's armour white and Zetian's details black, but Qin Zheng's armour ends up being darker whilst Zetian's armour is a lot paler. Symbolism... or something... Also they both get a heart because its cute, like a friendship bracelet.

I really can't draw scales though so erm. Yeah.

If you notice any er,,,, imagery in their lower robes it was unintentional I swear

Even though Qin Zheng is very much the taller, dominant figure in the piece, I tried to actually put the focus on Zetian, by making her armour a different shade of gold to the throne and by keeping her closer to the centre. I don't know if it worked but my eyes think so. I think out of the entire piece though, Zetian took me the longest because I hadn't settled on what look I was trying to go for her. I redrew her armour about five times, but thankfully by the time it was done I had pretty much solidified where I was going with Qin Zheng's armour and I finished that in no time.

Again I absolutely loved making this painting, it was SO worth it. It might me my most detailed ever. I adore Heavenly Tyrant so so so much it might actually be my favourite book ever lol.

#daisymooon.art #there is no dragon flag in ba sing se #heavenly tyrant #iron widow #wu zetian #qin zheng #xiran jay zhao #digital art #art #fanart #drawn on krita #krita #digital fanart #bookblr #book fanart #qintian #1k

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lcvemiyuki · 1 year ago

Text

“when they get jealous” | hq

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓊝 ࿐𓂃𓂃𓂃

content: haikyuu boys x reader, when they get jealous over someone else

warnings: disgustingly cute, ushijima x reader + oikawa x reader are established relationships, fem!reader

characters: kageyama, oikawa, ushijima

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Tobio Kageyama

'his pettiness would slip out unintentionally'

You and Kageyama often helped each other with studying, so it wasn’t surprising to find the two of you in a coffee shop with notebooks laid out on the wooden table. Kageyama was focused on his work, his brows furrowed in concentration as he scribbled notes in his notebook. You had given him your neat and organized notes to copy down since the ones he took were the complete opposite.

He was having a good time until this guy, claiming to know you, approached the table. While Kageyama isn't the most socially astute, he couldn't miss the way this guy’s hand occasionally grazed yours or the overly familiar tone in his voice. Every laugh and lingering touch made Kageyama's jaw tighter, his pen digging harder into the paper.

You clearly looked uncomfortable with his pursuits, attempting to let the guy down nicely with an awkward laugh here and there.

“So, I was thinking we should hang out sometime—” The man’s flirtatious invitation was abruptly cut off by a loud, deliberate slurping noise coming from across the table.

You turned to see Kageyama, still focused on his work, but now obnoxiously trying to suck up the last remnants of his coffee from the glass cup. The sound was grating, loud enough to draw annoyed glances from nearby customers.

Each time the guy tried to speak again, the slurping noise grew louder and more exaggerated, making the man visibly frustrated.

“Do you have a problem, man?” he angrily spat, now glaring at the nonchalant guy across from you.

Kageyama took his time to calmly put down his empty glass, his fingers lingering on the rim momentarily before he shifted his gaze to the intruder. His eyes, usually so focused and intense, now burned with an unmistakable, cold irritation.

“I don’t know, do you?” Kageyama’s voice was flat and unyielding, his stare piercing through the man.

You could feel the tension in the air, the intensity of his harsh and cold eyes making the man shift uncomfortably.

“Because she hasn’t said yes to a single thing you’ve said since you got here,” Kageyama continued, his tone blunt and unforgiving. “So I suggest you leave.”

The man hesitated, clearly taken aback by Kageyama’s directness and the unspoken threat in his eyes. Without another word, he turned and walked away, mumbling something under his breath.

Once the guy was out of earshot, you turned back to Kageyama, who was already picking up his pen and resuming his work as if nothing had happened. A small, amused smile tugged at your lips.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” you said softly, a hint of gratitude in your voice.

Kageyama glanced up, his expression softening slightly as he looked at you. “I didn’t like how he was talking to you. It made me uncomfortable.”

You reached across the table, gently placing your hand over his. “Thanks, Tobio. I seriously mean it.”

A faint blush tinted his cheeks as he nodded in response, trying to focus back on his notes.

But, he simply couldn't as his attention kept drifting back to you.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

Tooru Oikawa

'he'd try to one-up the person with blatant rudeness'

Oikawa loves spending time with you. When a festival was happening in your hometown, it was a given that he’d go with you. The vibrant atmosphere, the colorful stalls, and the joyful crowd made it a perfect date. He left you alone for a split second to buy some takoyaki.

When he returned, he saw you stopped in the middle of the crowd, awkwardly laughing with some other guy. His smile faltered slightly, a hint of annoyance flickering in his eyes. He playfully nudged your shoulder, interjecting himself into the conversation and cutting off whatever unfunny joke the guy was telling you.

“Hey, sorry for the wait,” Oikawa said, snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him. His smile was charming as always, but his eyes held a sharp glint as he did a quick look up and down at the guy.

“Wow! Y/N, I didn’t know you snagged a boyfriend while you were away!” the guy laughed with a strain.

Oikawa didn’t miss the way this guy’s gaze shifted slightly, revealing a brief flicker of distaste towards him. His own smile turned to a sneer at the sight of it.

‘Huh, this little prick,’ Oikawa thought, recognizing him as the classmate who had a crush on you in high school. That memory only fueled his irritation, making him want to pull you away from this conversation even more.

As each second passed, the more Oikawa showed how much he didn't like this guy. “Wow, it sounds like you had a great time in high school. But I’m sure nothing beats the fun we have now, right, love?” He directed an innocent smile at you, but you could feel the air thickening with intensity.

Turning back to the guy, Oikawa continued, “It’s so cute how you still remember those high school days. I guess some people never move on from their glory years.”

Your eyes widen at the jab and side-eye your smiley, 'I didn't do anything wrong' boyfriend next to you. You didn't know if you wanted to laugh or pinch him for making this even more awkward than it is.

You curtly said goodbye to your classmate, not wanting to drag this out any longer. Without waiting for a response, you grabbed Oikawa’s hand and dragged him away.

Oikawa's disdain towards your friend was clear, his expression contorted with thinly veiled annoyance. He stuck out his tongue in a childish display of disapproval, causing the classmate to stand there, taken aback, and scoff in response.

As you both silently walked beside each other, Oikawa’s demeanor softened, realizing he might've overdone it a tad with this one. “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, his voice gentle and sincere. He squeezed your hand, looking at you with an apologetic look.

