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sonarspace · 6 months ago

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⋆⁺₊ HOLLY, JOLLY, SINFUL

꒰ synopsis. where the krampus you feared is far from the monster in the stories, and santa isn’t the saint you thought he was.

content. santa/krampus au. sukuna x fem!reader. nsfw. rough sēx, orāl (f! receiving), hair pulling, multiple orgāsms, size kink, and possessive sukuna.

wc. 6k

an. a little spin on a christmas tale, i hope you guys like it. happy early christmas to those who celebrate <3

the north pole buzzed with a frenzy unlike any december before. the workshop, usually a well-oiled machine of holiday cheer, was on the brink of chaos. elves darted across the floor, their faces pale, their hands trembling as they struggled to stay productive amidst the rising tension.

toys had disappeared. not just a few, but sleighs worth of carefully crafted gifts, all set to be delivered to children across the world.

“gone,” whispered a senior elf, his voice trembling as he held up an empty inventory list. “every last one.”

“how could this happen?” another elf demanded, their voice sharp with fear. “no one gets past santa’s wards. no one.”

you worked silently, sorting a batch of unfinished trains, though your hands trembled as much as theirs. the tension in the room was suffocating, each whispered fear clawing at the edges of your composure.

you weren’t the most experienced elf—far from it—but even you could sense the weight of what had happened. christmas wasn’t just a season; it was magic, a promise of joy to the world. and without the toys, that magic would crumble.

“it’s him,” someone whispered behind you, their voice low and ominous. “krampus.”

the name hung in the air like a curse.

you’d heard the stories growing up, tales of a monstrous being who lived in the frozen expanse of the south pole. krampus, they said, was the shadow of christmas, a creature who thrived on misery and chaos. his four arms were said to be lined with claws, his horns sharp enough to pierce steel.

but no one believed the stories. not really.

until now.

the grand hall was quieter than you’d ever heard it.

rows of elves stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces illuminated by the warm glow of the towering christmas tree. despite the festive decorations, the atmosphere was heavy, the usual cheer replaced by unease.

santa stood at the head of the room, his crimson coat gleaming in the firelight. his sharp crimson eyes swept over the crowd, and the tension in the room seemed to deepen.

“this was no accident,” santa said, his voice cutting through the silence. “the toys have been stolen. and the wards around the north pole have been breached.”

a ripple of shock ran through the crowd.

“krampus has made his move,” santa continued. “and if we don’t act quickly, christmas will be ruined.”

the whispers began again, this time louder, more frantic.

“he’s real?” someone asked, their voice tinged with disbelief.

“of course he’s real,” another snapped. “who else could have done this?”

you stayed silent, your heart pounding as santa’s words sank in.

“we must retrieve the gifts,” santa said. “but the south pole is treacherous, and krampus is no ordinary foe. this will require courage—and skill.”

his gaze swept over the crowd again, lingering on the senior elves who avoided his eyes.

“who will go?”

the room fell silent.

your hands clenched into fists.

you could feel the weight of your fellow elves’ fear, their unwillingness to step forward. the journey would be dangerous, and the thought of facing krampus—the supposed monster of legend—was enough to send even the bravest elves into hiding.

but as the silence stretched on, something inside you stirred.

if no one else would act, then who would?

before you could second-guess yourself, you stepped forward.

“i’ll do it.”

the words rang out in the hall, louder than you’d expected.

all eyes turned to you, a mix of admiration, surprise, and doubt flickering in their gazes.

santa’s sharp gaze settled on you, his expression unreadable.

“you’re brave,” he said after a moment, his tone even. “but this will not be easy.”

“i can handle it,” you said, forcing your voice to remain steady.

before santa could respond, the air changed.

a sudden chill swept through the hall, snuffing out the candles in an instant. the elves gasped, their breath visible in the freezing air.

the temperature plummeted, and an unnatural wind began to swirl, carrying with it a deep, mocking laugh.

“so this is the great north pole,” a voice boomed, the sound reverberating through the hall like thunder. it was smooth and resonant, laced with cruel amusement.

“weak, fragile, desperate,” the voice continued. “you send a mere elf to face me? is that the best you can do, kenjaku?”

the air seemed to pulse with the weight of the voice, a presence you could feel but not see.

you glanced at santa, your confusion growing. kenjaku? who was that?

“show yourself, krampus,” santa growled, his jaw tightening.

the voice laughed again, colder this time.

“you’d like that, wouldn’t you? but no, not yet,” krampus said, his tone dripping with mockery. “come to me, kenjaku. or are you too much of a coward to face what you stole?”

the words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

santa’s expression darkened, his crimson eyes narrowing.

“i’ll come,” he said finally, his voice tight with restrained anger.

the meeting ended in a flurry of nervous energy. elves whispered among themselves, their voices rising and falling like waves as they tried to make sense of what they’d just heard.

you stayed behind, packing supplies for the journey. the staff santa had given you—infused with ancient christmas magic—felt warm in your hands, a faint glow emanating from its carved surface.

“are you sure about this?” one of the senior elves asked, their voice hesitant as they approached you.

“i don’t have a choice,” you replied, your voice firm. “someone has to do it.”

they nodded, though their expression remained troubled. “be careful,” they said before turning to leave.

you glanced at santa, who stood by the fire, his gaze distant. his usual commanding presence felt… strained, as though the weight of krampus’s words had unsettled him.

you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the story—something he wasn’t telling you.

but there was no time to dwell on it. the journey to the south pole awaited, and whatever lay ahead, you would face it head-on.

the journey to the south pole was grueling.

the snow felt sharper here, more like shards of glass than soft flakes. the bitter cold seemed to seep through every layer of clothing, chilling you to your bones. this wasn’t like the north pole—the light, the cheer, the magic. this place felt… wrong.

santa led the way, his crimson coat stark against the endless expanse of gray and white. the silence between you was heavy, broken only by the crunch of snow underfoot and the howling wind.

“are we close?” you asked, gripping your staff tightly as its faint glow pulsed in your hand.

“closer than i’d like,” santa replied, his tone clipped.

you frowned. his usual steady demeanor felt off. there was none of the quiet confidence you’d grown used to—just tension, coiled and sharp.

“what is this place?” you pressed, glancing at the jagged ice formations jutting out of the ground like broken glass.

“krampus’s domain,” santa said. “his influence twists the land. the closer we get, the more dangerous it becomes.”

a shiver ran down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

the attack came without warning.

the ground trembled beneath your feet, the snow cracking and shifting as shadowy figures emerged from the storm.

“what’s that?” you asked, panic rising in your chest.

“bandits,” santa said sharply, his hand tightening around his staff.

before you could respond, they were upon you. their movements were quick and unnatural, their jagged weapons carved from ice glinting in the dim light.

“stay close,” santa ordered.

you raised your staff, its glow flaring as the first bandit lunged toward you. the magic coursed through you, sending a pulse of energy that knocked them back.

but there were too many.

you swung the staff again, the force of the blow sending another bandit sprawling into the snow. but for every one you struck down, two more seemed to take their place.

a sharp blow to your side sent you stumbling, the staff slipping from your grasp. you fell to your knees, gasping for breath as pain radiated through your ribs.

“help me!” you shouted, turning to santa.

but he wasn’t there.

your heart sank as you scanned the storm, the wind tearing at your cloak. “santa!” you called again, desperation rising in your voice.

there was no answer.

the bandits closed in, their twisted faces leering down at you.

“still breathing, are you?”

the voice was deep, smooth, and laced with a hint of amusement.

you blinked, your vision blurry as the storm raged around you. a figure crouched beside you, his sharp features coming into focus as the wind whipped through his wild, pink hair.

“who…” you croaked, your voice barely audible.

“relax,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

he leaned closer, his crimson eyes scanning your face with an intensity that made your heart stutter.

“bandits,” he muttered, glancing at the torn fabric of your cloak. “you’re lucky they didn’t finish the job.”

before you could respond, he slipped a thick cloak around your trembling form, his four arms moving with surprising gentleness.

“can you stand?” he asked.

you shook your head weakly, your body refusing to cooperate.

“figured as much,” he said with a faint smirk.

before you could protest, he lifted you effortlessly, cradling you against his chest. the warmth of his skin seeped through the layers of fabric, and you found yourself leaning into him, unable to resist.

“who are you?” you asked weakly.

“someone who doesn’t leave people to die in the snow,” he replied dryly.

the warmth of his shelter was a shock after the brutal cold outside.

he set you down on a plush couch near the fire, his movements careful as he adjusted the blanket around your shoulders.

“drink this,” he said, handing you a steaming mug.

the spiced cider was rich and warm, flooding your senses with comfort. you sipped it cautiously, watching as he crouched beside you.

“what were you doing out there?” he asked, his crimson eyes sharp and searching.

you hesitated, glancing down at the mug in your hands. “you wouldn’t believe me if i told you.”

his lips curved into a faint smirk. “try me.”

you swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts. “i came here with santa claus,” you began hesitantly, watching his reaction.

his eyes widened slightly, but not with disbelief. there was something else in his gaze—an intensity you couldn’t quite place, as if he were seeing you for the first time.

you felt the need to explain, to justify yourself. “i know it sounds ridiculous,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out. “but… santa claus is real. he exists for those who choose to believe in him.”

to your surprise, his expression softened. the smirk faded, replaced by something quieter, almost contemplative.

“and you believe,” he said, his tone calm.

“i do,” you admitted. “it’s not just about the toys or the magic. it’s about hope. about believing that even in the darkest times, there’s something good in the world.”

he nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “a rare thing, these days,” he said quietly.

his reaction surprised you. instead of mockery, there was understanding in his gaze, a warmth that made your chest tighten.

“so, you’re here with him,” he said after a moment.

“yes,” you replied. “santa sent me to find krampus and retrieve the stolen gifts.”

his eyes darkened slightly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than felt natural. it wasn’t skepticism or anger—it was something deeper, more intense.

how could kenjaku have someone like you by his side? your quiet strength, your rare beauty, your unwavering belief in something so pure. the thought ignited something sharp and bitter in his chest.

you shifted under his gaze, mistaking his silence for doubt. “i know it sounds ridiculous,” you said quickly, your voice trembling slightly. “but i promise, it’s real. everything—santa, the north pole, the magic—it’s all real.”

“i don’t think it’s ridiculous,” he said, interrupting you gently.

you blinked, caught off guard. “you don’t?”

his lips curved into a faint, almost wistful smile. “not at all,” he said, his voice low. “some things are worth believing in, even if the rest of the world doesn’t understand.”

his words lingered in the air between you, and for a moment, the storm outside seemed to fade into the background.

“you’re not what i expected,” he said finally, his voice softer now.

neither was he.

the storm outside had grown fiercer, the wind howling against the walls of the shelter as if the very land were angry. inside, the fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the room.

you watched your rescuer as he paced near the hearth, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the firelight. the tension in his movements was palpable, his four arms crossing and uncrossing as if he were fighting an internal battle.

“so,” he said, breaking the silence. “you came here with kenjaku.”

you frowned. “who?”

his gaze snapped to yours, sharp and incredulous. “kenjaku,” he repeated, his tone laced with disdain. “the man you call santa claus.”

your stomach twisted at his words, the weight of the name unfamiliar and wrong. “that’s not his name,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“it is,” he said firmly, stepping closer. “you’ve been lied to.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but the intensity in his gaze silenced you. there was no mockery, no smugness—only a simmering anger that made your breath catch.

“you don’t know, do you?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, softer. “what he’s done.”

“what are you talking about?” you said, your chest tightening as the weight of his words pressed down on you.

he sighed, running a hand through his pink hair, his tattoos glowing faintly as his anger simmered just beneath the surface.

“centuries ago,” he began, his voice steady but edged with bitterness, “i was chosen to bear the mantle of santa claus. the magic of christmas—the ancient power that keeps this world in balance—was mine by right. but kenjaku didn’t think i was fit for the role. he wanted it for himself.”

you stared at him, your mind reeling as his words sank in.

“he used forbidden magic,” sukuna continued, his voice darkening, “to seal me here, in the south pole. he took everything from me—my title, my power, my purpose—and left me to rot in this frozen wasteland.”

the crackle of the fire was the only sound as his words hung in the air, heavy and sharp.

“and now he sends you,” he said, his gaze narrowing. “to clean up his mess.”

“that’s not true,” you said, though your voice wavered. “he wouldn’t…”

“wouldn’t he?” sukuna interrupted, stepping closer. “then tell me, where is he now? why did he leave you to die?”

the question hit like a blow, the memory of the bandits and kenjaku’s disappearance flashing in your mind.

“maybe he had no choice,” you said weakly, though even you didn’t believe the words.

sukuna snorted, his expression twisting into a bitter smile. “you’re too kind for your own good.”

you looked away, the weight of his gaze too much to bear.

“you still don’t get it, do you?” he said, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “he’s been using you. just like he uses everyone else.”

the sound of approaching footsteps shattered the silence.

sukuna stiffened, his tattoos glowing brighter as he turned toward the door. his crimson eyes burned with anger, his four arms flexing as he prepared for what was coming.

“stay here,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

before you could respond, the door burst open, a gust of icy wind swirling into the room.

and there, standing in the doorway, was kenjaku—santa claus.

“so this is where you’ve been hiding,” kenjaku said, his voice smooth, almost amused.

sukuna’s growl rumbled through the room like distant thunder. “you’ve got some nerve showing your face here.”

kenjaku stepped inside, his crimson coat gleaming in the firelight. his gaze swept over the room, lingering on you for a moment before returning to sukuna.

“you always were dramatic,” kenjaku said, his tone sharp.

“and you always were a liar,” sukuna shot back, his voice venomous.

you stood frozen, your heart pounding as the tension between them crackled like static electricity.

“why did you leave me?” you demanded, your voice cutting through the standoff.

kenjaku’s gaze softened, though there was something calculating in his expression. “i had no choice,” he said smoothly. “the bandits were too many. if i’d stayed, we both would have died.”

“that’s bullshit,” sukuna spat, stepping forward. “you left her because she wasn’t worth the effort to you.”

“don’t listen to him,” kenjaku said, his voice soothing as he turned to you. “he’s krampus. he’s the reason we’re in this mess.”

“and you’re the reason she almost died,” sukuna growled, his voice low and dangerous.

kenjaku ignored him, his focus entirely on you. “he’s manipulating you,” he said, his tone firm but calm. “he wants you to trust him so he can use you against me.”

you hesitated, your gaze flickering between them.

“don’t listen to him,” sukuna said, his eyes burning as he looked at you. “you know the truth.”

you took a deep breath, the weight of the moment pressing down on you.

“you left me to die,” you said to kenjaku, your voice steady despite the tremor in your chest. “he didn’t.”

kenjaku’s expression faltered, the first crack in his calm facade.

“you don’t understand,” he began, but you didn’t let him finish.

raising your staff, you stepped closer to sukuna, the magic within it surging as you made your choice.

“she’s not yours to manipulate,” sukuna snarled, stepping in front of you as kenjaku’s face twisted in rage.

the fight was chaos.

magic crackled through the air, the room trembling as sukuna and kenjaku clashed. sukuna moved with raw power, his four arms striking with precision as his tattoos glowed with unrestrained energy. kenjaku countered with sharp, calculated attacks, his crimson coat billowing around him as he fought with a ruthless efficiency.

you held your ground, the staff in your hands glowing as you channeled your own magic. when kenjaku’s attacks threatened to overwhelm sukuna, you stepped in, the power of the north pole surging through you as you deflected the blows.

“stay out of this!” kenjaku snapped, his voice rising in frustration.

“no,” you said firmly, your gaze steady. “i’m done following your orders.”

sukuna smirked, his gaze flickering to you briefly before returning to kenjaku. “looks like you’ve lost your grip,” he taunted.

kenjaku roared, his attacks growing wilder, more desperate. but together, you and sukuna were unstoppable—a force that even the self-proclaimed santa couldn’t overcome.

the clash reached its peak with a deafening explosion of magic. sparks of crimson and gold danced through the air as sukuna’s raw power collided with kenjaku’s calculated strikes. the very walls of the shelter trembled under the weight of their battle, cracks snaking along the icy structure.

you gripped the staff tightly, its glow steady in your hands as you prepared to deflect another attack aimed at sukuna.

“is that all you’ve got?” sukuna snarled, his four arms moving with devastating precision as he sent a powerful strike toward kenjaku.

kenjaku staggered, his crimson coat scorched and torn, his sharp features twisted in frustration. his usual smug confidence had begun to falter, his attacks growing more desperate.

“this isn’t over,” kenjaku hissed, his voice laced with venom as he stepped back, his hands crackling with dark magic.

“oh, it is,” sukuna growled, his tattoos glowing brighter as he advanced. “you’re done hiding behind lies, kenjaku.”

you stepped forward, raising your staff. the magic within it surged, intertwining with sukuna’s energy as you sent a pulse of light toward kenjaku.

he barely had time to deflect it before sukuna was upon him, his fists slamming into kenjaku’s barrier with enough force to shatter it. the power of the strike sent kenjaku flying backward, crashing into the icy wall with a thunderous crack.

kenjaku struggled to rise, his movements slow and unsteady. his crimson eyes burned with rage as he glared at you and sukuna.

“you think this changes anything?” he spat, his voice trembling with anger. “you think you can take my place?”

“it was never your place to begin with,” sukuna said coldly, stepping forward.

you watched as sukuna loomed over kenjaku, his presence dominating the room. for a moment, you thought he might strike the final blow, but instead, he stepped back, his crimson eyes narrowing.

“you’re not worth it,” sukuna said, his voice low and sharp. “but you’re finished. you’ll never hold the mantle again.”

with a flick of his hand, sukuna unleashed a burst of energy that sent kenjaku hurtling out of the shelter and into the storm. the force of it was so immense that the very air seemed to ripple, the storm outside swallowing kenjaku whole.

silence followed, broken only by the crackle of the fire.

you lowered the staff, your hands trembling as the adrenaline began to fade.

“is it over?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

sukuna turned to you, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it. “it’s over,” he said, his voice steady.

the tension in your chest eased, and you sank onto the couch, exhaustion washing over you.

sukuna moved to the hearth, his four arms lowering as the glow of his tattoos dimmed. he leaned against the wall, his crimson eyes watching you closely.

“you fought well,” he said after a moment, his tone quiet.

“so did you,” you replied, offering him a small, tired smile.

his lips twitched into a faint smirk, though there was a warmth in his gaze that made your cheeks flush.

the journey back to the north pole was a blur of ice and wind, but this time, you weren’t alone.

sukuna walked beside you, his presence steady and protective. he carried the stolen gifts in a large sack slung over his shoulder, his four arms making the burden look effortless.

when you finally crossed the threshold of the north pole, the light and magic of the workshop washed over you like a wave. elves gathered in the grand hall, their faces alight with relief and joy as they saw the gifts restored.

but their excitement faltered when they saw sukuna. whispers rippled through the crowd, their eyes wide with fear and uncertainty.

“it’s okay,” you said, stepping forward. “he’s not our enemy.”

santa’s empty throne loomed at the head of the room, and sukuna’s gaze lingered on it, his expression unreadable.

“it’s yours now,” you said softly, your voice carrying only to him.

he glanced at you, his crimson eyes narrowing. “you think they’ll accept me?”

