#instead of like. speaking moving and sitting how you would prefer?

[queensunshinee]

His favorite toy- Part 2 || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex, oral sex), super toxic relationship.

Word Count: 6.5k

(part 1)

His favorit toy- Part 2:

Two months have passed since the last time Art and I fucked. Although it wouldn’t be fair to call it that, because I don’t fully know what it was. I only know he said he thinks he loves me. Neither of us made the minimal effort to rekindle any kind of relationship. I kept sitting with Janet and Shane, and he stayed in his place next to the friend he invented.

Occasionally, if I focused, I could feel his gaze on the back of my neck, but maybe I was imagining it. Maybe I also imagined his declaration of love, maybe I lost my grip on reality for a moment. Maybe more water needs to flow under this bridge. Maybe Tashi Duncan needs to be his, like he is hers, so I can stop dreaming about him at night. How did I become so dependent on the emotions of a girl I have no desire to exchange a word with? How did I lose someone I’m not sure was ever mine? And more than anything- what made me spend so much time in this endless whining?

A few days after that party, Luke sat next to me in one of the classes we share. He looked so good that if I close my eyes, I can imagine it's Art. A remarkably pathetic thought, but it works. Except he isn’t cruel. He doesn't try to deceive me or lead me to the point he wants me to reach. He’s interested in me and my hobbies, and sometimes he walks me from class to class, but in these two months, he hasn’t made any move beyond placing his hand on my shoulder. Maybe he thinks I have lice. Maybe he thinks I won’t be good enough in bed to risk our boring conversations about the eco-intro professor.

Maggie, the girl I work with, canceled at the last minute, so I ended up alone at the smoothie station and the register. I took comfort in the fact that it's exam season and not too many Stanford students would prefer to stand in line for a smoothie instead of grabbing a spot in the library on a Sunday night. "The usual?" I heard Art’s voice and lifted my gaze from the book I was reading. I blinked at him a few times, as if trying to figure out if I was imagining his smug smile. Maybe it wasn’t smug, maybe that's just how he always smiles when he sees me. Like he knows a secret he’ll never tell me. "I..." I tried to hold onto the reality as I knew it, "I don’t remember," I smiled without showing teeth, half-forced.

"Peach—" he stopped himself in the middle of the stupid nickname. Apparently, he understood from my look that it wasn’t appropriate after two months of radio silence. "Almond milk, banana, pecan, and coconut," he mumbled. "That’s $4.50," he nodded. I wondered if he was surprised, because I’d never asked him to pay before. I’d always used the free smoothie I got during my shift on him. "How a—" he started to speak, and I turned on the blender, seeing out of the corner of my eye that he was smirking and shaking his head. "Fair," he muttered. "Here’s your smoothie. Goodnight," I handed him the cup after a few seconds, with the most forced smile I could muster. He rolled his eyes in response and sat down in one of the empty chairs.

"What do you think you’re doing?" I asked. "Sitting and drinking my smoothie, obviously," he spoke again as if I were two years old. Like I needed him to mediate reality for me because I couldn’t understand it on my own. "Do you see anyone else sitting here?" I asked. "Just because the tables are empty because it’s ten at night and you’re working in a cafeteria-" he began. "This isn’t a cafeteria. It’s the—" "Doesn’t mean I can’t sit at one of the tables and drink my smoothie. Or are there new rules I’m not aware of?" I rolled my eyes in response. Smug dickhead. I was definitely not going to give him a second of my time. I went back to the book I was reading for my philosophy exam, trying to ignore his presence but realizing I was reading the same sentence five times in a row.

"What are you studying?" he asked after a few minutes of silence. "Why are you doing this?" I threw the question back from behind the counter, sighing in frustration. "What am I doing?" The usual smirk was plastered on his face. "Why are you here on a Sunday night, Art?" If I could stomp my foot to express protest, I would. "Because you’re here on a Sunday night." The smirk turned into a smile. I couldn’t tell if it was sincere. I never know if he’s sincere.

"What do you want?" I rolled my eyes and sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to leave. I knew he was stubborn in an almost inspiring way (or nauseating, depending on who you ask) and that he was always at an advantage with me. He always had the last word. All I had left was to let him say it quickly and move on with life. "To ask how you're doing?" he half said, half asked. He sounded hesitant, but I knew he wasn’t. I knew he was as confident as any other day. He knew exactly what he was doing. "Amazing. Anything else?" I found myself crossing my arms under my chest and saw him, without shame, shift his gaze, well… to my chest, raising an eyebrow.

"Arthur!" I felt like I was his aunt as he shook his head, almost playfully. "I missed you, Peaches. Is that so hard to believe?" He chuckled, still completely shameless. "Well, I didn’t." That was the first thing that came to mind, and the face Art made, along with the eye roll, only emphasized how much he didn’t believe me. "Why are you so mad at me?" His voice was amused as he approached the counter with his smoothie, grabbing the book I was reading without asking. "What course is this?" "Philosophy," I snatched it from his hand, and he grabbed mine with the speed of an athlete who works too much with his hands. "Let go," I muttered, not sure if I wanted him to release my hand or release me. But I was scared he'd agree and disappear again, and that was so fucking pathetic. "Never," he replied, keeping his gaze on me and giving my hand a squeeze. "It’s not fair, Art," I hated how my voice sounded. "What’s not fair?" he asked, tracing small circles on my hand the moment he felt me relax the muscle that had been trying to pull away from his touch. "What you're doing right now," I sighed. If he weren’t in front of me, I probably would’ve started crying out of frustration. "What am I doing right now?" The smirk was once again plastered on his face. "Trying to convince me everything's okay between us," I hesitated, and he shook his head from side to side. "Nothing's okay between us, Peaches. I hate it. I actually hate it. I think about you 80% of the day. Every time I want to talk to you, you're either with your friends or with Luke." He wrinkled his nose as he said his name.

"Why do you know his name?" I asked, studying him. "Because I looked him up, and I'm telling you, Peaches, he's fucking weird—" "You're fucking weird," I shot back, and he laughed, trying to move the hair from my face with his free hand. "Well, maybe you like us weird, maybe you've got a type," he tried to joke, making me roll my eyes. "Who said I like you, Donaldson?" I tried to defend myself, and Art wasn’t laughing anymore. He wasn’t smiling either. He just looked at me, not letting me read his expression. His hand, which had been playing with mine, tightened its grip, and his gaze locked onto me as if I was on trial for the words that just came out of my mouth.

"Let’s study for the statistics exam together tomorrow?" He changed the subject, not breaking his intense gaze. "Art—" "Study for the exam. Just that. I won't pass it if you don't help me," he flashed his most charming smile. The one he fakes in seconds. The one he uses for interviews with the Stanford magazine and in photoshoots for the tennis team posters. "Study with Dylan," I suggested, raising an eyebrow, referring to the imaginary friend he chose to sit with instead of me. "You want me to beg?" he asked, poking my shoulder with his finger, causing me to shift slightly but still not letting go of my hand. "Maybe," I teased. "I can. My ego will survive if you study with me for statistics tomorrow." He said it quicker than I expected.

"I have a philosophy exam at eight. Can you do twelve?" I asked. "I can when you can. Where’s the exam? I’ll wait for you," he said. "Meet me at the economics library. There’s a room where you’re allowed to talk if you’re working in groups," I explained my choice. "That’s ridiculous. Let’s study at your place or mine—" "We’ll study at the library, take it or leave it," I stated firmly, even though the temptation to go to his dorm was strong since he never invited me. We always went to mine. "Library it is," he agreed. "What’s your philosophy exam about?" he asked, finally letting go of my hand, which had been holding the book I was studying from. "Aristotle and eudaimonia. What he thinks about happiness," I muttered, opening my notes again. "What does he think about happiness?" Art asked, leaning on the counter. "You wouldn’t get it," I smiled at him, and saw him nod with a somewhat thoughtful look, as if his combative spirit and desire to argue had evaporated the moment I agreed to study statistics with him. "Tomorrow at twelve, Peaches. Don’t break my heart and ditch me," he threw into the air, leaving the booth with the same dramatic flair he had when he entered. . . . I walked into the economics library, which was packed with people. Art was already sitting there, messing with his phone more than with the notes in front of him on the table. He hadn’t noticed I’d entered, giving me the chance to observe him. His blonde curls fell over his eyes in a way that likely bothered him. He was wearing his red tennis outfit (the one I liked the most, I should mention) and looked carefree. He always seemed too relaxed, maybe that’s how it is when everything comes to you with an ease that’s almost disgusting.

"You need a haircut," I muttered the first thing that came to mind as I approached, seeing him look up immediately. "Hey," he said, smiling from ear to ear, "I saved a spot because I knew it’d be crowded," he added. "How long have you been sitting here?" I asked as I took the seat next to him. "Since about ten," he chuckled, probably at himself, "How was the exam?" he asked. "Long. Have you gone over any of the material?" Yesterday, I decided I’d be practical. I’d promised to help him, and honestly, I always understood the material better myself when I explained it to him. And if Art Donaldson could take advantage of my knowledge in statistics, then I could take advantage of the situation too. Not just him. "A little, I pretty much lost track in the middle of the course." Art had taken this course as an elective. I always found it funny because who takes statistics as an extra class when it’s not even required for their degree?

"What, Kevin didn’t let you copy his notes?" I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and he lightly tapped my shoulder. "You’re mean. Since when are you so mean?" he responded with a humor I couldn’t fully read, unsure if he was joking or if part of him actually thought there was some cruelty in me. Maybe it was the philosophy exam I couldn’t shake off. Obsessive thoughts about happiness and potential. "I’m going to get myself some coffee, want me to bring you something?" I asked, changing the subject. "Sit down, get settled, I’ll get it for you," he nodded toward me and stood up, not giving me a chance to refuse before he disappeared from my sight, leaving me alone.

Art Donaldson will be the end of me. I’m certain of it. "My brain is fried, Donaldson. I can’t look at any more averages," I summed up after two hours of studying. "Yeah? Already gave up?" he asked, amused. "I remind you that I had an exam today! I don’t think I’ve eaten anything other than my own brain," I tried to remember what I’d actually eaten today. "So let’s go eat something," he smiled. His eyes practically sparkled. "Art," I sighed, resting my head on my hand. "What? We can’t go have lunch?" he asked with mock innocence. Speaking to me again like I was a child. Like I didn’t understand what he’d already figured out long ago. "No, of course not," I wanted to smack him on the head as if he were the dumbest person I knew. "I can’t let you stay hungry, Peaches, my grandmother would be mad at me," he quickly replied. Where was your grandmother every time you humiliated me to the core? Every time you made me feel empty and stupid? So stupid. "Your grandmother will survive," I rolled my eyes. "She’s a very sick woman, you don’t know that. I’ll tell her I let you starve and she’ll have a stroke. You won’t be able to live with that on your conscience. You’ll drag us into lives full of guilt—" "Okay, you’re giving me a headache, God," I mumbled, standing up. Art Donaldson’s smug smile returned to his face in an instant.

That’s how I found myself sitting across from him at the fancy cafeteria for athletes, eating nuggets after the woman working there flirted with him and gave me a threatening look. "Don’t hate Rosie, she always gives me extra pie," he said after I pointed out that she looked at me like I was the reason the Beatles broke up. "Because she wants to sleep with you," I rolled my eyes. "So she has a reason to look at you like that. Makes sense," he replied with a chuckle. "Okay, what is this?" I dropped the nugget I was holding and pointed between us as I leaned back in my chair. "What?" he continued eating as if nothing unusual was happening. "What are you doing, Art?" I asked, feeling my leg start to shake out of frustration.

"I’m eating and making sure you’re eating," he replied, taking another bite of his food, as if we were having a completely normal conversation. "We’re not going to fuck again just because you invited me to eat nuggets at the cafeteria, you know that, right?" I blinked at him, trying to signal that he was delusional. "Of course not," he said, leaning back in his chair as well. "I have principles, Donaldson," I continued. "I know," he smiled. "I’m not some girl you found on the street that you can treat however you want, disappear for two months, invite her for nuggets, and she’ll take off her bra just so you can vanish again until the next time you’re horny," my voice rose a bit, despite my effort to keep it calm. I saw his jaw tighten, his expression shifting from amused to cold. "Is that what you think this is?" he asked, and all I could do was shrug.

"It’s not like you’ve given me any reason to think otherwise, Art," I looked at him and felt that if I stayed there much longer, I’d start crying. "I told you that I lo—" he began, but I stood up. "Thanks for lunch, it’s definitely nicer than the regular cafeteria," I forced a smile, and he closed his eyes. "You didn’t eat anything," he replied. If I focused, maybe I could have seen his frustration growing. But I was trying to focus on not crying. Art Donaldson’s ego didn’t deserve to see me cry over him again. "I’m really tired, I need to sleep a bit before my shift," I mumbled. "Will you come to my match tomorrow?" he asked quietly. "Art—" "You don’t have to, but I’m saving you a seat, okay?" he cut off my answer, not wanting to hear a refusal, maybe not believing there was a bone in my body capable of saying no to him. . . . And it’s a little pathetic how I ended up walking onto the tennis court the next day, giving up the last shred of my self-respect. I was surprised to see how many people showed up to these things, especially at the end of exam season and right before the break. The place was packed.

‘You came’ -A- I got his message and tried to look around, searching for where he might be. ‘Down on the court’ -A- I could practically see his smirk in the words. I glanced toward him and shrugged. ‘Front row, saved you a seat next to Patrick’ -A- he added.

‘What the fuck is Patrick?’ -(Y/N)- I replied, not moving toward where he told me to go.

‘A friend. Please sit there.’ -A- He answered shortly. ‘Want to lift my head and know where you are’ -A- And when he says things like that, I almost forget how cruel he can be. So I find myself rolling my eyes and walking toward the seat he saved for me.

"Are you Patrick?" I mumbled, feeling my cheeks flush from the awkward interaction with the guy sitting next to the empty seat. "Depends who’s asking," the curly-haired guy responded, flashing a mischievous half-smile. I can see why they’re friends. Fucking twelve-year-olds in the bodies of twenty-year-olds, how is that even possible?! "Don’t be a dick," we heard from down below, and I turned to see Art approaching us. "Who’s this?" the guy I didn’t know asked, as if I wasn’t standing right there—seriously, rude as hell, but whatever. "Patrick, behave," Art wasn’t joking, not even smiling, scolding him like you’d scold a misbehaving pet. "You came," Art looked me over, grinning from ear to ear. "Don’t let it go to your head, I had some free time," I muttered, sitting down. Art nodded. "Will you stay after the game?" he asked. I think it was the first time Art had to look up to talk to me. "I don’t know, I need to keep studying for statistics," I answered. "Me too," he replied. "We’ll study together," he shrugged, not giving me a chance to respond before he walked off, taking his position. Getting ready to serve.

“Interesting,” the guy next to me said. “What exactly?” I asked, rolling my eyes and still not looking at him. “You, of course,” I could hear him smiling. “What’s so interesting about me?” I kept staring into the air, unsure if I should focus on Art, who still hadn’t started playing, or the phenomenon sitting next to me. Arrogant, just like the blond guy who’s been emotionally torturing me for months. “Well, first of all, I’ve never heard of you. You’re a surprise,” he said as if it was obvious. And it stung a little, even though I knew the chances of Art talking about me were slim to none. “Maybe you’re the problem, Pete,” I muttered, snapping my fingers like I was trying to recall his name. “Patrick,” he corrected, laughing, making me look at him. He had a loud laugh, unapologetic. I knew his name was Patrick, and he knew I knew, but he still found it amusing.

“Maybe you’re the surprise,” I told him. “He doesn’t talk about you either.” I tried to sound unaffected, like everything was fine. The game started, and Art looked distracted. Maybe he always looks like that when he plays tennis- I’ve never watched his games before, he’s never invited me. “You’re supposed to watch the other side too,” Patrick whispered in my ear, causing me to roll my eyes. “Hey, Stats Girl,” I heard the familiar voice of Tashi Duncan just before she sat next to Patrick, cursing the day I decided to trust Art Donaldson and show up at his game. “The one and only,” I muttered with the best smile I could muster, feeling myself blush at the ridiculous nickname she gave me. “How’s he doing?” she asked Patrick. I wondered what their connection was. “He’s good, you know, as usual. Ice.” he replied, and they started talking quietly about the game, about Art, and about the opponent.

All I could think about was how good Art looked. He looked as if everything came to him effortlessly, as if he didn’t need to try for anything—everything just happened. And I knew that wasn’t true, I knew he worked hard, trained, ate properly, invested in his studies, and that he was probably a good grandson and a good friend. He was good to everyone except me. “Are you enjoying the game?” Tashi asked, pulling my gaze away from Art for a moment. “Huh?” I asked, not understanding what she wanted. “The game, are you enjoying it? He’s playing well,” she clarified. “Yeah, he’s really good,” I mumbled. I didn’t know what else to add to make it sound convincing. “Leave her, Tash. She doesn’t know anything about tennis, she’s his cheerleader,” Patrick answered her, snickering. I shot him a murderous look. “Patrick, don’t be rude,” Tashi said, “I’m sorry about him, he doesn’t know how to behave around people,” she turned to me, as if he wasn’t there. “It’s fine,” I replied, feeling my leg start to shake from the frustration. They went back to talking about the game, and I suddenly felt how pathetic it was, showing up to watch him play. To come and see him in his element, when he wasn’t part of my life anymore. When his friend sat next to me, mocking me to my face. “I’ll be right back…” I mumbled, walking toward the exit. I had no intention of coming back. . . . Two hours later, there were chaotic knocks on my door. “You left,” Art walked in without waiting for an invitation the second I opened the door. He looked angry. “I told you I didn’t know if I’d stay, I have an exam tom-” “Bullshit. What’s your deal? Why did you come?” He practically shouted as I closed the door. “You asked me to come,” I mumbled. “I also asked you to stay, but you left in the middle, so what was the point of you coming?” He crossed his arms. I don’t think I’d ever seen him this angry. He’s always calculated and calm. “Did he say something?” he added, asking a question. “What?” I returned, not understanding what he was talking about. “Patrick, did he say something to you? Why did you leave?” He asked again, speaking to me like I was a child. “He didn’t say anything to me. I left because I didn’t understand what I was even watching. I don’t know anything about tennis, Art, and I have an exam to study for,” I tried to justify. “Enough with that exam. I heard you studying for it yesterday, you know the material, we both know you know it.” He sighed. “I didn’t ask you to come to give tennis commentary. I asked you to come because I wanted you in the crowd. I wanted to see you in the crowd,” he continued. I could hear the effort in his voice to keep it together, to not lose control.

“Tashi was in the crowd; that should be enough for you,” I muttered, lifting my gaze to him, seeing that he was already staring at me. We had never talked like this about Tashi. She had always been this figure hovering above us. He talked about her constantly, unrelated to anything. He talked about her like she was a god. He talked about how she played tennis, about her training, how she helped him. He talked about parties he only went to because Tashi wanted to go. But I never responded in a way that would let him understand that I knew. That I wasn’t completely clueless. That I knew he was completely in love with her. That he loved her the way I loved him and that nothing would change that. “Oh, so that’s the problem. You could’ve started with that. It bothered you that Tashi was in the crowd?” He chuckled. He fucking chuckled. “Why did it bother you?” He moved closer to me, and I had no choice but to avert my gaze from his piercing blue eyes, which felt like bullets at that moment. “It didn’t bother m-” “Look at me.” He was close enough to grab my head and turn it back to face him. “I asked you a question,” he added, not letting me escape. And if there’s anyone I didn’t want to talk about, it’s Tashi Duncan.