“No, I'm sorry,” you sighed, glancing up at him. “I should've told him I had to go right when he approached me and look for you. Instead, we were put into an awkward situation."

Oikawa frowned slightly. "You don’t have to apologize. I just—I didn’t like the way he was looking at you."

You stopped and turned to face him, placing your hands on your hips. "Tooru, you need to stop being so childish. Sticking your tongue out? Really?"

His eyes widened in surprise. "You saw that?"

You raised an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and exasperation on your face. "Of course I saw that. You think I wouldn't notice?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Okay, okay, I admit that might've been a bit much."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips. "A bit much? Try a lot. You can’t keep doing that."

His pout returned. "But he was—"

"No buts," you interrupted, playfully poking his chest. "I can handle myself, alright? And you definitely don't have to worry about any other guy. You're the only one I want."

His eyes sparkled at your reassurance, his smile widening. "You know, there's no one else I'd rather have but you~" he playfully coos back, earning a soft slap to the chest from you.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

Wakatoshi Ushijima

'he barely gets jealous, but when he does, his reserved demeanor slips with subtle signals'

You frequently showed up to Ushijima’s practices to support him, admiring his dedication and skill. Today was no different, but what you didn’t know was that there was a new player on the team. He was quite charming and flirtatious, so when he saw you, he couldn’t help but make a move.

“Hey sweetheart, are you lost?” the new player approached you, his hair matted with sweat and a cocky grin on his face.

“Oh no. I’m Y/N, Ushijima’s—” you started to explain, but he cut you off.

“Fan?” he guessed, leaning closer.

“Um, no—” you tried again.

“Sister?” he interrupted, his eyes scanning you with obvious interest.

Before you could speak again, a deep, familiar voice cut through the conversation, “She’s my girlfriend.”

Ushijima’s imposing presence seemed to cast a shadow over the new player as he gently placed his hand on your shoulder, his touch light yet protective. You felt a slightly sweaty chest lightly press against your back, sending a shiver up your spine. His olive eyes, usually calm and composed, held a steely intensity as he assessed the situation.

“Is everything alright, Y/N?” Ushijima asked, his voice steady but carrying an underlying edge.

You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and warmth at his presence. “Yes, everything’s fine.”

The new player, clearly taken aback, tried to recover his composure. “I didn’t know, man. Just thought she was lost or something.”

Ushijima’s gaze didn’t waver, and his grip on your shoulder tightened ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. “She’s here to support me, as always. I’d appreciate it if you respected that.”

The new player nodded, mumbling a quick apology before retreating to the court. As he walked away, you could feel the tension slowly dissipate from Ushijima’s body, but his eyes remained on the player for a moment longer, his gaze eyeing him like a hawk. Ushijima never shows his emotions normally, but seeing you flustered and a bit uncomfortable by someone else had his jaw set tighter than usual.

Turning back to you, Ushijima’s expression turned non-rigid once more. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” The lines of tension in his face smoothed once he met your gaze.

You smiled up at him, the warmth of your hand over his on your shoulder conveying a silent understanding. You plant a light peck on his hand, a gentle affirmation of your gratitude. “It’s okay, Toshi," you whispered softly, your voice carrying a soothing tone. "You should go back to practice."

He nodded, his lips curling into a rare, small smile. “Just let me know if anyone bothers you.”

You leaned into him, feeling the solid reassurance of his presence. “I will. Thank you.”

As the practice continued, he kept a close eye on the new player, making sure there were no further incidents.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

want more?

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theorphicangel · 5 months ago

Text

𝐃𝐞𝐛í 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐫 𝐦á𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐯𝐞

pairing : sukuna x gn!reader

word count: 2.5k

a/n: no synopsis because i feel like the title speaks for itself, enjoy.

tags: @sterzin @strachomir @moonlitwitchdaisy @baepsays

cw: angst, angst and more angst, ex bf! sukuna hates himself and self sabotages himself, modern au, sukuna is jin's twin brother and yuji's uncle, unckuna stans rise!!!!

Sukuna should have taken more photos of you.

It’s a realisation that hits him when he’s scrolling through his feed, watching everyone and their fucking mother share the best moments from the past year. He grimaces to himself, evaluating over the past year and deciding it was completely shit.

Nonetheless, he would never do some sentimental shit like that. It’s not his character and never will be.

But instead, he wishes he had more photos of you. Not for others to see, only him. And maybe for his nephew Yuji when he asks.

He won’t shut up about you everytime Sukuna visits and it takes everything within Sukuna to not break down right there and then. Instead he goes to take a breather, ignoring the heavy drop in his stomach at the mention of your name.

But Jin can tell he’s not doing well just by Sukuna’s frown and fidgeting hands. He overhears Sukuna telling Yuji an excuse about how busy you are. Last week was the excuse that you were out of town visiting your parents in the south. Now, he wonders how creative his excuse will be next week. Maybe you’re in another country entirely.

No. Sukuna wouldn’t wish that. Ever.

‘You do realise you’ll have to tell him someday?’ Jin murmurs. The kitchen is quiet, safe for the metal cutlery Sukuna is putting away whilst his brother cleans up. His hands are soapy and the water swishes side to side in the sink, threatening to spill but Jin never lets it happen.

The dimmed lighting and the past scent of dinner remains, creating a soft glow over the Itadori brothers. Yuji’s already tucked into bed, an early bedtime for school tomorrow and Sukuna promised to drop him off the next morning. But this current moment is slow and private — one of the rare times where Sukuna doesn’t have to put on an act for Yuji and pretend nothing has happened.

Sukuna hates his twin brother for many things like having shit taste in ice cream flavour but if he had to pick one thing, and one thing only to be mad about, it would be the fact that he knows him so well.

(too well.)

Jin’s ability to read his mind without a word ever having to leave Sukuna’s mouth has existed since they were kids.

Some might say it’s twin telepathy but Sukuna doesn’t believe in that shit. There was this one instance where a kid had pushed over another kid in the playground, leaving the boy to cry away in the corner, too afraid to tell the teachers who had done it. Nothing needed to be said but Jin had a suspicious feeling as to who was responsible.

‘You pushed him over Sukuna I know you did.’

‘You didn’t see me!’

‘But I can tell, by your face.’

Sukuna’s face frowns heavily, chubby cheeks turning red. He doesn’t reply.

‘Own up to it, it’s the right thing to do.’ Jin murmurs. He isn’t angry but his voice is soft, which further frustrates Sukuna. He knows Jin never gets angry, no matter what. Even when he broke his favourite toy the other day.

‘I didn’t do it.’