“they will,” you said, your voice firm. “because they’ll see what i see.”

his lips curved into a faint smile, and he stepped forward, his presence commanding as he approached the throne.

when he sat, the air seemed to shift, the ancient magic of christmas surging through the hall. the elves stared in awe as the throne’s glow brightened, its magic recognizing sukuna as the rightful santa.

the days that followed were a whirlwind of activity as christmas was saved and the gifts delivered. but when it was all over, and the workshop quieted for the long rest of the year, sukuna sought you out.

he found you in the quiet of your room, the glow of the north pole’s lights filtering through the window.

“come with me,” he said, his voice low and inviting.

you followed him without hesitation, his presence drawing you in like a magnet. he led you to his chambers—his now, as the new santa. the room was warm and inviting, the fire crackling softly in the hearth.

“you saved me,” he said, turning to face you. his crimson eyes softened, his tattoos glowing faintly in the dim light. “you trusted me when no one else would.”

“you deserved it,” you said quietly.

he stepped closer, his four arms wrapping around you as his lips curved into a smirk. “and now, i intend to thank you properly.”

the air between you seemed to hum with energy, his gaze locking onto yours as the distance between you disappeared.

his chambers were steeped in a heavy, intoxicating warmth, the flickering firelight reflecting off the deep crimson furnishings and casting shadows that seemed to breathe with the rhythm of the room. the air itself felt alive, humming with a raw energy that matched the man standing before you.

sukuna leaned casually against the ornate four-poster bed, his broad shoulders and muscular arms giving the impression of effortless power. his crimson eyes burned with an intensity that pinned you in place, their sharpness softened only slightly by the faint curl of his lips.

“you don’t need to stand there like a nervous little rabbit,” he said, his voice low and teasing, a delicious rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “come here.”

the way he said it—smooth and commanding, with a promise of something that made your stomach flutter—left you no choice but to obey.

you stepped closer, your heart pounding with each step, until you were standing in front of him.

“you saved christmas,” he murmured, his gaze locking onto yours as his four arms moved to surround you. the first hand slid to your waist, his grip firm but not overbearing, while another rested gently on the small of your back, pulling you closer. “and more than that… you saved me.”

“i didn’t do it alone,” you replied, your voice a whisper under the weight of his attention.

he tilted his head, strands of soft pink hair falling into his face as his smirk widened. his thumb traced lazily over your cheek, the pad of it brushing just beneath your lips, lingering like he was daring you to take a bite. “always so modest,” he murmured, voice like velvet dragged over steel. “but tonight isn’t about me. it’s about you.”

his words settled low in your stomach, molten and heavy, and before you could think to reply, his lips were on yours.

the kiss wasn’t gentle. sukuna didn’t ask—he took. his mouth moved over yours with a slow, deliberate hunger that left no room for hesitation. his tongue brushed against your bottom lip before sliding inside, tasting you, claiming you with a heat that left you lightheaded.

his hands—strong, calloused, and just the right amount of rough—moved without direction, as if instinct alone drove them. one slid up the bare skin of your back, tugging you against him until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you. another drifted lower, fingers curving to squeeze your thigh, pulling it higher against his hip.

the third tangled into your hair, twisting at the roots with just enough pressure to make you whimper against his mouth. the way he touched you—too many hands, too much strength—left you dizzy and burning.

“fuck,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to catch your lower lip between his teeth, giving it a playful tug before releasing you. his voice was husky, breath ragged, but his smirk never faded. “already trembling?”

“maybe you should do something about it,” you shot back, though your voice barely rose above a whisper.

his gaze flicked over you, crimson eyes glinting with something darker.

“oh, i intend to.”

before you could react, sukuna swept you up—two hands beneath your thighs, one cradling your back, the last trailing teasingly down your spine. he carried you toward the bed like you weighed nothing, the heat of his body seeping through every layer between you.

when he dropped you onto the plush sheets, he hovered at the edge of the bed, gaze raking over you with the kind of attention that left your skin flushed.

“strip.”

the single word hung heavy in the air, rasping low and deep, more command than request.

your fingers trembled as you pulled at the fabric, peeling away each layer under his watchful eyes.

by the time the last piece fell to the floor, sukuna knelt between your legs, hands spreading your thighs apart with an ease that made your breath catch.

“look at you,” he murmured, his pink hair falling over his forehead as his gaze darkened. thick fingers traced a slow path along the soft skin of your inner thigh, rough fingertips catching on each sensitive dip. “all spread out for me.”

his breath was hot as he lowered his head, lips brushing feather-light kisses over the inside of your legs, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

when he finally reached your center, he paused—close enough for you to feel the soft puff of his exhale, but not enough to satisfy the ache blooming between your thighs.

“mine,” he growled, voice vibrating against your skin.

and then his mouth was on you.

his tongue traced a slow, deliberate line from your entrance to your clit, flicking over the sensitive nub with a precision that left your head spinning.

you gasped, fingers flying to his hair, tugging hard at the strands of pink that curled between your knuckles.

he groaned into you, the vibration of his voice sending another jolt straight through your core.

“so fucking sweet,” he muttered against you, the words muffled by the slick heat of his mouth.

his tongue lapped at you in slow, torturous circles, switching between soft flicks and hard strokes that left your thighs trembling.

when his finger pressed into you—thick and unrelenting—you couldn’t stop the moan that slipped out.

his crimson eyes flicked up, locking onto yours. “louder,” he commanded, curling his finger inside you until he found that spot that made your hips jerk.

“sukuna,” you gasped, nails digging into his scalp.

his smirk widened against you, but he didn’t relent. another finger joined the first, stretching you just enough to make your toes curl.

“that’s it,” he purred, dragging his tongue over your clit with every pulse of his fingers. “say my name again.”

your breath hitched as heat coiled low in your belly, winding tighter with each stroke.

“sukuna,” you whimpered, body arching into his touch as the pressure inside you built to the edge.

“good girl.”

his tongue moved faster, fingers thrusting deeper until the coil snapped, pleasure flooding your senses so sharply that you swore you saw white.

you writhed beneath him, body trembling with each wave of release, but sukuna didn’t stop. his mouth and hands dragged you through the aftershocks, prolonging the heat until your legs shook violently around his head.

when he finally pulled away, his lips and chin glistened, and the sight of him licking your slick from his fingers sent another rush of heat flooding your core.

“fuck, you’re perfect,” he rasped, his voice rough and low as he hovered over you, his cock pressing against your entrance.

you could feel him—hot, thick, and far too big.

“you’re gonna take every inch,” he growled, tilting your hips higher as he teased your entrance with the tip.

his cock dragged through your slick folds, each shallow thrust making you ache with want.

“look at me.”

your eyes snapped to his, and the sight of him left you breathless. his crimson gaze burned with possession, pink strands of hair falling into his face as he slowly sank inside, stretching you inch by inch.

your nails dug into his shoulders as your head fell back against the pillow.

“sukuna,” you gasped, breath breaking as he filled you completely.

his name spilled from your lips in a breathy moan as he bottomed out, the thick press of his cock stretching you to your limit. sukuna stilled, letting you adjust, his four hands roaming your body in slow, reverent strokes—calloused palms smoothing over your hips, thighs, and breasts as if to memorize every inch.

“fuck,” he rasped, one of his thumbs dragging lazily over your swollen clit. “you’re takin’ me so well. look how deep i am.”

your eyes fluttered open just in time to catch the glint in his gaze, his crimson irises smoldering as he pressed down on the slight bulge in your abdomen.

“you feel that?” he smirked, applying just enough pressure to make you keen. “so full of me already.”

your head fell back, a soft whimper tumbling from your throat as he rolled his hips, the slow drag of him pulling out leaving you trembling.

“stay with me, baby,” he growled, catching your chin between his fingers and tilting your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “i wanna see that pretty face while i fuck you.”

he snapped his hips forward again, the sudden force driving a gasp from your lips. sukuna’s smirk widened as he found his rhythm, each thrust harder, deeper—grinding against that sensitive spot inside that left your thighs trembling around his waist.

“goddamn,” he hissed, leaning down to bite at the curve of your shoulder, his teeth dragging against your flushed skin. “tight little thing. you were made for me.”

your nails raked down his back, desperate for something to hold onto as he drove you closer to the edge with every snap of his hips.

“sukuna—please,” you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for.

“please what?” he teased, dipping his head to suck a bruise just above your collarbone, his tongue flicking over the mark. “you gotta use your words, sweetheart.”

“i—” your voice broke as he angled his thrusts, the head of his cock brushing against that spot so perfectly you thought you might unravel on the spot.

sukuna grinned, reading the desperation in your eyes as if it fueled him. “ah, there it is,” he murmured, lips brushing against your jaw. “that sweet little spot that makes you fall apart.”

his pace quickened, hips pistoning into you with a brutal precision that sent molten pleasure ripping through your veins.

“you close, baby?” he growled, his voice gravelly as his four hands anchored you to the bed—one pressing down against your lower stomach, two gripping your hips tight enough to bruise, and the last tangling in your hair, tugging gently as he sucked at the curve of your throat.

you could only nod, your breath catching as the tension in your core coiled tighter, dangerously close to snapping.

“then cum for me,” he ordered, dragging his thumb over your clit in tight, merciless circles. “let me feel you.”

his words were all it took—your body arched off the bed, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you, white-hot and all-consuming.

sukuna groaned low in his chest, his thrusts growing rougher, sloppier as your walls pulsed around him, milking him for all he was worth.

“fuck, baby,” he snarled, burying himself to the hilt one last time as he came, the heat of his release flooding you, leaving you trembling beneath him.

for a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound between you the ragged cadence of your breathing and the faint crackle of the fire.

sukuna leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips—a stark contrast to the bruising way he’d just taken you. his hands, once gripping you with unrelenting force, now traced gentle patterns along your waist, grounding you in the quiet intimacy that followed.

“an elf always belongs with santa,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough yet tender, as if the words carried a weight neither of you fully understood until now.

your heart skipped at the quiet conviction in his tone, warmth spreading through your chest that had nothing to do with the fire crackling in the hearth.

you brushed a hand through his pink hair, letting the strands curl around your fingers as you smiled softly. “guess that makes me yours then.”

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kitten4sannie · 5 months ago

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ᴄᴀꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴏᴜᴄʜ

ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪᴏɴ/ᴄʀᴇᴀᴍᴘɪᴇ ➠ ꜱᴀɴ

pairing: frat boy! san x fem! reader feat. yungi

genre: frat au, smut

summary: san and his boys are more than grateful when you help them with their newest ‘feature film.’

w.c: 3k

warnings: they’re making porn okay, nasty mean dom! san, subby aloof! reader, san knowingly takes advantage of reader’s romantic feelings for him…. (bro’s the king of douchebags), manipulation/corruption, reader is treated like a fuck doll <3, brief implied mxm bc i love fruity frat boys uwu, praise/false praise, name calling/degradation, major voyeurism/exhibitionism kink, mind break ig?, dp in one hole, oral (giving), brief hair pulling, throat-fucking, tit fucking, facial, rough sex, bulge kink, breeding kink, dacryphilia, gang bang !!, it’s all unprotected btw, multiple orgasms, creampies <33

a/n: this is so fucking insane you guys….like idk why frat aus have me in such a chokehold but here we are🧍🏻‍♀️also this is totally random (and essential) info but san’s signature frat party look would be a ‘don’t hate me it turns me on’ shirt and a backwards red cap hwjhw anyways happy reading~ and please lemme know if you liked it uwu

p.s: we’re at 6.5k followers HELLO???? that’s insane 🫣 thank you so very much!!!

song rec: i like the way you kiss me - artemas (✨ male manipulation: the song ✨)

ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

“Smile for the camera, pretty girl,” San, the frat boy you’ve been in love with for ages, encouraged you from behind the lens of the camcorder he was holding, his smooth baritone voice like saccharine, artificial, yet sweet enough to keep you coming back for another taste. It was when you offered him a small, shy smile through the camera lense, despite the shamelessness of your current position, that he knew he had struck gold.

San was filming one of the first of many future encounters you would be having on the expansive black leather couch inside their crowded frat den. You were stuffed to the absolute brim by two of his closest colleagues, Yunho and Mingi, who always refused to participate unless they were working together as a duo.

“Stop looking at me like that, dude,” Mingi huffed up at Yunho from below the both of you, his shoulders and back routinely getting stuck to the couch with sweat.

“Like what?” Yunho scoffed back, leaning further down onto your body to get closer to Mingi, essentially folding you in half, his hands closing around your ankles.

“Like you wanna kiss me. You’re gonna make me soft.” Mingi grimaced, pushing Yunho’s hands out of the way to hold onto your ankles instead, driving himself into you like a well oiled machine. He was throbbing nonstop, but there was absolutely no proof that it was because of his friend’s heavy cock rubbing along his inside the cunt they were sharing.

Yunho’s breath hit your shoulder when he laughed. “Skill issue,” Yunho simply replied, delighted that Mingi bucked up into you even harder, encouraging him to do the same.

Clearly, there was something vaguely homoerotic going on there, but it wasn’t San’s business, and he definitely had better things to focus on — you, his newest pupil. He watched you with dollar signs in his bright brown eyes and the taste of cheap vodka on his tongue, unable to keep himself from licking repeatedly at his chapped lips, especially now that the innocent classmate he had recently taken a liking to had no problem taking two cocks at once inside her puffy, used cunt, while he, his bros, and his trusty camcorder had a front row seat to her mutually beneficial destruction.

“Look at you, so flexible…Are you sure you haven’t done this before, Y/N?” San teased, lowering the camera down until his sharp feline eyes were visible.

“N-no, I swear!” you squeaked out, the growing embarrassment you felt only spurring all of this newfound pleasure you were drunk on. “Just wanna, nnngh–be good for you…”

“Oh, that’s right. Silly me. You’re being a very good girl right now, baby, Don’t worry.” San couldn’t help but smile at the way you seemed to melt in front of him. It was just too easy. He glanced down at the camera, zooming in and capturing the moment his friends filled you up with their hot loads, the bliss evident on your fucked-out face. “That’s it, baby. Are you happy you stuck around here with us instead of going back to your dorm to do homework? Taking cock is much more fun, isn’t it, beautiful?”

“So much more fun,” you sighed out, your pupils blown out just from looking at his devastatingly handsome face. It was then that you pouted. You were only here because you were in love with San, and yet, it wasn’t even his dick inside you. It wasn’t fair. “But, I’d have even more fun with you, Sannie~”

“Is that so…?” San offered a brief shit-eating smirk to one of his boys nearby, reaching down to grab at himself through his sweatpants like he was weighing it. “It’s right here, baby. Why don’t you show us what that pretty mouth can do?”

Both Mingi and Yunho slowed down their thrusts, but didn’t completely pull out, choosing to leisurely fuck their cum back into you, as they fought to catch their breath.

“What a loser, cumming first like that,” Mingi insulted Yunho, licking at the saliva left on his lips.

“Your mom doesn’t have a problem with it,” Yunho chided back, reaching down past your body to smack his hand into the side of Mingi’s ass.

“Goddamn it, you guys, I’m gonna have to edit that gay shit out.” San brought a hand up to scratch at his head in frustration. “You know what, both of you, get out of my shot and sword fight somewhere else. I’m not doing this right now,” San grumbled, shooing the two panting men away from the couch they had just made a mess on.

“Bro acts like we don’t know about his late night tutoring sessions with Wooyoung,” Yunho whispered to Mingi, trying to stifle his laughter.

Mingi almost choked on his breath. “Don’t forget Yeosang. San doesn’t even take physics anymore, either. Yet, he still visits that nerd every Friday like clockwork.”

“Dude, aren’t they roommates?” Yunho cupped his hand around the side of his mouth, still using a hushed tone, “Do you think they run a train on–”

“Hey! Don’t make me haze the two of you again just for fun…” San warned from the center of the room, glaring daggers at the two men who went quiet almost immediately. His annoyance abruptly melted away once you gingerly reached up to pull his sweatpants down until the frat emblem that was stitched into the thigh pocket was no longer visible. It was when San smacked his heavy length down onto your face, that you let out a pornstar worthy moan. Cha-ching. “Oh, you like that? Hm? Want my cock?”

“Mm-hmm…” San’s cock slapped down onto your face a second time. You quickly squeezed your thighs together to keep yourself from cumming right then and there, biting back a moan all the while. You wondered if it was obvious how truly desperate you were for the man standing above. Fuck it. You were already here, so you might as well get what you came for. “Please, give it to me, Sannie, f-fuck my mouth.”

San could not believe his luck. His loyal fanbase would absolutely have a field day with this as soon as he uploaded it. He could already see the cash flowing in, and it made him rock hard. He sighed happily to himself, running his fingers through your hair, carefully tucking a few strands behind your ear. “It’s really true what they say…the shy ones are always the most slutty.”

“I’m not a slut, I just–” you cut yourself off, not wanting to confess to San right before you were about to suck him off in front of his fraternity and whichever degenerate that would be watching it back later on. You pouted again, looking up at him with wide, sparkly eyes. “I want to be useful to you, like a doll~”

“Did you hear that, everyone? Y/N here is a real life fuck doll. Let’s treat her as such,” San reminded his friends and housemates who couldn’t help but hover around the couch, a few of them sharing knowing smiles with one another.

Your heart began to thump away inside your chest, unable to believe that your long-time crush was giving you so much of his attention and affection. It was like a dream come true. As soon as your lips parted to take in a shaky breath, San tightened his grip around your hair, yanking you forward and stuffing your mouth full of cock. “Mmnnf…!”

Clutching the camera with one hand and the makeshift ponytail he created near the back of your head, San began thrusting sloppily into your open mouth, groaning at the slick sensation of your throat routinely closing around his moving cockhead. “Come on, doll, let me in, yeah? So I can fuck your throat raw.”

San wasn’t lying. With each wet, rough thrust, he got closer and closer to doing what he promised you. “Mmmn…nnn…” You couldn’t tell if the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes were the result of San’s dizzying performance or the burning arousal you felt stirring inside your core simply from being watched by a room full of men you didn’t know.

“Aww, crying already, princess? I’ll give you something to really cry about when I’m breeding that slutty cunt of yours,” San chuckled darkly, his strong hips snapping relentlessly, his pace only beginning to falter once he saw your drool mixed with his pre-cum escaping past your chin and dripping down in between your tits, leaving your soiled skin with a shiny complexion. You looked like a true whore. It was going to make the frat leader bust any second. The borderline obsessive look you had inside your teary eyes didn’t help either. “Fuck, oh my god– Somebody take the goddamn camera!”

The youngest of the group fumbled to grab the camera, using his jacket sleeve to rub off the fingerprints he left behind on the lens, before lifting it up, capturing the exact moment San pulled out of your mouth with a loud ‘pop’ and slid his cock along in between your glistening tits.

San turned to face the camera for a second, dimples flashing, squishing your tits in between his thick fingers as he fucked them. “See, you guys? This is how you use a doll to her maximum potential,” he explained as though he were a professor on their campus. “Just look at her face. She fuckin’ loves it.”

Instead of trying to focus on the camera, you gazed directly up at him, your cheeks warm to the touch, still love-struck, even when San’s load landed all over your face. You simply licked away what had landed on your lips, sucking the rest off the frat leader’s fingers once he so lovingly fed it to you.

San nodded his head in approval, patting yours in an effort to reward you for your hard work. “That’s a good girl…” He tilted his head to the side. “I wanna see what else our pretty doll can do. Sound good?”

“Really good,” you chimed, licking at your swollen lips, savoring San’s salty essence.