“Why did you invite me? Why did you want me in the crowd?” “Because I wanted you to see me play,” he answered without blinking, as if it was obvious. As if there wasn’t a single question I could ask him that he wouldn’t have an answer for. “You love Tashi, Art. You lo-” His lips were on mine the second I said it. Again, there was nothing calm or calculated about this kiss. He was trying to prove that he didn’t, that I was wrong. While we both knew I was right. “You can’t say things like that, Peaches. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he mumbled as he pulled away from me to catch a breath. “It’s okay that you love her. I’ve made peace with it. I just need you to let me move on, Art,” I sighed, trying to catch my breath again. ���I don’t fucking love her.” He was angry; I could hear it in his voice. “What do I have to do to make you understand that you’re the only girl for me?” He kissed me again, and I could feel him getting hard from the way he pressed against me, causing me to moan into his mouth. “Yeah? Is this the only way I can get through to you? Is this the only way you believe me?” he asked, running his lips down my neck. "Art," it was half a moan, half a cry. My eyes closed, and as they did, I felt the weight of his hands on my shoulders, pulling me down until I was on my knees in front of him. I unbuttoned his jeans and quickly pulled down his boxers. I felt almost possessed as he sat on the edge of my bed, forcing me to crawl toward him. “There we go. Is this the only way I need to treat you for you to understand your place?” he muttered as I knelt before him again. I felt a light slap on my cheek from his cock, much more humiliating than painful. “I asked you a question,” he continued.

“N-no,” I mumbled. “Even your voice is annoying me right now,” he muttered, and without warning, I felt his cock in my mouth. He didn’t give me a moment to adjust, punishing me for leaving the match, maybe for bringing up Tashi, maybe for everything combined. You could never tell with him. I felt him hitting the back of my throat, and I tried to suppress my gag reflex with little success. Three months since he’d been in my mouth showed signs. “Shhh, you can do better than that,” he half-stroked my hair, half-held me in place by it. Then he pulled me back, leaving a trail of spit and precum. “You’re such a mess,” he chuckled, and again I felt a light slap of his cock against my cheek. I put my lips back where I knew he needed them the most, and this time, there was no gentle stroking of my hair. There was only a hand forcing me to stay in place as he used my mouth however he wanted. “Nothing to say now, huh?” he said, not very coherently, as I began to feel the warm, thick liquid spill into my throat. “Atta girl,” he patted my hair twice before letting me pull back.

I stood up slowly, trying to catch my breath. “Come here,” he mumbled, pointing to his thigh. I can’t refuse Art Donaldson, so I sat on his lap, placing my hands on his neck in an almost embrace, watching him smile. “Why is everything so hard with you?” he muttered, and his lips lazily found my neck. “I just don’t know what you want from me,” I responded, trying to focus on anything other than his lips currently on my collarbone. “I told you I love you,” he mumbled, his eyes locking onto mine. “You don’t mean that,” I shot back.

“Oh yeah?” His smirk spread across his face, and in seconds, he tossed me onto the bed as if I weighed nothing. He was above me. “For now, the one acting like a brat is you,” he said, his presence casting a shadow over me like a predator playing with its prey. “The one who left in the middle of my match is you.” His lips again left trails on my skin. I don’t even know when he took my shirt off. I felt a light bite on my nipple that made me moan. “Fuck, fa- Art,” I mumbled, unable to focus. “The one avoiding interaction with my friends is you.” His hand joined in, starting to torture my other nipple as his kisses moved further down. “I’m not,” I managed to respond, just as he easily removed my panties.

His breaths hovered over my pussy, short and hot, and if I didn’t know Art Donaldson so well, I would’ve thought he was looking up at me with almost a pleading expression. But he was in complete control. A small kiss on my lips, but not where I really needed him, made me shift my hips a little, and he chuckled- a laugh that was almost childlike. “Hey, ask nicely,” he managed to say, and I returned to the position I had before, legs around his head. “Please, Art,” I knew there was no point in arguing; he always got what he wanted in the end. “No problem, baby,” in seconds, his tongue was on my clit, starting slowly with circular motions and picking up speed with every moment. “There you go, you’re almost there,” he muttered, pulling back just before I could come. “What-” I tried to catch my breath again, craving the euphoria only he could give me at that moment. “I want to be inside you,” he answered without waiting for the full question, and in an instant, his cock filled me, making me moan. “Fuck,” I managed to mumble, feeling my eyes roll back. “Hold on a little longer, Peach,” he said, slipping his finger into my mouth like he liked to do, watching my lips close around it. “Now,” he muttered, pushing it deeper into my throat while he thrust into me, feeling me tighten around him like only an orgasm from him could make me do.

He fucked me stupid. There’s no other way to describe what I experienced, and as we both tried to catch our breath, I wondered how long it would take for him to leave this time and what his excuse would be. “Don’t you have practice tomorrow?” I quietly asked, trying to throw him off balance for a moment. “No, but I don’t know anything for the stats exam,” he admitted and chuckled. “Art! I taught you all the material yesterday,” I rolled my eyes. “I can’t concentrate when you’re teaching me.” “Then why did you ask for help?” It was my turn to laugh. “Because you’re the most beautiful when you’re in your element,” he shrugged like it was obvious. Like hearing me talk about statistics would make him fall in love with me. Like it wasn’t what I felt two and a half hours ago when he played tennis, until I almost choked on love.

“When are you going home?” he asked, probably knowing my last exam was in statistics. “I’m not,” I replied casually, and he quickly shifted positions. “Why the hell not?” he asked, and I saw a small wrinkle form between his eyebrows. “It’s no big deal, Donaldson,” I chuckled, “I picked up extra shifts, and I have a paper to work on. Speaking of shifts, I need to get ready for mine.” I added as I checked the time. He watched me as I walked around the room, trying to decide if I smelled too much like sex to push the shower until after work. “Are you coming to the study marathon tomorrow before the exam?” he asked, starting to get dressed too. “Of course,” I looked at him like he was crazy. “Don’t think about skipping it, Art. You need it,” I said, knowing exactly who I was dealing with. “Okay, Mom,” his voice was amused, and I rolled my eyes, looking at him for another moment. We don’t get too many moments like these. Almost domestic. Almost mine.

"Hey, we're good, right?" he suddenly asked, holding my hand and not letting me continue running around the room. "Yeah, Art, everything's fine," I smiled half-heartedly, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Because I don't want another two months like these," he muttered, and I knew it was hard for him to admit. It was hard for him to say that the past two months had been strange, to say the least. Difficult, to be honest. "Me neither." I nodded at him. "When are you flying home?" I asked as we were both already outside the door, after I had locked it. "Four hours after the exam, I’m supposed to be on a flight," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wow, two weeks at home, excited?" I asked. "Not that much, mostly glad I get to visit my grandma. She follows my matches with her entire retirement home, it’s a big deal for her." "Ooooh, you've got fans, Donaldson?" I joked. "You know I do," he replied. "Seriously though, why aren’t you going home?" he added. "It’s not that deep, just an opportunity to make some extra money. Plus, my mom and I aren’t in the best place right now," I shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. "Don’t you miss home?" he asked. "Not like most people probably do," I smiled at him. "I hate it when you smile like that," he said and suddenly stopped. "How?" I asked, looking at him as if he were crazy. "Without teeth. That’s your fake smile," he replied without blinking, as if it were strange that I was even asking. "I didn’t think you noticed," I mumbled. And I really didn’t think there was a possibility that Art Donaldson paid attention to details that, until now, I thought only I noticed about him. "I’ll see you tomorrow at the marathon?" he asked when we reached the point where I was supposed to head to the cafeteria and he to his dorm. "Don’t be late," I ordered, giving his face a small push, watching him chuckle and walk away from me. . . .

The next morning, I woke up with the worst headache I’d ever had in my life. I felt my nose was blocked, and I knew for sure I had a fever, though I had no way to measure it. 'Where are you?' -A-

'Sick, I’ll come for the exam' -(Y/N)-

'What’s wrong with you?' -A- I didn’t respond to that message, preferring to sleep a bit more before waking up for the statistics exam.

I got in the shower, and when I got out, I looked at myself in the mirror, seeing my flushed cheeks as a contrast to my pale face. There was no mistaking it when you looked at me- I wasn’t at my best. The auditorium was partially full when I entered, people chatting among themselves, and I looked around, seeing Art already staring at me before he approached, getting ahead of Janet, who shot me a questioning glance. "Well, you look like shit," he stated, placing his hand on my forehead. "Fuck, Peaches, you’re burning up," he muttered, looking at me with an almost angry expression. "How did you manage to start dying in the minute and a half I left you alone?" he said. "I’m talented, Donaldson. Can you not yell? My head hurts," I mumbled, sitting in the empty seat I found.

The exam went smoothly and ended faster than it began. I physically couldn’t wait for Art to finish, so I texted him, hoping he’d enjoy his time at home, and I went to sleep. Half an hour later, there was a knock at my door, chaotic like the one from the day before. "Hey," he muttered. "You’ll miss your flight," I replied, running a tired hand over my eyes. "I’m not flying," he said quickly. "What?" I asked, not understanding what he was talking about, seeing him take off his shirt and pants, left only in his boxers. "Art, I physically can’t have sex," I chuckled, not understanding what was happening. "We’re going to sleep," he declared, pulling me toward him, leaving me no choice but to get into bed next to him. "Your bed’s worse than mine. Tomorrow we’ll sleep at my dorm," he stated.

"You're going to get sick too" I rolled my eyes, "Why aren’t you going home?" I asked quietly, while his hand traced shapes on my shoulder. "It felt weird going home when you’re sick and staying here," he replied, not ashamed for a second. "Your grandma must be disappointed," I mumbled. "I told her my girlfriend is sick," he said. I wanted so badly to see his face, but I had my back to him. "She must’ve been surprised you have a girlfriend," I said the first thing that came to mind, feeling my heart race. "Not at all, I talk to her about you all the time."

. . .

So here it is. The second part I didn't plan. Hope you like it even tho I wrote half of it while being super sick and didn't check my own grammar at all, so bear with me (a reminder: English is not my first language). Let me know what you think. It's always the best part. Also, I think I'm up for some requests. Let's see what we can come up with. Love you guys

[eddiethebrave]

secret admirer part seventeen

688 words

one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen fourteen fifteen sixteen

Eddie wouldn’t go as far as to say that he needs the stupid notes to want to go to school.

But. 

He does kind of miss them. 

They were the highlights of those eight days before he knew where they were coming from. It gave him something to look forward to. Aside from Hellfire - which only officially meets once a week on Friday - there’s not much for him at school. 

Admittedly, Eddie has read the notes a couple of times since they’ve stopped appearing. Right now is one of those times - he needs a boost to actually make it to class instead of walking right out the front door to his van and getting out of this hellhole. 

When the notes stopped, Eddie was confused. Like, sure, he hadn’t been all that subtle in showing that he knows who H is, but it’s not like Tommy’s made it known that he knows that Eddie knows - besides not leaving notes anymore.

After lunch, he’s standing with his head practically shoved in his locker as he flips through them. As he’s carefully reading through the one he received on his birthday, it hits him. 

The ring. The fucking ring. 

It says it right there. 

if you want me to stop just don’t wear the ring and i’ll back off

How could he be so dense? Eddie rummages through the war-zone that is his locker. Honestly, it takes far longer than it should for him to emerge with the piece of jewelry. 

He isn’t sure if he wants the notes to continue. Well, he does, but he doesn’t want to lead Hagan on, no matter how much of an asshole he is. He kind of wishes he never found out about it. Curse Gareth for being considerate enough to let him know that known asshole Tommy Hagan slipped something in his locker. 

Eddie keeps the ring safely in his pocket while he’s anywhere that the boy could possibly catch sight of the thing (the halls, lunchroom, bathroom, etc.). In class, though, he can’t help but take it out. 

It really is beautiful - something he would’ve gotten for himself if saw it and had the money. 

In art, Buckley moves from the back of the room to their table. She’s partnered with Carol for the project, but the change in seating still catches Eddie as strange - they’re not even working on the portraits today, but whatever.  

Speaking of project partners, Steve’s been shifting in his heat quite a lot for the last couple of minutes. Eddie tries to ignore it, he does - God knows he’s never sitting still - but it really is hard to focus. 

Eddie turns him. “You good, man?” he whispers, not wanting to interrupt whatever the teacher is saying. Steve jumps in his seat and Eddie flinches back in surprise. “Woah, easy.” 

Steve doesn’t make eye contact, which is odd because usually he’s really…insistent on it. His gaze is instead focused somewhere on the table. “I’m- I’m okay, Munson,” he says, barely audible.

Eddie scrutinizes him a moment longer before shrugging it off. If he wants to keep it to himself then Eddie is in no position to question him. 

The last thing he ever expected - aside from receiving freaking love notes from Tommy Hagen of all people - was being (even somewhat) on friendly terms with Steve Harrington. He isn’t what Eddie had expected at all, though. 

Eddie’s always preferred him to his best friend, but that’s not really saying much. Eddie actually likes Steve. Almost too much. 

No, it’s definitely too much. 

The guy would never be as sweet to him - because that’s what he is, sweet - if he knew the thoughts running through Eddie’s whenever he is around.

Like, Eddie didn’t die or anything when Steve confiscated his pencil and gave him the holy grail but it was a near thing. 

When the bell sounds through the room, Eddie slips the ring back in his pocket and leaves.

At the end of the next period, he tries not to overthink it as he puts the ring on and keeps it there for the rest of the day.

eighteen

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sorry if i missed anyone!!

[ch-4-eri]

So It Goes — Lara Croft.

lara X fem!reader.

warnings: phone sex, masturbating, pet names (lots and lots of them, baby princess sweetheart etc) edging if you squint, let me know if i missed anything else.

word count: 1.6k

idk about y’all but she makes me lose it.

your eyes were glued to your tv screen, but your thoughts were elsewhere entirely.

you were debating whether to go to bed or touch yourself as you hadn’t in a long long time, and you were in the mood.

the only problem was that you hated to touch yourself with your own fingers, you’d have much preferred if it were lara’s fingers instead, your girlfriend who’s too busy working, travelling at the moment.

with the thoughts of lara’s fingers, her calloused hands, the way they were thick and would fill you up— you quickly jumped taking off your panties and lying down on the couch, keeping the image of your girlfriend’s fingers and her sweet voice in the back of your head as you stuck two fingers inside of yourself.

surprised to find yourself already wet at the thought of lara, of course.. you never doubted how much she’d turn you on when you needed it.

as your fingers were moving up and down your pussy, your back arched against the couch, the nightgown you had on pushed up to reveal your belly, noticing how much your breath hitched and faltered, your free hand gripped the cushions as you tried to focus on the feeling.

collecting your slick and smearing it all over your clit as you let out a moan, you usually never made noise as you were touching yourself, but all you thought of was lara, which made you rock your hips back and forth as you fucked yourself with your own fingers, your breathing heavy and your moans so loud that you felt her there, like she’s the one touching you.

your eyebrows were furrowed with sweat breaking out on your forehead and between your breasts, the same ones that bounced as you were drunk on the feeling of your own fingers.

your goal was to cum, you wanted it so bad, but the more you thought of it the more you started to be more aware that you were alone; and lara was not here with you.

god you missed her, you missed her so bad you frustratingly stopped, removed your fingers out of your throbbing wet pussy while your legs twitching as you edged yourself, your body had other ideas but you just couldn’t take this anymore.

your breathing was heavy as you reached for your phone, your eyes staring at the ceiling as you dialled lara’s phone number, please pick up please pick up.

it took three rings until lara picked up.

“hi, love.. what are you doing calling this late?” she chuckled through the phone, her thick british accent making you even more frustrated.

you bit down your lip, what kind of excuse do you have for her? that you couldn’t finish because she’s not there? lara would probably never let go of this one; ever. and you weren’t in the mood to get laughed at…

“hello?” lara spoke once again. “love, you okay?”

“hi.. sorry is this a bad time?” you asked, sitting up on the couch, your core brushing against the silk nightgown, driving you crazier.

“not at all.. was just grabbing some tea.” lara says, hearing the crinkling of the spoon against the glass as you squeezed your eyes shut, still unsure of how to come clean with this.

you played with the hem of your nightgown, hearing lara shuffling and moving things around, still trying to come up with a proper way to tell her this, rubbing your thighs together as you did so.

“alright..” lara whispered into the call, probably sitting down somewhere as you heard the sound of fabric and the mug being placed on a table. “you’re not speaking, did you just call me because you missed hearing me talk?” lara giggled, she seemed in a good mood; which was a good thing.

you was were a mess right now and you had no idea what to do.

“i did… actually.” you finally said, keeping your head tipped back as your eyes scanned the ceiling. “hm… satisfied now huh?” lara gave you a cheeky chuckle, knowing how flustered it gets you, even if it’s from the damn phone, your cheeks went red and your thighs rubbed together.

“erm— not yet.” you finally confessed, but then the other line went silent, but it wasn’t long before you heard lara laugh a bit.

“ah, i get it now.” she cleared her throat. “you’re being a naughty girl right now.” lara adds.

“…. lara, i need you.” you desperately let it out, not caring anymore, you were indeed desperate and would do anything for her to talk you through it.

“you’re so selfish.” lara chuckled through the phone. “but it’s okay, i’ll be nice… give my girl what she wants.”

you felt absolutely terrible at her words, but knowing lara— she’s just teasing you, riling you up so you need her even more, and you do as your legs involuntarily spread on their own.

“so, how are we gonna do this?” lara began, her tone soft and sultry. “your fingers hm?” she guessed making you hum a response.

“alright… now, lick them and rub your clit.” lara gave you a command as her tone was quiet, like it’s just for you to hear.

you put your already wet fingers inside your mouth and filled them up with your saliva. “get them real wet okay?” lara says through the phone, your core burning with a sensation at her words and your actions, you’ve never felt this horny before, or done anything like this before.

you did what lara wanted; you were sucking on your fingers and made them as wet as possible. “you can start now, okay baby?” lara’s voice carried you through it, your fingers dipped between your thighs once again, touching your pussy in gentle circular motion, letting out a stiff moan.

“there we go… i’ve always wanted to do something like this with you.” lara chuckled, making your fingers rub faster.

“tell me what you’re doing.” lara requested after a moment of silence; your squelching filled the room, unsure if lara could hear it though.

“i’m.. hm..” you moaned, your cheeks burning red.

“don’t overthink it now, you’re doing good.” lara praised you, your fingers still moving as you pleasured yourself hearing the way lara breathed into the phone, you could cry out for how much you missed her.

“i miss you… i miss you so much.” you gasped, your lower belly tightening.

“i miss you too honey… and i miss fingering you myself, i miss how wet you are, god… you’re so perfect.” lara teased you, her tone so quiet and sultry as you felt your pussy twitching and throbbing as you were so damn close, just one more praise and you’re coming undone.

“lara—“ you moaned, her name sounded amazing coming from your pretty mouth, lara could cum in her own pants at the sound of you like that, her panties were stuck to her own cunt as she was listening to everything and barely breathing.

“cum for me… hm? do it for me baby, i know you can do it.. imagine yourself sitting on my face, and ruin me.. come on baby.” lara says, her voice coming out breathier, moving her own fingers around her clothed cunt as she manspread on the couch she was seated on and touched her needy self, she’d so take care of this when she’s done with you.

“hm.. fuck i can’t..” you rasped, your fingers were so wet, the couch probably stained as well as your nightgown.

“come on princess, you know you can do it.. goddamn it i bet you look so fucking beautiful touching yourself like that for me..” lara breathed, her own fingers teasing her hardened nipple, biting her lip.

you were driven crazy at her words, so crazy you couldn’t contain your whimpers and writhing, your hips rocking themselves against your fingers, letting a gasp out each time you moved, your vision became so blurry as you came all over your fingers and on the couch.

all while lara was trying so hard not to touch herself, not right now.

this was your time, she wanted to focus on you, give you whatever you needed.. she can hardly wait.

“good… good girl you did so good.” lara breathed into the phone and let out a satisfied chuckle.

you on the other hand, sweating your bum off, your breathing heavy and your fingers wet and sticky, your knees wobbly as you were trying to catch your breath. “thank you.” was all that came out of your dry throat.

“you’re very welcome, sweetheart.” lara responds after a second or so, trying to collect herself, you got her so worked up she couldn’t think straight, her tea turning cold.

“go wash yourself, and get some sleep.. i’ll call you in the morning, kay baby?” lara says, standing up on her own shaky legs.