‘I know you did. You can’t lie to me.’

‘Or what?’ sukuna spat.

‘Or I tell everyone you still wet the bed at the age of six and you know they’ll believe me because you’re my brother.’

Brother.

Sukuna growls under his breath, kicking the gravel of the playground. Some kind of brother if you threaten your own twin by humiliation. To say the least Sukuna got his punishment: a letter written home to his dad and he was grounded for a week.

Even now in the small kitchen where Yuji’s drawings hang on the fridge Sukuna feels the pressure from his twin. Jin’s always been the mature one out of the two. He always knows what to say, the right things to say in fact, which is what scares Sukuna the most.

The atmosphere is still calm and quiet, so much so Sukuna can hear his own heartbeat in his ears, waiting for the words to leave from his brother’s lips. Another pause lingers over them, Sukuna now moving on to dry the plates before Jin finally speaks.

‘You have to tell him.’

There it is.

Sukuna lets out a deep hum immediately knowing that he’s referring to Yuji. Jin lets out a sigh before continuing. He rinses off his soapy hands before drying them with a cloth.

‘You’ll run out of excuses one day and you will have to explain that they left. Not necessarily why, but let him know that…it’s the least you can do.’

Sukuna doesn’t look up, suddenly intrigued by drying the plates. They gleam under the light with the soap washing dish fragrant lingering on the fine china.

Sukuna doesn’t speak for the next two minutes, letting his mind ponder over what to say next. Again, it’s the privacy and comfort of his brother’s home that allows Sukuna to be vulnerable. Within these four walls, no one else but Jin can see the true character of Sukuna. Outside of these walls, you were close to figuring him out too.

‘I don’t wanna hurt him.’ Sukuna’s voice is soft, barely echoing within the walls of the kitchen. For the first time in what seems like forever, Sukuna’s soul is left bare and vulnerable. He feels pathetic and he knows he’s kidding himself by making up excuses to Yuji. Perhaps it’s denial that you’ve left or the childish belief that if he keeps telling these lies then one of these days you will actually come back and prove him wrong.

(you always did.)

‘You’re hurting him by not telling him.’ Jin speaks. There’s caution in his voice despite the softness. ‘The more you keep it away from him the more he’ll catch on. Yuji’s a smart kid, he’ll figure it out one way or another but he won’t necessarily catch onto the whole truth.’

‘What do you mean?’ Sukuna croaks. He finally looks at his brother, his stomach churning with anxiety as Jin’s words digest in his head.

‘I mean, if you don’t tell him the truth, Yuji will think that maybe they don’t want to see him anymore and that will hurt him more than your excuses.’

Sukuna’s shoulders drop. Once again, his brother was right.

Jin’s words from their childhood rings in Sukuna’s mind. ‘It’s the right thing to do.’

He wants it all to stop. To take back time and reverse it, to reset everything that he’s done. All he seems to do is hurt people. First you and now Yuji, all his life he seems to cause nothing but pain; nothing he seems to do is right.

‘You need to tell him Sukuna. Tomorrow.’ Jin warns, his glasses resting against the bridge of his nose. ‘It’ll break him by not telling him and it breaks you even more by keeping the truth from him. I can see it in your eyes everytime their name is mentioned, you might not think anyone notices but I do… and Yuji will realise it too one day.’

Sukuna says nothing more, hoping that the silence suddenly awakens and swallows him up whole. He continues to hope this as he finishes tidying away the dishes and it follows him as he slips on his shoes and leaves Jin’s house, the overwhelming sense of dread becoming his personal shadow in the winter cold on the way back to his own apartment.

It fills every waking moment of his mind even as he lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling unable to sleep with Jin’s words echoing in his head. As a distraction he picks his phone up from the bedside table, heading straight to his photos app.

There it is.

The album is titled with your name. It’s a whole collection of you. And only you. If he was ever in the photos he’d make sure to crop himself out, making you the highlight.

He finds the first photo, right at the top of his camera roll. You had taken the photo accidentally when he gave you his phone to exchange numbers.

The first time he met you. You were evidently nervous and barely able to make eye contact with a guy like him. Sukuna admits his persona is scary to those who don’t know him as well viewing his resting face as frustration or anger. You grew to learn that it was just him simply being…him. He scrolls.

The first date he ever took you on. yeah, it wasn’t the best restaurant in the whole city but the dessert you ate that night soon became your all time favourite. Sukuna hasn’t been able to eat there again since you left him. He scrolls.

The first time you had argued. It was petty, the reasoning behind that disagreement was something that he can’t even remember. It was miniscule but nonetheless he had snapped at you and you regressed, giving him nothing but silence in return. Since then you made clear boundaries with him and he didn’t raise his voice at you again. The photo is blurry, accidentally taken but your face can still be seen. You’re upset and he doesn’t like that but it’s a reminder for him to do better. Or at least it was. This would be just one of the many times that he’s made you feel that way. He scrolls.

There’s more as he scrolls. The two of you at an arcade… you in his car on a late night drive…the two of you getting drunk on your couch like losers… you cooking for him when he was ill… and Sukuna hesitates on a specific photo of and a pic of you and yuji. From the first day that you met him and Jin. You held a book in your lap with Yuji by your side, Sukuna kept smirking on how Yuji kept looking at you rather than the story.

He continues to scroll.

Your first time at the beach together. The way his eyes kept glancing at you in your swimwear, a light blush appearing across his cheeks. There’s multiple photos from that day: ones where the sun highlights your smile, making your skin glow. There’s more ones where you’re not looking deeply invested in building the perfect sandcastle. Photos of you getting ice cream on your nose, sand all over your hands with sun kissed lips. Lips that he kissed again.

The first time you slept over, your body next to his. Your eyes are closed, mouth agape as you snore away on his chest. He remembers that night more vividly than any other night, the way that your soft body fits perfectly against his own. Sukuna never thought he’d let anyone within his proximity let alone sleep on his chest. The next morning he remembers you having marks on your cheeks, evidence that you had a good night’s sleep. Sukuna also remembers sleeping really well that night, for the first time in forever.

Sukuna also took a video of you sleeping, originally taken just to make fun of your snoring. You begged him to delete it but the video of that is still on his phone, along with the hundreds of photos of you in his camera roll that he hasn’t bothered to delete. Yet. ( or ever)

He should have taken more photos of you.

But even more than that, he should have kissed you and hugged you more. Sure Sukuna wasn’t the pda type but even so, you shouldn’t have to beg for his attention or private affection. There were times he pulled away or hesitated on showing you any type of physical affection. He hesitated with those three little words, he was terrible at picking out gifts and he sometimes forgot to reply to your texts and calls but he still tried.