Wedding bells were ringing in the distance. You would do anything for San, and if that meant letting him treat you like an onahole and fuck you in any position he saw fit for the next hour, then you would happily oblige. By the time your knees gave out from cumming for the nth time, San had you in a full nelson in the middle of the couch, positioned behind you with his arms locked around your upper half, making sure your used body was on complete display.

“Sannie…gonna…cum…again,” you breathed out in between a few airy moans, your head feeling so heavy that you just let it hang for a second.

San repositioned himself so that he could clutch your chin, tilting it upwards. His free hand snaked around your waist, laying his palm flat on your tummy, suddenly driving his cock up into you so hard, you couldn’t even speak if you wanted to. “Hey, be a good slut and let them see what you look like when you’re cumming your brains out.”

You obediently gazed up at the blurry camera past your wet lashes, that is, until your eyes rolled back into your skull, only able to let out a choked gasp as you barreled over the edge of ecstasy. You didn’t have a chance to recover from the overwhelming pleasure, especially not when San pressed his hand down firmly onto the bulge his cock was routinely making inside your stomach. “P-please..! Sannie..!”

You want another load? Fuck, baby.” Groaning, San took a second to lick one of the tears that was rolling along your cheek before it dropped, his hips slamming against yours so quick, you were already developing bruises, ones that would accompany the bright red love bites scattered across your slick skin. He pressed his lips directly to your ear, nibbling on your earlobe. “You know, seeing you in class and on campus, putting on that innocent virgin act, I never would’ve pegged you for a cock-hungry little slut, but everyone enjoys a good surprise every now and then…don’t they?”

“Yes–yes, yes, yes,” you chanted back, too cockdrunk to even fully process what San was saying, just focused on how full you felt, and how you needed more.

“Good, because I got a surprise for you too.” Grunting loudly, San lowered his hips and slammed them up into you one last time, holding your trembling body still, painting your pulsing walls white. “Now, say ‘thank you, Sannie.’”

“Thank you, Sannie.” You leaned your head back to nuzzle the side of his cheek, placing your hands over his, feeling him rubbing your lower stomach in small circles, his cock still fully sheathed inside you.

“Anytime, sugar.” San gave your hair a few strokes as a reward, before pulling out and climbing off of the couch. He took the camera back from the new guy and snapped his fingers at a few of the bricked up housemates standing nearby, pointing in your direction. “Now, show me what you’re really made of.” San gave you a charming, dimpled smile. “Make me proud, okay?”

As an eager group of half-naked strangers surrounded you on all sides of the couch, some of them reaching out to grope your warm body, you returned San’s smile, your heart skipping a beat or two. “I’ll give it my best just for you~”

Throughout the night, San, alongside his fraternity, conditioned you with care, meticulously molding you into their prime playtoy, one they enthusiastically passed around, easily making your tape one of the longest in their exclusive film collection. It wasn’t difficult, by any means. You were, of course, the perfect specimen: passive, pliant, and poisoned by the oxytocin that turned your brain into mush. You were a star.

Even when you were being used by more men than you could count, you couldn’t keep your attention off of Sannie, his handsome face only growing blurry when someone would make you gag on their cock, as you didn’t have the most experience with men of their size. You wanted San to yourself again, desperately wishing you could reach out for him, instead of another stranger’s twitching erection — but you endured it all, falling further into the rabbit hole of pleasure for the sake of your whirlwind infatuation.

Everyone in the frat house deeply appreciated your dedication to their amateur film, especially San, who, by the end of it, secured the perfect spot to capture the finality of your desecration. Two of his older friends had just finished inside you, their spent cocks slipping out of your gaping hole and revealing the sticky mess they left behind.

Crouched down in front of the couch, San reached out past the camcorder to spread your puffy lips apart, each and every load you took over the past few hours now slowly spilling out onto his veined hand. “Look at this pretty cunt, you guys…so full of cum, it won’t stop coming out…” He panned up to your face with the camera, giving you a wicked smile from behind it. “You’ll be pregnant in no time, won’t you, doll? With whose baby, I wonder…”

After all that, you somehow managed to act shy, covering your flushed face, giving San heart eyes past your cum-stained, trembling fingers. “Hopefully yours…”

“Oh, princess.” San gently rubbed his fingers over your sore cunt and clit, his friends’ loads still dribbling out of you all the while. “I don’t think you realize how cute you’re being right now~ Almost like you didn’t just slut yourself out for everyone to see, huh? Mm, do you feel cute, Y/N?” San asked in a babying tone, as he slowly stood up and towered over you.

“You make me feel cute…” You nuzzled your cheek into the palm of San’s warm hand once he offered it to you, hoping you secured a spot inside his heart after all the hard work you put in. “I would keep going for you if I could still feel my legs.”

“Aww, there’s always next time, isn’t there?” he suggested slyly, rubbing away some leftover cum from your cheek before caressing the side of your face. “Do you have anything to say to our loyal fanbase, baby?”

“I love cock, especially yours, Sannie,” you slurred lovingly up at San, through the camera lens, licking your lips, mouth watering at the thought of being invited again to film another movie. “So give me a call, okay?”

“Oh, I will, believe me.” A smug laugh erupted from San’s puffed-out chest, as he aimed the camera at his pretty boy face for a second to announce, “Gentlemen, we’ve officially turned another good girl into a filthy fuckhole. If you’d like to watch the transformation happen in real time, feel free to stop by our frat. For a good price, we’ll even let some of you bastards have a go.” And with that, he shut the camcorder off and pushed it into the youngest member’s chest, who looked at him with wide eyes. “Fuck it, we might even give you a turn.”

The freshman choked on his spit. “R-really?”

“I’m feeling nice today.” San sighed, running his fingers through his sweaty bangs to fix them. When the young man just stood there drooling, the frat leader grimaced. “Upload this to all our sites ASAP, and don’t forget about our twitter page this time,” he demanded, rolling his eyes when he saw the cum stains the embarrassed student left behind on his pants. “And, for fuck’s sake, will you take care of that?”

As another member brought a can of beer over to San, the frat leader took it and cracked it open. “Can you believe that guy? He’s been here for, what, a month now? And he’s still creaming his pants like a virgin? Unbelievable.”

As you gingerly put your clothes back on, you watched San move around the frat to dab up his friends and clink their beer cans together in celebration of another successful shoot. You couldn’t help but let out a long, lovesick sigh. He would be yours one day. Until then, you would take what you could get, and of course, become a star.

fff taglist: @yutasbutterfly02 @wisejudgedragonhairdo @dawn-iscozy @bbdeongi @multistanbaby @crazyf0rm @kittenfrostt @magicshop1913 @enbysforhongjoong @londonbridges01 @mingisdimple @motherseonghwa23 @wwooyology @everyonewooeverywhere @leo-seonghwa @yourfatherlucifer @hwallazia @vampzity

#ateez #ateez smut #choi san #san smut #ateez x reader #san x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez imagines #kpop smut

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sweaterkittensahoy · 1 year ago

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Apparently, some companies now are labeling mass-produced crochet items with "machine crocheted" to justify selling an entire granny square vest for 14 bucks.

1. Machines cannot crochet.

2. Knitting machines, to my knowledge, cannot make granny squares.

3. Even if there was a machine that could crochet, 14 bucks for an entire fucking vest is still too low to be paying people a livable wage basically anywhere in the world.

4. It takes me, a very fast crocheter, about twenty minutes to make one granny square in a single color with five rows. Multi-color granny squares take more time. I'll say 30 minutes. Next time you see a granny square anything in a big box store, count one row of squares and multiply by 20 (for single color squares) or 30 (multicolor squares). Then consider that it's skilled labor which should have an hourly wage you can live on. Then look at the price tag. This is Victorian piece work poor shit going on.

#crochet #fast fashion #please hold while i find the stop fucking exploiting people bat #i don't know where the vest was being sold #but so help me if it was target yet again

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rinnstars · 9 months ago

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types of love trope!

type of love tropes of bllk guys <3

featuring: nagi, reo, sae, ness, yuukimiya, rin: short drabbles, fluff & angst, + likes and reblogs are appreciated! <3

school romance: nagi seishiro

perhaps it’s equivalent to a string of fate - every year no matter what class, both you and nagi sit right beside each other at the left third row of the class without fail. you think it must be the universe showing signs that you two were soulmates if it wasn’t clear enough - both of you napping behind you textbooks, both of you liking and playing the same games at the same time, both of you chatting in an empty classroom every break time. its love, you think, his eyes dilates the same as you do to him, his face is uncharacterically painted with pink the same yours does when you lean in, and that same butterfly feeling erupts in his stomach the same way yours does. and its the same after school too, a routine unbreakable to the both of you - everyday after school you’d get lunch with him at the nearby school cafe, then you’d spend hours together at a nearby arcade whether it be playing rhythms games with matching gloves or even playing claw machine getting each others favourite sanrio characters matching your phone case, then you’d spend the remaining of your time at his place lazing around until your curfew to run back home with his voice chatting about anything and everything in your ears through your headphones decorated with stickers and parts bought by him. he thinks you might be the only thing waking up for - youre his morning alarm whenever you call him as youre waiting at the bus stop, youre his sunlight that he usually dreads to see but nowadays he runs down the stairs to catch a glimpse of you, youre the fire that inspires and ignites him to try new things or at least try a little more in life. and you think he’s the reason you haven’t ripped your hair out in the school - he’s your coffee to waking you up sweetly in class, poking your face as he stares at you with his big eyes, he’s your pillow that you sleep on and feel comfortable being your real self in a cutthroat academy, he’s your medicine that you kiss whenever you feel too overwhelmed behind the books that hides you from the teachers. and you hope, with all your heart, that he’ll stay forever even after the two of you graduate.

heartbreak: itoshi rin

a cycle of hurt you think - travelling from his older brother that shattered his heart that has led rin to break apart your heart with his bare hands reminiscent of the days where he broke apart pieces of lego in your room as a kid. you think its unfair how you’ve faced heartbreak this young - you’ve heard about it, talked about by relatives, seniors and parents, but never at fourteen. fourteen - you should be out having fun with all your friends playing games from the arcade, chatting about and meeting new people, trying new skills and hobbies and finding your passion. yet youre sitting here all alone eating the lunch you used to with rin, the rice now tasting salty and bitter with tears soaking it, youre here unable to enter any shops because you see rin’s ghost in there where he used to accompany you to every trip you’ve made after school, youre scared to find new people because you know, you just know it’ll be a repeat of you and rin, and youre too drained to even think of trying new things. you want to stay the same, to hope that one day if your rin comes back, he wont feel left out that you know he always feel, you want to be the constant, the earth that he can orbit around anytime as you have promised. but you know, deep down in your wounded heart, that its over. its over, no matter how much you pray to the universe, no matter how hard you sob and cry over rin, no matter how much you lock yourself in the room with his scent barely here anymore - itoshi rin will never come back. and at just fourteen, you learn of grief, you learn of abandonment and you learn of heartbreak because of him.

childhood sweetheart: alexis ness

you think you and him are two peas in one pod - always seen as a little weird for our interests. he’s always been fascinated with spells and magic and you alike, and you hope one day somehow you’ll be able to travel into the magic world inside the countless mangas you’ve read together at the playground. everyone thinks you two are silly, that you guys are just kids, but you were so sure back then that you were gonna be a fairy alongside him with the countless of spells learnt from shows. now you think a little different - maybe growing up meant having to let go of those childish dreams of waking up in a fairy world by closing our door and spraying those scam-like perfume, having to let go those now dusty fairy wands your parents keep in a cardboard box that you remember every spring cleaning season, having to let go of your fantasy to being with him. yet, you can’t bear to throw them away despite your parents insistence in doing so, that it takes too much space in their house. but, that would mean that there will be no longer any physical reminders of ness, your first childhood play buddy. and youre not sure if he ever got to keep those, especially when you see his family’s garage sale selling all his toys including those fairy mangas. you never met ness again, you think the universe is cruel for giving you a mere three years to be with him. yet you know all his quirks, you know how he has the tendency to be clingy, hugging and tugging at you mid roleplay, you know how he has the tendency to cry a little too easily at the slightest slip of his feet, you know how he has the tendency to believe things too naively. and you wonder if his family ever knows him, those tall and grown adults like slender men haunting his house that yells at him. but maybe, you hope, that one day he’ll come back to your house for one

in every lifetime: reo mikage

he’s too used to changing every aspect of himself - being the golden and perfect heir to his fathers empire, being the charming and friendly prince figure in all of his classmates vision, being the best at everything from academics to sports to the arts. there’s no room for him to fail, for him to stop the charades, for him to remove the mask he’s been wearing all his life. but with you, its like his walls are broken down, its like he isn’t just the heir or just the majestic prince - that he’s just reo. you think its silly for him to try so hard, you melt the walls of his heart before you know it to see the real him underneath the chameleon skin that wraps him and restrains his real self. you adore his real smile that is a little crooked, you adore his clumsy skipping that it’s clear he’s never tried, you adore his long talks about his interests in the cafe that is far from his usual taste. and he thinks you’d like him in all the versions of him - whether that be a jester in the court to the princess he’s sure you are, or the bee to you the prettiest flower he’s ever seen, or like barbie and ken he thinks maybe after rewataching the whole series and movies on your bed during the holidays. and you think the same too, that you’ll find him in every lifetime - whether that be a thief in the night accidentally stumbling a rebellious prince, be a cat stumbling into a wolf, be a bee stumbling across the flower that is him too. you think you and him are connected by a red string that stubbornly ties around both of you, leading to you guys to knock against each other each step you take, pulling you guys together from two worlds to collide together, for you guys to love each other despite the uncertainties and thorns that are ahead of your journey. but you know, in every lifetime, you’ll always be reo’s and reo will always be yours.

first love: yuukimiya kenyu

every spring, you get reminded of your first love - reminiscent of flowers that bloomed by the walls on your way to school, reminiscent of the colourful butterfly that landed always on him, reminiscent of the smell of sweet and floral spring that you would wake up to every morning. he was the spring to your winter, always brightening up your day with his bright smile and shining eyes. you think he’s changed you for the better - he’s made you used to waking up early in the morning so you wont ever be late for school missing half the things in your bag, he’s made you much more optimistic seeing everything in colours rather than the colourless world you were used to, he’s made you much more outspoken always encouraging you to speak up in class and every aspect of your life. he was the first epitome of love, sweet and warm embrace of personalisation of love he was. red love that melts right into your skin with each touch that leaves an everlasting print on your body, red love that reflects light that kisses your skin he same way he used to, red love that travels through your body and explodes in your chest, heart pumping full of love for him. he was your first everything - your first kiss, your first sleepover, your first boyfriend. but sometimes you wish he wasn’t just your first love that you wish that he was the love that lasted your whole lifetime - that he didn’t have to leave so soon with a broken heart that can never heal with that same sugary sweet smile that you fell in love with.

the one that got away: itoshi sae

somedays, you look at the polaroids of you and sae and you wonder what could’ve been. you know hes doing well in spain, youve heard about it on social media, from ex-classmates, from your parents. they ask you about him, how he is, how hes doing - but you dont want to admit that youve lost him a long time ago. you smile tightly and nod, laugh along and whatnot, but theres a drowning feeling in your heart that swallows you a little inside in a black hole at each question posed at you. you don’t want to admit that he’s far gone away somewhere else, somewhere else without you, somewhere else better than you - just holed up in your room, studying and studying. you’ve dreamt of staying with him, to receive him from the airport that night and every other times he’s come home, to have him stay in your room just like back then - just him and you lying on your bed with yours and his playlist on the record tape that has long become outdated. you’ve dreamt of just being with him, nothing changing between the two of you - where he still looked in your eyes, where he still visited your house, where he still shopped at that same run-down convenience store you used to go after school before he picked up his little brother. sometimes, you understand rin - both byproducts of sae’s filmsy and broken promises, both never moving on from the one that got away - and perhaps in another life, you hope, you plead, you wish to the universe or even god, that in a parallel universe, that he never left you heartbroken in the rain at the doorsteps of your house, that you selfishly wished he never left for spain in the first place, that he wasn’t the one that got away.

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4unnyr0se · 1 year ago

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❥ kuroo as your boss

warnings: post-timeskip! kuroo, fem! reader, office sex, blatent favoritism, kuroo coddles reader, cunnilingus, blowjob, desk sex, unprotected sex, not proofread

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 694

Tetsuro Kuroo, the best damn boss anyone could ask for. Gave anyone the day off when needed, even if they were out of paid sick days. His office morale was the highest ever recorded in the Sports Promotions division, and he was damn proud of it.

Tetsuro Kuroo, who originally hired you because you looked really good in a pencil skirt. And because he needed a female employee for diversity’s sake. Either way, he had no idea of your skills or how you would manage in a sports office setting.

Tetsuro Kuroo, who was shocked to hear that you actually went to Nekoma and were in the same class as Kenma. Who called himself stupid for not recognizing a pretty girl when he was in high school, who called Kenma after he was done for the day to scream at him for not introducing him to such a fine piece of ass.

Tetsuro Kuroo, who had you do the work you wanted to do and never gave you assignments or paperwork you didn’t feel like you could handle. Was he coddling you? Sort of, but how could he not? You were just too pretty to be stressed. As long as you were his employee, you wouldn’t experience work-related stress. Not under his watch.

Tetsuro Kuroo, who always bought you lunch from wherever you wanted. You wanted sushi? Premium salmon rolls got delivered in 30 minutes. Wagyu? Consider it done. Convenience store ramen? He bought 10 cases for you to take home and eat at your leisure.

Tetsuro Kuroo, who confirmed the rumors that you were his favorite employee. What were they gonna do about it, hm? He wasn’t disenfranchising them by spoiling you; being jealous isn’t a cause to get you fired. He was a smug bastard and gave no shits.

Tetsuro Kuroo, who was eating lunch with you in his office one day. Who observed how your tiny pencil skirt rode up your thighs perfectly, how your stockings made you look so fucking sexy. He observed how you blushed when he looked at you, the cutest giggle leaving your lips.

Tetsuro Kuroo, who thanked the universe that his office had two-way blackout curtains and soundproofing. He would bend you over the desk and rip a hole in your stockings, purring at the sight of your soaked lace panties. Did you wear those just for him? Adorable.

Tetsuro Kuroo, who made you sit in his office chair as he ate your pussy like he was on death row. Who relished in your desperate and wanton cries of ecstasy, another orgasm rippling through you. Who demanded you finish on his tongue over and over again, that was all he wanted to eat.

Tetsuro Kuroo, who sighed as he got under-the-desk support while on a phone call with a very important sports vendor. He would grip the mahogany of his desk as he felt your tongue trace on his cock’s throbbing vein, prematurely cumming all over his face. Who, when asked what was wrong, said he just stubbed his toe.

Tetsuro Kuroo, who fucked you like a machine each afternoon. Who gripped onto your hips with such strength that it left imprints on your hips as he fucked you harder and harder. Who demanded you scream as much as you needed, no one would hear. And even if they did hear, no one would stop him. He was their fucking boss.

Tetsuro Kuroo, who never used a condom because you’re on the pill. Who moaned at the sight of his seed leaking out of your weeping core as you struggled to fix your now wrinkled pencil skirt, shooting him a dirty look the entire time. Who promised he would go easier on you tomorrow, but he never did.

Tetsuro Kuroo, who was actually kind of glad that he met you when you were both adults. If he had met you in high school, he never would have fucking graduated or kept Nekoma a powerhouse school. He would have been too distracted flirting with you the entire time.

Tetsuro Kuroo, who went to bed every night satisfied with his decision to hire someone as gorgeous as you.