“mmhm... lara, i love you.” you finally managed, sitting on the edge of the couch, listening to the way she breathed, your toes curled, grabbing the hem of your nightgown. “i love you, too.” lara said, you can hear a grin in her tone which reassured you she’d call like she said she would; she always did.

you hung up then, your body still so tense after such a long overdue orgasm.. it felt amazing, your skin was so tingly, your cheeks flushed, nothing felt better than this right at this second.

as soon as you hung up the phone call, she put her cellphone aside while trying to control herself, took a sip from her tea, rubbed her face, then rubbed her hands on her thighs.

but every time she recalls your moans through the phone she just couldn’t help the way her nipples were hard, seeing them through her shirt, her wet panties, she had to do something about it.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Visit II

Fridolina Rolfö x Child!Reader

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You go to a Barcelona match

With Momma and Morsa in Madrid and you in Barcelona, Frido takes you to one of her games. Or, her team’s game because she’s got a little injury that keeps her off the squad for the week so she sits up in the box with you.

It’s not your first time at one of moster Frido’s games but it’s your first time at a Barcelona game. You like the jersey, you decide. It’s blue which is a Not-Wolfsburg colour but it’s also got red and that’s an Arsenal colour. The badge is cool too and you decide that Arsenal can be your English team and Barcelona can be your Spanish team like how Wolfsburg is your German team and Linköping is your Swedish team because that’s where Momma and Morsa first met.

Moster Frido isn’t playing today so you wear an Ingrid jersey instead. She’s starting today and, strangely, so is Mapi. That confuses you a little but you figure with Frido injured that Barcelona don’t have enough defenders to go around.

“It’s nice that Ingrid lets Mapi play with her,” You say as the whistle blows for the first half to begin,” Ingrid’s a good girlfriend.”

Frido laughs. “Don’t ever change, little monster,” She says. You don’t understand what’s funny but you assume it’s an adult thing that you’re still too little to know about.

Barcelona, you think, are much better than Arsenal. Not that Arsenal isn’t good but Barcelona is a lot more organised. They always know where each other are and they’re playing this first half like they actually know how to play football rather than having to settle into it like Arsenal do.

You cheer when Mapi passes the ball off to Ingrid, who weaves through the other team and passes it off to someone else. You don’t really remember much about the Barcelona team from the final against Not-Wolfsburg, not really. You don’t really know the players well but you know you’ll learn.

You’re good at learning. Morsa says it’s a good skill to have.

The person in goal is called Paños and you mark that in your brain because she’s very good. You prefer Zećira obviously but you think v is really good too and you want to watch a few more matches with her.

Barcelona scores while you think about it, some girl with Guijarro on her back.

The crowd goes wild, as does another little girl in the box. She’s wearing a Guijarro jersey like how you’re wearing an Engen one. She goes absolutely crazy. She waves a little flag and jumps up and down in joy.

“That’s little Nat,” Moster Frido says in her ear,” She’s Patri’s cousin.”

“Who’s Patri?”

Frido laughs. “The girl who just scored.”

Little Nat, as moster Frido calls her, keeps cheering and jumping around. You smile at that. That’s how you react when Momma scores.

“Do you want to go say hi?” Frido asks you and you think about it for a moment.

You could go say hi but you just move a bit closer to Frido, suddenly feeling shy. “I don’t speak Spanish,” You whisper to her.

“That’s okay,” She says,” Little Nat speaks some English too. She’s very nice.”

You think about it again but the shy feeling doesn’t go away. “Maybe later.”

“Okay,” Frido says,” Later then.”

You settle more firmly at her side, though your eyes track Little Nat all the way back to her seat. You think, if you were a little braver and you spoke Spanish, you would talk to her. But you’re shy and you don’t speak Spanish so you don’t.

You focus back on the match and watch as Mapi makes a very good save for someone that doesn’t play football. It’s nice that she’s come out to support Ingrid and is on the pitch even though her job is to get tattoos and be a good girlfriend.

Every time you tell Frido that, she laughs and cuddles you nice and close in amusement.

The match ends with a very impressive score line for Barcelona and you cheer like everyone else when it’s over.

Frido takes you down onto the pitch.

Little Nat from earlier is there too, with her parents – though she abandons them to sprint to her cousin who scored the goal earlier.

You end up with Mapi and Ingrid. “Hi, Ingrid! Hi, Mapi!” You chirp, giving them both big hugs.

“Is that my jersey?” Ingrid teases and you nod.

“Uh-huh! It’s so cool! I like Barcelona.”

“That’s great!” Ingrid high fives you and you giggle.

You turn to Mapi. “It’s nice that Ingrid let you play with her. Say thank you, Mapi.”

“Ingrid didn’t let me play with her!” Mapi says,” This is my job! I play football!”

You give her a weird look. “Playing in the park isn’t the same as playing on the pitch,” You tell her,” But you’re a very good girlfriend for helping Ingrid on the pitch today. If you keep practicing really hard then maybe you can join a proper team one day too.”

“Guys!” Mapi complains,” Come on, help me out here! Tell her I’m a footballer!”

Ingrid and Frido are too busy laughing at Mapi’s outrage to help her out.

You’re insistent on your view that Mapi exists to get tattoos and be Ingrid’s girlfriend. There’s no way she’s a footballer and you refuse to accept any other alternative except maybe that her job is feeding the stray cats in the neighbourhood. That could be her job too.

Her cat, Bagheera, is very sweet. You think you might want a cat when you’re older though you think you also want a puppy too. You don’t know if they can live in the same house but you hope so because you like both cats and dogs.

You know Morsa doesn’t want any pets right now but you do so you’ll try to convince her to let you have a pet when you go back to London. That gives you enough time to think of a plan to convince her.

“Hey,” Mapi says,” Did you go and talk to Little Nat during the match? I think you’d really get on with her.”

You shake your head. You spare a glance over your shoulder at her. She’s on her feet now, her cousin having put her down but still keeps holding her hand. She’s staring back at you with a smile and waves.

You wave back to be polite but still feel a little shy and duck to hide behind Frido’s legs.

“Someone's a little shy,” Frido says to Mapi, looking down at you,” But that’s okay. I’m sure they can make friends another time.”

(You never get to make friends with Little Nat as a child but, one day, you make a girlfriend and then a wife of Talia).

“Next time then,” Mapi says,” I’m serious. I think you and Little Nat will be great friends one day.”

You peak out from Frido’s legs.

Little Nat is still looking at you. She waves again and you wave back before you spot someone off to the side.

You gasp and grab Frido’s hand, pulling her with you.

“It’s Caro!”

Caro is standing by the water cooler, drinking from a bottle but she turns at the sound of her name. She spots Frido, who indicates downwards to where you’re dragging her over.

Caro lets a small smile appear on her face and she drops into a crouch right as you barrel into her arms. There’s something about you being older now that puts Caro at ease. She remembers when you were just a tiny baby and how scared she was to drop you.

It’s harder to drop you now and Caro’s much more comfortable. Her arms wrap around your little body and you hug her back so tightly that she’s a little shocked at how much strength is in your tiny body.

“Hi, Caro!” You say, panting from how quickly you go to her side.

“Hello, y/n.”

“You played so good!” You tell her,” Just like at Wolfsburg! You score so much! You’re so cool, Caro!” You chatter on and on about Caro’s two earlier goals.

Caro nods along to you and Frido only pulls you away when you start yawning, completely shattered by your long day in the sun.

“Alright, little monster,” She says,” Say goodbye to Caro then we’ll say bye to Ingrid and Mapi. We need to head home.”

You whine but do as you’re told, giving a hug to Caro before running off to do the same with Ingrid and Mapi.

You’re practically asleep by the time Frido straps you into your car seat. You keep yawning and your head lulls to the side. It’s adorable and Frido snaps a quick picture, sending it off to Pernille and Magda, who she knows are eagerly awaiting an update from her after the game.

[fadingdaggerr]

Hi!! I was wondering if you could write a fluff Melissa x reader, where R is a new teacher and shes got this sick motorcycle and everybody thinks she's super cool and badass, and Mel's absolutely head over heels and gets all nervous when R is around, and when R eventually realizes it she starts doing things on purpose to get Mel all flustered.

With like A LOT of fluff.

You can maybe make it little spicy too, or not.

Idk you do whatever you prefer.

know i’m alive (18+, minors dni)

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: request above! | 5.8k

includes: the dating but not really sort of trope, but of ooc!melissa i’m sorry, partially unedited again im sorry

warnings: sexual innuendo, alcohol consumption (brief), making out/kissing, smut (fingering, oral, mel receiving), body worship?, aftercare

note: the bike referenced is a harley-davidson 1992 daytona, one of my personal fav models. i grew up in a biker family so this was cathartic. also the temperatures referenced in fahrenheit are roughly the 10-20°c range, hope that’s helpful :)

It’s become a sort of routine: get to work, drop your things off, get coffee, make Melissa blush, teach, do prep, watch Melissa try to hide a smile, go home, repeat. You can’t help yourself, getting the woman, who will always be the toughest in any room she’s in, riled up with fluttering lashes. Shocked faces from across the room didn’t help with the ego you were steadily growing with each interaction.

The first day you were at Abbott, she pointedly ignored you, despite constantly having an eye on you. What you once thought was suspicion over a new person near the kids, though sort of true, was more of a curiosity. A new third grade teacher walked into her school, wearing an oversized denim jacket and old Chucks, how was she supposed to feel? Her harsh glares and eagle eyes softened, and you started to see a more bashful side of the woman. It was only until Ava had the balls to say that Melissa’s behavior was very not Melissa, that you noticed that only you could evoke this side of her.

Since day one, the redhead has had an interest in you, not that she would ever verbalize it. Breathlessness has become a common feeling every time you come in with the sleeves of your sweater rolled up and rings adorning your fingers, making her focus shift and half the time she doesn’t hear a word you say, just following the gold bands that catch the light as you speak animatedly. Melissa longs for the day you got close enough and she could pull you in by the necklace you wear, the same that dangles in a taunt when you lean into her space. In the brief moments you’re alone, there’s a sense of calm that comes over both of you. The need to keep up a bravado drops, and you can indulge yourself in her presence. She’s lost count of how many times you casually dropped a gorgeous or beautiful instead of using her name, and how she has to fight turning when you say either in casual conversation, not just to her. All you know is that her wide, surprised eyes are all the motivation you need to keep it up.

—☽—

It’s bitter cold as you walk into Abbott, finding yourself nearly running to the main entrance before your eyes begin to water from the nipping winds. Reprieve comes in the form of the front lobby, leaning against it to catch your breath and shrug off your jacket to let the warmer air rid you of goosebumps. With your belongings dropped off in your classroom, it’s easy to start moving towards the lounge, knowing you saw a silver car that belonged to a certain redhead.

The voice of Jim Gardener is all there is when you enter, Barbara having, no doubt, told them to shut their mouths while her ‘second favorite man’ was speaking, Gerald also ranking number one in his wife’s heart. Grabbing your personal mug from the shelf, you pour a cup of unfortunate coffee as you watch Melissa through your periphery. She used to sit in one of the chairs, no room for someone to place themselves next to her. However, once you started, you noticed she moved to the couch, where no one but you was brave enough to sit.

Walking slowly to your spot, you gently sip the coffee that threatens to spill over the sides before setting it on the table. Lowering yourself, you sit purposefully closer to Melissa than a typical coworker would. Not one shuffle away or look of discomfort comes of it, it almost makes you grin. As the weather comes on, and Jim is no longer on screen, voices start to fill the room. You throw your arm back to the back of the couch as leverage to push yourself forward, leaning into Melissa’s space as the two-week broadcast appears on screen.

Her attention on you is not missed, neither is Barbara’s, who you already know is giving Melissa a look of bewilderment. The dusty pink that paints her cheeks with every interaction between you has quickly become your favorite color. It’s a struggle and a half to keep your eyes on the screen, but the temperatures being in the fifties and sixties starting tomorrow made you so excited that it didn’t even matter. Instantly, your mind is whirling with plans for the second the final bell rings and you can run out the door.

When the news goes to commercial, you sit back, keeping your arm behind Melissa’s shoulders. The warmth radiating off of her has your mind begging for you to shift your arm just a touch closer, to wrap your arm around her, but so far playing it safe has been working in gaining her trust. She can’t help it, green eyes falling onto you as she tries to decipher your move, hoping to catch something in your eyes that tells her what this was between you. All she gets is a little smirk that is half-hidden by a sip of coffee from an orange mug.

Melissa catches on quickly to your happier mood, finding the joy you exuded, that seemingly came from nowhere, to be adorable. She can’t even believe that word dared to enter her vocabulary. Your typical flirty remarks don’t make an appearance, just a serene smile on your face and a wink to Melissa when you catch her eyes scanning over your face. 

As the last kids get into their dad’s truck, you find yourself practically skipping back to your room to quickly gather your things. With the speed in which you move and the utter state of focus you are in, you don’t notice Melissa’s little smile as she sees you move with obvious excitement as you leave the building. She decidedly ignores the little thought that you may be all giddy to see someone else, and maybe she will continue to ignore it with a glass of Merlot.

Marty at the front desk of M&J’s Storage Company gives you a tightlipped smile and a curt nod as you drive past, having gotten used to you stopping by periodically over the winter. Pulling up in front of unit seventy makes your heart race, the second most beautiful thing in the world sat behind that navy metal door. The old lock takes a few tugs to loosen its hold, finally allowing you to release the latch and lift the door.

“Well, hello again,” you mumble as you pull back the cover, eyes scanning over metal. It hadn’t been long since your last little maintenance visit, meaning all you had to do was drive home and get her shined up.

After stopping at the gas station on the way home to fill the tank, you finally park and nearly eat pavement as you jump out of the car. It takes extra effort without the help you usually get from your brother to lower the bike off the trailer, but you manage, though it leaves your arms shaking while you remove the cover again.

Polish turns the piping from grey to silver, the dust off the body goes back to its original tan, and the blue on the design is restored to its proper glory. Despite checking once a month or so, you cross your fingers as you start the engine, hoping that all your hardwork will pay off and nothing will go wrong. The engine does a chg-chg-chg before it turns over and the motorcycle comes to life.

“Yes!” you exclaim, jumping in the air slightly with sheer amount of excitement running through your veins. You let the bike run for a little bit as you take photos to send to your brothers as proof you could, in fact, get it off the trailer without them. 

All you can think about for the next couple hours before bed is the feeling of your riding jacket and the wind blowing against it.

—☽—

The sky is still dark when you open your eyes the next morning, impatience waking before you before your alarm. Once you’ve gained your bearings, you get up and are getting ready as fast as you possibly can. It’s impossible to sit still, you’re almost dancing in place as you brush your teeth and can’t stop yourself from skipping to the closet by the front door. Shoved in the back, next to your sandals, was a pair of black, leather, steel toe boots. After saving every penny your senior year of college, you bought them as a graduation gift for yourself, and you’ll wear them until you can feel the ground through the soles.

Once you had to turn around due to forgetting it from sheer enthusiasm, you borderline ran down the stairs to your garage space. With the garage door open, the warm air creeping in from the outside is invigorating, and the lack of wind for the first time in two weeks gives you hope that your face won’t freeze off on the ride to Abbott. The biggest pain is getting your backpack to sit comfortably over your slightly bulky riding jacket, covered in patches from states and towns you’d visited over the years.

The second the bike begins to move, it feels like all of your problems have disappeared behind you. The low rumbling and revving drives others crazy, but it feels like the calming presence around you. If only the cops around weren’t such sticklers, or you’d have left your helmet off for the fifteen minutes drive. The wind on your face is better than caffeine, but your eyes water so badly, you can’t have anyone thinking you were sobbing on your way to work. That’s a Monday activity, not Thursday.

From the speed in which you got ready to get on your bike, you’re the second person in, Janine always being first. You refrain from sitting by the TV once you’re in the lounge, just leaning against the counter and sipping your coffee until the object of your affection arrives. Gregory and Jacob come in together, talking about the next round of plants for the garden. When Barbara comes in, you can see that she’s holding in laughter, a fast-talking Melissa behind her.

“How are you not freaking out, Barb? That bike is beautiful, and it’s at Abbott, Abbott, of all places,” she almost yells, her hands waving around with disbelief in her friend’s relative disinterest.

“It’s a bicycle, Melissa.”

“Motorcycle, it’s a motorcycle. It doesn’t have a basket and ribbons, unlike yours,” Melissa mumbles that last part, but Barbara stills catches it and gives a gentle smack to her friend’s arm, despite laughing herself. You can’t lie, knowing that Melissa is fascinated by the bike, you want to speak up about it now, but instead, you stay quiet.

The spot next to her by the TV stays vacant, practically having an RSVP with your name on it. When you plop next to her, she peeks at you from the corner of her eye, and she does it a few times again during the commute report. You catch her the fifth time, raising your brows in question to not gain the others’ attention, but she just gives you a shake of the head. She turns back to the TV, but you’re persistent, propping your arm behind you like you’d done yesterday, and poking her shoulder.

Her head whips away from you, and seeing that it was your hand over her shoulder, she turns back to you with a playful scowl.

“What?” she asks with a softer tone than you had expected.

You lean in just a touch to keep your words between the two of you, “you were staring. Was just making sure you’re okay.”

God, you could survive solely off the way her eyes shine, how wide they open at your earnest. Neither of you realize the time between your words and the answer that has yet to come, just looking at each other as a tiny smile plays on your lips. It takes the internal will of ten thousand men to not jump at her emerald eyes dropping briefly to your lips.

“Right… Sure you’re not just flirting? Like a little kid annoying their crush?” she jokes, partially to save her from embarrassment, partially to hide the racing of her heart from your attention.

“Could be. But at least I’m not the one avoiding the question,” you joke back, and when she doesn’t answer again, you push, “nothing to say about that, beautiful?” Her eyes go to her lap as she shakes her head, another poor attempt to hide the clear effect you have on her. For now, you’ll just ignore the feeling of her leaning slightly closer to you and try to still your rapid heartbeat.

—☽—

In a desperate attempt to see who owns this magnificent bike, Melissa stays in the parking lot, loitering by fiddling with her purse to not raise suspicion. She immediately ignores Gregory and Mr. Morton, knowing they’re too stiff to ever consider getting on a motorcycle, let alone this one. As she sits there on her phone, after fifteen minutes of waiting, a familiar hum starts up and the bike is moving out of the lot.

That jacket. Patches cover nearly all visible space, even a little Eagles one next to a custom Abbott patch. Even with the helmet obscuring your face, without the jacket, she’d know you anywhere. Immediately, she starts to move, putting her car in drive as she pulls out of the lot the same way you did, conveniently the same direction she needed to go.

With a stroke of luck, she pulls into a lane next to you at a busy red light, rolling down her passenger side window, “aye! Why did you say shit about you having the bike?”

You push up your visor, yelling over the motor and traffic, “air of mystery!”

“Bullshit!”

“Guessing you want a ride, huh, gorgeous?” You can’t even contain your grin as you watch her eyes widen, flicking to the red light that has still yet to turn. Little do you know her mind is screaming and your cocky little smile isn’t helping one bit.

She swallows the lump in her throat, “follow me to my place.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you say as you flip your visor back down, glad to be able to cover your face as you smile so hard you narrowly avoid missing the light turning green. It doesn’t take long to fall into line behind Melissa, cutting into a tiny space that earns you a deserved honk from the old man behind you.

It’s less than twenty minutes before Melissa’s blinker directs you into her driveway. You walk it slowly next to her car, keeping the engine running as you take off your helmet. Melissa gets out of her car, abandoning her purse in the seat next to her, and stands nervously by the hood as she plays with her sleeves. Suddenly the thought of being one the motorcycle, pressed against your back, sounds so good she’s afraid she’ll ruin it somehow.

Your voice cuts off her brain’s nervous rambling, “I’ve only got the one helmet with me. So, you’ll wear that, and we’ll stick to the side streets.”

“No highway,” she grumbles as she steps closer.