It was a conflicting issue. You tried to get him to open up and be comfortable with you, taking small steps with him. And over time you were close, so, so, so close to witnessing that vulnerable side of him…until he pushed you away. Like he does with everyone else in his life when he feels scared. When he feels out of control. You were affecting him in ways he couldn’t explain. If he wasn’t with you then he was constantly thinking of you; anxiety taking over his body at the thought of messing up or making you upset. Things were good. Too good to be true or to last long enough for Sukuna.

Something was inevitably going to go wrong.

Sukuna just made it happen prematurely.

Sukuna ends up scrolling to the last photo he ever took of you. He thinks about the last night that you stayed over and the last photo he ever took of you. Right before everything went to shit and he pushed you away. It was a quiet night in, he had you laid across his chest with your favourite show playing in the background, he doesn’t ever remember you finishing the episode. You fell asleep halfway through, breaking your promise in finishing the second season.

Sukuna studies you, eyes squinting. You snore lightly on his chest, your lips parted. Your face was peaceful and the happiest he’d ever seen you despite being asleep.

What kind of person did that make him? Taking that happiness away from you? He was meant to grow old with you for fuck’s sake. You were the only person he had pictured by his side in the future, save for Jin and Yuji of course. This was so foreign to Sukuna like he was a tourist to his own feelings, unable to comprehend what was happening. And because of that he got scared and fucked it up. Like a coward.

(That was one of the words you spat at him. He couldn’t be mad at you because it was true.)

Glancing at you in his arms, he positions the phone by your face, careful not to awaken you as he takes a picture. ‘Cute’ he thinks, ‘so fucking cute.’ His chest fills with a warmth that only you have made familiar to him. But almost immediately, the fear returns again.

How long until his life begins to fall apart again? Before he fucks up again or before the universe decides to take you away from him? That anticipation wasn’t something that he could live with. It’s selfish but he can’t do it. Everything seems to be too good, life suddenly treating him well. But does he deserve it? Does he deserve you? He keeps his thoughts to himself, instead taking the next two days to distance himself from you which makes things worse, sparking an argument where he says things he won’t be able to take back.

Now he lays alone.

Made to rest with regrets he’ll have for the rest of his life. He reaches the end of the album, the last photo being you sleeping on his chest. He only took one. Never the sentimental type he told himself but now he thinks those are the photos he’ll look back on when he’s old and alone, drowning in his vast sea of regret. (Maybe he’ll turn out like his dad after all.)

Yeah….

Sukuna should have taken more photos of you.

thank you so much for reading! comments and reblogs are much appreciated <333

#angel writes #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna jjk #sukuna x reader fluff #jjk sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader angst #jjk angst #jjk fic #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu sukuna #jujutsu kaisen imagines #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you

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whatsverstappeningnow · 9 days ago

Text

don’t take it off

max verstappen x reader

He’s still got champagne in his hair. You’ve got his team logo stretched across your chest, his name plastered across your back. You both know the post-race celebration hasn’t ended on the podium...

-> content warning: smut (18+ content), oral sex (m receiving), unprotected pentrative sex (not advised!), slight hair pulling, you get the vibes... you are in charge of your own content consumption, not me!

“Give me a twirl, lieverd,” Max says in a low tone, leaning back against the couch. One hand holding a half-finished glass of gin and tonic, the other resting on the top of his right thigh. His legs are parted slightly, giving him an air of ease and relaxation that seems so far removed from the adrenaline of the race he’d won barely 2 hours ago.

And not from pole, either. It wasn’t a win from a clear, dominant lead like so many races you’d watched before. He’d clawed his way up from the midfield after an unexpected penalty. He was angry when he got in the car, an air of tension hung around him like a storm cloud, and you knew what that meant. Max always won angry, it was like a middle finger to the crowds of reporters who punched him down over and over again for aggressive driving.

Through a sea of chaos, wheel-to-wheel battles, and a strangely perfect pit wall strategy—he won. With a scream of joy and a subtle laugh through your headset, he won.

You’d barely breathed through the final laps; hands fidgeting and unable to calm themselves, nerves coiled tightly in your chest and breath caught in your throat, until the very second checkered flag dropped and he crossed the final line. Max’s name flashed across the screen screaming his position to the world, P1, and only then could you finally breathe again. You shouldn’t have doubted him.

Even now, back in your shared hotel room, with the window open to let in a brush of cool nighttime breeze, the air still hums with the echoes of your screams. The afterglow of tension and triumph hangs heavily over the two of you.

Any race where he gets to remind the world that it’s not just the car, it’s him, his instinct, his raw talent, is a good day. A smirk hasn’t left his face since the podium. And you know what that smile means. His hair is still mussed and messy from his helmet, even though it’s long since been discarded.

There’s a faint glow of sweat still lingering on his neck and forehead, or maybe it's champagne, and a gleam in his eyes that only winning—earning a win—can bring. He looks good, and he knows it.

But despite the power in his posture, the cheeky glint in his eye that tells you trouble is coming, his voice is soft, playful. The kind of tone he reserves just for you.

“C’mon, lieverd, I want to see you. All of you,” he teases again, eyes dragging up your entire body, resting on the curve of your hips and the dip of your neck for a moment as he does. But most of all, his gaze lingers on the clothes you're wearing. Your skirt is short, yes, but that's not what causes his breath to catch and his eyes to bore into your skin. No.

It’s his number across your chest, his name stretched across the top of your back. You're wearing his merch. His.

You slowly turn in place just like he asked, hands tracing mesmerizingly down your sides, drawing his eyes to the place where skirt meets skin, as you do. It’s exaggeratedly slow and careful, deliberately playful. You know he wants more, but it's fun to pretend you don’t, to tease him enough till he breaks and tells you exactly what it is he needs.

But Max just watches your movement with a lazy hunger, licking his lips absentmindedly as his gaze lingers and travels wherever he wants it to go. When you turn around, showing off his name spread across your back and the way your skirt just barely covers the curve of your ass, you can hear him adjust his posture, pushing his thighs just slightly further apart to accommodate all that you're making him feel.

The thought of it makes your stomach tighten and your knees threaten to give out, but you simply breathe deeply and let yourself smirk as you turn to face him again. Knowing you can make him feel like this while still fully clothed is as much an ego boost to you as seeing you wear his merch is for him.