#haikyuu #kuroo tetsurou #tetsuro kuroo #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo smut #timeskip kuroo

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norristrii · 2 months ago

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SO CLOSE TO GET ALONG.

“If you think they lookin’ at you, they lookin’ at me.” — How else to gain Lando's respect and attention than with your driving skills and knowledge of cars? Especially when you beat his best friend in race.

pairing. step cousin! Lando Norris x fem! reader

warnings. step cousin romance, Max F. being asshole, mention of cheating, longer than I expected, this part was written before chapter 2.

music. Looking At Me by Sabrina Carpenter.

Series masterlist.

FOUR DAYS INTO YOUR NEW LIFE IN LONDON, and the emptiness was starting to weight on you. The villa—grand and beautiful as it was—seemed far too large for just one person. Its towering ceilings and sprawling hallways echoed with silence, the kind of quiet that made you feel even more out of place.

Your aunt and Thomas were off living their best lives, constantly on trips, as though the move had unlocked a new chapter of bliss for them. They hardly seemed to stay still, returning only briefly to the villa before heading off to yet another excursion. You didn’t begrudge them for their happiness—they deserved it—but that didn’t make the solitude any easier to bear.

And Lando? He was nowhere to be found. Not that you’d expected him to stick around much, but his absence was still noticeable. You imagined him out in the city, partying, living it up, doing whatever it was rich boys did. The roaring engines of his McLaren had been missing for days, leaving behind a quiet emptiness that contrasted sharply with his flashy entrance when you first met him.

You wandered the villa, trying to fill the hours with anything that might distract you from the loneliness. You browsed through the library, flipping aimlessly through books you didn’t have the focus to read. You found yourself drawn to the framed photos of cars and F1 memorabilia, their energy and movement frozen in time—a stark contrast to the stillness surrounding you now.

Sometimes you’d sit by the French windows, staring out at the greenery, letting your thoughts drift. London was beautiful, you couldn’t deny that, but it felt foreign, too large and unfamiliar to find comfort in. Back in Los Angeles, your world had been full—of friends, routines, and the sun-soaked streets you’d known since childhood. Here, everything felt like it belonged to someone else, and you were just a guest passing through.

Your footsteps echoed softly as they carried you through the quiet villa, down unfamiliar hallways that seemed to stretch forever. Somehow, you found yourself standing in front of a door you hadn’t noticed before. The garage. You hesitated for a moment, your hand hovering over the handle, before slowly pushing it open.

The scent of polished metal and faint gasoline hit you immediately, a strangely comforting mix that brought back flashes of childhood memories with your dad. Stepping inside, the sheer scale of the space took your breath away. It wasn’t just a garage—it was a shrine to luxury and power, to speed and engineering perfection.

Your eyes widened as they wandered over the vehicles lined up like trophies. Ferraris in glossy red, their curves gleaming under the overhead lights. Mercedes in sleek silver, embodying elegance and precision. Lamborghinis with sharp, aggressive lines that seemed to demand attention. And of course, the McLarens—a whole row of them, their signature design instantly recognizable, each one more stunning than the last.

You couldn’t help but let out a low whistle of appreciation. The sight was overwhelming, but in the best way. You moved slowly, careful not to touch anything, as you took it all in. These weren’t just cars—they were art, every detail crafted with purpose and passion.

Your fingers itched to run along the edge of the nearest McLaren, to feel the smooth paint beneath your touch, but you held back, unsure if you were even allowed to be here. Still, being surrounded by these machines, so full of power and potential, felt strangely grounding. You couldn’t explain it, but for the first time in days, you didn’t feel quite so out of place.

“Like what you see?” The voice startled you, sharp yet casual, cutting through the hum of silence in the garage. You jumped slightly, your hand instinctively clutching your chest as you spun around. There he was, Lando, leaning against the doorframe, his posture effortlessly casual, yet there was something about his presence that felt magnetic. You couldn’t help but wonder how he managed to appear so quietly—no roaring McLaren engine to announce his arrival this time.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked, your voice tinged with exasperation, though your pulse was still racing from the surprise.

He shrugged, smirking as he ignored your question entirely. “So,” he drawled, his green eyes glinting with amusement as they flicked from the cars back to you, “do you like what you see?”

For a moment, you debated whether to respond, not entirely sure if he was referring to the cars—or maybe to himself. But something in his expression challenged you to match his tone, so you sighed and said, “Yeah, I love cars.” Your voice softened as you continued, almost out of habit, “That’s the only thing I’ve got after my dad.”

The words tumbled out before you realized it, and your stomach tightened the moment you heard yourself say them. Really? You thought. You were opening up to someone like Lando? Of all people? You barely knew him, and yet here you were, sharing a piece of yourself you normally kept buried.

Lando didn’t interrupt. He didn’t fill the space with another quip. Instead, his smirk faded slightly, his expression unreadable as he remained leaning against the doorframe, hands stuffed in his pockets. It was hard to tell if he was mocking you, intrigued, or perhaps—just perhaps—genuinely listening.

Your defenses kicked in almost immediately. “Never mind,” you added quickly, brushing the moment aside, your tone sharper now as you waved a hand toward the cars. “They’re impressive, though. Typical rich-boy collection, I guess.”

Lando ignored this comment of yours. “Max is hosting a party,” he said casually, his tone carrying that same cocky edge, like he was offering you the world instead of just a night out. “You want to come with me?”

The question felt odd, unexpected—especially coming from him. Did he actually want you there, or was this just something your aunt had told him to offer? It was hard to tell, and his expression wasn’t giving anything away. That smirk of his was still firmly in place, as though he already knew what your answer would be.

You hesitated, the silence stretching out between you as you weighed the idea in your mind. Parties weren’t usually your thing, and the thought of diving into Lando’s world—the world of rich boys, fast cars, and loud nights—felt daunting. But then again, you were four days into life in London, and you hadn’t exactly made any friends yet. The villa felt too quiet, too empty, and maybe, this was your chance to change that.

“Sure,” you said finally, your tone careful but steady. “Why not?”

Lando’s smirk widened slightly, like he’d been expecting your answer all along. “Good choice,” he said, stepping away from the doorframe with an easy confidence. “I’ll make sure you don’t get too bored.”

You weren’t sure whether to take that as reassurance or another one of his teasing remarks, but either way, you had a feeling this party was going to be... interesting, to say the least.

You followed him outside, the cool London air brushing against your skin as you stepped toward the sleek navy blue McLaren parked in the driveway. To your surprise, Lando walked around the car first, his hand reaching for the door. He opened it for you with an effortless motion, stepping back slightly as he gestured for you to get in.

Wow. Gentleman. You didn’t expect that from someone like him—someone who carried himself with such an air of cockiness—but it caught you off guard in a way that almost made you smile. Almost.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you noticed the details immediately. Bright yellow highlights stood out against the luxurious interior—subtle but undeniably personal. The stitching along the seats, the key fob on the dash, even the accents on the steering wheel bore his unmistakable initials. It was a bold choice, undeniably materialistic, but you couldn’t deny that it suited him perfectly.

Lando rounded the car and slid into the driver’s seat, the engine roaring to life with a sound that reverberated through your chest. You glanced at him briefly, noticing the self-assured grin tugging at his lips as he adjusted the mirror. For all the confidence that bordered on arrogance, there was something about his flair for style and detail that you couldn’t help but admire—whether you wanted to or not.

The silence in the car had stretched on long enough to teeter into awkward territory, the faint hum of the engine filling the space between you. You didn’t particularly mind the quiet, but something about being alone in the car with Lando made you feel the need to say something—anything. Without giving it too much thought, you blurted out, “The initials are cute.”

It was the kind of comment that felt awkward the moment you said it, the words lingering in the air as you wondered if he’d take it as a genuine compliment or simply as small talk. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye and were surprised to catch a small shift in his expression. That usual cocky smirk softened just slightly, replaced by something more genuine—a smile that, for a fleeting moment, felt almost disarming. “Thank you,” he replied, his voice easy, almost playful. “It’s a custom car, so…”

You nodded, sensing an opening to steer the conversation. “Custom McLaren 765LT,” you said casually, your tone light but deliberate, as if discussing high-end supercars was an everyday thing for you. As the words left your mouth, you noticed his head turn toward you sharply, his green eyes narrowing in surprise. Clearly, he hadn’t expected you to say that—or to know exactly what kind of car you were riding in.

“Custom McLaren 765LT Spider, actually,” he corrected, his smirk returning with a touch of pride as he emphasized the distinction. His tone carried a hint of satisfaction, the way someone might feel when sharing a detail they were sure no one else would notice. The way he said it wasn’t condescending, though—more like he couldn’t resist showing off, just a little.

You rolled your eyes in response, your lips curving into a faint smile despite yourself. “Of course,” you replied, letting the sarcasm slip into your voice. But before you could add anything more, he leaned back in his seat, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel. The light of the passing streetlamps flickered through the windows, casting soft shadows across his face.

“But now you see it every day,” he pointed out, his grin widening as if he’d just won some unspoken contest of wit. His words were smooth, effortlessly confident, and completely characteristic of him. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes again, though the smile tugging at the corners of your lips betrayed that you didn’t entirely mind.

The car purred smoothly along the road, the city lights of London beginning to blur past in soft streaks. Something about that little exchange—playful, teasing, and oddly comfortable—seemed to ease the weight of the silence that had hung over the ride before. And for the first time in days, you felt just a little more at ease. Maybe this night wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe this golden boy, for all his arrogance, wouldn’t be quite so insufferable as you’d first thought.

The McLaren purred to a stop in front of yet another villa, smaller than the one you now lived in but still exuding a quiet elegance. It seemed like wealth wasn’t just a part of Lando’s life—it was everywhere, shared by everyone in his orbit. The thought crossed your mind with a faint smirk: So, all rich boys have rich friends?

Outside, a guy stood waiting by the entrance, his grin wide and welcoming as he spotted Lando. “Max! My bro!” Lando shouted, his voice carrying easily as he hopped out of the car. The energy between them was immediate, loud and full of ease, like old friends picking up right where they left off. You followed a few steps behind, unsure of where you fit into the dynamic. The whole thing felt… awkward. Like you were stumbling into someone else’s world without an invitation.

Before you could dwell too much on the awkwardness, another figure appeared from behind Max—a brunette girl with a bright, carefree smile. “Hi, Lando!” she called, her voice warm and bubbly as she threw her arms around him in a hug. You watched the way he hugged her back, his grin as wide as ever, and you felt the faintest pang of… something. Was it jealousy? You weren’t sure. It sat uncomfortably in your chest, a feeling you didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone explain.

But as quickly as the feeling bubbled up, it melted away when the girl turned to you, her smile growing even brighter. “This is Y/n,” Lando said, his tone almost reluctant as he introduced you. You noticed the hesitation in his words—how he paused just a beat too long before finishing, “My… friend.” Friend? The label felt hollow, like it didn’t quite capture whatever this was. Roommate? Step cousin? Something entirely else? The uncertainty hung in the air, but no one seemed to question it.

“Hi Y/n! I’m Ria!” she exclaimed, her enthusiasm unmistakable as she pulled you into a hug before you could even react. The gesture was disarming, her warmth cutting through some of the awkward tension you’d carried from the car. Max greeted you with a casual smile, his hands tucked into his pockets, clearly content to let Ria handle the introductions.

You and Ria moved together through the crowd, the energy of the party buzzing around you. Conversations overlapped, laughter echoed off the walls, and the faint beat of music pulsed in the background. You couldn’t help but notice the effortless way Ria navigated the room, greeting people with an easy familiarity that made it clear she was well within her element.

It wasn’t long before you realized you’d lost track of Lando and Max, the two of them seemingly swallowed up by the throng of people. You didn’t mind, though—being with Ria felt much less intimidating. Her presence was warm, almost grounding, as she turned her attention back to you.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” Ria asked, her tone light but knowing, her eyes scanning your face like she was piecing together a puzzle. It wasn’t really a question—it was a statement, her ability to read you almost instant.

“Is it that obvious?” you replied with a small laugh, feeling a little exposed but grateful for her openness.

“Kind of,” she said with a playful smile, brushing a strand of her brunette hair behind her ear. “But don’t worry, that’s not a bad thing.” Her sincerity softened the moment, and you felt a flicker of ease in her words.

As the party buzzed around you, you couldn’t help but wonder how Ria seemed so effortlessly comfortable here—so at home in this world that still felt foreign to you. Maybe it wouldn’t be impossible for you to find your place here too, given a little time.

“Yeah, I just needed a change,” you said, your voice carrying the weight of the unspoken emotions you’d been bottling up. The words hung in the air for a moment, as you hesitated, gathering the courage to continue. You glanced at Ria, her open expression encouraging you without needing to say anything. She let you speak, her presence gentle yet supportive.

You took a quiet breath and finally admitted what you’d been holding back, the words tumbling out like a confession. “Right before I moved, my boyfriend cheated on me.” It felt strange to say it aloud, the truth exposing itself like a fresh wound. You’d never mentioned it—not to your aunt, not to anyone. You’d kept it buried deep inside, pretending it didn’t hurt as much as it did.

Ria didn’t react with surprise or pity. She simply nodded slightly, her expression soft and understanding. She didn’t interrupt or press you for details, and her silence made the moment feel less suffocating.

The thought crossed your mind—there wasn’t really anyone else your age who might understand. Not here in London. Well, apart from Lando, but his world felt so far removed from your own, and you couldn’t imagine talking to him about something like this. Ria, though… she was different. She was a girl, and there was something about her warmth that made the words spill out more easily than you’d expected.

“That sucks,” Ria said, her tone heartfelt and steady as she met your gaze. “He’s an idiot and doesn’t deserve you, Y/n.” Her words were sharp but comforting, carrying just enough certainty to make you feel a little better about it all. “There are way better people out there,” she continued, her expression softening into a reassuring smile.

Her comment lingered in the air, the meaning obvious—but your mind drifted as you couldn’t help but think of Lando for just a moment. Better people? People like Lando? The thought caught you off guard, and you dismissed it quickly, unsure why it had even crossed your mind. He was arrogant, loud, and more complicated than you cared to admit. But there was something about him, wasn’t there? Something that made it hard to ignore him entirely.

Ria didn’t press you for a response. She simply stayed by your side, her presence steady and unshakable as the party swirled around you. It felt grounding somehow, like you weren’t as alone as you’d feared when you arrived here in London. Maybe she was right—there were better people. You weren’t sure who they were yet, but you felt just a little more hopeful about finding them. Even if it meant crossing paths with a certain golden boy along the way.

You stopped in your tracks, the sound of their voices catching your attention like a spark igniting a fire. “She said she loves cars,” Lando’s voice rang out, the tone unmistakable—amused and full of that cocky charm he carried so effortlessly.

“Yeah, but I’d bet she can’t even drive,” Max added, his laughter following close behind. The casual dismissiveness in his comment made your jaw tighten. You exchanged a glance with Ria, who gave a slight eye-roll before muttering, “He’s an idiot sometimes.”

Before you could react, you turned to find that Lando had already vanished into the crowd. He moved like a ghost, slipping away before you could even process it. Typical. Your focus snapped back to Max, though—still standing there, obliviously grinning as if his words hadn’t hit a nerve. You weren’t about to let it slide.

“Hey, Max!” you called out sharply, your voice cutting through the hum of the party. The challenge was already forming on your lips before you even fully thought it through. “You wanna race?”

The grin slipped from his face for just a moment, replaced by a flicker of surprise. It wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting, clearly. Ria’s laugh bubbled beside you, her hand brushing your arm as if to say, Oh, this is going to be good.

Max recovered quickly, the playful arrogance returning to his expression. “Race? You think you can take me on?” he asked, tilting his head with a smirk.

You stepped forward slightly, squaring your shoulders as you shot him a confident look. “Guess we’ll find out,” you replied, the fire in your tone leaving no room for doubt.

You walked down the driveway, the cool night air brushing against your face as the party buzzed faintly in the background. A line of cars stood before you, gleaming under the soft glow of the villa’s outdoor lights, each one more extravagant than the last. But your attention zeroed in on the one you knew best—the navy blue McLaren 765LT.

Lando’s McLaren.

You approached it with purpose, your fingertips brushing lightly against the smooth, cool surface of the car. The thought crossed your mind—Idiot always leaving his doors unlocked—as you reached for the handle. Sure enough, the door pulled open without a hitch, the soft whir of the mechanism breaking the quiet.

And then you saw it: the keys, casually sitting in the ignition as if Lando had left them there just for you. You couldn’t help but shake your head, a mix of incredulity and amusement bubbling inside you. What kind of person leaves a car like this unlocked with the keys still in it? you thought, though you already knew the answer. Lando Norris. That’s who.

The temptation settled into your chest, electric and undeniable. The car seemed to almost call to you, a thrilling invitation to prove Max—and maybe even Lando—wrong. You slid into the driver’s seat carefully, the leather cool beneath you, the intoxicating scent of luxury enveloping you. Your fingers hovered over the wheel, your heart pounding as you considered your next move.

“So where are we going?” Max asked, his voice casual as he parked next to you, the engine of his car humming softly. You glanced at him, a flicker of doubt crossing your mind. Honestly, you had no clue. You barely remembered how you got to the villa, much less how to navigate the streets of London at high speeds. But you weren’t about to let him know that.

“Around London,” you replied, your tone calm and confident as you met his gaze. His eyes widened slightly, the surprise evident on his face. “Wait,” you continued, catching the way his expression shifted, “isn’t street racing illegal here?” you asked, your voice laced with a hint of challenge.

Max hesitated for a beat, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Then, with a sly grin, he shrugged. “Not until they catch you,” he said, his words carrying a reckless edge that made your heart race—though not nearly as much as what happened next.

Without warning, Max slammed down on the gas, his tires screeching against the pavement as he took off down the street. Cheating. You narrowed your eyes, the adrenaline already coursing through your veins. He didn’t even give you a chance to count down. Typical.

You didn’t hesitate, your hands gripping the wheel of the McLaren as you started the engine. The roar filled your ears, and you could feel the power vibrating through you as you pressed down on the accelerator. The car shot forward, smooth and fast, as you sped after him, the lights of London blurring past in streaks of gold and white.

The house was alive with music and chatter, a chaotic symphony of energy that echoed through its halls, but Lando’s sharp, agitated voice pierced through it all like an alarm. “Ria!” he shouted, his tone carrying an edge of urgency that immediately caught attention. His footsteps echoed as he stormed through the rooms, each one empty of the people he was looking for. His frustration was palpable, radiating from the tense set of his shoulders as he scanned the space around him. He wasn’t usually like this, but something was clearly off.

He found Ria standing on the balcony, her posture relaxed, her eyes focused on the sprawling city below as though she were lost in thought. “Ria,” Lando called again, stepping closer to her. His voice was slightly steadier now, but it was impossible to miss the irritation beneath it. “Where’s Max and Y/n?” he asked, gesturing vaguely toward the house as if the answer might suddenly reveal itself in the quiet corners.

Ria turned her head just enough to acknowledge him, her expression neutral, calm. She didn’t respond right away, her silence stretching the tension in the air even thinner. Lando stepped closer, his brow furrowing as he waited for an answer he clearly wasn’t getting. “Well?” he pressed, his tone sharp enough to cut through the hum of conversation from the party below.

Still, Ria didn’t say a word. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her lips twitching with what looked suspiciously like amusement. Lando’s frustration boiled over as he stepped past her, his patience officially gone. He leaned over the railing of the balcony, his green eyes scanning the driveway below—and that’s when he saw it.