Your nose scrunches as you laugh at her pout, “no highway and nothing over forty, cross my heart.” Holding out your pinky, she begrudgingly takes it while ignoring the butterflies in her stomach. “You’re gonna wanna tie your hair back, low bun, braid, something like that.”

“Ponytail?” she asks, pretending she doesn’t care that your pinkies are still wrapped around one another.

“Nope, it’ll just tangle. And we can’t have anything happening to that beautiful hair,” you subconsciously pull her hand closer and draw her in. Her finger tightens around yours in return. When her neighbor pulls into their driveway, their car door shutting loudly disrupts the quiet between you two, making you both pull away.

Instead of speaking of it, you both fiddle to get ready for a ride around the block or down to the corner store. Melissa faces away from you to tie her hair into a tight low bun, she takes deep breaths to calm herself from the sheer proximity to you. Behind her, you fiddle with the clasps of the helmet to fit her better.

When she turns to face you again, you motion for her to get closer and her eyes almost bulge out her head. Melissa slowly approaches you as her fingers tangle around themselves. You lift the helmet in silent question, and she nods. Carefully, trying to touch her as little as possible, you help get the helmet on without pulling her hair.

You open the visor before you adjust the chin strap, “feel good? Secure?”

“It’s comfier than I thought,” her voice comes out slightly muffled by the guard in front of her lips. Melissa prays you can’t hear her fast breaths, completely overwhelmed by your scent surrounding her.

“Good,” you smile, “I’ll back her up onto the street, then you can hop on.”

Once you’ve got the kickstand down so it’s as stable as possible for her to get on, you offer a hand as support. Melissa slowly places her hand in yours, the squeeze she receives tells her trust me, I won’t let you get hurt. Using the footrest, she gets herself over the seat to straddle it behind you. Manicured hands flex open and close behind your back as she becomes unsure of where to put them.

“There’s handles, slightly behind you, that you can hold onto,” speaking loudly over the motor. You turn over your shoulder to meet your eyes with hers, “or, if you wanna, you can hold onto me. Whatever’s your preference.”

To save face, she rolls her eyes, “just want my hands on you, don’t you now?”

“Can’t call you a liar for that one,” you say with a smug grin, turning back to lean the bike upright and put up the kickstand. The second you start to move, Melissa’s arms go tightly around your waist, white knuckling your jacket.

Feeling her holding you was only so pleasant until you realized it was mostly from fear. Before taking off slowly, you pat her hand where it rests on your abdomen. It only grips tighter in return. Taking your foot off the ground and beginning to move, feeling more careful in every move you make as to not make Melissa more nervous than she was. It was surprising really, that Melissa Schemmenti of all people was nervous on a motorcycle.

Her grip starts to loosen after the third or fourth turn, but her arms don’t move. Melissa almost rests her head against your back, but decides against it in a sudden judgment. When the moment comes where she feels comfortable, she releases one arm from her hold on you to push the visor back up to have an unobstructed view of the Philly streets and your reflection in the mirrors.

When you finally slow down, it’s six blocks over at her favorite corner store, they’ve got the best hoagie options. She uses your shoulders and the hand you placed out for her to get down from the bike, legs numb from the vibrations of the bike and motor against her thighs. You’re quick to get off, helping her get the helmet off and fixing the little strands of hair that stick up from static. Neither of you mention Melissa’s rosy cheeks or your lingering caress along her bangs.

The small shop leaves little room to roam about, and you stay closely pressed to Melissa’s back as you maneuver to the counter to order food to bring back to her house. With the warmth radiating off of you, she now understands how you felt the whole ride. She knows how you feel about her, it’s a mirror of the ache in her chest for you, and feeling you against her has her heart pounding in time with yours.

From around her waist, comes your arm, offering the cashier a twenty dollar bill. Your other hand rests against Melissa’s hip, holding your wallet open for the change. This has to be some sort of revenge for holding you, she thinks to herself.

As you slowly pull into her driveway, there’s an air of unsureness around the two of you. Stepping off the bike again, you fiddle with your fingers, not wanting to invite yourself into her home. Melissa tugs at the ends of her sleeves as she plans her next words.

“Do you wanna come in, have a beer with those hoagies?” Melissa offers with a hopeful tone.

You smile as you grab the helmet from you, clipping over the little strap on the seat. She takes the hint and walks towards the door with you closely behind her. Inside, without the jacket and boots on, Melissa thinks you look soft. Everything about you is so careful with her, even when you wear worn leather with chains, this dressed down version matches the treatment she always receives.

Sitting across from her at the island, you answer all her questions about how you got the bike, how you maintain it, how you learned all the tricks to keep it running.

“Seriously, that thing’s how old and still going that strong?” she asks through a mouthful of capicola.

“It’s thirty now, it’s a 1992. Harleys are just built to last longer than the actual biker at this point, especially the older models,” you take a swig of beer, “the Daytona was too good to pass up. I got it so cheap and the guy barely had miles on it.”

Melissa perks up, “how much?”

“Thirty-five hundred. Stupid cheap, he could’ve easily gotten ten.”

She smirks, “and you just let him trick himself out of the money?”

“Duh,” you say. There’s a beat of silence before you both start to laugh, leaning into one another over the table.

—☽—

The sun set some time between finishing the hoagies and the third episode of The Real Housewives she roped you into watching. She claimed it was only fair considering she willingly got on the motorcycle. What had started with you two on different cushions quickly became you being pressed against each other, your arm taking residence behind her, but never touching her as you always kept it.

In a strange moment of bravado, Melissa leans against the back cushion and your arm dips into the slope, falling gently around your shoulders. You purse your lips in an attempt to keep a straight face, adjusting your arm to have your hand rest on her shoulder. It doesn’t take long before your fingers begin to draw nonsensical patterns over her shirt. Time passes, episodes go on, and Melissa’s weight starts to fall more into you. Every passing second you become more aware that you don’t want to leave this position as long as you live.

The screen turns black, Are you still watching? appears across it, behind the words, a reflection of the two of you. Your gaze dips down, immediately meeting Melissa’s looking up at you. Green eyes flick to your lips, and for the first time, you know for a fact that you are not imagining it. Her tongue pokes out to wet her lips, capturing your attention. Eyes meet and it’s so quick, neither of you can tell who starts it.

Melissa’s lips taste like light beer and strawberry chapstick, and her tongue is dominating and soft. Her hands grip tightly at the base of your neck, keeping you close to her like you would disappear if your lips left hers. Your hands take residence on her waist, like they had hours ago, and the warmth of her skin under her shirt is screaming your name, begging to be touched.

Tongues clash against one another, sticky lips clumsy as air becomes a necessity. Barely taking your lips off her skin, you trail downwards to her jaw, placing wet kisses along it. The hands on her waist push up and make their way beneath her shirt, gently squeezing her warm, supple body. The feeling of your soft hands holding her makes Melissa groan, tugging you back to her wanting lips.

All she’s wanted since the moment she met you, to hold you, kiss you, touch you, it’s all happening and she can barely find it in her to stop. She never wants it to. With your teeth tugging at her bottom lip, a borderline moan escapes her, and she feels you smile against her mouth and it’s all she can think about. Melissa is completely putty in your hands.

Without breaking the distance between you, you pull away from her lips slowly. Heaving breaths escape both of you, lips swollen and pupils dilated from lust. Melissa’s hand traces from the back of your neck to the chain of your necklace dangling in front of her, looping it around her finger to pull you in closer. Your lips graze over hers, but her words fill the space before they can touch.

“What if I asked you to take me upstairs?”

Your thumb brushes over her ribs, “then I would.”

The door handle almost puts a hole in the wall with the way Melissa shoves it open behind her as you walk her backwards towards her room. Her hands drop from your face to the hem of her shirt, beginning to pull it up before your hands take over. As you step away to throw her shirt off to the side, your eyes drop and a soft look comes over your features.

Stepping into her space again, your fingers trace over her skin, “you’re so beautiful.” It’s barely above a whisper, she barely hears it, barely even sure you’re aware you’ve said it.

Melissa’s only response is to kiss you again, pulling you towards her bed until she topples onto it, taking you with her. Your thighs straddle her as you tug off your own shirt, bending down to continue ravishing her. You kiss down from her lips, to her jaw, to the dip at the base of her neck, then trace your tongue back up. Cold hands grab yours, pulling them down to the button of her jeans.

“Are you sure?” you ask from above her, free hand pushing baby hairs from her blushing face. She only nods, not trusting her words. You shake your head lightly, a little smile on your lips, “I’m gonna need a real answer, lovely.”

Lovely, that’s a new one. She feels her face warm under your gaze, arousal pooling. With the strength she can muster, she utters, “please.”

Without a moment to spare, your lips are on hers again, hand at her waist moving to unbutton her pants. As you help push them down, your hand passes her panties, the dark patch of wetness calling to you. It only invigorates you as you let go of her lips, kissing down to her chest. Arching forward, she makes space for your wandering hands to slip behind and unclasp her bra.

A breathless mumble of God leaves your lips, before soft kisses are pressed to her sternum, skim over to her breast. You kiss her skin with a reverence she’s never felt, teeth graze over her hardened nipple before your lips wrap around it, tongue swirling. The unattended breast begs for attention that is quickly given by your hand, rolling the bud between your fingers.

The warm hand at her waist grips down to her thigh, pushing her legs open to make space for you to lie. Your mouth and hand switch, equal, worship-like attention given to each breast. Melissa’s quiet, hidden moans become louder, hips shifting for pressure against yours. Taking the hint, your lips travel lower, licking over her abdomen and gently biting when she tugs at your hair.

One hand wraps around her thigh, the other keeps her in place as a weight against her stomach. Pressing wet kisses to her thigh, you look at her for permission to continue. The image of you between her legs, lips on her wet thighs, eyes shining with want, all she can manage is bucking her hips towards you, a whine escaping her lips.

One last kiss is placed against plush skin, Melissa’s hand tangles with yours, interlocking fingers feeling like they belong there. Your warm, wet tongue glides over her slit, up and down in slow figure-eights, her little gasps only egging you on. Flattening your tongue, you press harder against her, tasting her more fully, groaning against her in satifaction. It makes sense why Eve would so easily give everything for a mere taste of the forbidden fruit. Sweet and warm, divine heaven on your lips.

Melissa hips buck into your face, begging for more and you are more than willing to give. You lick up to her clit, the pearl demanding attention from you. Small, circular motions with your tongue make Melissa groan, slapping a hand over her mouth as she gets closer and closer to her peak.

You lift away from clit, much to her dismay, “don’t do that.” The hand on her stomach moves to pull her hand away from her mouth, “I want to hear you… please.”

Her hand drops to the sheets beside her, and your mouth is back on her. Sucking harder against her, your hand slides down her abdomen and positions in front of her blooming lips. Your middle finger presses into her slick walls, forcing a moan from both of you. With a few gentle pushes and pulls, you slowly ease in your ring finger, making her clench tightly.

Red nails dig into your hair, tugging as Melissa writhes above you. Husky moans and whines fill the room, pleas of faster and yes, yes are burned into your mind, a melody you won’t dare forget.

You pull off of her clit to take a breath and speak, “can you take more, baby?”

“Please,” she says through pants. The hand in your hair tug you up to her lips, “please.” Her desperate grasp is not willing to let you go, claw-like nails digging into your back.

Lips dancing as you shift your hand to put your thumb to her clit, lining your forefinger to her pussy. Melissa’s jaw drops as the third finger stretches her more, the moan that rips through her is felt by your lips on her neck. You keep a steady rhythm of circling her clit and pumping your fingers into her. Her moans turn to pitched whines, walls hugging your fingers, she was so close. You kiss down her neck, sucking little marks that will fade by morning, taking your time on her breasts and lower stomach. Reaching her clit again, suck it into your mouth as you speed your fingers’ pace.

Frantic hips begin to still, a whine leaving her plump lips as she cums around your fingers. Your attention leaves her clit to travel down her lips as you slowly pump your fingers, removing one by one as she comes down. Shaking thighs relax against the bed as you clean her with your tongue, nectar of the goddess being all the reward you need. She pulls lightly at your hand on her thigh, begging for your lips on hers.

Pressing a final kiss to her pearl, then thigh, you capture her lips in a slow kiss, soft and full of the love that had been hiding under every interaction since you’d first met. When you pull away, you bring your fingers to her lips to give her a proper taste of herself. Accepting the offer, her tongue swirls around the digits. You internally scold yourself for being jealous of your own hand, even the string of saliva that connects her heavenly mouth to your fingers.

You shift to cup her cheek, admiring her droopy eyes and blushing cheeks, the sheen of sweat over her forehead. Her own hand mirrors your movement, pulling you down to press a kiss to the corner of your lips.

“You are so- too good at that,” she mumbles against your cheek, feeling the vibration of your laugh.

You press a kiss to her cheek before flopping next to her, “you, you taste too good.”

Her hand comes to cover her face, but you’re quick to catch it, bringing it closer to kiss the back. Melissa chuckles as you nibble on the knuckle of her pinkie, but she frowns as you roll off the bed. Emerald eyes follow you to the ensuite bathroom, and back as you go back between her legs with a warm washcloth. The featherlike touch and soft kisses to her skin only further the blush on her cheeks.

After discarding the rag and tugging off your jeans, you lay down next to her on your side, eyes scanning over her face. Her head turns to you, enjoying the quiet between you, even more so when your pointer finger traces her features and takes special attention to her lips. Lipstick smudged around her chin, surely on your face as well, and messy eyeliner, she’s never been quite so beautiful.

The gentle ministrations and loving attention make Melissa’s eyes grow heavy, sleep grasping at her despite the fight to stay in your presence. Feeling her relaxing into you, you shift to lay on your back, arm out inviting her into your embrace. Lazily rolling into you, her face tucks into your neck, hand searching for yours.

You tangle your fingers together and whisper into the air, “I think it goes without saying, but I’m stupid in love with you. Everything about you. Just thought you should know.”

“Good thing,” she says through a yawn as she shifts more into you, “because I’m stupid in love with you, too.” 

You press a kiss into her hair, “go to sleep, pretty girl. I’ll be here in the morning, if you want.”

“Of course I want,” it’s barely audible, but you can tell she means it.

The scent of sex, sweat, and eucalyptus body wash radiates from her, underneath it all is a smell that’s so uniquely Melissa that you can feel yourself sinking into the mattress. It feels easy, being with her, it makes sense. You find yourself staring at the ceiling, you recount every time you should have spoken up about your feelings. Surely there could have been a time, but none seem to come to mind. It only makes sense that this is how it was supposed to happen. In her bed, on this day, with the taste of lager on her tongue, you were meant to find your way together.

title from beauty school by deftones

one day i’ll write a shorter fic like i planned in my head

feedback appreciated as always <3

[wri0thesley]

spoilt - yandere alhaitham x reader x yandere kaveh (4.7k)

alhaitham has a lesson to teach.

cw: not sfw, minors dni. yandere, but of the 'softer' variety - reader is happy with their lot as 'pet' of alhaitham and kaveh, this is mostly a smut fic. pet reader. blowjobs, cunnilingus, piv sex, fingering. reader is afab but no gendered pronouns are used.

this was a commissioned work.

It starts with a simple sentence. 

Alhaitham, over dinner, where you sit prettily and primly and properly at his feet, saying it to Kaveh with a laser focus when the architect tries to lean down to you and feed you a piece of his dessert. Alhaitham doesn’t speak off-handedly; he watches you demur the sugary piece of crystallized fruit between Kaveh’s fingertips (you think you see a flash of satisfaction in his eyes), and then he says with all of the weight that his words always bear;

“You spoil them. It’s not good for them.” 

Kaveh had looked at Alhaitham for a moment, and then you. His lip had jutted out, obstinately, as he’d replied to Alhaitham in an almost-injured voice.

“I think they deserve to be spoiled. Just because you don’t--”

Alhaitham sighs, and reaches down to gently rest his hand atop of your head. 

“The nature of training a pet,” Alhaitham reminds Kaveh, “means not always giving in to every whim. I know you are a bleeding heart, Kaveh, but this really is what’s best for them--”

“Well,” Kaveh shoots back, burning passionate and bright. “Why don’t you ask them what they’d prefer? If they want to be spoiled? If they want to be taken care of and coddled and adored or if they want what you provide them instead--”

“Fine.” Alhaitham’s tone doesn’t change; his face hardly so much as twitches. The hand atop of your head moves, to cup your chin and tilt your face towards him so that he can make eye contact with you. 

Alhaitham is big on eye contact; he’s big on manners and eye contact and earning the things you want. You do not mind so much - at least he is easy to understand. Though occasionally callous, you know where you stand with Alhaitham. His lack of thinking over-emotionally means you understand his decisions, even if you may not agree with them.

(Though you’ve become somewhat desensitized to your new life, there are still certain things that gnaw at your soul; a longing for freedom, a desire to see your friends and family again, a hundred things you left unfinished before Alhaitham decided you would be better served if your place was beside him. These are things, though, that the piece of crystallized zaytun peach that Kaveh is trying to tempt you with would not fix. Spoiling you and indulging you will fix nothing, and you prefer to remain obedient to Alhaitham if only to make your existence here easier.)

( . . . And, too, because sometimes seeing the silver-haired scholar with the bright eyes makes your insides churn and your face grow hot and your words come out wrong. You get the same reaction when Kaveh’s gaze lingers on you, but he’s so much easier to understand you sometimes manage to keep yourself in check somewhat easier. Somewhat.)

“What would you prefer?” Alhaitham asks you, his tone just a touch softer - barely imperceptible, but for a man like Alhaitham . . . You notice all of the little inflections.

“I--” Your voice comes out a little dry, a little high - squeak more than word. You can feel your cheeks heating. “Wh-whatever you think is best--”

Kaveh scoffs. Alhaitham’s lips twitch at the corners. His hand slides down your chin to gently tug at the collar you wear; dark green leather (Alhaitham’s choice), that Kaveh had once snuck out in the night and embossed the imprint of Padisarahs upon. Alhaitham’s finger hooks carefully into the O-ring that rests in the hollow of your throat, and he tugs hard enough that you feel a tell-tale twist of want between your thighs and a soft gasp escapes your parted lips. 

“How about,” Alhaitham murmurs, and his voice has gotten dark. “We retire into the bedroom and remind dear Kaveh exactly how our little pet ought to be treated?”

The words in combination with the way his finger is hooked into your collar makes your breath go short; your lashes flutter. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, as you softly respond to him again;

“A-anything you want.”

“Good,” Alhaitham does not praise lightly; so you take this little word and lock it into that part of your heart that remembers everything he says to you, that cherishes the ‘well dones’ and the ‘that’s rights’ that he sometimes feels fit to give you. Alhaitham stands, not letting go of his grip on your collar, but at least making sure he rises slow enough that you have time to get shakily to your own feet from your obedient knelt position. “Come on.” He begins to walk slowly and deliberately towards his bedroom - as he does, he turns his head to the side to look at the architect, still looking a little nonplussed by the turn of events.

“Well?” Alhaitham asks. “Are you coming?”

-

Once in the bedroom, Alhaitham bids you get back onto your knees and be patient as you wait for him. You do exactly that, knees sinking into the plush carpeting, and Alhaitham rewards you with a gentle pat on your head as he moves a chair close to the bed.

“Sit there,” Alhaitham tells Kaveh, who crosses the room with a hint of unease - despite the bulge in his trousers at what exactly Alhaitham has promised to show him in this room. Alhaitham’s lip curls into a small, secretive smile again. “Don’t look so worried, Kaveh. I told you. This is just a demonstration . . . I’m just going to remind you how to properly handle a pet.”

Kaveh doesn’t reply, just takes a single shuddering breath. Alhaitham looks at you with his eyes softer - he always is soft, when it comes to sex. Punishment is not pleasurable for him or you. Your insides buzz with excitement, the space between your thighs growing hot and wet and damp. 