He takes another slow sip of his drink, meeting your eyes in a heated gaze, like he’s in no rush at all. Like he’s content to just sit there all night and enjoy the show.

You watch as his free hand glides from where it rests on his thigh up to the waist of his trousers, settling on his belt buckle. Without breaking eye contact, or placing down his class, he begins to slowly undo it—uncurling the leather from its hold and slowly pulling it free with one hand. Your eyes stay transfixed on the movement, practised and confident, as the air seems to thicken around you, suffocating you in a familiar heat. The rest of the world falls away as with an echoing thud, the belt drops to the floor.

You swallow hard.

Max tips his head back and downs the last few drops of his drink, and discards the cup on a glass side table. All his distractions are gone now, the race is done, won in a rush of adrenaline and skill, his belt has been removed, his drink finished—there is nothing left to focus on but you.

“Tell me what you want.”

His voice seems to echo around the room, though you can’t be sure that it's not just your mind playing tricks on you, so transfixed to the moment even reality has begun to warp.

“You,” you reply softly, your words feeling too loud for the quiet room

“Oh, love, you’re going to have to be more specific than that. C’mon, tell me what you need. Hm?”

His words are followed by a tilting of his head, and his tone reveals a hint of teasing in his voice that you know is just for show. You both love to play this game, pretending you don’t know exactly what the other wants. What they need to feel good. Teasing with the possibilities, the oeuvre of desires, you both know intimately well.

Max could tell you what to do, he has before. But tonight he finds his pleasure in watching you scramble to decide. But the truth is, you know exactly what you want. And you’ve known it from the second his car drove passed the checked flag. Max may think he’s in control, casual and commanding the situation with a flick of his wrist, but he forgets—you know how to play this game too.

In place of a response, finding your words to be failing you and all the thoughts spinning around in your head, you simply begin to walk towards him.

As you stalk closer, he seems to lean back against the cushions on instinct, opening up the space on his lap you love to claim as your own. But that would come later, you had other plans first.

Matching his unwavering gaze, your eyes never leaving his, you sink to your knees at his feet.

Tracing your hands slowly from his knees up the inside of his thigh, you ask in a mock innocent tone, “Can I?”

His eyes widen just a fraction before scrunching closed, tilting his head back, he sighs with a low groan, “Fuck.”

The sound leaves you pleased but unsatisfied.

“Please?” you add, just to tease him. Your hands glide precariously higher, settling lightly on his zipper but moving no further. You stop, dead still, and wait.

Finally, Max drags his gaze to you again, his palm coming to rest on your cheek. Fingertips trace your jawline, as if memorising each curve and freckle with his touch. The other lands on your hand, still resting motionlessly on his zipper.

With a gentle touch, he drags your hand lower and presses your touch closer to him. Beneath your hand, you can feel his cock struggling against the hard fabric of his pants, begging to be released. From that small touch alone you hear him release a breath of relief—he’s painfully hard. He has been since the second you walked out in his merch, dangerously sporting his name and number like a sign of devotion. A sign of desire.

“Whatever you want,” he answers slowly, both hands retracting suddenly and resting against the back of the couch. His gaze turns cocky again, playful. With a teasing tone, he continues:

“What are you waiting for, hm? I won. Where’s my reward?”

Spurred on by his words, a matching smirk crosses your face. Swiftly, you unclasp the button of his trousers, then let your hand retract. You lean your head closer and closer to the growing bulge in his pants, licking your lowly lip slightly as you do so. Max’s eyes flicker down to your tongue’s movement, entranced.

You grasp his zipper between your teeth and, without breaking eye contact, slowly pull it down.

Max’s eyes darker, his lips parting slightly at the sight of you on your knees, freeing him with just your mouth. The scent of champagne and sweat is thick around you, but the smell is so distinctly Max it makes your head spin. For a second, you think he is about to say something, but he doesn’t—too transfixed by the vision in front of him.

The fabric parts, and you moan slightly at the sight of him hard and straining against the confines of his boxers. A damp spot already darkens the fabric where his cock presses against it, and you can’t resist leaning forward and dragging your tongue over the spot lightly. Enough pressure that he can feel it, but not enough for him to truly feel you.

Max hisses, his hips twitching upward at the contact.

"Fuck, you’re teasing me on purpose," he growls, fingers flexing against the couch cushions.

You hum in agreement, pleased with yourself. Though you don’t plan to make him wait much longer, needing to feel him just as much as he needs to feel you, a feeling of warmth always settled between your legs at the thought of how much you could tease him and make him take. The clench in his jaw and barely restrained moans are enough to make it all worth it.

Biting your lip, you finally hook your fingers into the waistband of his briefs, pulling them down enough to free him. His cock springs free, sensitive and leaking, and you waste no time in wrapping your fingers around him, giving him a single slow stroke.

His breath catches, and his head drops back again, exposing the long line of his throat. "That’s it," he murmurs, voice rough. "Just like that."

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the hot skin of his hip before dragging your tongue up his length, from base to tip, savouring the taste of him. Max groans, his thighs tensing beneath your touch, but you don’t give him all that he wants just yet.

Instead, you take your time kissing and licking at the sensitive skin of his hips, his stomach, anywhere but where he needs you most. His cock throbs in your hands, but you continue to let your mouth linger and wander over his soft skin.

"Lieverd," he warns, fingers tangling in your hair. Not pushing, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself in the feeling of you against his skin.

You glance up at him through your lashes, meeting his darkened gaze, grinning slightly and sighing dramatically, before finally, finally taking him into your mouth. His grip tightens in your hair as you sink down, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. The his taste floods your senses, leaving your mouth salivating from want.

A punched-out moan leaves Max’s mouth as you slowly take his length further and further into your mouth. His hand stays tangled in your hair, a constant weight anchoring you to the moment as your mind begins to wander and blur.

"You look so good like this," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire as he readjusts his hold on your hair, brushing it gently out of your face and holding it behind your head. "On your knees for me, wearing my name like you're mine."

The remainder of your clothing brings a warm blush to your face, you moan at the thought, the feeling of being so entirely his, and the vibrations make his thighs tremble beneath your hands. His grip tightens ever so slightly, pulling you away from his cock ever so slightly.

"You are mine, aren't you?" he growls, his hips lifting slightly off the couch as you swallow him deeper. "Say it. C’mon, baby. I want to hear your pretty voice."

You pull back just enough to answer, your lips slick with spit and swollen, voice already rough. "Yours," you whisper softly, giving him a few slow strokes as you speak. "Always yours."