The space where his navy blue McLaren 765LT had been parked just hours ago was glaringly empty, its absence striking like a punch to the gut. His eyes widened, disbelief flooding his features as the realization hit him hard.

“And where’s my car?!” he exclaimed, his voice rising in shock and fury. The sharpness of his tone echoed through the night air, leaving no doubt about his current state of mind. This wasn’t just irritation anymore—it was full-blown outrage mixed with an incredulous kind of confusion.

Ria, still leaning casually against the railing, finally broke the silence with a small laugh. She couldn’t help herself, the situation unfolding before her far too entertaining to ignore. “Relax, Lando,” she said lightly, her tone far too casual given the circumstances. “I’m sure they’re just... bonding.” Her smirk was faint but unmistakable, and it only seemed to fuel Lando’s exasperation further.

Lando’s hands moved quickly, almost frantically, as he pulled his phone from his pocket and navigated to the city’s traffic camera website. His jaw tightened, his green eyes scanning the screen as he clicked through feed after feed, the tension in his movements palpable.

And then he saw it. The unmistakable navy blue car, tearing through the streets of London. The camera caught you mid-drift, the car sliding effortlessly through a sharp turn as you overtook Max with precision that left even Lando momentarily stunned.

“She’s so good,” Ria remarked, her voice cutting through the silence as she leaned over his shoulder to get a better look. There was no sarcasm in her tone—just genuine admiration.

Lando, however, didn’t respond. He just stared at the screen, his expression frozen somewhere between disbelief and sheer exasperation. His wide eyes flicked between the car and the driver, his mind racing to process what he was seeing. Finally, he let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his curls as he muttered under his breath, “Who the fuck is living in my house?”

Ria stifled a laugh, clearly enjoying his reaction far more than she should have. But Lando wasn’t laughing. His prized car was out there, speeding through the city in the hands of someone who, until a few days ago, was practically a stranger. And the worst part? You were good—too good. It was infuriating, and yet, he couldn’t look away.

The screen went dark abruptly, the live feed disappearing without warning. “Fuck,” Lando muttered under his breath, his frustration boiling over as he stared at his phone, willing the signal to come back. But it didn’t. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the party still buzzing in the background.

And then, he heard it—the unmistakable roar of engines cutting through the night air. His head snapped up, his green eyes narrowing as he stepped closer to the balcony railing. The sound grew louder, sharper, until finally, he saw it: his McLaren 765LT speeding into the driveway, its tires screeching slightly as it came to a halt.

Ria leaned casually against the railing beside him, her expression unreadable as she watched the scene unfold. “Well,” she said lightly, her tone carrying a hint of amusement, “looks like they’re back.”

Lando’s movements stilled for a moment, his gaze locked on the screen as the McLaren he held so dear blazed into the driveway, unmistakably driven by you. For a second, the world seemed to pause as he processed what had just happened. His car. His car. Not only being driven by someone else but crossing the finish line first, beating his best friend in a race he hadn’t even known was happening.

A smirk slowly tugged at the corner of his lips, despite himself. He hated to admit it—really hated to—but the sight of his car speeding to victory at your hands was impressive. More than impressive, actually. But his pride wasn’t going to let him say that outright, at least not yet. Snapping himself out of his momentary stupor, he bolted out of the house, his footsteps pounding against the driveway as he approached.

“Y/n, what the fuck!” he shouted as he neared, his voice sharp with a mix of panic and disbelief. You stood by the car now, your heart still racing from the adrenaline of the race, your hands tingling from gripping the wheel. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze darted between you and his McLaren as though he couldn’t decide which one of you to scold first.

You understood why he was mad—you’d practically stolen his car without asking, after all. But there was also something in his expression that stopped you from feeling too guilty. It wasn’t just frustration; there was something deeper there. Something like… admiration?

“What did you think?” Lando demanded, his tone trying to mask that faint hint of awe. His words hung in the air, a challenge and a test all at once. You knew exactly what he thought. You’d beaten his best friend, in his car, on your very first drive. That wasn’t something anyone could ignore.

Before you could answer, Ria appeared beside you, her calm presence instantly shifting the dynamic. She folded her arms, her expression equal parts amused and protective as she addressed Lando. “Lando, leave her alone,” she said firmly, her tone steady yet playful. “Her boyfriend cheated—she needed to get it out somehow.”

The words hit like a bolt of lightning, cutting through the tension and drawing all attention to the vulnerability Ria had just exposed. You felt the color rise to your cheeks, embarrassment curling in your stomach as you glanced at Lando. Did she really have to say that? You hadn’t even told your aunt, let alone expected it to come up here, in front of him.

Your eyes locked with Lando’s, and you braced yourself for the reaction. His gaze softened, just slightly, as the sharp edges of his frustration seemed to shift. He was still angry—you could see that much—but it wasn’t directed at you. His lips pressed into a thin line as he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his curls. The look in his eyes wasn’t one of judgment but of something else entirely. Understanding? Or maybe just the realization that this wasn’t about his car, not really.

Max finally rolled into the driveway, his car screeching to a stop next to the McLaren as he stepped out. He looked a little sheepish, his pride clearly bruised but not enough to stop him from acknowledging the obvious. “Well, I am sorry… this was impressive,” he said, his words carrying the weight of reluctant admiration. He wasn’t one to hand out compliments easily, but tonight had forced his hand.

You nodded, the hint of a smile tugging at your lips as you accepted his apology. The adrenaline was still coursing through you, but the tension in the air had softened. “Thanks,” you replied simply, letting the weight of your victory speak for itself.

Lando, who had been standing just a few steps away, crossed his arms as he glanced between you and Max, his expression unreadable at first. But then, his lips curved slightly into a smirk, the frustration from earlier giving way to something else—acknowledgment. “It really was,” he admitted, his voice quieter now but no less sincere.

For a moment, the three of you stood in the driveway, the hum of the engines fading into the background as the buzz of the night settled. Even Ria, who had been lingering on the edge of the group, gave you a knowing look. You’d done something unexpected, something bold—and whether they wanted to admit it or not, you’d earned their respect tonight.

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austinbutlerslovers · 2 months ago

Text

Sugar Daddy

Label Mature 18+

Summary Drowning in debt with dreams on hold a handsome stranger from your past pulls you out of the daily grind and as your relationship rekindles he changes your life forever.

🔗 Masterlist

💝Romantic Smut 💝 Austin in unrequited love • savior complex • love lorn • childhood crush • reunited • generous benefactor /sugar daddy •slow burn • friends to lovers • gives you everything •dreams come true • reveals his true feelings • lovemaking • orgasm • aftercare

📖 Proofreader @purejasmine 💞

Sugar Daddy

The coffee shop hums with its usual morning rush, business people in tailored suits typing furiously on laptops, patrons snapping photos of their drinks, and regulars rattling off complicated orders over the clatter of steaming milk.

You stand behind the counter, expertly maneuvering between the espresso machine and rows of shiny equipment, your hands moving with the precision of someone who’s done this a thousand times before.

The café is one of the best in New York, a bustling haven for caffeine lovers, and you’ve earned your place here as one of its most skilled baristas.

Your dedication to your craft earned you a feature in Coffee House Magazine as the ‘Rising Star Barista,’ a title that still feels surreal every time you think about it.

Your smile is polite but faint, masking the exhaustion of early mornings and the weight of your dreams deterred.

Owning a café of your own still feels impossibly far away, buried under the reality of mounting bills and the shadow of debt.

You don’t notice him at first, not until you hear a smooth, low voice order an oat milk latte, a voice that feels strangely familiar.

You glance up, ready to confirm the order, when your breath catches in your throat, because standing at the counter in front of you is Austin Butler.

He’s wearing a trucker hat low over his eyes, his face partially obscured, but there’s no mistaking him.

The boy you once knew has grown into someone striking, almost unreal, his sandy brown hair just visible peeking under the brim, his chiseled jawline more defined than you remember.

For a moment, you’re transported right back to your childhood. Austin, the boy who once made you laugh until your sides hurt.

The boy who made you feel butterflies long before you even knew what love meant.

But that boy is gone. In his place is a man who looks like he’s stepped right out of a magazine shoot, otherworldly and utterly unattainable.

“A-Austin Butler,” you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper.

He glances around quickly, pressing a finger to his lips not to say his name, and as his blue eyes meet yours the realization of how rich and famous he is dawns on you, leaving you momentarily stunned.

You lost track of his career after his Disney days but had recently heard of him staring as Elvis and you were both proud and floored.

You feel guilty now that you never watched it. You smile remembering how well he could recite pulp fiction ver batum when he played at your house after school.

“You look great,” he says, his gaze sweeping over you with an appreciation that makes your cheeks warm.

“Thanks,” you reply, your voice hesitant, highly aware of your simple work uniform, your hair held back in a loosened ponytail from the morning rush.

He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Is this your place?”

“No,” you admit, your tone tinged with embarrassment. “I just work here.”

Austin frowns slightly, the memory sparking in his eyes. “But you always wanted to own a coffee shop. I remember you playing coffee shop all the time when we were kids.”

You grin at the memory, but then the ache of his words stir in you. “Dreams cost money. I’m not quite there yet.” You admit.

He studies you for a moment, then asks, “When’s your break?”

You check the clock on the register to confirm.“Half an hour,” you say cautiously.

“Perfect,” he replies, smile widening. “Let’s catch up.”

You nod, your heart racing as he steps aside to wait.

You set to work on his oat milk latte, feeling his gaze on you the entire time. When you finally place the drink on the counter, your fingers accidentally brush against his, sending a jolt of awareness through you.

“Thanks,” he says, holding your gaze for a moment before moving to a nearby table.

You dive back into the rush, the half hour flying by in a frantic blur of orders, clinking cups, and the hiss of the espresso machine.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him at his table, scrolling through his phone, occasionally looking up to survey the bustling café.

A few customers eventually recognize him despite his low cap. A group of fans shyly approach, and he obliges with a polite smile, taking a couple of quick pictures.

The attention starts to ripple through the café, the buzz shifting as other patrons take out their phones to film or snap photos. You feel your stomach twist, worried about the growing attention.

Austin seems to sense it, standing and making his way back to the counter with an easy grin that somehow feels just for you.

“I think I’m causing a bit of a scene,” he says, his voice low as a few heads turn to watch the interaction. “I’ll have to take you out for lunch instead. This isn’t fair to you.”

Your heart skips a beat. “A-Austin, it’s fine. You don’t have to—”

“I need to,” he interrupts, his voice quiet but firm, the conviction in his eyes making you fall silent. “You always took care of me as a kid. Let me take care of you now.”

Before you can respond, he tilts his head, “Can I have your number? So I can text you where to meet me?” He asks.

You hesitate for a moment, then nod, quickly scrawling it onto a piece paper and sliding it across the counter, and he takes it with a warm smile that makes you feel light-headed.

By the time your break rolls around, you find yourself anxiously checking your phone, unsure of what to expect until a notification pops up, and your heart pounds as you open the message:

Austin: Meet me at Alinea Bistro. It’s quieter there, and the food’s great. I’ll wait for you.

Alinea Bistro is a few blocks away, a sleek but understated place that’s known for its intimate atmosphere. You walk there quickly, nerves fluttering in your stomach.

When you arrive, Austin is already seated in a corner booth, his cap now gone, his sandy brown hair tousled perfectly. His blue eyes brighten as you approach, and a genuine smile spreads across his face filled with excitement.

“You made it,” he says, standing briefly to pull out your chair with a grace that feels both practiced and effortless.

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice quieter than you intend as you settle into the seat. “Thanks for… inviting me.”

“I couldn’t resist,” he says, his tone light but his gaze is steady, leaning forward slightly. “It’s been long…way too long, actually, and I wanted to catch up, without an audience this time.” He grins, his eyes lingering on you, warm and unwavering.

His words hit you right in the chest, and you offer a slow, hesitant. “Yeah…it has been a while,” your gaze drifting over him, taking in every detail.

His crisp white tee is tight enough to hint at the lean muscle beneath, his easy confidence radiating a natural, unforced charm.

His blue eyes are deep and sincere, catching the light in a way that draws you in, and his face…devastatingly handsome, his defined nose and full lips making him almost too perfect to be real.

“You look incredible, Austin,” you admit, your voice filled with awe.

He grins, and there’s a flicker of something deeper in his eyes, something enamored, almost boyish. “You’re the incredible one. I mean, look at you, still the same spark, just… brighter.”

Heat creeps up your neck, and you duck your head, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “You’ve always been such the charmer, Austin,” you tease, eyes narrowing playfully as if to brush off his flattery.

He leans back, a slow, smile spreading across his lips. “Always with you,” he replies, his voice low and warm. “Then and now,” he adds, both of your gazes softening as the weight of nostalgia settles between you.

The conversation flows easily, slipping right back into the comfort of childhood memories. “You remember that time you fell off your pogo-stick in my driveway?” you say, laughing softly. “You wiped out so hard, I thought you broke your arm.”

Austin laughs, the sound low and warn. “Yeah, I was such a wild kid always trying to show off for you, and you were an angel for putting up with me. ‘You’d say ‘Austin, please don’t do anything crazy for five minutes!’ and I’d just grin at you like, ‘Never gonna happen.’”

You both laugh, genuine and easy, the sound filling the space between you, and as your eyes meet again, you can feel the weight of how much you meant to each other lingering in the air.

“I loved it, though,” you admit, your smile softening. “You were… chaos, but the good kind.”

His expression shifts, a little wistful. “I hated it when you moved. That was the first time Id ever felt heartbroken y’know? Thirteen years old, crying into my pillow at night because my best friend was gone.”

You blink, your heart aching, caught off guard by his admission. “Oh, Austin, I had no idea it hit you that hard. I missed you too so much…But everything changed so fast… life just happened, you know?”

“Yeah,” he says quietly, tracing the rim of his glass with a finger. “It does that.”

As he stares at his glass lost deeply in thought, you steal a moment to really look at him. The lanky blonde kid who’d always trip over his words when he spoke to you is gone, replaced by this devastatingly handsome man who commands every room he walks into and could have any woman he wants in a heartbeat.

Curiosity gets best of you as you tilt your head looking at him. “So… what about now? Your love life’s gotta be wilder than pogo stick accidents these days.”

He exhales a short laugh as he refocuses leaning back in his chair. “Just got out of a big one, actually. Fashion model, whole thing was a mess. You didn’t hear about it?”

“No,” you admit, grinning at his mock-offended look. “I’ve been a little busy steaming oat milk lattes.”

“Fair,” he concedes, then smirks. “It’s all orchestrated anyway, red carpets, magazine shoots, the works. Looks perfect on the outside, but…” His voice dips, softer now, almost hesitant. “People see the shine, not the scars…..you lose a lot of trust along the way….” He admits, his voice quieter with the pain he tries to push past.

You nod slowly, his words sinking in revealing a vulnerability that you didn’t expect, and it pulls at something in you. “I get that,” you say, your own voice lowering. “Not the fashion model part, obviously, but… the trust thing. It’s hard when you’re drowning in your own mess and no one’s really there …”

His brows knit together. “What kind of mess?”

You hesitate, then let it spill out with an exhale. “Debt, mostly. I’m good at my job, but it doesn’t pay enough to keep up, let alone save for that coffee shop I always dreamed about. It’s just… a lot.”

Austin’s quiet for a moment, his eyes searching yours. You don’t tell him the rest, about how you’ve cried yourself to sleep more nights than you can count, how the relationships you’ve tried hollowed you out leaving almost nothing left, but he seems to hear it anyway.

“You deserve that dream,” he says finally, his voice firm. “You always did.”

The waiter arrives then, setting down plates of delicate, artfully arranged food, truffle-dusted ravioli for you, a perfectly seared steak for him.

You both dig in, and for a while, it’s just the clink of forks and the occasional hum of appreciation. But the air between you feels charged, like the conversation’s only paused, not ended.

Halfway through the meal, Austin sets his fork down and leans forward again, his elbows resting on the table. “Listen,” he says, his tone shifting to something more intentional . “I’ve earned all this… money, and fame, and it took me a long time to get here, but now that I have it, I want to do something real with it. Let me help you.”

You freeze, your fork hovering midair. “What?”

“I mean it,” he insists, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’ve always taken care of me, back when I was a dumb kid crashing out at your place on the weekends, and even today, making me feel that genuine connection with you that I haven’t felt in forever. Let me take care of you. Get you out of debt, set you up with that café. Whatever you need.”

“Austin, I can’t—” you start, but he cuts you off with a shake of his head.

“You can,” he says, his voice gentler but unyielding. “I’m not some stranger throwing cash around. It’s me. The kid who ate all your cookies and begged you to play coffee shop with me. I want this for you.”

You stare at him, your chest tight. “Why?”

He smiles, soft and a little sad. “Because you’re the one person who never wanted anything from me. And now that I’ve got something to give… I want it to be you.”

You look at him, caught between the life you’ve fought to survive in and the boy you once knew, now a famous actor offering you everything, and asking for nothing in return.

The rest of the meal passes in a blur, your mind spinning with his offer. By the time the bill arrives he’s already texting you something as your phone pings when he sends it over. “My accountant’s number,” he says with a nod. “Call him tomorrow. We’ll figure it out.”

“Austin, this is insane,” you confess, staring at the text like it’s a contract with the devil.

“Maybe,” he agrees, leaning back with that easy charm. “But it feels right. Say yes”

You smile, shaky and disbelieving, but the word slips out anyway. “Yes.”

His grin widens mischievously, and for a moment, he’s just Austin again, the wild boy from your childhood, not someone who’s grown into an impossibly famous and untouchable celebrity.

The day after your lunch at Alinea Bistro blurs by in a whirlwind of disbelief and cautious hope.

You hesitate until evening before working up the nerve to call his accountant. When you finally do, the voice on the other end is crisp, professional, unfazed and clearly used to handling Austin’s whims.

“Mr. Butler’s already briefed me,” the man says. “We’ll start with clearing your debts. Send me the details, and I’ll take care of it.”

You hang up, stunned, and spend the next hour digging through bills and student loan statements, your hands trembling as you email them over.

Within a week, your phone pings with notifications, balances dropping to zero, one by one. It’s surreal, like watching a weight you’ve carried for years dissolve into thin air.

You cry in your apartment that night, not out of sadness, but from the sheer relief of breathing without a noose of debt around your neck.

Austin texts you the next morning: “How’s everything, how are you feeling?”

You reply: “Like I’m dreaming. Thank you.”

His response is quick: “Good. Now let’s get that café going. Meet me tomorrow?”

The next day, you find him waiting outside a vacant storefront in a quieter part of the city, his hands shoved in the pockets of a leather jacket, his breath visible in the crisp morning air.

The building is small but charming, exposed brick walls, wide windows perfect for natural light, and a little patio space that could fit a few tables. He turns as you approach, his grin lighting up his face. “What do you think?” he asks, gesturing at the space.

You step closer, peering through the glass. “It’s… perfect,” you admit, already picturing the counter, the coffee machines, the chalkboard menu. “But Austin, this is too much—”

“Nope,” he cuts in, his tone playful but firm. “We’re past that. Come on, let’s check it out.” He pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks the door, ushering you inside.

The space smells faintly of dust and possibility as you wander through it, your fingers brushing the rough brick, while Austin trails behind, watching you with a quiet intensity.

“I can see it already,” you say, turning to him. “Espresso machine here, pastry case there. Maybe some plants by the windows.”