“Take off your clothes,” Alhaitham says to you, not unkindly. In the house, you wear only your collar, and a thin robe that comes to just above your knees - no use for fine fabrics when you are a pet, and when both of them prefer you out of them. Kaveh has occasionally embroidered patterns around collars and sleeves for you, and you treasure those too - even Alhaitham says nothing about it. You do not bother wearing underwear. The fabric falls from your body, pooling around your knelt figure; you do not even need to stand up to disrobe. “Good pet.”

You fair shine at the praise, your face breaking into a smile, and Kaveh sighs wistfully to look at you. 

“See?” Alhaitham says mildly. “You reap the rewards of my thorough training just as much, don’t you?”

“I . . . p-perhaps . . .”

“Look at you,” Alhaitham murmurs, gently cupping the soft fullness of your cheek in his hand as he looks down at you with all of the hunger of a wolf. “You’re lovely.” 

You look at him, pleasure shining on your face, and his lips stay curled into that handsome smile. 

“You’re going to show Kaveh exactly how much you like being a pet,” Alhaitham says to you, voice slow and quiet. “With your mouth. Do you understand? Show me you understand.”

You open your mouth obediently, tongue flat, showing Alhaitham exactly where you would like him to guide his aching cock. And as he reaches for the placket of his trousers, as his deft fingers work the buttons open, you see that his cock is indeed aching - thick, the tip reddened, veins pulsing under the brush of his fingertips. 

“Are you watching, Kaveh?” Alhaitham asks mildly, as you shift your weight from knee to knee and continue to look at Alhaitham with a mix of trepidation and desire. “See? You must be firm with them. Keep your mouth open.”

You have not closed it, but at Alhaitham’s command you strain your jaw wider, so that your lips stretch as far apart as you can. Alhaitham makes a soft noise of approval, and then slowly guides his cock into your mouth. For a moment, he lets the heavy weight of it rest upon your tongue; you can feel the taste of him, a little musky but masculine and familiar, flood your senses. 

“It’s better to start off slowly,” Alhaitham intones - you allow yourself a brief moment of disobedience, just so that your eyes can flitter to Kaveh to see how he is reacting. The architect looks beautiful - his cheeks are pink, his mouth slightly parted, his eyes blown wide as he takes in the scene before him. He looks at once like he wants to argue his point with Alhaitham (you know the two do enjoy verbal sparring), and at once like he does not want to say a single syllable and risk breaking the spell of what is happening before him. 

Also very visible where Kaveh is sat is how the fabric of his trousers strains at the crotch; his own cock longing to be released from the confines of the fabric. 

Alhaitham rests a hand atop of your head as he waits for you to follow his instruction - and, as he has bade, you slowly suck on the length of his cock that’s been slotted into your mouth. You slowly trace the place where head meets shaft, gently tease his frenulum with the very tip of your tongue until he leaks more and more precome into your mouth and he sighs in pleasure, fingers tightening where they rest. 

“A little faster,” he tells you, and you obediently bob your head along his cock this time - obediently run your tongue quicker through the slit of his cock. 

Alhaitham is firm and commanding, but he is not cruel - he controls the pace he wants you to work your mouth and your tongue over his cock with the hand upon your head, but he does not do anything so declasse as simply hold you in place and fuck your throat. He believes in firm discipline - and as you are so well-behaved, as you squeak and go warm and nervous when he looks at you and gives you attention - you have no reason, most of the time, to find yourself on the ‘discipline’ side. 

So you let him guide the way your mouth slides over his cock - let him set the pace of his hips, let him sigh and breathe out through gritted teeth. You feel his cock jump in your mouth as you do it and you use all of the tricks he has ever taught you in order to please him - the flourish of your tongue, the swirl over his head, the brief moment where you get your throat to relax and take him deeper than he’s expecting.

And you win his pleasure. His smile, his eyes soft, his deep groan. You win the feel of his hips losing their composure, the smooth rhythm disrupted with a jolt or two, shaky, until suddenly he is speaking;

“Stay still--”

And his cock is twitching in your mouth and your senses are flooded with the salty, musky taste of his release as he shoots ropes of his pearly come against your tongue. He’s breathing heavy now, waiting for a moment for the aftershocks of his orgasm to recede - but when they do, and he pulls back, he fixes you with that firm but not unpleasant stare.

(It’s a stare like he can see every thought you have - a stare like he knows you body and soul). 

“Show me,” Alhaitham commands, and you shyly open your mouth to reveal the milky mess of his come on your tongue. “And show him, too.” He gestures towards Kaveh - hot all over, you keep your mouth open as you meet Kaveh’s golden eyes, and the architect looks like he wants to devour you whole.

“Alright,” Alhaitham says, after you’ve held his release upon your tongue a few beats longer. “You can swallow it now.”

You gulp, the taste of his come still lingering upon your tastebuds - but that is not important, as Alhaitham takes firm hold of your arms and helps you up, and as he carefully maneuvers you onto the bed. As he positions your ass upon the edge, your back propped up with pillows. He looks at Kaveh as he says;

“Now they deserve a reward; now they’ve done something for it. Now,” and he looks at you and smiles, “now, you deserve some pleasure of your own.”

Sparks of excitement race up your spine as Alhaitham gracefully gets onto his own knees, this time. 

It’s hardly the first time Alhaitham has done this - he’s surprisingly generous with his mouth, though you do indeed only have this happen when you have done something to please him - but you still cannot help the thrill of pleasure that zaps up your spine at the light kiss he gives your sex, before his tongue darts out to tease at your clit. 

Your fingers clutch at the bedsheets; Alhaitham has not said that you can pull at his hair, so you do not. Alhaitham takes a moment in between kisses to throw some words towards Kaveh;

“See? A little reward, when earned, is far better than just getting spoilt and learning to expect it. See how grateful they are? How pretty their face looks when I do this?”

He kisses at your clit again, before sliding his tongue down your folds to tease at your entrance. Your hips arch without you even thinking about it, a whimpering noise of embarrassment and pleasure escaping from your throat in a squeak that makes Alhaitham chuckle against your wet sex. The vibrations send more waves of pleasure careening through you, and the noises that keep escaping your mouth come in whimpering little entreaties.

They are nothing compared to the noises that keep coming from between your thighs; the wet sound of Alhaitham’s tongue, dragging through your own slick as you pump more and more of it out and onto his face. The occasional groan of pleasure as Alhaitham drinks you in.

He takes one more break, to rasp;

“And it’s not as if one doesn’t get anything out of this reward for themselves--”

Before he buries his face back between your thighs, this time with a vengeance. 

Through every lick and suck and stroke, you can feel that familiar knot of tension low between your thighs begin to tighten and coil. Every stroke of his tongue feels like him pulling at the threads, making the knot more and more complicated - and more and more of a relief when it will finally be pulled, breaking and untangling. You find your hips writhing, more noises falling from your lips. 

When did you first feel this pounding between your thighs? It pounds in time with your heartbeat, your own need the only thing you can properly think about. You might have been here, at Alhaitham’s mercy, for hours. Time does not feel like a tangible thing, with Alhaitham’s tongue working you over so sweetly.

You’re close. You can feel it - the way the threads of your arousal are humming, like too-tense strings on an instrument, moments away from snapping. Alhaitham’s tongue has just gotten faster, dancing over your clit, coaxing forth that all-knowing, all-consuming pleasure that will put an end to the desperate humming of your heart--

And he stops.

He ceases. 

He pulls back, and the only stimulation you get is a warm exhale against your throbbing clit - your strings remain unsnapped, your knot still as tight and inescapable as ever. You sob aloud. 

“P-please--” You whisper out, your mind hazy - all you can think of is how close that you were to your own orgasm, and how cruelly Alhaitham had snatched away your moment of victory. “Alhaitham--”

“Now,” Alhaitham murmurs to you, again not unkindly, his breath warm against your heated core. “You know better than that, darling. Be well-behaved, and you get what you want.”

Alhaitham pulls his face out from between your thighs to face Kaveh again. His chin and mouth glimmer with your slick, but on his proud and fine face it looks almost regal. 

“You see?” Alhaitham asks Kaveh. “It’s far better if a pet learns to associate their pleasure with their master’s pleasure, or they might get greedy and entitled.” He looks back at you and smiles at you, but there is a hint of danger glinting in his eye. “Now. Darling. Tell me what it is you want.”

You want to cry out and beat your fists and stamp your feet - you want to come. You want Alhaitham to put his mouth between your thighs again, to feel his tongue hungrily lap against your clit and tease at your entrance and let you shake and shiver and moan as you come on his face. 

But that is not how a proper pet behaves.

A proper pet knows their pleasure comes with their master’s pleasure; knows that once he has gotten what he wants, they too will get what they want. 

“Please,” you whisper again, through lowered lashes and in a soft, shaking voice that you know appeals to both men. Kaveh lets out a soft, shuddering groan. “Please. Please fuck me.” 

Alhaitham leans in and gives the soft, full flesh of your inner thigh a nip, speaks to you with his voice a low growl.

“Say it more prettily for me, now. Remember your manners.” You take a deep breath, the pounding ache of tension that has not yet been released between your thighs dulling your thoughts and every other sense you have. A tear squeezes itself out of your eye, rolling down the plump fullness of your cheek as your voice breaks in desperation and you ask; 

“Please, Alhaitham. Will you please fuck me?”

“Good pet,” Alhaitham praises, and he presses a kiss over the spot he just bit at, before he carefully rises to his knees. Already anticipating what it is that’s about to happen, you wiggle yourself a little further up the bed to facilitate Alhaitham getting between your thighs and fucking the thoughts out of you - but to your surprise, Alhaitham turns to Kaveh. 

“Do you see?” He asks. “How much they like it? How well-behaved they are? Do you agree that my theory has merit?”

Kaveh, his cheeks still pink, his eyes not moving from where you are laid out on the bed like a delicious feast waiting to be devoured. 

“Yes,” he says, his voice quiet and hoarse with wanting. Alhaitham smiles and reaches for the architect, gently patting him on the cheek. 

“Well, then,” he says. “I think you ought to show me what you’ve learned, don’t you?” Green eyes flick over to your form, joining the golden gaze. “You fuck them this time. Of course, I’ll give you a little help - a guiding hand - but . . . It’s time to put my instruction into practice.” 

“I-- yes,” Kaveh practically stumbles over himself to accept the offer, and before you can quite parse what’s happening Kaveh is shedding his own clothes - linens and cottons and silks, finely patterned and prettily coloured falling to the ground to join your own shed clothes. 

(Alhaitham, of course, has retained all of his clothes - even with his placket undone, his cock exposed to the air, there is something kingly about him. Self-assured. Confident.) 

Kaveh’s a little clumsy with it all - his cock bobs against his stomach, thinner than Alhaitham’s but longer, pretty as the architect himself. He’s on the bed before you can breathe, cock smearing pre-come over the soft fullness of your thigh. 

“Patience,” Alhaitham says, as he takes a seat in the chair that Kaveh has just vacated. “Let them come to you for the kiss.”

Kaveh manages to stop himself from whining, but it seems to take a tremendous effort - he hovers above you, his lips swollen, and you do indeed lean forward to press a kiss upon his mouth. He cannot hold himself back after that; his mouth on yours is devouring. Alhaitham keeps up a calm stream of advice and commentary;

“Remember who is in charge,” he says. ��Tell them off if they bite; you get to lead the way.” You do not bite at Kaveh’s lower lip (you, of course, know who is in charge), but Kaveh takes inspiration from Alhaitham’s advice and his teeth nip teasingly at your own lower lip until you gasp, sighing into his mouth. 

Alhaitham makes a low hum of approval. 

“Good,” he says. “Now, remember - your pleasure is paramount. Of course, they may come - but not until after you. A good pet wouldn’t want to have their fun until they’re certain that their master has had his.” 

You are a good pet.

You reach between yours and Kaveh’s sweat-slicked bodies to find his cock - it pulses and jumps at the touch of your palm, warm upon it. You guide him to the space between your thighs, slick with a mixture of both of your wanting. Kaveh’s eyes flutter as you take him slowly inside of you - as your sex envelopes first his head, and then his shaft, inch by aching inch. 

“You’re beautiful,” Kaveh says, and he smiles down at you and it feels like the sun is warm and shining upon you. 

“You set the pace,” Alhaitham says, and Kaveh presses a kiss to your forehead even as he adjusts his own hips, finding the most comfortable angle. You swallow back whines and moans that bubble up in your throat, easily and happily letting the architect follow the Scribe’s orders as he finds the perfect angle, gets used to the feel of your sex clinging hot and tight and wet around him. 

He wraps his hands around the softness of your thighs, dragging them to cling to his hips, his fingers sinking into the plush flesh. You let him, because he is in charge - and when he urges you to hold on, to let him fuck into you exactly the way he wants to, you obey. 

Kaveh’s pace is almost frantic - you have no idea how long it has been since Alhaitham began all of this, but he fucks into you like he is a man who has been denied human companionship for years, not hours. His fingers find your hips and cling to them - slide over your chest, tug at your nipples, feel you in every way that a person can feel you. He always looks at you with that same expression; adoration, like he is looking at something beautiful. It does not stop him adjusting you to the perfect angle, the perfect everything - but you feel adored. 

His cock hits a spot inside of you that makes you sigh, a curve to his length that leans the other way to Alhaitham’s and explores a different (but no less thrilling) part of you. Your earlier tension returns in a pleasant heat, fingers tugging expertly at those strings within you. 

Alhaitham has gone quieter, now; content to watch you. His breathing in the room is almost as loud as Kaveh’s (you chance a glance at him, at one point, and he is rubbing the front of his trousers over his re-buttoned placket, watching the way Kaveh sinks into you. You try to reposition yourself so that he has a better view and he murmurs ‘good pet’ under his breath. Kaveh is too far gone to notice).

The wet sounds of Kaveh’s clock plunging in and out of you echo around the room. The muscles in Kaveh’s abdomen jump with every thrust; his chest heaving with the effort. You stare at him as his hips lose their place in the rhythm, as they stutter - your own breath intermingles with his, two lots of panting, two lots of whimpering and whining. They dance together in the air.

Oh, oh, oh. 

You’re so close.

So, so close - Kaveh whines, sweat beading on his hairline, his eyes so dark and deep they are like staring into pools of molten gold, and--

He comes inside of you, cock jolting, the angle allowing him to fill you so deeply you can barely breathe with rope after rope of his release. You whine as his cock spasms and jerks, and he grinds his hips into you in search of eking out every drop of sensation, but it is not quite enough. You do not come, and Kaveh is pulling out.

Alhaitham is suddenly by the bed. 

“Now who’s the one not spoiling them?” Alhaitham asks, with one raised eyebrow. “The poor thing didn’t even get to come.”

“I didn’t--”

Alhaitham reaches between you both, his clever fingers immediately finding the space between your thighs, still swollen and slick. Kaveh, not to be outdone (and only now realising that your release did not come in twain with his own), slides two of his fingers inside the space his cock just vacated, uncaring that all he is doing as he begins to fuck you on those two slender fingers is fucking his come right back inside of you. 

“Making promises you do not fulfill is bad form for a pet owner,” Alhaitham says, his eyes moving from Kaveh to you. “They remember, you see. It is only right to tell them the truth, in order to foster trust--”

Alhaitham’s thumb is rubbing over your clit with a slow but firm pressure, much like the man himself. Those two denied orgasms come rushing back up, filling you with a crackling, building pressure. 

You sob as you feel it threatening to overwhelm, only just managing to fit yourself into any kind of human language.

Still. You are a good pet, and a good pet would never forget their manners.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you--”

You’re babbling; you can’t concentrate, not with Kaveh’s slender fingers inside of you and Alhaitham’s thumb rubbing slow inexorable circles over your clit, not with your body screaming out for release - and all at once, that great dam inside of you seems to break and waves rush over you like the ocean and the shore. You fair sob with the over-stimulation of it all, as your body seems to break into glittering shards and then fit itself back together again in time with your panting heartbeat. 

“Good,” Alhaitham is murmuring against one ear. “That’s right. There’s a good pet.”

“You’re so beautiful,” Kaveh, his voice still half slurred with his own orgasm, is whispering into your other. “Oh, you’re so beautiful when you come--”

They guide you through it, with those stroking fingers and gentle words and soft touches. It’s one of the softest times you ever see Alhaitham; when you turn to look at him with a needy look in your eye (asking for his approval the way a dog seeks praise from its master), he smiles and leans forward to press a kiss upon your sweat-soaked forehead. 

“I think you can sleep in the bed with me tonight, hmm?” He asks. You have a bed - a comfortable enough one, at the foot of Alhaitham’s own, though yours is rather lower to the ground and more befitting a pet than a human being. You have long since stopped thinking of these things. Your life is your life, and Alhaitham and Kaveh are not cruel masters - if nothing else, the pleasure still singing in your bones proves that. 

Your lip wobbles, though. You reach for Kaveh, your fingers finding his arm.

“I want to sleep with both of you,” you say, your voice a little petulant. It’s true; they are both your masters, are they not? You see no reason to have to choose between the two of them. Kaveh laughs softly, and Alhaitham heaves a sigh. 

Even through the sigh, you can see there is a fond smile on his face. 

“Don’t go getting too much of a brat, now,” Alhaitham chides you, but then he turns his gaze on Kaveh and his lips twitch at the corners again. “Alright; what say you, Kaveh? Will you come and sleep on their other side?”

Kaveh smiles back.

“Ah, I’m not sure,” he replies. “I fear that would fall in the realm of spoiling our dear little pet--”

“Perhaps,” Alhaitham says mildly, “and just perhaps, mind you - perhaps a little spoiling, now and then, might be good for them.”

When you drift off to sleep that night, both of your masters sandwiching you between them, you cannot help but feel the luckiest and the most spoilt pet in the whole of Teyvat. 

[alwaysonthemend]

Author’s Note: Hi guys! Can't believe it's been so long since I last posted. Hope you guys enjoy this one! As always, if you see any typos... no you didn't

Warnings: Fem!reader, drunk Jake (alcohol), unprotected p in v sex, cock warming, fingering, hand jobs, doing things we shouldn't in a public place, cussing, partying. 18+ ONLY. MINORS DNI

Word Count: 5k

-----------------

Late has already bled into early by the time you manage to spot Jake in the crowd again. His back is to you as he speaks excitedly to someone you’ve never seen before – though there’s a definite chance that Jake hasn’t either (he’s a chatty drunk no matter how well he knows the person). 

Tonight is a celebration of sorts. A celebration of what is to come and what they've already done. With tour on break for the holidays, the Kiszka-Wagner clan had been taking some much needed R&R after such a long and grueling schedule of shows before they have to leave again. The first few days had seen Jake lounging at home, perfectly content to spend his days entirely wrapped up with you. You had binge watched some shows that he’d missed while gone, ordered take out from all the places that he’d been craving, and over all spent almost every minute of the day within each other’s company. 

But Jake is a man who likes action – regardless of how much he enjoys spending time at home with you. After a few weeks of nothing, you can tell that he’s itching to be doing something again. First there had been simple dinner gatherings with your immediate friends and family, then jam sessions with the rest of his brothers that had lasted well into the night, and then finally he’d begged to go to this party tonight. Josh is hosting (no doubt he’s experiencing the very same restlessness that his twin is) and a party hosted by Josh is always a sure fire promise of a fun night. 

So you’d happily agreed and given Jake the go ahead to let loose tonight – party as hard as he wanted for however long he wanted and you would be there to drive him home. His eyes had lit up at your offer before he’d given you a sweet kiss and a murmured thank you before scampering upstairs to call Josh and let him know that you two would be coming. 

But as excited as Jake had been to go out tonight, he’d still periodically found his way back to you, begging you to come join him where the music is the loudest. You’d politely declined him each time, wanting to give him time to spend with his friends and brothers after giving so much of his time to you. You know that his offer is genuine. Jake wants you by his side at all times (he’s a clingy motherfucker even when he’s sober) but you had simply told him you would prefer him to go spend time with everyone else instead. He’d begrudgingly agreed and you’d since been spending your time watching him go from sober to tipsy and finally to actually drunk within the span of the last few hours. You liked watching him like this – smiling and carefree amongst the people that he loves (along with a number of people that you’re pretty sure Josh only invited because he likes a full house). 