Max's groan is guttural as he guides your head back down. You follow his lead eagerly, tongue swirling around his length as you take him deeper. The sounds he makes, low, desperate groans and breathless curses, send waves of heat pooling between your thighs.

"You're so fucking good at this," he praises, his hips jerking slightly as you hollow your cheeks around him. "But I know you can take more. C'mon, lieverd, show me."

With a groan of pleasure, you relax your throat, taking him as deep as you can until his cock hits the back of your throat. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you don't pull away. One of your hands wanders down between your thighs, desperate to relieve some of your own neediness—the sound of Max panting and groaning leaving you wet and wanting.

"Fuck, just like that," Max groans, his voice strained from pleasure. "You're perfect. So perfect for me."

For a moment, you consider letting all other plans for the night fly out the window, the feeling of him heavy in your mouth, and his moaning filling the air, drawing you in. It feels so overwhelming, and just right, all at once. But you know Max wants more, and you do too.

Everything you have from Max just leaves you wanting more.

Just when you think he’s going to cum, his grip faltering in your hair and his thighs twitching slightly under your touch, you pull back, releasing his cock from your mouth with a soft pop. Max looks down at you with lust-blown eyes, chest heaving and hand gripping the pillows beside him tightly.

“What—”

You shush him lightly, standing up on shaky knees with a newfound determination and confidence. You turn, back towards him and showing off his name stretched across your back, and slowly slip your panties off from underneath your skirt. A flash of the maroon lingerie catches Max’s eye as the lace slowly drags down your legs and drops to the floor. Max’s hands come up to caress your thighs, dragging up towards your ass, hands searching for any inch of skin he can reach.

“Tell me what you want,” you say, mimicking his earlier words with a teasing tone, swishing your hips just slightly from side to side. You grab one of his hands, leading it down towards the wet heat between your legs as you speak. He’s voiceless for a moment, and you almost expect him not to respond, until you feel a kiss being pressed to the perk of your ass.

“Oh, I know exactly what I want,” he says against your skin, gently running his fingertip through your slit, pushing into you ever so slightly before pulling out again, just giving you a taste of what’s to come. His fingers rub gentle circles against your clit, “I’m gonna make you feel so good. Hm? Fill you up, fuck you good. That’s what you want, isn’t it? That’s what you wanted when you walked into the paddock wearing my name, reminding everyone who gets to have you tonight. And that’s what you want now. Am I right?”

“Yes,” you sigh, lost in the feeling of his hands wandering all over you.

“Can’t hear you, baby, you know I have to hear you say it before we go any further,” he whispers back. He’s always like this, no matter how dark the look in his eyes, how confident his touch is all over you, he always stops to check-in. The sudden softness of his tone leaves you breathless. His ability to shift from demanding to sweet in a single breath just makes you want him more. His hands aren’t enough anymore, you need all of him.

Sliding your skirt down your thighs and stepping out of the clothes bunched up on the floor at your feet, you decided to leave your shirt on. Even if he doesn’t say it out loud, you can tell from his hungry gaze that he wants it to stay on too.

Turning to face him again, you finally settle on his lap, knees on either side of his hips. His large hands skim over the curve of your waist and hips, fingertips digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you flush against him. The heat of his cock presses against your stomach, and you grind down instinctively, earning a sharp inhale from him.

“I need you,” you say straight into his ear, voice hot and low. You reach up to face, fingers grazing his jawline. With a single hand, he turns your face towards him and pulls you into a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongue and desperation. Hands roam and grab at every piece of each other that you can find: legs, neck, hands, waist. You seem to move in perfect sync, groans fill the air with proof of your growing desire, growing need.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmurs, voice low and rough. "And all mine."

You laugh, low and breathy, parroting back his words, all his, all yours, always, before shifting back just enough to line him up with your entrance. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and desperate, as you finally sink down onto him in one slow, deliberate motion. The stretch burns in a familiar way, and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips as he fills you completely.

Max’s head drops back against the couch again, his jaw clenched tight as he becomes lost in the feeling of your warmth. “Jesus Christ,” he hisses, his fingers flexing against your hips to help steady and guide you. “You feel—fuck—”

You don’t give him a chance to finish his thought, rolling your hips experimentally and watching as his breath stutters. His grip on you tightens, urging you to move faster, but you take your time, savouring the way his cock drags against your walls with every shallow rise and fall of your hips.

“You’re not gonna last, are you?” you tease, leaning down to brush your lips against his. “You were so close before, I could feel it.”

Max growls, flipping you onto your back in one swift motion. Pillows fall to the ground as you rearrange yourselves. The sudden movement knocks the air from your lungs, but before you can protest, he’s between your legs, pressing into you with a deep thrust that has you arching off the couch.

“You talk so much from someone who has been dripping wet for me all night,” he murmurs against your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he sets a relentless pace. Each snap of his hips sends sparks of pleasure shooting through you, and you can already feel the coil in your stomach tightening, your orgasm building with every stroke. “That’s it, that’s it. You’re taking me so well, feels so good, lieverd.”

Max’s lips find yours in a messy, desperate kiss, swallowing your moans as he fucks you into the cushions. His hands roam your body, mapping every inch of you as if he’s memorizing the places that make you gasp, then tug up the hem of your shirt until it exposes your chest to the cool air of the room. He palms one boob roughly, his thumb flicking over your nipple, and you gasp into his mouth, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Let me hear you.” he rasps, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down your jaw, your collarbone, sucking and biting at the dip in your neck. “Wanna know how good I’m making you feel. Such pretty moans.”

You don’t have the coherence to form words, so you let your body do the talking, your hips meeting his thrust for thrust as you chase your own release. Max’s breath comes in short, ragged pants against your skin, his movements growing more erratic as he nears his own climax. The room feels smaller somehow, like the walls are closing in, like there’s no world beyond the two of you tangled together. Skin on skin, breathing in each other's air.

“Gonna make you cum,” he groans, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles that have you seeing stars. It's all so much, his hands, his cock, his words, you feel yourself slipping closer and closer towards your high. “Wanna feel you come undone on my cock.”

And that’s all it takes. Your back arches off the couch as your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clenching around him as waves of pleasure ripple through your body. Max follows right behind you, his thrusts stuttering as he spills inside you with a low, guttural moan, collapsing onto you, still buried deep inside. His head resting on your chest, hands still gripping your waist.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is your combined heavy breathing as you both come down from your highs— and the sound of Max pressing lazy kisses to your sweat-slicked skin. It’s only then, as you feel the tickle of fabric brushing against your skin, that you remember that Max is still entirely dressed. You would have to fix that later, once your energy returned to you. For now, you are content to lie there in his arms, his mouth lazily dancing across your neck.