“It sounds perfect,” he grins, leaning his shoulder against the wall, “The second I saw this place, I knew it was yours…” He says his voice, quieter now. “I bought this for you,” he softly confesses.

You meet his gaze, and there’s that spark again, something that’s always been there, flickering between you since you were kids.

“I don’t know how to repay you,” you admit, your voice small.

“You don’t,” he says simply, his voice warm and sure, “You just… let me be part of it. That’s enough.” He confirms, and he reaches for your hand lifting it gently.

He places the keys in your palm and as your eyes meet, he looks at you with a smile full of unspoken promise.

Over the next few weeks, the café takes shape, Austin’s accountant has already handled the finances, permits, contractors, and equipment, and you assist the crew, your sleeves rolled up, helping to assemble furniture and art pieces for decoration.

One weekend while in town, Austin joins you, dressed in casual jeans and a black tee. You catch him installing a shelving unit, cursing under his breath as a screw rolls across the floor.

“You’re a movie star, not a carpenter,” you tease, handing him the runaway screw.

“Yeah, well, I better nail the role of carpenter then.” he shoots back, grinning.

The banter feels like old times, but there’s a new layer to it, a closeness that’s grown with the late-night planning sessions, and every text in between.

You don’t talk about what it means, this shift from childhood friends to… whatever this is. But you feel it in the way he lingers when he says goodbye, the way his hand brushes yours when you pass him the screw driver.

When the final details are polished and the café’s ready to go public, you establish the name Grounded, a nod to coffee, sure, but also to the roots you and Austin share.

For the grand opening Austin is there, front and center, beaming as you cut the ribbon with shaky hands. “So Proud of you,” he grins, his voice low enough that only you hear it over the chatter.

“Thanks to you,” you reply, nudging him with your elbow and he just shakes his head, like it’s nothing.

The weeks that follow are a blur of steaming milk, pouring shots, and learning the rhythm of your own business. Austin drops by when he can, sometimes incognito with his cap pulled low, sometimes bold and carefree, drawing a small crowd of fans.

One quiet evening, he slips in just before closing, the bell above the door jingling softly. You’re wiping down the counter, the last customer long gone, when he slides into a stool.

“Busy day?” he asks, resting his chin on his hand.

“Nonstop,” you say pulling your hair out of a ponytail . “But good. Really good.”

He nods, his eyes tracing the space before landing back on you with a quiet intensity. “You’re happy,” he says, more a statement than question.

“Yeah,” you admit, leaning against the counter across from him. “I am. And… I owe that to you.”

He waves it off, but there’s a flush to his cheeks. “Nah. This is all you. I just gave you a boost.”

“A boost?” you laugh. “Austin, you literally paid off my life and handed me a dream. That’s more than a boost.”

He shrugs, but his smile turns softer, almost shy. “Okay, fine. Call it what you want. Just… don’t stop letting me be around you…”

You pause, caught off guard by the earnestness in his voice. “You’re not going anywhere,” you say, and it feels like a promise.

He reaches across the counter, his fingers brushing yours. “Good,” he says quietly. “Because I kind of like having you as a permanent fixture in my life.”

You roll your eyes, but your laugh betrays you, and as his grin widens the moment feels full—full of something new, something that’s been building since the day he walked back into your life….when he changed it forever.

The next day, he texts you late in the afternoon: “Hey, would you like to come over tonight? I have something to show you.”

You smile as you click on the link to an address, a sleek high-rise that radiates wealth and exclusivity.

You pause, still getting used to running the cafe hands on, but with a good team in place and the gentle pull of his invitation you let your curiosity get the better of you.

You slip into something simple, a sweater and jeans, unsure of what he has planned as you head over.

The elevator ride to his penthouse feels endless, your nerves rising as the numbers climb. When the doors slide open, you step into a space that takes your breath away.

Floor-to-ceiling windows frame a glittering view of the city skyline, the lights twinkling like stars against the dusk.

The place is immaculate, polished marble floors, minimalist furniture in soft grays and black, a sleek kitchen island that looks untouched. It’s a far cry from your downtown apartment, and you can’t help but laugh as you take it all in.

“Oh, I see why my life was changed so quickly,” you quip, turning to him with a teasing grin. “You’ve been living like this while I was steaming milk for minimum wage.”

Austin leans against the kitchen counter, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he nudges a tray of perfectly arranged bruschetta toward you. “Hey, don’t judge me,” he says, his tone light, his eyes dancing with mock offense. “I worked hard to get here.”

You slide onto a stool, accepting the glass of wine he hands you, the deep red liquid glinting in the light. You raise your glasses and he toasts softly, “To your dreams coming true.” he says as they clink together.

The first sip slides down smoothly, warming you from within, and you feel yourself unwind as the conversation picks up easily. “This is amazing, Austin,” you say, nodding toward the spread, the penthouse, and him. “I still can’t wrap my head around it. I’m… happy. Genuinely happy.”

He takes a long drink from his own glass, his eyes locked on yours over the rim. “I’m glad,” he says, his voice low and warm. “Seeing you like this, it’s worth it.” You grin, matching his sip, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, basking in the glow of your changed life.

He sets his glass down and moves to a sleek sound system, flicking it on. Soft, music fills the room, mellow and intimate as he crosses to the fireplace, already crackling with a low flame.

He sits on the plush rug in front of it, legs spread, arms resting casually behind him.

He looks contemplative, his jaw tight, his gaze distant as he stares into the fire, the easy banter has long faded, replaced by a heavy lingering silence.

You slide off the stool to join him, settling beside him on the rug. “What’s up, Mr. Movie Star?” you tease, nudging his knee with yours. “You’re brooding over here like you’re about to recite some dramatic monologue from Raging Bull.”

He barely smiles at your jab like usual, instead, he turns his head, his blue eyes catching the firelight as they meet yours.

There’s something different there, something unguarded, and it makes your stomach flip.

He lets out a slow breath, his face flushing a soft pink. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words falter, catching in his throat as he looks down. “It’s like I’m a kid again,” he mutters, sweeping a hand through his hair. “I’m all flustered.” He says placing a hand on the back of his neck.

You tilt your head, caught off guard by the shift. “Flustered? You? The guy who just waltzed into my café and turned my life upside down like it was nothing?”

He keeps looking away until his gaze lands on you steady and intense as the mood between you changes. Then, finally, he says it, his voice barely above a whisper: “I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.”

Your eyes go wide, your breath catching in your throat. “Me?” you blurt out, almost shouting, your mind racing as you replay every word he’s said over the past few months.

The confession hangs there, raw and exposed, and you see his chest rise and fall quickly, his heart clearly pounding.

“Yeah,” he says, letting out a shaky breath as he lowers his hand to squeeze at the thigh of his jeans. “Feels good to finally say it.” He says, as his eyes soften, but there’s a pained edge in them, like his heart is aching.

You stare at him in disbelief, your own pulse hammering. “Austin, I—”

“When you moved away I searched for years,” he cuts in, his voice shaking slightly, “Your mom got remarried, your last name changed…I lost track. But I knew you’d end up in a coffee shop somewhere, though. That was always you.”

He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to the rug. “I almost gave up, until I saw you in that Coffee House Magazine feature, the Rising Star Barista. I knew it was you the second I saw your picture.”

You’re stunned, your heart pounding as the weight of his words settle in “Austin… I…you’re… y-you’re serious?” you stammer, your voice trembling with disbelief.

He nods, his eyes glistening as he fights back tears. “Yeah. I couldn’t let you slip away again. Not this time.”

You reach out, your hand finding his, and his fingers close around yours instantly, warm and steady. “I didn’t know,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “All this time…”

“Yeah” He laughs softly, a tear slipping down his cheek, and you wipe it away without hesitation, your touch lingering on his face, and for the first time, you let yourself feel it, the pull that’s always been there, now laid bare.

It’s terrifying and exhilarating, a breathtaking rush of vulnerability and want that draws you in closer as the air between you fills with anticipation.

His fingers gently grip your waist, steady and warm, while his other hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you onto his lap with a tenderness that makes your heart race.

You gaze into each other’s eyes, the world fading away, and as your lips meet for the first time, there’s no going back.

He softly groans against your lips, a low, desperate sound as his hands squeeze your waist, holding you tighter like he never wants to let go.

Your mouths move together with longing and exploration, every kiss a discovery, a revelation of truth as the soft sounds escaping you both heighten the need between you.

All of your unspoken feelings consume you as your tongues brush together in a slow rhythm, fueling an undeniable need for each other.

He pulls back just enough to tug his shirt over his head, revealing the lean, defined muscles of his chest and arms, sculpted from years of work, flexing as he tosses the fabric aside.

His eyes meet yours, searching, as you instinctively touch his pecs, the warmth of his skin sending a shiver through you.

He pauses, his gaze softening with a gentle look, “You okay, you want me to keep going?” He asks breathlessly.

Your heart is racing, as you answer, stuttering softly, “Y-yes, Austin, please.” the words filled with need, urging him to continue.

His hands find the hem of your sweater, guiding it up and over your head with care, pulling your top away in one fluid motion, leaving you bare from the waist up.

“I’ve been dreaming of you like this,” he whispers, his voice shaking with emotion as he cups your breasts.

His mouth lowers, pressing soft, reverent kisses to each one as you sit on his lap, and your thighs squeeze his waist as his lips close around your nipple, sending a warm jolt shooting through your core.

He sucks gently at first, then with more hunger, his tongue swirling in slow, circles that make your insides flutter. The sensation is overwhelming and so intimate that it sets your nerves on fire.

You moan a deep needy sound that vibrates against him and his hands tighten on your hips guiding you to rock against him.

Each movement draws a soft groan from him, his breath ragged, matching the rhythm of your hips as you grind faster, the friction sparking heat that builds between you.

His hardness presses against you, firm and insistent as his mouth gently sucks on your breasts, and with a gentle shift, he gets on top of you, his strong body pinning yours softly on the plush rug.

He kisses along your shoulder, soft and slow, each press of his lips a quiet promise,as his fingers unbutton your jeans and slide them down your legs with your panties.

He pulls back, his blue eyes dancing with a mix of awe and desire as he sees you fully naked for the first time.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion as his hand trails down your stomach, slow and reverent, “I’ve always wanted you,” he breathes, his hands gently part your legs wider, the glow of the fire casting soft shadows across your skin.

His hand trembles slightly as he slides it between your bodies, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down with his boxers in one careful movement.

His cock slides out, much bigger than you expected, thick and hard the tip flushed and aching with need, the sight making your lips part in awe.

“I’m losing my mind,” he mutters to himself, his gaze locked on you. “This is real, finally real.” He whispers as he hikes one knee behind your parted legs, positioning himself above you.

His body settles over you like a weight, pressing you gently into the rug. “It’s real, Austin,” you say softly, your voice trembling with the truth of the moment, and you capture his lips in a tender, lingering kiss.

He pushes into you, slow and deep, a low groan vibrating through him as he fills you completely, his breath hitching against your mouth.

You cup his jaw as you whimper, feeling how deep he is, each thrust sinking into you with a fullness that steals your breath, and his rhythm builds, steady and intense, the firelight casting shadows over his straining muscles.

His hands roam over your body possessively, one gripping your hip to hold you steady, the other cradling the back of your neck, anchoring you to him as his thrusts grind against you, pulling you deeper into the moment.

His large cock fills you completely, stretching you in ways that pull soft, helpless sounds from your lips, the pleasure surging beyond anything you’ve ever known.

You move together, the heat of the fire blending with the warmth of each other, every thrust drawing moans from your lips as he gazes into your eyes, utterly captivated by you.

“I’ve always known … you were the one for me,” he rasps, his pace quickening, desperate now as you feel yourself unraveling, teetering on the edge.

“Tell me you feel it too,” he breathes, his voice raw, pleading, as you reach your peak.

“Yes,” you gasp, the word slipping out as your body arches into his and he groans, a relieved, wrecked sound as his hands tighten on you.

“I need you so much,” he breathes, his hips driving harder faster. “I just want to give you everything,” he confesses, and the tension within you snaps as you come together, moaning in unison, your eyes locked as waves of intensity crash over you both.

His cock pulses as you cling to him riding the aftershocks until the passion subsides, leaving you tangled and trembling in the fire’s glow.

“I love you so much,” he whispers, his voice raw with emotion, his fingers tracing the curve of your face. “I’ve always loved you,” he confesses, pulling you closer, his warmth wrapping around you like a promise.

His words unlock something deep within you, your heart spilling open, unguarded and free. “I didn’t know I could feel this way until you came back,” you admit, your voice trembling with truth. “I love you too, so much Austin,” you confess, a soft smile breaking through and he leans in, his lips finding yours in a kiss filled with a secret vow, sealed in the fire’s gentle glow.

In his arms, the weight of debt and doubt dissolves, replaced by a love you never dared dream possible, grounding you in a reality far bolder and more beautiful than anything you could have ever imagined.

END 💸

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lewismcqueen · 2 months ago

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come press the line.

lh44 x black!reader

summary: everyone could use a good coach. you use your skills to teach Lewis something new. wc: 3k-ish cw: explicit content, bdsm (shibari) and discussion of bdsm dynamics, probably-inaccurate portrayal of fitness exercises a/n: 3k word smut is CRAZY but here we are lol. I am once again asking y'all to go easy on me bc I am not at all used to writing nsfw content yet. do NOT fuck your personal trainer

You stood at the weight machine, watching Lewis’ muscles tense as he exhaled with great effort through another rep. It had been an hour, but he was only now beginning to look as if he wanted to stop. To give up.

Truth be told? You felt a little bad about it. But Lewis had explicitly instructed you not to let up.

You recall his cheeky grin when he said, “You can be a little mean to me, I can take it.”

Now, he looked about ready to eat his words.

“One more set.”

“Come on,” Lewis tried to appeal to your better sensibilities with a placating smile. “I'm dying over here, mate. Can I have a minute?”

Standing your ground, you crossed your arms and peered over his figure, glistening with sweat with his arms still resting in the contraption. Lewis was trying to appeal to the close friend in you, but when you were in full-on trainer mode, no amount of begging could snap you out of it. There was a silent agreement that he would not move without your permission.

“Sorry, buddy. No breaks, just like you asked for,” you lifted an arched eyebrow. “Unless it's for water.”

“I don't need a water break—”

“You do. You're sweating bullets,”

Uncrossing your arms, you bent down to pick up his tumbler off the hardwood floor next to the machine. With your thumb, you flipped open the cap, holding it to his mouth.

You fixed Lewis with a hard gaze. “Here, hydrate. Or else I'm adding two more sets. In a row.”

His mouth fell open without protest to sip from the straw. Something satisfied you deeply about the way his round, dark eyes remained fixed on you as he drank. Searching. Waiting for the next instruction. You almost praised him for being so obedient before remembering where you were.

This was not that kind of relationship.

Lewis came over to your apartment to try out your new blender after the session. You had promised him free smoothies after it got delivered, and you were a woman of your word. He sipped his mango and banana smoothie as he watched you struggle to keep the blender pressed down in a consistent rhythm. The erratic rumbling of the machine must be hell for your neighbors to hear right now.

“Here, let me.”

With an exasperated sigh, you moved to the side to let Lewis take over. You couldn't complain about the sight of his tattoos tensing with his arm muscles as he held the blender down, colorful ingredients sloshing around and combining into a more uniform orange shade.

You offered him your empty glass, and he wordlessly poured the blended mixture once it was finished.

“Stop me,” he joked with a grin.

You snorted, remembering that disastrous trip to Olive Garden where you let the server shred way too much cheese over your salad.

The glass was more than halfway full now. “Alright, that's it. I know you're about to spill that all over my nice counter if I don't say anything.”

Lewis stopped pouring and set the container aside. “I wasn't, but I definitely thought about it for a second.”

You playfully shoved his arm, which he grabbed dramatically as if you'd stabbed him. Grinning, you shook your head.

“You're so irritating.”

“Oh good heavens, my arm! You've injured it by making me do a million reps!”

“And you'd do a million more if I asked you to,” you said, smirking over your glass before taking a long swig of your drink.

Lewis leaned on the counter and looked at you fondly. “I'd probably take a nosedive off a bridge if you asked me to.”

Something in your gaze intensified as you slowly wiped your upper lip with the back of your palm. Probably not a good idea to stain your new dusty pink jacket, but that wasn't on your mind. You were too focused on the openness with which Lewis looked at you, steady with trust. It warmed your heart, but it also admittedly made you warm elsewhere.

“You really mean that?”

His smile deepened, causing the dimple on the right side of his face to make an appearance. “I don't say things I don't mean.”

It would be deeply unprofessional to kiss him right now.

Unfortunately, your better judgement took a backseat when you decided to set your drink down on the counter and close the already-small distance between the two of you. Pulling away, you cupped his face between your palms. Your noses nearly brushed as you searched his face, gauging his response.

Lewis didn't back away. He looked surprised, but you felt his fingers tentatively inch their way up and around your waist. His gaze fell to your lips before flickering back up to meet your eyes.

“Are you sure about this?”

You answered with a deeper, hungrier kiss. And he kissed you back.

It all happened so fast - your bare thighs pressing against the cold kitchen counter as he lost himself inside you, his incoherent babbling and cursing once you got on top, fingers resting at the base of his throat. Not quite choking, but there to remind of the possibility.

Lewis was very clearly not present enough for you to ask. Even you were caught off guard by the way his eyes fluttered and rolled back as you rolled your hips in just the right way. His nails were digging into the flesh of your back, the pain blending into the heat of the pleasure coursing through your body.

The sun was setting when you said goodbye to each other. You had agreed to let this remain a one-off thing that would stay buried in the past, and despite all of the lingering stares and brushes of skin that followed, you kept to the agreement. Mostly.

One night ended with Lewis breaking routine to visit yours. Still riding the high of a recent Grand Prix win, he had gotten a bit…passionate. No one had taken their clothes off, but with your hands roaming over his form as you made out in your bedroom, you were dangerously close.

Suddenly, you pulled away. Lewis tilted his face forward momentarily to follow you before a hand on his chest stopped him.

“We shouldn't.”

He could only sigh, nodding in resignation as he scooted away from you on the mattress. The movement was more symbolic than anything—the distance between you was but the length of his hand.

“You're the one who started this, you know.”

A lopsided grin crept onto your face. “And you kept it going.”

Lewis lay on his back with his hands resting behind his head, elbows sticking out. He smiled as if recalling a fond memory.

“True.”

The AC in your room suddenly turned on, reminding you of the sweat sticking to your black tank top that was now evaporating. You got up and moved to get a change of shirt out of your closet.

As soon as you opened it, two cords of soft rope fell off of a high shelf, making you yelp in surprise. You rushed to snatch them up from the ground and return them to their rightful spot before grabbing a white t-shirt. Tentatively, you turned around to check if Lewis was watching. He was sitting up on his elbows, brow raised in an amused look.

The ropes were bright red. There was no way he didn't see.

“Never seen you use those before,” he remarked with great emphasis. “Are those jump ropes?”

You rolled your eyes. Lewis looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“Very funny. Look, I—”

“It's fine, I don't judge,” he waved a hand dismissively. “I just didn't peg you as a ‘tie me up’ sort of person.”

A smirk spread across your lips. “Who said I was being tied up?”

Lewis tilted his head, intrigued.

“I see. You must be good at tying knots, then.”

“Damn right I am. You sound curious.”

You turned around to lift your top over your head, revealing a same-colored sports bra. With swift movements, you replaced it with the clean t-shirt.

“I am. Indulge me, won't you?”