But the crowd has dwindled as the early hours of morning approach. It’s nearing 3AM now and only some 15 people remain. You’d been parked in a far corner for the past hour or so but you’re pulled from your spot by Jake calling your name. He, along with Josh, Daniel, and Sam, have made their ways over to the couches and chairs in Josh’s living room and consequently collapsed into them. The core group you like to call them, finding each other to close the night out amongst themselves. There are others still left elsewhere – some faces vaguely familiar and some completely foreign to you, but they’re all far too wrapped up in their own conversations and drunken storytelling to notice that the host and family has moved somewhere else. 

Josh sits in one of the loveseats, one arm lazily thrown around the shoulders of his partner – also suitably drunk, who’s nuzzled into his side. Sam sits in another chair, cheeks flushed and hair a complete mess as he pours himself another drink. You know already that he’d say he’s earned it since he’s spent the night “slaving away” as the party DJ. That leaves Daniel and Jake left to find their seats, Daniel finding his place on one end of the sofa and Jake on the other. You make your way to them – each of the boys exclaiming excitedly at your approach. 

“Y/n!” Josh booms, the sheer loudness of him drowning out the others and startling his poor partner, “Gracing is with her presence at last!” 

You giggle as you make your way to the sofa, eyeing the spot between Jake and Daniel. 

“Now that you all seem to have settled down a bit I thought I would join you.” 

As you make to sit down, Jake’s hands find your hips and guide you instead to sit down on his lap. He sighs contentedly as you surrender to him without a fight, easing down on the tops of his thighs and settling your back into his chest. 

“Hi.” You tell him, twisting as much as you can in his lap to turn and see his face. His cheeks are flushed and a yummy sheen of sweat adorns his neck and temples. Eyes dark and lips looking particularly plump, you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“Hi there.” He answers back. “Missed you.” 

He smells like alcohol and weed – a combination that seems to have left him feeling particularly touchy as his hands settle themselves possessively on your waist. He’s warm against you, the feeling of his chest rising and falling against your back lulling you into a relaxed state as he falls effortlessly back into the conversation with the rest of the boys. His words rumble in his chest and you take the opportunity to lean your head back into the space between his neck and shoulder. The smell and heat of him sets off some carnal, feral part of your brain and you find heat of your own pooling between your thighs. You ignore the feeling, opting instead to try and focus your mind on the conversation at hand. 

“-and so I told him that he would either have to sleep there or find someone else to take him home because I wasn’t doing it.” Sam’s voice wafts through the air. You’ve got no idea what he’s talking about but you have a sneaking suspicion that he probably isn’t all that sure of what he’s saying either. 

“You’ve always been a little punk ass.” Josh interjects, giggling a little bit at his own words. “Since you came out of the womb.” 

Sam meets him with a scowl. 

“I just learned from the best, actually.” He snarks back, though there’s no real heat behind his words. 

“Don’t talk about Danny like that.” Jake’s rumbling voice interrupts and though you can’t see him, you can hear the grin as he speaks. “He’s a wonderful influence, Samuel.”

Danny laughs heartily, tossing his head back as he does so. Josh smiles like he’s just won a prize and Sam only meets Jake with an eyeroll. 

“I was talking about you two.” He says, pointing between the twins. 

They continue on with their bickering and you do your best to keep up with them. The few remaining guests filter their way out one by one, giving thanks to Josh on their way out. The boy’s conversations weave in and out, jumping from topic to topic as they often do. It's hard to keep up, especially as your focus strays from the conversation to the uncomfortable kink in your back from sitting in this position against Jake’s chest. You shift a little bit, settling down further in his lap to ease the feeling. As you shift, a hiss escapes him and his hands tighten on your hips. 

“Angel.” He whispers, tilting his head down to press his lips closer to your ear. “Careful.” 

You can’t help the way your eyes widen and your core pulses at his tone. His words are rough and ever so slightly slurred. His fingertips dig into the meat of your thighs in a way that makes you dizzy with a sudden want for him to take you right here in front of everyone. 

“Something wrong?” You answer him back, turning your head and capturing his lips with yours. Alcohol and weed and Jake hit your tastebuds and you shift once again in his lap. 

“Something’s hard.” He murmurs against your lips. 

And he is. 

You can feel him now, hot and solid against your ass. It sends your blood boiling and your cunt clenching around nothing. 

You exhale shakily, willing your voice to remain passive and unbothered. 

“Poor baby.” You say, turning back away from him and earning yourself a growl from deep in his chest. 

“Jake stick you with being DD for the night, Y/n?” Daniel asks, causing everyone’s eyes to shift towards you and Jake. You can feel him tense behind you. He’s still rock hard against you and everyone’s eyes on him only serve to make him more excited as he tries to play it cool. 

“I offered.” You answer Danny, dropping your hand onto Jake’s thigh. “Plus, he’s a handful to deal with even when I’m sober.” You squeeze his thigh. “So I figured I’d lay off the alcohol tonight.”

“Oh he’s something alright.” Josh supplies, grinning ear to ear at his brother. You worry suddenly that he knows somehow. Freaky twin thing and all that, especially given the Cheshire smile he shoots your way. But he looks away and back to the others quickly and you dismiss the idea. Freaking twins.

Conversation divulges again and the attention falls from you and Jake. But he’s worked up now and there’s no way he’s letting you off the hook that easily. Sober Jake is a horndog… drunk Jake is damn near insatiable. 

“Play nice.” Jake warns you, his voice just barely loud enough that you can hear it. “Don’t wanna have to punish you.” 

That finally makes your breath stutter and halt in your chest. Jake can feel you still against him and he chuckles. 

So the game begins. 

Wordlessly, you shift your weight and slide your ass across his crotch. Jake bites his lip and his eyes blaze as he watches you settle your rear onto the sofa next to him with an innocent smile. With your legs draped across his hips (still keeping his hard on from being seen by everyone in the room) you’re free now to settle into his side. You’re playing a dangerous game messing with him like this but the new position allows for you to press your calf into the growing bulge beneath his dark jeans and for your hands to settle on his midsection. Deceivingly innocent to others but filled with possibilities to tease him. Jake knows this though, and those dark eyes of his are pinned to you, lust-blown and dangerous as his breathing picks up. 

You look away and do your best to turn your attention back to the group. Jake does the same, but the feeling of his hard dick against your calf is proof enough that he’s still more than distracted. 

As the conversation carries on, you do your best to interject every now and then to at least pretend to be interested. But you’re more interested in taking Jake home and devouring him. But you suppose the waiting will only make the reward sweeter in the end. Jake, for his part, seems to be feeling the very same. His eyes dart to your face periodically, heavy lidded and carrying the weight of how much he wants you right now. But even with the lust coursing through the both of you, he still looks at you whenever he makes a joke (making sure he’s succeeded in making you laugh) and his fingertips absentmindedly drum songs and beats onto your shin. As worked up as he is, his sweetness still seems to outweigh the alcohol in his system. It just makes you want him more. 

Bored with waiting and ready for him to say it’s time to go, you delicately trace your fingers across his midsection. You press your fingertips into the soft flesh of his sides as you keep your eyes trained anywhere but him. Jake cocks his head to look at you, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as you shift your leg and rub your calf across him. Half-hard still, his body tenses. His hand finds yours on his belly and he stills it, grip tightening in warning. 

Not satisfied with his reaction, you press your leg down again and this time his spine goes ramrod straight as his hips buck up on their own to meet the feeling. 

That’s one point for you. 

“Why are you trying to start shit?” He murmurs, taking a sip from the glass that he’d just refilled. 

“Because I can.” 

“Because you’re desperate.” The last word comes out as an almost growl. 

You shake your head. 

“I’m not anything.” 

“You think I can’t tell?” He asks you, his head tilted down and gaze trained solely on you. You scan the rest of the group, afraid that they’ll hear whatever filth is about to spill from between his plump lips. Thankfully, they’re all far too engaged with their own conversation to notice what’s going on between you and Jake. “Your cheeks are flushed all pink like they get when you’re horny.” He starts, fingers trailing up from your calf to your thigh. “And you're breathing fast. Like you do when you’re wet.” His fingers go higher still and your thighs clench despite yourself. 

He wins the point this time and you can’t help the little sigh that escapes you. 

“Maybe I’m just tired of waiting.” It’s all you can think to say – the lust fogging your brain and making it impossible for you to come up with a witty retort. You want him. Now. 

“You’re going to have to wait a while longer.” 

“Why?” The question is reminiscent of a young child. Whiny and full of demanding petulance at his refusal to take you home and fuck you this instant. 

“Because someone,” he shifts his hips slightly, “made me rock fucking hard. And I can’t get up like this right now. Not with all them” his eyes dart to the group, “sitting right there.” 

You huff a breath. 

“Please.” 

He hums and places his glass on the table next to you. His own control is cracking under the weight of your heavy gaze (and calf that's teasing his dick relentlessly) and you realize with glee that you've gotten what you wanted. 

“Gentlemen,” he starts, clapping his hands down on your legs and interrupting one of Josh’s long-winded stories. “I think we’re going to call it a night. The missus is getting tired.” He grins at you and you flush even more. 

“Leaving without helping clean up?” Josh demands, extracting himself from his partner’s grip and rising to his feet.

“Oh, always.” Jake answers him, words still slightly slurred. “But you’ve got these fine young gentlemen here to help you.” He gestures to Sam and Danny who both groan but stand up with Josh anyway. 

As they begin busying themselves with picking up glasses and paper plates, you raise your legs from Jake’s lap and stand. He follows you – though he teeters dangerously once he’s on his feet. 

“Easy.” You warn, wrapping an arm around his waist and helping him balance. 

“I’m fine.” He laughs, but his steps remind you of a baby deer trying to walk. 

As the two of you make your way outside, you both hiss as the cold of the night hits you. You press yourself further into Jake’s side. As you reach the car – parked all the way by the road, you make to open the passenger door for Jake but he pulls you into a kiss first. 

His tongue plunges into your mouth and he groans as you grant him easy access. Despite the cold, your body thrums with the heat of your arousal. Jake’s hands are sloppy as they caress every inch of you he can get – your sides, your tits, your ass, everything. As you reach up to tangle your hands in his hair he leans his full body weight against you, pressing you into the side of the car and caging you there. You can't quite tell if it's just so he can keep you where he wants you or because he can't stand upright any longer. Either way, wetness floods your panties at the feeling of his body pressing into you. Solid is the only word you can think of to describe him. 

“Jake.” You moan as his lips trail down to your neck, the heat of his mouth a delicious juxtaposition to the frigid wind. He’s relentless, drunkenly nipping and biting at your skin in all the ways he knows you like. “Jake, quit.” You tell him, even though it’s the last thing you want him to do. 

“Why?” The question is muffled by your skin, his lips never leaving your throat. 

“Get in the car. It’s cold as fuck.” 

He pouts but he straightens up and removes himself from you and you ignore the ache in your belly at the loss of contact. Jake’s fingers wrap themselves around the handle of the door but not of the passenger seat. Instead, he opens the door to the back and raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Jake.” 

“Y/n.” His tone matches yours mockingly, his eyes glittering. 

“It’s freezing.” 

“So let’s warm up then.” 

You try to fight it. You know you should. You’re out here where any one of the neighbors could look outside to see what’s happening if they look hard enough. If Josh looks outside and sees your car still here there’s no doubt that he’ll know what’s happening. Sam and Daniel are spending the night and are probably drunk enough that they’re already passed out but who knows if one of them might happen to look out a window. 

But the ache between your legs has grown nearly unbearable and you don’t want to wait any more than Jake does. And as you watch him clumsily climb into the back seat and lean himself back against the opposite door you know that any shred of resistance you had is gone. 

“You’re drunk.” You scold, unwilling to admit defeat even as you climb into the car with him and shut the door behind you. It’s freezing in the car and your teeth chatter slightly as you settle in. 

“Quit fussing.” He tells you, spreading his legs and pulling you in to settle between his thighs. “Don’t wanna have to wait.”

At that – at the pleading, whiny way he says the words, you cave and crash your lips back to his. His hands find your sides again, squeezing possessively. Your own hands find his shoulders as you attack his mouth with yours. The kiss has no real finesse, all teeth and tongue, but it’s perfect. Jake is moaning beneath you with every pass of your tongue and you realize with no small amount of excitement that the alcohol in his system has taken away any ability he had to hold all those noises in. He’s always vocal. But this? This is like Heaven to your ears. 

His hand drops to the waistband of your pants and his fingers dance along the skin there before slipping beneath. His fingers are cold as they graze over your clit through the fabric of your panties. His middle finger presses in, applying just the right amount of pressure as he begins to rub in little circles. You moan loudly into the kiss and his answering groan tells you all that you need to know about how into this he is. 

“You’re soaked.” 

You nod, head falling back and mouth dropping open as he pushes your panties aside and circles your swollen clit even faster. 

“Take these off.” 

You obey, sitting backwards and toeing your shoes off before sliding your pants off your legs. It’s cramped and clunky in the confined area of the car but Jake watches you like it’s still the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. Your shirt is next, discarded carelessly into the floorboard as you paw at his own shirt, desperate to see more of him. Jake lifts his arms and pulls his short off, the fabric joining your clothes as well. 

No matter how many times you see him like this, you still can’t help but be amazed. He’s glorious before you, all milky skin and soft curves that make you want to bite him. His arms flex as he pushes his jeans down, the strength of his biceps and forearms the perfect balance to the rest of him. Without pausing long enough to think about it, you drop low and sink your teeth into the supple flesh of his side. 

He cries out in answer, arching his back and head falling back with a thud against the window. 

“Y/n. Fuck.” He whines and you take his moment of surprise to palm him through his boxers. He hadn’t been lying earlier when he said he was hard as a rock. Even through the fabric you can feel the heavy heat of him. 

You trail your mouth down to the waistband, licking along the skin there before grabbing it with your teeth and pulling them down, allowing his cock to spring free. You sink lower still, intent on enveloping him in the warmth of your mouth but he stops you with a hand in your hair. 

“Wait.” He sighs out breathlessly, causing your eyes to flick to his questioningly. “Not gonna last if you do that.” He grins sheepishly and you laugh. 

“Who’s desperate now?’’ You ask him, echoing back to his taunt from earlier. 

“It’s your fault.” 

With that, he sits up and surges forward, slamming his lips to yours again and pushing you backwards. He settles on top of you, his cock resting against your ass cheek. The movement had taken much effort, his drunken limbs just a little too clumsy for finesse and grace and you both laugh a little as you settle. Finally, he pulls your panties all the way down and you whine as the cool air hits your wet center. 

“Jesus.” He murmurs, those dark eyes of his devouring the sight of you beneath him. “Been waiting for this all night.” 

He sits upwards, gripping his cock in his fist as you spread your legs for him. The car is small, your back shoved into the corner and your head cocked at an odd angle. But none of it matters as he finally slides himself into you. You cry out, hands reaching out to grip his shoulders. His groan is deep and rough as he bottoms out and pauses, allowing you a moment to adjust to the familiar stretch of him. 

“Move.” You beg him, hooking your legs around his hips and using your heels to dig into his ass and pull him closer. 

He plants both hands on either side of you, fingers digging into the leather of the seats as he starts to rock his hips. His brows tip upwards and his eyes fall closed as you clench around him helplessly. 

“So fucking tight.” He slurs, hips snapping into yours deliciously. The air between the two of you is thick – humid and warm enough that the windows have begun to fog up completely. 

“Harder.” You whine and his body trembles and shakes as he tries to follow your command. 

His mouth drops open and a loud moan escapes him as he picks up his pace slightly. His arms tremble where they fight to keep himself up in this position and you giggle softly at him. 

“Switch with me before you fall over.” You urge him before tossing your head back with a moan as his cock brushes against that special spot inside of you. Even drunk off his ass he can still find it with ease. 

“Fine.” He huffs, pulling out of you and settling back into his earlier position with his back against the door. “Sorry.” He mumbles, giving you a drunken little grin. 

“S’okay.” You tell him, climbing over his thighs to straddle him. “Can watch you better this way anyway.” 

He preens a little at that, cheeks flushing a dark red as you grip is cock in your hand and guide the head to your entrance. You sink down and whine as this position allows him to slip even deeper into you than it had before.

You roll your hips and moans punch out of both of you. He always feels so fucking good – but having to wait so long for it tonight has only made it even more rewarding now. His hands grip your ass, kneading into the flesh and guiding your pace. His eyes are half lidden as he watches you and sweat begins to bead at his hairline. The look he’s giving you – hair a mess and mouth dropped open, is a familiar one. It’s one you’ve seen on his face countless times; both as he’s fucked you and as he plays his guitar on stage. It’s enough to have the coil in your belly begin to tighten already. 

“So fuck’n beautiful.” He moans lowly, his eyes pinned to where your tits bounce with each roll of your hips. 

You whine and lean downwards, kissing him roughly as his hips begin to thrust upwards to meet yours. You can tell that he’s losing it beneath you – his focus torn between trying to kiss you and trying to match the rhythm you’ve set. He’s pussy drunk and actually drunk and the thin bit of control he has left is starting to break. 

He uses his grip on your ass to guide you upwards, pressing your breasts into his face. His lips lock around one hard nipple as one hand comes up to palm the other one. He moans louder still, the sound muffled against your tit. The feel of him… he’s everywhere in this cramped car and all of your senses have been completely overtaken with just Jake. 

“Please.” He whines, detaching his mouth from your nipple with a wet pop. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock.” 

His teeth dig into his bottom lip, his face contorting in pleasured agony as he holds himself back, waiting for you to finish first. You toss your head back and cry out, his cock hitting your sweet spot as you ride him into oblivion. The noises falling from him are barely human – rough and broken in a way that lets you know that he's completely overtaken with the pleasure of it all. Your orgasm finally hits you, seeming to start at your toes and work its way all the way through you. Your body shakes as you ride it out, walls fluttering and clenching around his cock. Your moans are only interrupted by cries of his name as he fucks you through it before finally your brain manages to come back to reality to take in the sight below you. 

Jake – drunk and fucked out with his eyes pleading up at you. 

“Gonna fucking cum, Y/n.” He thrusts up once, twice, three more times before he’s losing it. His head thrashes and curses fall from his lips like prayers. It goes on forever, his body tensed up and legs shaking on either side of you as he spills his release into you.

Finally, his body relaxes and stills. And his beautiful eyes blink open to look at you. A dopey and satiated smile spreads across his lips. You can feel his cock where it’s still inside you softening, but neither of you really want to move yet. 

“You’re so pretty.” He says with an alcohol-drenched smile. 

“And you’re still very drunk.” You giggle, kissing him softly. 

“I don’t have to be drunk to be able to see that you’re pretty.” He answers with a slight pout. Even inebriated he’s not going to let you run from a compliment. His ability to still recognize those little insecurities that you still have, no matter how much he’s had to drink, makes you smile softly down at him. 

“You’re pretty too.” 

He flushes and opens his mouth to retort but it’s cut off with a hiss as you pull off him. You reach down to grab your phone where it’s been discarded on the floorboard with yours and his clothes and the screen lights up enough to make you squint your eyes.

Two notifications await you. 

Josh 4:27AM

you guys okay? 

Josh 4:34AM

in my driveway?? :( 

You can’t help but laugh at the message before clicking your phone off. The windows have completely fogged up now so there's no denying your guilt to Josh.

As you turn back to face Jake, his eyes have closed and he looks almost asleep. 

“Hey.” You smack his chest and he startles, making you laugh even harder. “Get dressed so we can go home.” 

He groans and sits up, eyes looking glassy but still wearing a satisfied smirk.

“Round two once we get home?”

“If you can stay awake that long.”

“Challenge accepted.” 

--------

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Chapter 11 - One Last Time

Welcome, welcome, welcome to the finale of the 2023 season. I thought a lot about possibly making a chapter for the final F1 race, but reader would basically be doing nothing. So enjoy this tear-jerker read! 