“Fuck,” he mutters after a long moment, you can only hum in response. Slowly, he pulls out, shushing you calmly as you moan at the sudden feeling of emptiness. He’s quick to lay on his back, switching your position so that you are laying on top of him. Strong arms come to rest around your waist again, pulling you in closer. With a sigh, you rest your head on his shoulder, letting your eyes slip closed for a moment.

“You're definitely getting more merch. Put my name on everything,” then after a second he adds, in a cheeky tone, “Maybe on your panties next.”

You let out a breathy laugh, swatting at his chest halfheartedly. “You’re insufferable.”

Max grins, pressing another kiss on the dip of your neck. “And yet,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “you still wear my name like it’s yours.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest and the smile on your face betrays your true feelings.

He’s right. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Because you’re his, and he’s yours.

“We should clean you up, hm?” he says softly, hands tracing patterns on the skin of your thighs.

“In a minute,” you reply, “Just… hold me a bit longer?”

“Of course, lieverd, of course.”

I haven't included by usual taglist because I wasn't sure if people would want to be tagged in smut, but let me know if u would like to be!

-> once again, apologies for any mistakes or typos... rereading is my mortal enemy!

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missdynamighttt · 6 months ago

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↳ ❝ THERE'S NO ONE LIKE YOU, SWEETS. ❞

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ synopsis: in which, you make what feels like the worst decision of your life—getting into a hot tub with your fake boyfriend, katsuki bakugou.

starring: fake boyfriend! katsuki bakugou x oblivious! reader ⍣ ೋ

disclaimers!: fake established relationship, prefers ass, humping/ grinding, a little degradation, fingering, oral sex (f! receiving), sexual stuff in water

note: pro hero! katsuki drabble, usage of "woman", "sweets" "baby", "slut", fem reader, fake relationship trope, inspired by to all the boys ive loved before hot tub/ jacuzzi scene. I KNOW I HAVE A POLL, I PROMISE ILL GET TO THAT, JUST NEEDED TO GET THIS OFF OF MY CHEST💜💜

╰┈➤ ❝ [this is so stupid...] ❞ you mumble, walking down the hallway to the pool area, your arms crossed as the cold winter breeze hits your skin.

somehow, kirishima talked you into confronting your 'boyfriend', katsuki bakugou, after he started ignoring you in the class 1A ski-trip/christmas party this year.

"c'mon, girl, hes probably waiting for you in the hot tub 'nyway. get in there, and get him!"

it was only supposed to be a fake arrangement between you two. to be honest, you're not even sure why hes mad. but he was.

the hand-holding, hugs and kisses started to feel too real, the closeness felt too intimate. it was all getting in your head so you distanced yourself from him, sitting next to ochako in the bus instead of katsuki.

katsuki needed to get his ranks up in the charts and you needed publicity. that was all there was to it. supposed to be, anyway.

you reach the pool area and thats when you see him. katsuki bakugo. in the hot tub. shirtless. and in swimming trunks. he's lounging with his eyes shut and eyebrows furrowed, letting the heat and jets of the tub ease his muscles.

you catch your bottom lip between your teeth. you draw closer to the hot tub, perching yourself on the ledge across from katsuki, not getting in the water because you had a night gown on. for now.

though his eyes are closed, a slight shift in his demeanor reveals that he's aware of your presence. even in his attempt to maintain a façade of calm, the subtle tension in his shoulders and the tightening of his jaw betray his awareness of you.

"katsuki?" you tilt your head, trying to get his attention.

when he doesn't respond, you scoff, crossing your arms.

"wow, katsuki, real mature."

his eyebrow twitches at the comment on his maturity, his eyes flutter open. he looks at you with an unimpressed stare, his expression a mix of annoyance and... something else.

"oh, because you're a real shinin' example of maturity," he retorts, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

you frown at him. "seriously, why are you mad at me? and don't go yappin' about how you're not mad, i can tell."

"why do you think?" he grumbles, unable to meet your eyes as his cheeks tinged pink.

"...you've been hangin' around with round cheeks all fuckin' day."

that was all he was mad about? is he.. no. he couldn't be jealous. he had no reason to.

"that... that shouldn't matter."

"well, it does matter, goddamn it," he mutters angrily as his scowl deepens, his jaw clenching in frustration.

"you don't get it, do you? you're my girlfriend, you were supposed to sit with me."

"fake girlfriend-"

"i don't give a flyin' fuck. you're still my girlfriend, woman, fake or not. i expected you to sit with me. and instead, what do i see? you hangin' out with fuckin..."

he lets out an exasperated sigh, raking a hand through his wet hair. he looks like he's trying to find the right words to express his feelings without coming across as too jealous or vulnerable.

"fuck. fuck, i'm... i'm not tryna control you, okay? but it bugs the shit out of me. it bugs me that you were hanging with round face. it bugs me that you sat next to her instead of me."

katsuki's gaze softens at your quiet, conflicted expression. he sighs again, his eyes briefly darting away from you before he continues.

"i... i even brought your damn favorite snacks in case you got hungry," he mutters, his voice tinged with embarrassment. "i thought, we could have sat together and, you know..."

you look up at him, a hint of surprise widening your eyes. you contemplate how to continue, trying to lighten the mood with a soft smile. "do you... still have some left over?"

katsuki scoffs at the attempt to change the mood, but can't help the brief spark of amusement that flickers in his eyes.

"no, obviously," he replies with a roll of his eyes. "i ate some and gave kirishima the rest after you decided to ditch me."

"rude."

"damn right, it was rude. tch, ditchin' me like that."

you let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head, looking at him with a soft gaze. "i'm.. i'm sorry i didn't sit next to you."

katsuki's ears turned slightly pink as he hears your apology. he glances at you hesitantly before looking away again, trying to maintain his aloof demeanor.

"yeah, well, apology accepted, i guess," he mutters, his voice lacking its usual sharpness.

you nod, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement. after a brief moment of silence, you gather your courage and shed your nightgown, revealing your bare skin as you slowly step into the warm embrace of the hot tub.

katsuki's eyes widen as you stripped, his heart rate speeding up at the sight of you in just a pair of black bra and panties. his eyes roam over your body greedily, taking in every curve and contour.

he clears his throat, his gaze is fixed on your figure as you step into the hot tub, the warm water enveloping you. he tries to keep his thoughts in check, but the sight of you like this, almost naked, is making it incredibly hard (like his dick).