The mattress sunk beneath your weight as you sat back down.

“What do you wanna know?”

“Do you do the fancy patterns, and stuff?”

“M-hm.”

“How long does it take to get good at it?”

“A long ass time.”

There was a brief pause, as if Lewis was thinking.

“What do you get out of it? If you feel like saying.”

You hummed in consideration for a bit, leaning back on your arms.

“Well, there's obviously the control part. But it's also like, ‘You trust me to put you in this position’, you know? It's really easy for things to go wrong. Someone's willing to put their safety in my hands, and that can be…special.”

You were quiet for a bit, oddly feeling a bit raw from the explanation. Lewis broke the silence.

“Like how I trust you not to kill me on the stairmaster.”

“First of all, that was two weeks ago, stop being dramatic,” you reached over and smacked his leg. “Second of all…yeah. It's kinda like that.”

Mischief played on Lewis’ features. “One last question. Do you make people call you ‘ma'am’?”

You shrugged. “Nah, I prefer ‘coach’.”

He shamelessly looked you up and down. “Hard to imagine you in latex.”

“I don't really do the latex. My subs like the normal gym clothes,” you winked, “Maybe even a referee whistle around my neck if they're feeling really into it.”

“Subs?”

“My submissives.”

You swear you caught a glimpse of Lewis’ teeth catching on his bottom lip. His eyes were fixed on you, as if imagining it. Then he looked like he had another question on his tongue, but didn't ask it. Instead, he said:

“Hm. Cool.”

There were many more lapses in judgement across the next few weeks. Quickies in the bathroom, against the wall of Lewis’ at-home gym—something had loosened between you, and now you had formed an unshakeable habit.

Usually it took until well into the afternoon for the tension to boil over, but this morning already saw you straddling him on your living room couch. You grabbed his chin, rough with a newly-scruffy beard, and gently swiped your thumb over his lips. The action made his breath quicken.

“Look at me, not the wall. Look me in my eyes.”

Lewis obeyed, but there was a glint in his stare. He tilted his head with a faint smile on his lips.

“You got it…Coach.”

He looked pleased with himself when your eyes darkened at the title.

An amused grin tugged at the corners of your lips. Cute. But Lewis had no idea what he was trying to get into.

You warned him in a low voice as smooth as velvet ropes. “Careful, now. I hope you know what you want if you're gonna get bold with me.”

The warning seemed to only excite him further, if the growing tent in his gym shorts was any indicator. He shrugged.

“You explained it to me, didn't you?”

“It's not as simple as what I said. Gimme specifics, or it's not happening. How do you want this to go?”

With proper coaxing and guidance from you, he eventually explained that he wanted a ‘training session’. Just one without as much exercise, so to speak. That wouldn't be an issue. But you raised an eyebrow when Lewis mentioned the ropes. He sensed your apprehension when you moved to the private gym.

“Hey, look, I'm not asking you to put me in a spider web. I know it's a safety thing.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, considering.

“Alright. And what do you say if you want it to stop?”

“Um…’red flag’?”

Lewis looked at you like he had just told the world's greatest dad joke. You shook your head.

“Corny, but okay.”

The fun began on the treadmill. You had your finger on the button labeled with an ‘up’ arrow, making direct eye contact with him as you slowly but surely increased the speed. You watched his chest rise and fall beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, not stopping until it was drenched with sweat and sticking to every contour of his chest and back.

The sight of Lewis squatting on his haunches to catch his breath after stepping off made you wonder what he could possibly be getting out of tiring himself out this way instead of your usual rendezvous. You'd have to ask him later. For now, though…

“Hey,” you admonished sternly. “Did I say you could take a break?”

The way Lewis straightened up immediately at the sound of your voice satisfied you deeply.

“Uh, no,” he said between exhausted breaths, “Sorry.”

You placed a disapproving hand on your hip, and he almost looked scared. Almost.

“Thank you for apologizing, but I think you're missing something.”

Amusement tugged at his lips. “Sorry coach.”

You took a slow but intentional step forward, a small smile softening your features. “You know what happens now, right? Drop and gimme thirty.”

For a moment, you almost felt a bit worried that you were pushing Lewis too hard. But you had reminded him of the safeword he’d chosen earlier, and if it was truly too much, he would've used it by now. He was a grown man that could handle himself. So about halfway through the push-ups, you sat primly on top of his back, even crossing your legs.

It slowed him down significantly, but he seemed to enjoy the challenge nonetheless. You even felt his back muscles shake with what sounded like quiet laughter at the predicament he'd gotten himself into. You rubbed his shoulder blade appraisingly at the end of the last one before standing up.

“Don't get up yet,” you instructed. “Stay in plank position. You can cross your knees if you need to.”

Wordlessly, Lewis did as he was told. You stepped in front of him and knelt down slowly, reaching forward to caress his cheek. Just slightly, he leaned into your touch.

“You did such a good job, baby. Now head upstairs, I'll come up after you. Be ready for me, hm?”

His eyes flickered with anticipation as he stood to leave the gym, knowing exactly what came next.

“Is this too tight?”

You tugged on the beautiful red knot you had tied around Lewis’ wrists, creating the perfect cuff. You had him sitting at the edge of your bed, naked save for his briefs.

He held his wrists up to his face to examine the tie, flexing them to make sure his blood flow wasn't going to be cut off by the end of this. Wrist damage for a driver would not be…ideal.

Lewis nodded. “All good.”

“Alright,” you announced, undoing the test knot. There were three more ropes behind you of varying lengths. “I'm gonna try something a little more complicated now, understand? Strip.”

Soon, you had him lying on his back, both arms tied in front of him with the ropes extending downward to wrap around his navel in a masterful fisherman's harness. You sat back for a minute, admiring your work. The bright red rope stood out over the dark ink of his tattoos where they were visible. You had also added a hip harness that wrapped around his thighs just tightly enough to emphasize the swell of flesh there without making him uncomfortable. A larger knot rested just over his crotch, creating tension right above where his length began and making him look a bit like a Christmas present. You could tell it was the right amount of pressure by the way he'd squirmed beneath your touch while you tied it.

His thighs were parted slightly, and you ran your hands over them, moving up until you reached the tight expanse of his stomach. You bent down to press slow, tiny kisses to where the skin of his navel was exposed. Lewis was silent the entire time, but shivered beneath your lips. You made contact everywhere but where he truly wanted it.

Finally, you moved back down, positioning yourself so that it looked as if you would take him into your mouth. You looked up from your vantage point to meet pleading eyes. He looked gorgeous like this—helpless, full lips slightly parted to let out labored breaths. Very slowly, you licked him from the base all the way up, ‘kissing’ the tip. A stifled sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan left him. His knee jerked upwards a little, making you laugh.

“Is that what you need? Hm?”

“Please.”

Kissing his inner thigh, you got up from the mattress and began removing your shirt. Excruciatingly slowly. You watched Lewis’ eyes lazily roam over your figure as you slid your leggings, then your underwear down past your knees before finally kicking them off and rejoining him.

You teased him a bit once you were hovering over him, letting the tip press against your entrance and slip inside a little before allowing it to slide back out.

With no hands at his disposal, there was nothing Lewis could do about it.

Finally you fit the rest of it in, sheathing him up to the hilt while his hips jerked upwards involuntarily. Warmth soaked you when you heard a breathy ‘ah’ fall from his lips in response.

You leaned forward to plant a kiss on his forehead before stroking him at a controlled speed. It was fascinating to you to observe which muscles twitched and which limbs strained against the harness.

The veins running up Lewis forearm, for example, became more pronounced as you came down harder on him with each stroke. His pectorals and abs contracted at the same time as you felt him throbbing inside you. You wouldn't let him have it so easily, though. You found your G-spot and rubbed him against it. The friction made you tremble with waves of pleasure, but it made him hiss. Again—not much he could do about it.

You felt your orgasm building, like a knot that increased in size in one spot, growing tighter every second. A low moan from beneath you brought your attention back to Lewis, whose bottom lip was now pink and flushed with the force of him biting down on it, eyes glassy and distant. You made a mental note to keep him from doing that next time. He had always been too quiet for your liking.

Allowing yourself to get lost in his vacant stare, you shuddered and the knot in your core unraveled itself, making your world go white for just a moment as fluids spilled out of you, making a mess. You rocked your hips into his on the way back down to Earth to bring your partner over the edge with you to completion. The sound of ragged breaths and the quiet roar of the fan in the background were the only sounds filling the room.

You brought a hand up to Lewis’ face, and patted his cheek to bring him back to you. A crease formed between his brows as he blinked several times before his breathing began to steady again.

“How was that?” You asked after catching your own breath, climbing off him and rolling over to his right to begin unraveling some of the knots.

As the rope came undone, you examined the indent marks it left behind on his skin. Nothing thankfully seemed inflamed or irritated. Lewis stretched out his arms once they were freed, wiggling and stretching his fingers to loosen them up after being held in tight fists. He brought them down to rest over his stomach as you moved on to his thighs.

In a thin voice weighed down by fatigue, he replied, “It was…I dunno, really.”

You paused to meet his eyes with a concerned expression.

“Were you uncomfortable?”

He shook his head, “Nah, I was doing fine. Just took a lot out of me. More than I expected.”

The ropes fell away from his thighs and navel. “Anything else?”

Lewis raised an eyebrow. “What, you want a post-race interview?”

“Well, what was it about the whole exercise thing?” You laughed. “Other than me telling you what to do.”

Lewis opened his mouth to speak, but ended up letting out a yawn instead before answering.

“I didn't have to think about anything. Hand me those?” He pointed to his briefs where they lay on the floor by the foot of the bed. You picked them up and gave them to him, watching him swing his legs over the side of the mattress to pull them on.

“You have to think about your speed and form, though.”

“That's instinct at this point,” he turned to you. “When I'm working out solo, all I'm thinking about is racing stuff. But when I'm here, I'm just focused on following the sound of your voice.”

You tugged on your leggings before lying next to him on your back. “Makes more sense when you put it that way.”

Lewis pulled his knees up to his chin. The action made you smile warmly while he wasn't looking. He had moments where he looked particularly wide-eyed and excited at something, or laughed without abandon that reminded you of the kid he used to be. Giving into your instincts, you reached over and pushed one of his braids away from his face and behind his ear. He gave you a curious sidelong glance.

“What?”

“Nothing. You're cute.”

“I'm forty.”

“And?”

You pinched his cheek, which seemed to be the final straw. Lewis shook his head with a tiny grin and got up to leave the room.

“Where are you going?”

“To use your blender.”

“Don't go using up the last of my mangoes!”

“I'll try!” He said as you watched his figure retreat further down the hallway.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x black!reader #lh44 smut #lightning writes #lh44 x reader

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simpishly · 3 months ago

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Simpishly's Salad Dressing Legacy Challenge

After confessing a favorite childhood meal involving peanut butter sandwiches and ranch dressing, horror--and inspiration--struck. I present to you: a salad dressing-themed legacy challenge for The Sims 4.

this is the most ridiculous thing I'll probably ever create for the Sims lol

Guidelines

You only need to complete 7 generations, because I think 7 salad meals in a row is about the maximum I could handle.

Generations can be played in any order.

The goals for each generation are straightforward. Your heir must:

Have the generation traits

Live in the generation world

Reach the top of the generation career

Max the generation skill

Complete the generation aspiration

The rest is up to you! Just like the amount of dressing you put on your leafy greens!

You'll find the rules (and dressing bottle-shaped graphics I had entirely too much fun making) below the cut.

Balsamic Vinaigrette Generation

The favorite dressing of crunchy moms and influencers.

Packs Needed: Spa Day, Lovestruck

Traits: Charismatic, Active, High Maintenance

World: Ciudad Enamorada

Career: Style Influencer (Trendsetter Branch)

Skill: Wellness

Aspiration: Zen Guru

Blue Cheese Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of dark souls and adults only.

Packs Needed: Life and Death

Traits: Macabre, Hates Children, Slob

World: Ravenwood

Career: Reaper

Skill: Writing

Aspiration: Ghost Historian

Caesar Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of emperors who were stabbed.

Packs Needed: City Living, StrangerVille

Traits: Bro, Paranoid, Ambitious

World: San Myshuno

Career: Politics (Politician Branch)

Skill: Charisma

Aspiration: Friend of the World

French Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of French stereotypes.

Packs Needed: Lovestruck

Traits: Gloomy, Romantic, Creative

World: Willow Creek

Career: Painter

Skill: Romance

Aspiration: Romantic Explorer

Green Goddess Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of PlantSims.

Packs Needed: Eco Lifestyle, Cottage Living

Traits: Recycle Disciple, Lactose Intolerant, Vegetarian

World: Evergreen Harbor

Career: Freelancer (Crafter)

Skill: Fabrication

Aspiration: Master Maker

Honey Mustard Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of bees and hot dogs.

Packs Needed: Cottage Living

Traits: Good, Non-Committal, Cheerful

World: Henford-on-Bagley

Career: Any / Multiple + Completing Townie Errands

Skill: Gardening

Aspiration: Renaissance Sim

Italian Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of Olive Garden.

Packs Needed: Get Together, City Living

Traits: Insider, Foodie, Perfectionist

World: Windenburg

Career: Critic (Food)

Skill: Gourmet Cooking

Aspiration: Leader of the Pack

Poppyseed Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of bagels.

Packs Needed: Businesses and Hobbies

Traits: Bookworm, Idealist OR Shady, Materialistic

World: Nordhaven

Career: Small Business Owner

Skill: Tattooing

Aspiration: Master Mentor

Ranch Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of correct people.

Packs Needed: Horse Ranch, Cottage Living

Traits: Rancher, Animal Enthusiast, Snob

World: Chestnut Ridge

Career: Self-Employed

Skill: Guitar

Aspiration: Championship Rider

Russian Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of Rasputin and Stu from What We Do in the Shadows.

Packs Needed: Get Together, Vampires

Traits: Dance Machine, Glutton, Erratic

World: Forgotten Hollow

Career: Tech Guru (Start-Up Entrepreneur Branch)

Skill: Programming

Aspiration: Party Animal

Thousand Island Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of In-n-Out.

Packs Needed: Island Living

Traits: Kleptomaniac, Child of the Islands, Self-Assured

World: Sulani*

Career: Diver

Skill: Fishing

Aspiration: The Curator

*I would have done Tomorang but I know residential rentals have been super glitchy and save-breaking, so I did Sulani instead!

Wafu Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of Japanese salads.

Packs Needed: Snowy Escape

Traits: Geek, Genius, Loner

World: Mt. Komorebi

Career: Secret Agent

Skill: Video Gaming

Aspiration: Nerd Brain

#Sims 4 #Sims 4 challenge #Sims 4 legacy challenge #ts4 challenge #ts4 legacy challenge #simpishly

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castieldelamancha · 2 months ago

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Dean hits the side of the vending machine getting more and more frustrated with each passing second. He pointedly ignores the pain he can feel in his hand now.

Inside the machine the chocolate bar he has been trying to get for the last ten minutes stares back smugly at him. It doesn't even have eyes to stare back, or a face to look smug, but Dean can feel its condescending judgment anyway, same as those stale chips watching from the second row that probably expired back in 1986.

"All these stupid motels with their stupid, ancient, vending machines." He mutters.

He is well aware in some corner of his tired brain he isn't this mad about something as insignificant as a damn chocolate bar, he is frustrated because he hasn't slept more than two hours in a row, he is angry because neither him nor Sam seem to know what they are after, the trip here was long and the case seems overly complicated.

Right when he is about to give up with an exhausted sigh and go back to their room to stare at their files again, he hears that telltale flutter of wings he is so familiar with at his back.

He turns around, his exhaustion and frustration all but forgotten at the sight of Cas.

He looks tired too, but he is smiling at Dean, that small, private thing he has only for Dean and that makes his eyes shine bright. His trench coat is a bit wrinkled, as is the white shirt he is wearing underneath, he is not wearing a tie today, and Dean hopes Cas isn't annoyed at him for taking the blue one he prefers to use with him the last time they saw each other to wear it with his fed suit.

Cas doesn't say anything, he does stares past Dean at the offending vending machine, squinting his eyes at it, Dean turns around once more to look at it too when he hears the sound of something falling on the tray at the bottom.

"My hero," he exclaims, a little out of breath, he had wanted it to come out as amused but he sounds too in love for the joke to land, "thanks babe." He throws a glance and a cheeky wink at Cas over his shoulder before bending down to retrieve his loot. "Awesome." He had been sure he had lost his money and the chance to get any food but Cas has miracled him a bunch of bars and some water.

They could debate if his grace was intended to be used this way and then Cas would get that intense look on his face and say some shit like "it was created to help humans, to care for them, and I love doing those things for you, no better use for my grace, Dean." and Dean would get all teary-eyed and he is too tired for all of that.

He simply stands straight again and looks at Cas.

"Of course, Dean, always." He always, always, replies that to Dean whenever he shows he is thankful.

Dean transfers all the drinks and food he is carrying to the crook of his elbow, freeing one hand that he closes around Cas' own hand, allowing the angel to tangle their fingers together and slowly rock their hands back and forth as they walk back to Dean and Sam's room.

"You gonna stay for a while or is this just a quick visit? Because, huh, we need some new ideas and perspective for this case and all," he wants to smack himself, this is Cas, for goodness' sake, no need to act like a nervous teenager with a crush, he can just tell him 'it would be nice to have you around.' and Cas would be delighted.

Luckily for him Castiel's inability to read any human interaction or its meaning doesn't apply to Dean's own lacking communication skills, he just smiles again and nods once, "I would love to be of assistance." and what he means is 'it would be nice to be around you too.' Dean's heart can't almost take it.

"Cool, gotta tell Sam to get his own room, though."

#destiel #vanessa writes ✨#i am going to try and write something every wednesday just to get back into business (until i have the next mental breakdown hehehe ✨)#i just love dean being completely whipped and being a simp it's my truth #he just goes myyyyy heroooo 🥹🥹🥹😍😍😍😍😍#and cas eats it all up he just lives it for it needs it like the air i breath #dean winchester tie thief at your service

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zahmaddog · 11 months ago

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The Bad Batch Workout Split

I'm a bit of an intense gym-goer. Anime, live-action characters, and other animations have really inspired me to go above and beyond what I thought I could do. Clone Force 99 inspires me so much! They're all so fit, have different advantages, skills, and physical strengths. For fun, I created a workout split based on each of the modified clones. I hope you enjoy it! There’s a bit of a fanfic element to it as each Bad Batcher describes their favorite workout routine:)

(Part 2)The Bad Batch Workout - The Frat Boy Days Edition

Wrecker - Legs

Wrecker never skips leg day. Whether he's on a mission or with Gonky in the back of the ship, he's always training! Wrecker encourages you to train safely! He says to feel free to train until failure on machines, but to pick a weight you'll be safe with on the free weight work.

Leg Extension - 2 sets of 15

Hamstring Curl - 2 sets of 15

Deadlifts - 3 sets of 6-8

Leg Press - 3 sets of 10-12

Smith Machine Split Squats - 2 sets of 6-8

Gonk Carry (Sandbag Carry) - 3 reps; set a distance you’re comfortable with.

The Daily Bad Batch Burner Finisher (see below)

Crosshair - Push & Shoulders

Crosshair is built to carry his gear and Firepuncher 773 up mountains, towers, and more. His shoulders are strong to sustain his sniper work and throw enemies in close hand-to-hand combat. He suggests getting someone like Echo to spot you so you can work harder, but if you're going it alone, be smart and hang out with the Smith machine.