ATTENTION: TAG LIST IS CLOSED

Well, here you were. Back for the third and final time. It was bittersweet if anything. You knew you’d probably cry, but you hoped that it wouldn’t be until later. 

A win would be preferable, but you knew how races went. Anything was up for grabs. Christian had bid you goodbye when you left Vegas to head here. You knew that they probably wouldn’t be able to come, since the Formula 1 season was also ending very soon. You’d be fine. Plus, you’d done this multiple times before. Normally, you never invited anyone to come watch you. There really wasn’t anyone you wanted to invite in the first place. 

No family and no friends outside the F1 world. What was the point. But, you were basically driving with your best friend every weekend. He would just have to watch your tail lights though. 

The sprint was already done and you had bagged another win. You hoped to turn this weekend into a grand slam. It wouldn’t be your first one, but it would be the last on in F2. You had gotten pole and you won the initial sprint race. Arthur was behind you the entire time. 

Speaking of Arthur, you didn’t know where he had run off to. You decided on that his family had probably come to watch the end of his first F2 season. It was nice to know that they really cared like that. 

You walked around the paddock with your race suit on your hips and sun glasses on your nose. It wasn’t terribly hot, but the sun was going to do some damage if you stayed outside for too long. You stopped along the gates to sign some thing for fans. Quite a few of them were now wearing Red Bull merch instead of the normal Dams ones. It felt good inside to see that they were now going to be interested in watch your F1 career and not just staying for F2. 

You had to say goodbye after a few moments, and you left with lots of friendship bracelets on your wrists. You were going to have to take them off before you got into the car, but you wanted to keep them on for a bit. 

A couple of reporters stopped you as you made your way back to your garage where your car was sitting. They barely asked any questions, seeming to know that you had to get back. You thanked them for their swiftness and continued down the pit area. Most garages were filled to the brim, but not as much as the ones had in Vegas. There, celebrities seemed to drip from every crevasse. 

As you got closer to the garage, you heard multiple familiar laughs. 

It couldn’t be. 

You hastened your steps and were almost brought to tears by the sight. Max, Christian, Geri, and Mitch were all there by the computer wall, donning Dams merchandise with your number on it. They seemed to be too caught up in their conversation to notice you at first. 

You looked behind you, saw that there was no one, backed up a bit, and launched forward in Max’s direction. You leaped onto his back and squeezed him tight. His shoulders tightened before he heard your laugh. 

“Hi kid,” he said, craning his neck to try to see you. But, you were overcome with lots of emotions and you didn’t want him to see you cry this early, so you just buried your face in his shoulder. Said shoulders moved up and down with another laugh. 

“I’ll wipe my tears on your shirt if you keep laughing at me,” you muttered, trying to threaten the other driver. 

“No you will not.” Max let you hang for a bit. “You know, I think Christian also wants a hug.” 

You raised your head and looked at the gray-haired Brit. You quickly clamored over to Christian and brought him into an even bigger hug. You murmured something to him, but he wasn’t able to pick it up so he just squeezed you tighter. You let go and hugged Geri as well, thanking her for coming. 

You met Mitch with open arms and maybe more tears. You finally finished with all the greetings before you pulled back. 

“Why are you all here? Like, I’m thankful, but isn’t there a race soon that you need to be preparing for?” 

Max and Christian laughed. Max explained, “Kid. It’s your last race, why wouldn’t we come?” 

You really didn’t understand why they wanted to. 

Christian slapped a hand on Max’s shoulder, “And Max here skipped F2 completely and has never seen a race before or the car. Why don’t you tell him about it.” 

Your eyes sparkled. Max wanted to complain and tell you that he did know how an F2 car worked, but the moment he saw your hopefulness, his lips were sealed. He offered his hand and followed as you led him over to your car. The moment you started talking, your hands started flying. Max just nodded along to everything you said while the others were watching the two of you with so much love. 

Vito had been able to enter the garage and was amused at the sight. He walked over to Christian. “Thank you for coming. It means the world to her. Let me pay you back for the early tickets.” 

Christian waved his hand, “There’s no need.” 

Their side of the garage was silent before Vito spoke up again, “You know, this is her first race since 2018 that someone came to watch her.” The adults’ hearts dropped. 

Mitch spoke, “I thought her godfather died in 2020?”

Vito nodded, “He did. But because of his illness and medication, he wasn’t able to come watch her at all. The last race he went to was the middle of her F3 season.” 

It was Geri’s turn to speak, “Surely she has had someone? A friend? Family?” 

The four of them looked at you and Max. Somehow Max had shimmied into your seat and you leaned over, fingers pointing to the various buttons. 

A sigh escaped Vito’s lips, “She was disowned in early 2018.” 

Geri gasped and Christian let out a big sigh. Mitch continued to watch your face light up with glee as you tried to put your helmet on Max’s head. It wasn’t going very well and Max was trying to bat your hands away. She was thinking of how a child so filled with light had been able to go through so much. 

“Please don’t tell her I told you. She wouldn’t want Max to know. She has looked up to him since her karting days, and I know Max wouldn’t, but she wouldn’t want him to look at her differently.” 

You were now helping Max get out of the car. The four watched as Max carefully helped you put your helmet on, his fingers doing the clasp under your chin. He fondly placed his hand on the top and wiggled it. Your hands flew up to stop him. And even though it was muffled by the helmet, your laugh filled the room. 

Christian was about to say something, but the entrance of Arthur and his family stopped him. He could message Vito later to see what exactly you needed. Because he was willing to do anything for you. 

Your head whipped at the sound of Arthur’s laugh and you stumbled over to him. Everyone watched as you did your little pre-race handshake that the two of you insisted on needing. You forgot something very important and you turned back to Max with arms out. 

“How do I look?” Max, and the others, finally got a good look at your race suit. It was different. The regular Dams one had been replaced by the Red Bull navy and familiar logo. You looked at home in the suit. “Arthur has one too. Well, not a RB one.” You pointed to the red clashed boy. 

His suit looked almost identical to the Ferrari one that Charles normally wears. Except the Dams logo was across the front, same as yours. 

“I love it kid. But you couldn’t have told me before? I could have been wearing my regular polo,” Max whined and you shooshed. 

“Max, I hate to tell you, actually I don’t hate it, you need to hear it. You need better clothes.” Max deadpanned at you and Charles’ laugh filled the air. Your helmet clad head turned towards him as well. 

“Oh don’t get me started on you. Next time you’re in Texas, for the love of everything, take you pant legs out of the boots! They go over the boots, hence the name bootcut.” That shut him up, but Arthur started to laugh.

The others joined in too, but were interrupted by the signal that you needed to get into your car. Max quickly hugged you before lighting pushing you towards the vehicle. You climbed over the halo and situated yourself as the mechanics lowered your car to the ground. Mitch was given the opportunity to hand you the steering wheel. You knew she wouldn’t be able to talk you through the race, but you had asked her to do something for you after you crossed the finish line. 

You taxied your car to the P1 spot and waited on the grid. Once the lights went out for the formation lap, you quickly started to warm up your tires. You bobbed and weaved all over the track, Arthur doing the same right behind you. 

You seemed to just glide over the track with how smooth your steering was. You finally arrived back to the starting grid and you braked. The other cars filled up behind you, and you knew this was it. 

Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. 

Go. 

Your foot hit the throttle and off you were. Your reaction time was phenomenal. Max watched as you started to pull away from the others, maximizing the corners. You were flying on the straights. 

It seemed to be going so well for the first half until you hit a kerb and the back of your car went spinning. Your Dams engineer was the first to reach you. By now, two cars had gone past you by the time you got back onto the track. 

“Y/n talk to me.” 

Your voice was rattly as you responded, “I think my left back tire is damaged. Box, box.” You had wanted to go a bit further on your current tires, but it just wasn’t possible. You needed to make one mandatory stop during the race and it would have to be now. 

You finally got to the pit lane and were able to get back out in P5. It wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t horrible. 

Max and Christian were biting their nails, hoping that you’d be able to make a comeback. You were the first to pit and you’d use that to your advantage. On the new tires, you were able to climb back to P2. Using the early strategy, Arthur had pitted almost right behind you and was now in P3. 

The one car in front of you was forced to pit as it neared the 10 minute mark. You could do this, but Arthur was gaining. You pressed the button on the radio. “Gap to Leclerc?” 

“Currently 1.783 seconds but is gaining.” 

You seemed to press the throttle a bit more on the corners. You loved Arthur but he was not going to get any DRS from you and use it against you. The adults in the garage watched at you flew around the corners.

Your strategist clicked the radio, “Easy with the balance.” 

“Please not talking during the corners. I know what I’m doing.” You went around another bend. Five minutes remained. 

Three minutes. 

“Gap to Leclerc is 2.004 seconds.” You jerked your car around a tight curve and almost went over the track limits. 

“No talking in the turns!” 

“Understood.” Max and Christian bit back smiles. That sounded familiar. 

Two minutes. 

One minute. 

Thirty seconds. 

Your car crossed over the finish line with a gap of 5 seconds. Your screams could be heard over the radio as Max and Christian all but jumped into each other’s arms. 

Your voice suddenly filled the air, “Is Mitch there?” 

Your engineer made room for her. “I’m here kid. Want me to do the thing?” 

“Yes please.” 

Max groaned, “Please let it not be Life is a Highway. I’ve been singing that in my sleep with how much she plays it.” 

Mitch pushed play and the voice of Ariana Grande filled the speaker, along with your shaky voice. 

“One last time, I need to be, the one, who takes you home. One more time, I promise after that, I’ll let you go!” You waived at the crowds as you pulled your car into the P1 spot. You stood on your car and raised your fists as you yelled. Your head whipped towards your crew and you immediately made eye contact with two blue eyes. You leaped from the nose and ran to those arms. 

“I did it Max! I won!” Your voice was shaky. Max pulled back from the hug and patted your helmet. 

“I am so proud of you, Kleintje.” (translation : little one)  

You walked down the line, hugging other members of your crew. The last one you hugged was Christian, who barely let you go. 

Turning around you were met with the helmet of your best friend. You looked through his visor and noticed tears in his eyes. You quickly brought him into a hug. 

Your helmets clinked as you met, but you didn’t care. You pulled back at arm’s length and pointed at him. 

“Now that I’m gone, I expect a championship for you next year TurTur.” He laughed hard. 

“How am I supposed to if you’re not here with me?” Your heart may have broken. 

“What are you talking about. I’m always here,” you finger met his heart. The two of you would be ok. Stewards came to get the two of you for weigh ins a to get you to the cool down room. 

Ollie walked in behind you. “There you are Bearman. I thought you forgot about me!” Ollie said nothing as he stomped over and gave you, well, a bear hug. Your ran your fingers through his hair. Pulling back, there were tears in his eyes as well. 

“You both are going to be the death of me. It’s not like I’m actually dying. And besides, you both will need to drive for a team for Free Practices and you’ll be invited to races.” Ollie and Arthur sadly nodded, but new you were right. This wasn’t goodbye. 

Ollie went out first, followed by Arthur. You looked around the room, one last time. You’d miss it for sure, but it was time to move on. 

You walked out with your head held high, flag wrapped around your shoulders. You took off your hat as you listened to your anthem, and then the French one followed. Two different officials handed trophies to Ollie and Arthur. You were too busy watching them smile and celebrate, that you almost missed the person in front of you with your trophy. 

You turned your head and were met with icy blue eyes. You smiled at the familiar face and tears pricked your eyes. 

Max gave you a grin and brought you in for a hug. It had to be quick, but he could tell you needed it. The two of you parted and he gave you the trophy. He stepped back and watched as you lifted it high in the air. 

His heart swelled with pride. Looking around, he noticed that the three of you started to grab your champagne bottles and he quickly left the stage, not wanting to get drenched in the liquid. You hauled the bottle over your shoulder, after you had shaken it some, and started to spray the two boys whom you loved so dearly. 

For the umpteenth time that day, tears littered your face. 

You looked up as the boys continued to splash the sticky drink around you. 

I made it LoLo. For you always. 

But, you were doing it for yourself as well. 

(just imagine that max is in different clothes)

Bwah! We made it to the end of the 2023 season! I have a personal master list of every chapter I want to write and this work will be over 42 chapters! I just came up with the idea for the very last on (I plan ahead) and lemme tell you, I wanted to cry just thinking about it. I love you all!  

Some usernames do not come up when I try to tag them, so if that happens, I will respond to your comment or DM. If you’d like to be tagged, please comment under the chapter. It helps a lot when they are all in one place.

Tag List : @awekbachira @lightdragonrayne @leilanixx @angsthology @digitalizeduniqueness @topguncultleader @landosgirlxoxo @gods-menace @itsjustkhaos @thefandomswhre @alwaysboredsworld @vellicora @bintuabbas @sam-is-lost @empress-kimiko @assholeinatrenchcoat @kagatinkita @glitterquadricorn @zyonsay @tsukishimawhore @treehouse-mouse @ashy-kit @agent-curt-mega @julesbabey @lydialawrence @stopeatread @claudia5912 @nichmeddar @blueberry64857959 @laura-naruto-fan1998 @leptitlu @alessioayla @badassturtle13 @kaaale @wcnorris @cool-ultra-nerd @hockeyboysarehot @agent-curt-mega @myxticmoon @cmleitora @sam-is-lost @misartymis @boiohboii @alexander-hamilhoe

[no-less-than-a-god]

“May I ask a question?” The Lamb’s voice carries easily through the Afterlife, and if The One Who Waits hadn’t just watched them die (an attack that they were too weakened to dodge, an arrow piercing their chest), he would have startled at how it echoes around them; Aym and Baal didn’t have such foresight, and both of them jerked, ears flicking and tails fluffing up for only a moment before calming.

“I have told you, Vessel,” The One Who Waits answers, as the Lamb grows close. “You are free to ask anything of your god.”

“Who are these two?” the Lamb asks, and gestures to the disciples on either side of the god. Having been directly referenced, both of their ears prick up, and they stand as straight as they can, alert and curious.

“They’re my disciples,” The One Who Waits replies, “gifted upon me as kits.”

He does not mention his sibling’s name, or the fact he knows it was them. It hurts to think about it, even now.

“Do they have names?”

The god makes a motion with his chained wrist, and addresses his keepers. “Speak freely, and introduce yourself to the Lamb.”

“Baal.”

“Aym.”

“Are you two brothers?”

“Yes,” it was Baal who replies, his brother’s head tilting as he answers. “Twins.”

“Who’s older?”

There is a pause. Both disciples look upon each other silently, before turning back to the Lamb they towered over.

“I think,” it was Aym who speaks this time, as he points his staff towards Baal, “he’s older.”

“Huh…” the Lamb trails off then, before speaking up again. “Who’s better at fighting?”

“I am,” both of them reply simultaneously, and then shoot each other a look.

“I beat you last time we sparred,” Aym says.

“But I had beaten you thrice before that,” Baal counters.

“Twice,” Aym corrects.

“Thrice,” Baal insists.

In a sudden move, Aym pounces on his brother, staff brandished. “I’ll show you who’s a better fighter!” he yells, and the two throw themselves off to the side, bickering and fighting.

Both the Lamb and The One Who Waits watches the brothers for a few moments, before the Lamb looks up at their god.

“Apologies, I seem to have caused that,” they say.

“They fight, it happens,” the god replies. He does not stop his disciples, or reprimand them from fighting in front of his vessel. Instead, he watches with amusement.

“It’s entertaining, most of the time,” he adds. “I’ve been keeping track of who wins.”

“Who’s winning, then?”

Beneath the veil, The One Who Waits begins to smile, and he turns back to the Lamb.

“They’re tied.”

-------------------------------------

“May I ask what happens to the offerings I give you?”

“My disciples eat the fish.”

“You don’t?”

“I cannot.”

“Would you like me to send other things, then?”

“The fish is adequate, Vessel. You do not have to.”

“Do you know what fish they prefer, then?”

“Aym prefers swordfish; Baal prefers tuna.”

“And you?”

“...It’s been too long for me to remember the tastes, but I remember being partial to salmon the most.”

-------------------------------------

“Does it hurt?” they ask, sitting among the ethereal ground. The One Who Waits watches them, as they peer up at him.

They look so small.

“Does what hurt?” he asks in return, although he has a speculation.

“The shackles, the chains. Being bound.”

The One Who Waits remains silent, contemplating, before he speaks honestly. “They have pained me for so long, I take no further notice. I have been forced to grow used to the unbearable agony; it no longer affects me as greatly as it once did. Is there a reason you ask, Vessel?”

The Lamb, The One Who Waits surprisingly finds, is silent. They’ve looked away from him, and suddenly, they’re standing up.

“I’m ready to go back,” they claim, and there’s a tremble at the end of their voice.

Ignoring that they failed to answer his own question, Narinder raises his bony arm, chainlinks clinking together, as he resurrects them.

Later, watching through the crown, he sees the Lamb descend upon the stone statue of Heket with their oversized hammer, smashing it to pieces.

Even as it rebuilds itself, the hammer brings it all down in a fit of rage, until the Lamb is doubled over with fatigue, panting and sweating.

Eligos brings their demise two days later, and neither god nor vessel speak as the Lamb looks upon The One Who Waits.

Thank you, he wants to say, for your rage. For caring. You did not have to do that, but you did. 

But he says nothing.

-------------------------------------

“Do you know how to play knucklebones?”

“I’ve watched the rat play it, many times. And I’ve watched you play it, many times more.”

“But do you know how to play?”

“I do not.”

“Can I teach you?

“With what dice, Vessel?”

“I have some in the crown. I can teach Aym and Baal too, if they want.”

“I’m sure they’ll enjoy it.”

-------------------------------------

“Have you always had a veil?” the Lamb asks, resting in their god’s hand. They had requested to lay down, after a painful and quite literal run-in with an explosive fiend. They sit up, a curious tilt to their head.

“I acquired one not long after my ascension to a Bishop,” The One Who Waits replies. Nearby, the sound of staff clacking together continues as the twins spar. “There were complaints of my gaze being uncomfortable. Unnerving.”

The Lamb pauses, before they softly ask, “May I see?”

“The veil?”

“Your face.”

A century ago, a request as such would have given him pause. He would have declined, and sent the Lamb away.

Instead, he slowly brings his arm up, and leans down. The Lamb ducks under the veil, and for the first time, the god and vessel make true eye contact.

Red meets white. The One Who Waits looks, unblinking, as the Lamb stares back into his eyes.

Something touches his nose, and it twitches involuntarily at the unfamiliar sensation. It takes the god a few seconds to realize it’s the Lamb’s hand.

The Lamb smiles, gently. “Your eyes. They’re a pretty red.”

The One Who Waits’ ear flicks.

“Like camellias. Or fresh blood. It’s nice.”

“Vessel,” the god whispers, because they’re so close. “I ask you to stop talking.”

The Lamb leans against The One Who Waits’ nose, and all he can smell is them. “And I ask,” they reply, their smile growing, “is that I can continue praising my god’s bea-”

“Lamb-” The One Who Waits interrupts, and it comes out soft. Something warm curls in his chest, around his unbeating heart.

“What shall become of me, if I don’t stop talking?” the Lamb asks in a whisper. 

A purr threatens to rip itself from the god’s chest.

“I’ll send you back to your followers,” The One Who Waits replies.

The threat is empty, and both of them know it.

-------------------------------------

“Was Kallamar your elder or younger brother?”

“Elder.”

“And Heket was younger. Does that mean you were the middle sibling?”

“Yes, I was in the middle. Two came before, and two after.”

“May I ask what it was like, having siblings?”

“I assure you, Vessel, my experience with siblinghood is most definitely different from the norm.”

“I rephrase: May I ask what it was like for you, having siblings? May I know more of my god’s past?”

“Draw close, Lamb, and I shall tell you.”

-------------------------------------

“Shamura spoke to me.” 

The One Who Waits flicks his ear, half because of hearing his sibling’s name on his lamb's tongue, half because they sound nervous.

The Lamb continues speaking. “They told me something. A name.”

The god freezes. He stills so suddenly, not even his chains clink. It's silent.

He knows what name Shamura had spoken. He wasn't watching the Lamb during their crusade, but he knows.