"damn..." he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. "what are you doing to me, sweets?"

you look at him with eyebrows raised, a soft smile formed on your lips. "hm?"

he takes a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. the water laps around you two, creating a sense of intimacy, and it only adds to the tension.

"seriously, do you have to look like that right now?"

"like what?"

"like... that," his voice is hoarse, gesturing vaguely at your form. "like you're tryna drive me crazy."

katsuki reaches out, his hand hovering just above your torso before finally making contact, his fingers gently carressing the curve of your waist. his hand felt so warm, almost competing with the heat in his eyes now mixed with his raw desire for you.

"damn it, woman. you're killin' me here..."

"can i apologize for that too?"

"i'll forgive you... under one condition," he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. his hand slowly roams over your bare skin, exploring your body with a newfound confidence.

he pulls you closer, the water sloshing around you as he guides you onto his lap. his arms encircle your waist firmly, every contour and dip of your bodies fitting perfectly against each other. the corners of his mouth tug to a grin."sit here for me."

your eyes widen in surprise as you feel a rush of heat across your cheeks. you could feel his hot, raging boner, pressing up against your cunt through the thin, pathetic fabric you call panties.

a cheeky grin spreads across your face. "katsuki, is that...?"

he groans, his voice low and gruff with frustrated desire. "just shut the fuck up, sweets."

his hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you nearer, his lips crashing against yours in a heated, hungry kiss. his tongue dances with yours, greedy and demanding.

the kiss was intense, filled with pent-up longing and need and so much words both of you couldn't say.

he keeps you trapped against his body with his arms in the hot tub, his touch both tender and possessive.

"such a nice fuckin' ass.." he whispers, groping and massaging your doughy ass before pulling you back in for a deeper kiss.

your arms are wrapped around his neck, your fingers tangled in his hair as you grind on his hard-on, a little embarassed as you feel your panties dampen more from the water and your slick but can't help but want him. need him.

"fuck," he groans, feeling his cock get so painfully hard just from you humping him. "you little.."

your breath hitches when you felt his hand slide down your inner thigh, tugging the pathetic g-string to the side. he enters a finger inside of you, seperating your folds, feeling your warm pussy and your wet slick in the midst of the water. "k-katsuki-"

"aww, this all for me, sweets?" he coos, watching you whimper as he rubs your aching clit.

you pout as you grind against his hand, desperate for friction. your teeth sink into your lip as he put a second finger, your eyes glistening with a mixture of desire and greed. "so what if it is..?"

"that fucking eager for me, huh?" he chuckles darkly, his fingers enveloped by the warmth of your pussy as he curls them inside of you. "gonna take it all for me, yeah?"

you nodded, clinging onto him like a lifeline, whimpering and mewling choked versions of his name. "fuck, fuck.. kat- katsu.. katsuki..."

katsuki groans at the sound of his name on your lips, his hand your hips grip you tighter, pulling you closer, while curling his thick digits against your sensitive spots, the sound of your lewd noises music to his ears.

"see my fingers fuckin' you, baby?" he mutters, his lips find your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your tender skin. "only i can make your pretty pussy feel this good, yeah?"

"mhm," you manage. despite the embarrassment, you can't help but give in to the heat building between you.

his eyes lock onto yours, his voice sultry and mean. "you know, you're such a fuckin' slut. lettin' me finger you like this where anyone can see us."

a loud moan escapes your lips as your pussy clenches around his fingers at the name. you couldn't help it. fuck, he was so, so mean. and you fucking loved it.

a cocky grin spreads across his face, letting out a low chuckle. "oh? you like it when i call you a slut?" he taunts, bringing a grin to his face at your reaction. "can't believe you're into that shit, sweets."

"it's your fault- fuck.."

"oh? blamin' me now?" he taunts, a cocky expression on his face. "thought you were more.. mature than that."

katsuki flaps his fingers faster inside of you, abandoning the slow, careful pace of curling he did earlier. your slick and the hot tub water moistens his fingers, yet you can still smell the faint hit of your cunt.

"katsukiii! fuck, fuck, fuck. too much, too much..."

"just look at you, sweets. takin' my fingers like a champ, such a good fuckin' girl," he coos, his filthy praises making your pussy clench around his fingers.

"bet you wanted this as much as i did, did you?"

"n-no-"

"bullshit. if you don't, tell me to stop right now."

"sh-shit, no.. don't stop, please.. please, i need you.."

"that's what i thought," his grin widens, his hand that had been resting on your hip moves lower, tapping your leg gently. "lift your hips up for me."

with a nod, you comply, the water rippling around you as it drips out of your legs, katsuki finally seeing your sweet little cunt without the transluscent filter of the water. his grip on your thigh tightens slightly, letting out a shaky exhale as he rubs your clit.

"you close, sweets?" he glances up at you, his eyes meeting yours, feeling you nod before he leans in for a long, lingering kiss.

"cum on my face, 'kay?" he utters softly after pulling away, leaning down on your sweet cunt before lapping his tongue away at your aching slit while still pumping his fingers full of you.

his tongue felt so good. he felt so good, it hurts. all you could smell was the intoxicating scent of your cunt and katsuki's saliva sloshed together.

"katsuki..." you can't help but let out a lewd mewl, whimpering as wave after wave of pleasure courses through your body.

"there's no one like you, sweets," katsuki groans into your pussy, the loud sounds he was making as he ate you out while he fucked his fingers into you was just so lewd. when it felt so good. when anyone could catch you doing this. "cum on my face, baby, c'mon.."

you shudder from the pleasure from his touch as you feel your release, chest heaving up and down as you catch your breath. though, his tongue kept flicking at your clit, pumping his fingers in and out of you as you ride your high.

your post-nut clarity kicks in. fuck, you just.. let katsuki bakugo, your fake boyfriend, not only finger you but you let him eat you out. it doesn't matter you were into him. he was still your fake boyfriend.

and not just anywhere, no. but in the damn hot tub. where anyone could've seen you. the worst part? you enjoyed it to your core.

before you can think loudly again, you feel his lips brush gently against your cheek. you turn to look at him, a little surprised at the sudden show of tenderness after the heated moment as your eyes meet. you take in the disheveled sight of him, his hair damp and wet as he catches his breath, your mind still trying to catch up to the events of tonight.

"sweets... my room. now. please."

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ should i do part 2 guys lmaolmao hope you enjoyed 💜💜

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

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