Incline Press - 3 sets of 10-12

Bench Press - 3 sets of 10-12

Shoulder Press - 3 sets of 10-12

Delt Raises - 3 sets of 10-12

Farmers Carry - 3 reps; set a distance you’re comfortable with

The Daily Bad Batch Burner Finisher (see below)

Hunter - Back & Abs

Hunter knows he has an amazing back to waist ratio and maintains a steady back routine to maintain it. To build out your back, he suggests warming up your abdominal muscles first, then heading straight into heavy rowing work.

Cable Crunch - 3 sets till failure

T-Bar Row - 3 sets of 6-8

Assisted Pull Ups - 3 sets of 10-12

Cable Lat Pulldown (Palms in) - 3 sets of 10-12

Cable Row (Narrow) - 3 sets of 10-12

The Daily Bad Batch Burner Finisher (see below)

Tech - Full Body + Cardio

Tech may be all brains, but you have to give credit where it's due: the guy is built. He'll climb up vertical surfaces with Echo on his back, overpower enemies with a broken femur, and perform fantastic movements to protect others. Tech suggests performing heavy compound movements to work multiple muscle groups at once and mastering your own body weight. At the end, listen to a podcast, music, or show; or if you can maintain focus and a higher heart rate, read a book.

Assisted Chin Ups - 3 sets of 10-12

Hexbar Deadlifts - 3 sets of 10-12

Barbell Squats - 3 sets of 10-12

Assisted Pull Ups - 2 sets of until failure

The Daily Bad Batch Burner Finisher (See Below)

Entertained cardio - 45 minutes

Omega - Arms & Accessories

She may be the little sister, but Omega is a straight up badass and her brothers know it. She's getting used to performing compound movements with her brothers, but enjoys working on accessory movements as it's time for her to focus on herself in the gym and get away from all the "bro" noise.

Calf Raises - 3 sets of 10-12

Preacher Bicep Curl - 3 sets of 10-12

Tricep Pushdown - 3 sets of 10-12

Hammer Curl - 3 sets of 10-12

Front Raises - 3 sets of 10-12

Shrugs - 3 sets of 10-12

The Daily Bad Batch Burner Finisher (see below)

The Daily Bad Batch Burner Finisher

Clone Force 99 has exceptional grip strength and endurance. Here's the burning finisher for the end of each workout. If you don't have access to battle ropes, any free weight arm movement can replace it.

Each exercise till failure x3

Battle Rope

Pushups

Static Hang

Clone Force 99 says good luck on your training. You'll need it.

#the bad batch #tbb star wars #tbb #tbb crosshair #star wars #tbb hunter #tbb omega #tbb wrecker #tbb tech #tbb echo #tbb headcanons #clone force 99 #sw tbb #bad batch #star wars tbb #workoutsplit #fanfic x workoutsplit

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leaderwon · 4 months ago

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THE ARCADE BET : NRK | 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 (𝐝𝐚𝐲 - 𝟕)

Synopsis : A friendly arcade outing with Riki turns into a playful competition. But when he makes a high-stakes bet, the line between friendship and something more starts to blur.

Warnings : Fluff, playful banter, hand holding, light teasing

Wc : 1.4k+

masterlist

The vibrant lights of the arcade reflected in Riki's excited eyes as he dragged you inside. Rows of colorful game machines and the cheerful buzz of players filled the air. The smell of buttery popcorn wafted through the room, blending with the sweet aroma of cotton candy.

“You ready to lose?” Riki asked, grinning mischievously as he scanned the games. You scoffed. “Bold of you to assume I’m not a secret arcade champion.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? Prove it.” Your eyes landed on a basketball hoop game near the back. “Loser buys snacks?” “You’re on.”

Riki’s competitive streak flared as the game began. The sound of bouncing basketballs filled the air, and the timer ticked down with brutal speed. You threw ball after ball, determined to wipe that smug grin off his face.

When the buzzer sounded, you checked the scoreboard. “I won” you cheered, raising your arms triumphantly. Riki squinted at the screen. “By two points. That was beginner’s luck.” “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” You grinned, poking his arm. “Now, go buy me that cotton candy.”

As promised, Riki returned with a massive swirl of pink cotton candy. He handed it to you with a playful eye-roll. “Enjoy your victory snack, champ.” “Don’t mind if I do.” You took a dramatic bite, savoring the sugary treat. “Mmm, tastes like winning.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.” “You love it.” His smile faltered for a split second, and he looked away. “Yeah... maybe I do.”

The sudden shift in his tone made your heart skip. You opened your mouth to respond, but he cleared his throat, plastering on his usual grin. “Come on, let’s find something I can actually beat you at.”

The next game was a racing simulator. You both settled into the seats, gripping the steering wheels.

“This one’s all about skill” Riki declared confidently. “We’ll see.”

The race began, and the screen was filled with chaotic turns and explosions. You were neck and neck until Riki pulled off a ridiculous stunt that sent his car flying past yours.

“No way” you yelled.“Yes way” he shot back, laughing.

When the game ended, his name flashed in first place. He turned to you, smirking. “Looks like I’m back on top.” “Fine, fine. I’ll admit defeat.” You stuck out your hand for a shake. “Good game.”

He took your hand but didn’t let go right away. His thumb brushed against your skin, sending a jolt up your arm.

“You’re a surprisingly good loser,” he teased softly. “Only when the winner's worth it.”

Riki’s breath hitched, and for a moment, the chaotic sounds of the arcade faded into the background

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, “what if I made another bet?” You tilted your head. “What kind of bet?” “If I win the next game, you have to go out with me.” He responded.

Your heart raced. “And if I win?” “Then I’ll still ask you out, but I’ll buy you another cotton candy to soften the blow.” You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”“Is that a yes?” “Only if you promise not to pout when I win.” You continued laughing. “Deal."

As it turned out, neither of you cared who won the next game. The bet was already decided in both of your hearts.

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peachdues · 7 months ago

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ok now goodnight

Even before he bothers to look up, Sanemi knows Rengoku’s overlarge eyes have singled him out. “Shinazugawa? You’ve had some face-to-face with Kocho’s clients, right? They know you.”

“I don’t think Kocho’s regulars will wanna do business with the guy who smashes their shins when they don’t pay.” Uzui’s eyes scan the row of solemn faces before settling on a pair of blank blue eyes and unruly black hair. “Tomioka, can you handle that?”

“Tch,” Iguro scoffed. “Do that and we’ll lose money.”

Sanemi snorts his agreement. There’s a reason the dull-faced waste of brain matter was schlepped off to handle the City’s robust gambling addiction: it offered the least amount of face-to-face with the public. Perfect, for someone like Tomioka, who had no social skills to speak of.

“It wasn’t just the drugs that brought in that amount of cash; it was Kanae. She knew how to sell to people.” Sanemi nods his head toward Tomioka. “He couldn’t sell a fire extinguisher to the fuckin’ fire department.”

Coming from someone like Sanemi whose unannounced appearance routinely made his clients piss their pants, that was saying something.

The group titters in agreement, and the raven-haired Hashira’s sullen expression only sours. “I can do it.”

Another round of eye rolls and poorly concealed snorts from Iguro and Sanemi. Even Rengoku can’t hide his own doubt, his thick eyebrows drawing together.

Uzui sighs. “Until we have a better option, this is what we’ve got. But Shinazugawa was right — Kocho was effective within her market. We’ll all have to keep an eye out for someone who can match that energy.”

That ever-present knot in Sanemi’s gut tightens. Already they’re thinking about replacements — another life for the Corps use up until nothing remained.

“Still don’t know who killed them, then?” Sanemi asks quietly, because no one else will. Beside him, Iguro shifts his weight.

Uzui’s eyes darken. “I’ve got a lead. I’m pursuing it.”

At least there’s that, Sanemi decides, so he doesn’t push the issue any further. Kanae will be remembered long enough to be avenged, and then she too, will be forgotten. Not because of any malice anyone holds toward her, Sanemi knows that. It’s just the way things run here. The Corps can’t afford to waste time mourning those who die in its service. The machine has to spur on, and it’s up to them to find new parts when the old ones shit out.

No one mentions her sisters, or the fact they were children and innocent. Incidentals, Sanemi supposes. Just new marks to add to the never-ending tally of casualties. It was the same with Masachika, when he died. No one spared him a thought beyond the need for retribution. No one cared about his death, save for the vacancy he’d left behind within their ranks. Sanemi hadn’t even finished wiping away the tears he knew better than to shed before he was offered up on a silver platter to fill it.

#much more hashira content to come!

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sunsh1n3s · 1 year ago

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— lecture. ( don hume x reader )

a.n. sorry for the long wait for a fic from me. english and nursing class have been kicking my ass!! please enjoy this fic, the plot is inspired by parts of the book and this ask :)

contains. swearing, fem!reader

coach ulbrickson’s fake races were killing don. the boys were finally organized into decent working boats, and he made sure of it. working them for hours with races or practices, making sure they met his standards. don’s boat relied on him the most, as he created the pace and kept them somewhat stable. it was also a curse, creating the new pace and fighting against the speed of the old one; wearing don down like some type of machine.

he did it with no complaint, still rowing and racing with ease. but it came back to taunt him once he laid in bed and struggled to wake up in the morning.

not only were his teammates aware of it, his table partner in his class was also.

y/n sat beside him in their chemistry class, not one she’d advise anyone to sleep in. she noticed twice now that he dosed off, but never said anything or disturbed him; as he never talked to her or disturbed her. she didn’t mind him though, she doubted that he’d ever disturb her.

don was always quiet and calm, so spending the hour of lecture or experiments beside him was something she preferred over her other classes. however, she didn’t know much about him other than his olympic level skill on the rowing team. but y/n knew about his talent, and how valuable he was to the team. she had sat nearby him and his teammates in the study hall, yet her and her friends always had to move because they slowly got louder. they always had something to say about don’s skill.

y/n was not the only one picking up on things about the table partner. don noticed many things about y/n also, he always noticed her. he was frequently too nervous to say anything to her, though she was probably one of the easiest people to talk to. she was well known around school, just because of her social skills, smarts, and kindness. don felt lucky to sit beside her, even if it sounded strange to say. he was just scared that one wrong thing would ruin the calm be had beside her, even if they never really spoke to one another.

another day, another chemistry class. don made his way in before y/n, like normal. he waited to hear her laughter as she walked in alongside her friend, only parting to go to her seat. he glanced at the door, then his watch. as if she was following a routine, don heard y/n’s familiar laugh and goodbye to her friend as she scooted past people to sit beside don.

“good morning.” she greeted like usual, flashing him a smile. “morning.” he replied, giving her a small one. don acted like his ears weren’t red, and y/n didn’t dare to say anything. she looked down at her notebook with a small smile, waiting for the professor to start lecturing.

once he did, don fought sleep to take notes shown on the board or whatever he heard the professor say that seemed important. it was like his muscles and eyes fought against him. the lights off, dim projector light, and comfort of the calmness between him and y/n; don was set to fall asleep.

once he did, he was out.

somehow his breathing was as silent as he normally was. y/n noticed this once when she took notes for him.

like she had before, y/n grabbed his notebook and read where he was at, adding her own notes while the teacher continued to ramble on. she understood don’s exhaustion, so she didn’t mind writing some for him. she matched his notes to hers and made sure to neatly write so he could read what she wrote for him.

don woke, face flushed when he realized he fell asleep. y/n noticed and slid over his notebook with a small smile, continuing to take her notes while he blinked at the notebook in front of him. don glanced at her and started writing more notes, embarrassed at how messy his handwriting seemed in comparison to hers. “thank you.” he whispered, making her blush and smile at him. “anytime.” she replied.

the gesture didn’t go unnoticed by him, and it didn’t go unnoticed by his teammates.

“don, what the hell happened to your handwriting?” bobby asked, making chuck lean over to look at the nicely written handwriting, semi cursive. they looked at him, along with some of the other boys.

don turned red, “i fell asleep. y/n took my notes and wrote what i missed down.” he explained, you could hear the glee in his voice yet he didn’t smile; he didn’t want to create chaos.

the boys looked at him shocked, y/n, the popular and smart girl of don’s class noticed him. “how long has she been doing this?” bobby asked, leaning over to look more at the papers. don paused his work and looked back, flipping a few times through the notes. “like four times.” he replied.

“don she’s got feelings for you. you have to ask her out.” john said. don sat there in silence, shaking his head. “no i’m good.” he replied, making them all groan and sigh. “well the girls next to me don’t take my notes for me while i’m asleep, they don’t even look at me. she’s into you.” rodger explained, getting up to leave.

“she’d be better with the football guys over there.” don said, turning and looking over to see y/n standing with her friends while they talked with a few of the guys on the football team. y/n glanced over and noticed them staring, she held eye contact with don and waved slightly. he nodded at her as his way of waving and they both looked away. bobby noticed the smile that lingered on her face, fixing her hair and talking less to the guys.

“you know you did play football, basketball, and ran track. you have those guys beat.” bobby informed, looking at don again. all don could do was brush him off, convinced the well known and social girl would go for the quiet and lesser known guy.

“you need to tell her you like her, or ask her out or something.” bobby continued, glancing at him and back at y/n, who moved away from a guy’s action to keep her close. her friends looked at her and she gave them a defensive look, “she’s reserved for someone, maybe you.” roger spoke, shocked at the beauty denying the guy.

“don’t get my hopes up.” don said monotonously, watching her in awe.

don stood in front of ulbrickson with chuck, jim, and george. he looked at a paper and looked up at them, “you boys need to get your grades up.” he started, pressing them into the importance of academics and being on the team, a lecture they heard before.

they couldn’t say much against his disappointment and slight irritation. don just watched and remained silent, something he was decent at but it irritated ulbrickson. “hume, you have to ace your final exam. fail it and we lose you- i cannot lose you. don’t grow an ego about that.” ulbrickson warned. don nodded, listening to his coach’s command.

“maybe get a tutor to help, or a study friend.” he weakly implied, desperate for don to keep up with his grades.

the implication or suggestion from ulbrickson fueled bobby’s ideas and demands that don had to ask y/n out. he found the pairing perfect, and he had talked to y/n before; she wouldn’t turn down helping don, regardless of how she felt about him.

when he could, bobby spoke on y/n, but never too much. it reached the point where they stood in front of y/n, don looking down at her quiet, while bobby stood beside him with a small smile. “am i being interrogated?” she asked, with a small nervous smile.

“don has a question that’s all, don’t ya don?” bobby quipped, nudging his friend. don nodded and hummed, “i need help studying for our final, i thought maybe we both could study together.” he explained, saying the most he’s ever said to y/n; ever.

y/n blinked and smiled, “i’d love to.” she answered softly, and don felt faint. “i thought i’d have to ask to see you myself, but i’m glad you did.” she teased. don blushed a bit, “you want to see me more?” he asked, adjusting his bracelet out of nerves. he wanted to disappear yet stay in the moment forever. y/n nodded at the question, “yeah, i think you’re cool.” she admitted. bobby was grinning now, don would never hear the end of it after this.

y/n could sense the slight awkwardness, “okay! so tomorrow let me know when you’re free. i’ll see you.” she bid her goodbyes with a smile and walked away, don could hear the flutter of hellos she gave to people she passed. he stood there shocked whilst bobby smiled at him. “got yourself a date.” bobby teased.

don turned to watch her leave, smiling slightly.

the glow don got from asking her, or knowing he had plans with her, lasted throughout his practice. don improved his strokes and practiced well, it was noticeable. what caused don to glide smoother and bloom in confidence? the confident one herself.

soon enough, the guys knew, and it was the talk in the jv boat until don went on his study date.

“i really don’t know much.” don said, realizing how behind and lost he was in the lectures. y/n looked up from her book, “do you need me to explain anything?” she asked, sliding out of her seat to sit in the empty one beside him.

don’s posture straightened and his breath caught in his throat, he looked at her and nodded. “alright so,” she jumped into explanation, pointing at what the notes said and the equations in front of them. don listened, looking at her face then back at her hands then back at her face. her knowledge was attractive, making her more beautiful.

“you’re lucky i know this unit. otherwise we’d be fucked.” she spoke, making him laugh slightly at her cursing. “yeah-yeah, we don’t want that.” don said, smiling at her. y/n looked up at him, returning the smile.

they both worked on their equations that they were advised would help on the quiz. don glanced at y/n’s paper, and y/n herself. she flowed through the worksheet somewhat easily, she cursed to herself here and there, erasing the whole equation.

an hour passed, they both sat in comfortable silence; y/n remained by don’s side. eventually she finished the entirety of the studying, and don completed a bit after her. they both groaned and rubbed their eyes in result of staring at the paper for hours. knuckles cracked, shoulders were rolled, and sighs were let out. the two were exhausted.

y/n rested her head on the table, letting out a long sigh. don watched her with a small smile, “want to go out and get ice cream?” he asked, checking his watch. coach wouldn’t kill him for a small cone and coming back at eight pm. y/n sat up tiredly, smiling at don. “i do owe you for your time.” don added, smiling sheepishly. y/n yawned and shook her head, “i enjoy spending time with you. i’d love to get ice cream.” she agreed, needing a pick me up and wanted more time with him.

so the two packed up their bags and left the library. it was cooler out as the night came by, but it was perfect. together, they walked side by side towards the ice cream shop, gradually getting closer.

don opened the door for y/n and took her bag, letting her order and relax while he followed with his own order. y/n noticed the gestures, feeling special by them. don looked at her, catching her staring. she smiled and so did he, “what?” he asked quietly while they waited for their cones. y/n simply shook her head, “you’re just handsome, personality and looks.” she complimented. don was slightly taken aback, he smiled and tried to form a sentence. however they were both interrupted by the worker, handing them their ice cream.

both don and y/n sat outside next to one another, they both stared out at the water that don constantly fought against. “you have hope in this test that’ll save you your spot on the team?” y/n teased, looking at him. don chuckled, “if anything, you saved me my spot.” he replied. y/n became flustered and looked away from him, silently eating as her cheeks and ears burned.

“you’re truly a lifesaver. to me and like everyone you help and know. which is a lot.” he continued, making her laugh and nudge him. “not a lot.” she replied, making him shake his head. “not true, you’re like the most well known girl here. not because of only your beauty, your smarts and kindness too.” don explained, going silent when he realized he admitted his thoughts of her.

y/n was now the one speechless, “you’re too kind.” she said, smiling at him. he shook his head again, “it’s just the truth.” he replied. y/n took in his features and his small sly smile, he let his eyes move down her face then back to her eyes. it was the perfect moment to make a move, don took a second longer, “are you into any of those football guys?” he asked nervously, quietly. “anyone more known?” he added. y/n caught his drift, or his nervousness, and shook her head.

“no im just into this one rower who falls asleep next to me in class, i really like him and like to see him succeed so i help him by taking his notes.” y/n admitted, smiling at don. a full smile grew on his face, “really?” he asked. y/n nodded and don took it as the actual perfect opportunity, kissing her gently.

they both sat there, pulling away with bashful smiles. “once we pass, we should go out for ice cream again. or just go out again eventually.” she whispered, don smiled at her suggestion, “i’d like that.” he replied and kissed her again.

and so they had their second ice cream date, every year on the same day, even on the night of their wedding. the two were bound to fall in love, it just took several lectures to get to where they needed to be.

a.n hope you enjoyed!

tags: @gvfsstardust

#don hume x fem!reader #don hume x reader #don hume fanfic #don hume imagine #don hume #j’s imagines

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