He remembers, faintly, his name uttered in vain, in fear and disgust. In hatred, or indifference.

“Were they telling the truth?” the Lamb asks. “Is your name Narinder?”

Reverence. How long ago did someone last say his name with such reverence?

“It is,” he replies, and he pretends his voice doesn’t tremble at the end.

“Can I call you that?”

The answer comes at once, without thought or hesitation, “Yes.”

“Much easier to say than your title,” the Lamb smiles a little, “right, Narinder?”

His own purr surprises him, and he watches as the Lamb’s smile grows into something soft, something fond.

Off to the side, Baal and Aym shoot their master a strange look.

-------------------------------------

“What do you plan to do, once you’re free?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve been trapped for almost a millennium, Narinder, surely you’ve thought of something?”

“I’ve had ideas in the past, but they’ve changed. Now, I’m unsure.”

“I can help you think of something, if you want.”

-------------------------------------

Narinder, The One Who Waits, has dreamed of freedom for centuries. All he’s wished for, as time passed in his eternal prison, is that he could be set free.

The Lamb’s arrival to him, covered in chains and looking ragged, had filled him with ecstatic bloodlust.

They were it, his key. With them as his final sacrifice, he’d be free.

That thought would keep him gleeful, a comfort. With their death, he’ll find his freedom.

But something changed.

Now, the thought fills him with dread.

With their death, he’ll be free.

For the first time since he was shackled, his dreams aren’t filled with revenge, with tearing himself free and escaping.

For the first time, he becomes weary of his own domain.

He doesn’t want the Lamb to die.

He doesn’t want the Lamb to die to free him.

He wants them alive. He wants them to stay, sleeping against his claw and chest, saying his name, peering under his veil.

He doesn’t want the Lamb to die.

Which is why, when they bow to him, his crown in their hands, he cannot find the words he’s dreamed of saying for centuries, the words he’s supposed to say.

It’s why, fists clenching, he says, “No.”

Good afternoon, I woke up and chose violence today! More specifically, I decided today I would write short fragments of interaction between narinder and the lamb during their vessel years

also. lore :)

anyways if anyone's curious I listened to "Home" by Pinkshift while writing this

[rainylana]

“I’m not always bad.” Part two!

Eddie Munson x female reader

warnings: readers dad has cancer, enemies to lovers, (bullies reader in part one), language, mentions of religion and prayer, depression and anxiety. a lot of angst and fluff.

note: let me know if you want a third part!

Eddie backed off. Whatever class you shared, passing by each other in the hallway or the cafeteria, he backed off. He didn’t bother you, didn’t even look at you. Well, that wasn’t true. He looked, but only when you weren’t aware of it. It had been two weeks since you had broke down in front of him, and as each day passed, he could see you start to slip, start to deteriorate right in front of him. Everyone else was seeing it too.

You weren’t doing as much makeup like you normally did. Instead of putting on a full face, you applied some mascara. Instead of dressing up, you preferred sweats and a hoodie, your hair put up and away so you didn’t have to deal with it.

You weren’t bringing your lunch anymore, surviving off the snacks your friends would make you eat. You didn’t answer questions in class. You weren’t you, anymore. In just two weeks, you’d completely changed, and Eddie, most of all, didn’t like it.

He should talk to you. That’s what he should do, instead of staring at you all day. Over that time, he began to realize his feelings for you were not just hatred.

The day came when he decided he would say something. Say what, he didn’t know, but he needed to speak with you, needed to know that you were…okay, given the circumstances.

•

“And I don’t know if you can hear me, or…even care about what’s happening to my family, but please, God, please, I can’t watch him die. Mama can’t watch him die. Please make him better, I beg of you.” Your hands were folded above your knees, tears on your face and mascara smudged down your cheeks. You were at lovers lake, an isolated side of the park that was overgrown and lonely, much like yourself these days.

There was a singular picnic table, an old, rundown cabin that was falling apart. You’d only been through this area a few times, but the isolation made you feel welcome and at peace, hoping maybe that God could hear your prayers just a little louder here.

“Amen.” You sniffled, wiping your tears and sitting there emotionlessly. You stared at your hands in front of you, too scared to move, too scared to go home. You found yourself always scared, always anxious and alert. Your father was diagnosed with stage four liver cancer and was only given six months to live at best. You didn’t think you could go back to life before you’d been called down to the kitchen for a family meeting.

“Hey.”

You jumped, alert and alarmed at the voice that emerged through the wooded trail. You placed a hand over your heart, calming when you realized who it was.

“Eddie?” You asked, confused. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry,” He held up a hand. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your…” He trailed off. “I walk here a lot.”

That wasn’t true. Eddie didn’t like to walk, or any form of exercise, for that matter. He’d followed you, listened to your entire prayer and cry for help, only to come out when your finished crying. It was hot out today, but that didn’t change his normal attire. Black jeans, ripped at the knees. White t-shirt with a little grease. His hair was extra shaggy due to the humidity. He had a bead of sweat forming above his lip.

“That’s okay.” You said meekly, looking back down at your fingers.

He stood their awkwardly, scratching the back of his sweaty neck. “Look, I can go-”

“No, no.” You waved a hand. “I should go. This isn’t my-”

“Don’t go!” He interrupted you, taking a step and stopping you from getting up off the picnic table. “I uh- sit.” He said to you, doing so himself, sitting across from you.

You weren’t aware just how much of a mess you looked, having forgotten about the tears and makeup mess on your face. He stared at you for a moment, watching you watch the lake. You were blushing—or, were you just red faced from crying?

Eddie gulped, not knowing what to say. A simple how are you would suffice, but he couldn’t seem to get it out.

“Do you need something?” Your eyes panned over to him, sunken and shallow. “I don’t have the homework done if that’s what you’re wanting.”

He hadn’t asked for it in weeks.

“How are you doing?” He bounced his knee, clasping his fingers together in front of him. “With…you know.”

You stared at him, and for a moment, you gave him that same look you did two weeks ago. Bewilderment, shock. But only for a moment, because you simply did not have the energy to put on a show, or care. Eddie noticed.

“I don’t know how to answer that.” You said honestly. “I guess I’m fine.”

“It doesn’t seem that way.” He was looking at you through thick lashes, analyzing your every move, like you were his prey. “Nobody knows yet, do they?”

You tried not to cry. You didn’t want to again, especially not in front of him. You’d already made a fool of yourself once.

“Just family.” You whispered.

You weren’t stupid. You knew Eddie felt bad for you. You’d cracked away at his hard shell and found some emotion inside of him. You just wished it wasn’t at your expense, and you didn’t need his pity.

“Do you need anything?” He found himself asking, quickly looking down to his own hands that he fiddled with, decorated in rings and cat scratches.

This was exactly what you didn’t need. You didn’t want a spotlight on you. You didn’t want him looking at you like you were going to break any second. You didn’t need Eddie Munson as your friend.

“No.” You shook your head. “But I do need to go.” He watched you stand up, and by your shaky hands, he knew you were still very upset. Had he upset you? Should he not have reached out to you.

“Y/n, wait!” He followed after you on the trail.

“What?” You whirled around. “God, Eddie, what is it?” Your eyes were round and wide, alarmed and scared.

He looked taken back, shooing a fly away from his face. “I just- I…I’m really sorry about your dad. I can see that it’s bothering you.” What a dumb thing to say! Of course it’s bothering her!

Don’t take it out on him. He didn’t do this. He didn’t cause it. He’s looking out for you. Him, of all people.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You gave him a smile mixed with a frown. “But I’m fine, I’ll see you in school tomorrow.”

You left and he didn’t follow, and when he no longer could see you, he swore he heard the sound of someone sobbing.

•

Three days later and you still hadn’t told your friends. You knew you had to soon. They were concerned. Your teachers knew now, your mom had told the principal, after he had called your parents about your grades. You didn’t get in trouble, they all understood.

You were going in and out of listening to Chrissy talk about prom, your eyes filled with what felt like water and air. You felt like you were drowning. Your eyes burned and felt clouded, your vision was blurry. Your throat burned and you seemed to gasp for air, but you couldn’t. You sat there and listened, drowning inside.

But when you felt something sharp, piercing and full of concern fall upon your face, you looked over and found the hellfire table, their master, staring at you. Eddie was staring at you. You locked eyes with him briefly before turning back to Chrissy.

Two more days passed and everyone knew. You didn’t know how it got out, but you knew it would have sooner or later. You just wished it was later. Everyone was staring at you in class, including Eddie, and by lunch time, the cafeteria went completely silent when you entered. You could take the I’m sorry’s and the I’m here for you’s. You couldn’t take being watched, couldn’t take being talked about and whispered about behind someone else’s back.

You had turned quickly on your heal, flashing an angry emotion across your face that Eddie hadn’t seen in quite some time. You slammed open the doors and walked down the hall with a quick speed. Each step you took, your breathing got heavier and heavier, your head felt lighter and lighter.

You were gulping, choking on your sobs as you rounded the corner and ran down the stairwell.

I’ve gotta get out of here. I’ve got to get out of here.

When you tripped and fell flat on your face, that seemed to be the final straw. You screamed, cursing at the universe, god, whoever, as you stood back up.

“Y/n!” Eddie came running up behind you, panting just as quickly as you were. He widened his eyes at your state. “Hey, hey,” He rushed to you, and you couldn’t help it. You melted into his arms. You let him hold you.

Your limbs gripped his shirt tightly, pulling like he was a rope, and sobbed into his shoulder. You didn’t know why, but in that moment, there wasn’t anyone else you needed more than him.

•

“Thanks for the ride.” You said hoarsely.

It was only one o’clock, but Eddie offered to drive you home. You let him, not able to imagine going back to class after the scene you had made.

“Don’t mention it.” He out the van in park, arm stretched out to the wheel. “You gonna be alright?”

You nodded, tugging at your hoodie, “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” You said quietly, excluded of emotion.

“Listen, about what happened at school,” He started, turning in his seat. “Everyone’s just surprised, that’s all. It’s like gossip to them. They’ll forget about it eventually.” He searched your eyes, hoping to make you feel better. “Are you hearing me?”

“Yeah.” You sighed. “I’m just…I don’t know. I might take a break for a few days. Maybe they’ll have dropped it by then.”

He didn’t want to go a day without seeing you. He was becoming more and more concerned, more and more attached, curious. You were becoming the very thing that kept him awake at night. He didn’t know why, but god, were you absolutely beautiful.

“Bye, Eddie,” You reached over and squeezed his knee. “Thanks for everything.”

He watched you walk inside, only seeing a small portion of your home on the inside. He hoped you would dream sweet things that night.

[sincerlycas]

try me.

summary: y/n’s mouth has no filter, so when she decides to publicly embarrass eren at a party, he doesn’t take it lightly.

warnings: brat y/n, bad bitch black reader, hair pulling, choking, humiliation, degradation, rough sex, slight hate fucking, spitting, 69 position, spanking, slapping, marking, drugs (I say za instead of weed and shit), mature scenes, etc.

commission for: @purfi-art 🤍

don’t forget to dm me for commissions <3

you were bored. absolutely fucking bored. there was literally no reason for you to be at this party, yeah you danced and shook ass to bop ass songs then took a drink but that’s about it. matter of fact, the only reason you here was because of your bum ass nigga eren. he was here to support and supply his friend with the za. sitting down on the seat while fixing your crop top that was holding your well sat boobs. eren was nowhere in sight, actually he was but you preferred to not look at him since he was speaking to a girl in the ear but you knew he was trying to be secretive with selling.

sighing your took a sip of the vodka and moved your copper ginger body wave lace out of the way. finally eren came to sit next to you with his group around you as well. all of them talking about random shit that you didn’t give one fuck, two fucks, any fucks about. one of your friends who came to the party tapped your shoulder and hugged you immediately as she saw you. returning the hug you told her to sit next to you.

she was basically the only person who talked to you the entire party, not even eren spoke a word to you because you know his bitch ass would say “I’m working right now later.” you swear you hated his ass for even dragging you here. while talking to your friend and catching up you felt a grip on your thigh so you looked down to see it was eren. oh so he can touch you and shit but not speak to you? bitch you were done !!

slapping his hand off your thigh with full disrespect as you turned back to talk to your friend. this caused nervous glancing from the group between you and eren but you couldn’t give a fuck. so you decided to let it out and irritate eren by talking about him to your friend when he’s literally next to you. “bro this nigga is so weird, how tf you gone bring me to a party and not even talk or spare me a glance like the fuck?!” eren wasn’t paying attention to you so he didn’t really hear the conversation but some did as he continued talking to jean.

“but he can be all up on girl’s whispering and shit then try to touch me and not say a damn word too?! fuck no nigga you must got me mixed up with another bitch that just stay mute- he must think I’m one of his hoes that’s why.” your friend chuckled as she was nodding and understanding your frustration.

finally eren heard what you were saying as he was drinking from his red solo cup. side eyeing you while giving you a glare was all he did as he set the cup back down. he went to open his mouth to saying something by putting your hand in his face while still looking at your friend. “look at this trick broo” turning your hand from flat to directing your thumb at him to show your friend

“he can sip cups and talk to his friends huh? matter of fact he can go sip on another bitch pussy like I give a fuck that’s his specialty.” now this is what caused the whole entire group you were sitting with to tune into the conversation and stop what you’re doing. eren grabbed your hand that was pointing at him and tugged on it to make you look at him.

“y/n-“ cutting him off before he said anything you turned to face him while putting your long acrylic finger in his face “nigga shut the fuck up ion wanna hear it, was I talking to you? no the hell I wasn’t fuck nigga, speak when you’re spoken to the fuck.” pushing his face away you turned to face your friend again seeing her ‘ouu’.

right when you were going to speak eren turned you to face him forcefully raising his voice in a higher octave but not high enough to cause an disruption to other people. “stop talking out your chest to your friend about me say it to my fucking face since you big a bold.” his group was eyeing you guys quietly. getting up out of his hold and standing over him giving anyone who was in front of him a juicy view of your ass in your cargo shorts.

“you want me to say sum to your face?!” “speak with your chest y/n!!” eren retorted back “alright bitch, your a bum. ass. nigga.” grabbing his drink he was so deliciously sipping on that had very little left and splashed on his face along with the cup. this caused a slight uproar as you got your bag and left.

eren was stunned as he ran his fingers through his hair tugging on it a little out of frustration. wiping his face with his hand he immediately got up speed walking behind. walking outside you went to open his car so you could leave after you snuck his keys since he was your ride. right when you were about to open it you felt a grip in your hair tugging you back harshly. “bitch come here.” eren held your hair as you tried to slap his hands away, he stared at you as he slammed your back against the car door.

“you think you hot shit for fucking embarrassing me bitch?! you really tried me today you ain’t never crossed the line with your bratty ass but today you did- get in the fucking car.” pushing you in the back seat as he put the back doors on child lock and went to the front seat and began speed driving toward the house. “eren let me the fuck out!! drop me off at my friends house!!” kicking at his seat taking your anger out on him. it’s not like you actually wanted him to let you out and turn you away you were just saying anything on top of your head.

on top of that this nigga was driving recklessly. you were screaming with all your might throwing profanities at him and slick remarks. eren was so done with your shit your shit so he screamed back “y/n l/n you better shut the fuck up before I swerve this bitch and kill us both I don’t give no fucks!!” slapping his hands on the steering wheel loudly. you were shocked at his threat but still you didn’t let up if anything you brought your hand to slap him across this face. eren restrained himself as he stayed quiet but that went up in flames when you calmed down and wen on your phone and mumbled a

“I should fucked your friend bro” you said that mostly to piss him off but connie is super fine.

eren finally made it to the house and opened your door and grabbed you and making a hurry to the door, getting inside, then making it to the room throwing you on the bed. taking his wet shirt off and his shoes. “y/n do you want to break up?” asking you that made your heart drop automatically you got on your knees on the bed and started apologizing. “e-eren I’m sorry for acting out, I promise I won’t do it again I swear please” you started tearing up since you’ve been with eren for three years, you couldn’t let him go.

then all you heard was laughing. gradually it got louder and louder. looking at him confused you swiped your tears “w-why are you laughing? what’s so damn funny?!” getting mad again, seriously your temper is short, but yeah you got mad again since he was literally just laughing at you. “you-“ stopping his sentence mid way to laugh again. this caused you to be self cautious and stay quiet. “you look pathetic baby.” walking towards you eren rubbed your face then your cheeks. him calling you pathetic while cooing at you made a sting in your heart out of embarrassment.

“it’s pathetic and dumb looking how you go and cause such a scene like that and embarrass me but once we reach home you’re groveling at me, do better mama.” patting your cheek a bit hard like they were close to being slaps eren backed away to let his words sink in. “ ‘ren..” staring at you while leaning on your guys dresser he tilted his head staring down at you.

“y/n I hope you know I deal with your mess because I love you. If you were to walk away from this relationship you wouldn’t find anyone who could love you like I do. even if you did it wouldn’t last since of how fucking bitchy you are, and if it does last just know I’ll be waiting to fuck it up.” walking back towards you again he choked you making you look up at him “so I’m telling you this with all disrespect, try me.”

you were tearing up even more from his words but the humiliation being even worse, you tried to find the words to say but you just stumbled. you looked away, you looked at anything besides eren. but you still weren’t going to go down like that, so you slapped his hands from his face with no avail since he had a vice grip on them. slapping on his shoulder, his neck, anything you can hit so he would let go of your face. you were yelling out profanities but all he did was stare at you smiling.

you got tired yet again and started huffing from all the the commotion you did. “you done.” eren asked while rubbing left over tears from your eyes. “…” you looked down as he finally let go of your face. “what I’m going to do is, I’m going to fuck you but it’s not gone be the ones where it’s slow and sweet because I’m not in a sweet mood so if you don’t want to you can tell me to stop.” staring at you eren was looking for signs of distress.

“I’m good..” I mean who would turn down sex from eren? plus by the way he is now he’ll be more gentle then he says he will.” wrong. he was going to show you he didn’t play nun of that. “alright choose a save word.” this caused you to look up at him with absolute confusion. a safe? what is he going- “-to do to me?!?” all he did was smile and wait. “uh..brownie” you mumbled. he nodded as he started sliding off your crop top then giving you a rough kiss.

you immediately responded by kissing back then laying on the bed as he got on top of you. eren really wanted to be nice and give you the nice prep he usually did but he was still in a sour mood (plus you guys had a quickie before the party). eren pulled your shorts down and threw them across the room. “take off your panties.” eren ordered as he watched you do what he said closely.

you slid them off slowly letting eren marvel at the string of slick connecting from your cunt to the panties then throwing them back. you shyed away from erens gaze that was so fixated on your wet cunt. you then heard a zipped being pulled down and turned back to see eren sliding his remains garments off letting his dick spring up to his stomach with a small thud. you reached your hand out to cop a feel but it was quickly slapped away harshly just like how you did to him at the party.

“familiar isn’t it?” he said as you slapped and nudged his tip against you clit. you moaned quietly from the slight stimulation he was giving you. then you felt a hard slap against your boobs causing you to reflexively cross your arm across your chest. “speak when you’re spoken too.” he spat out harshly while moving your hand away and tugging at your nipples. you moaned out while grasping onto his arm “i-im sorry..”

he simply hummed then slid in half way way but pulled out, this went on for a while as he groaned while you were moaning quietly but getting impatient. “eren hurry up-“ another slap was given to you but this time across your face. you rested up as you rubbed your face but clenched your legs from how it made you feel. “you take what I give you slut.”

he spat out as slammed in fully and shoved your legs to your shoulders. you could hardly breathe let alone speak, all you could was moan loudly when eren started hitting way to deep. it felt like he was digging you out or searching for something, this caused you to push at his shoulders repeatedly while mumbling incoherent “tss too muchhh~!! e-erenn too deep~”

you whined out as you were tearing up yet again. “its too much mama? I’m so sorry let me fix that.” he cooed while rubbing the side of your neck. you were relieved at what he said thinking he was going to let up but instead, he planted both in feet in the bed hovering over you completely and pushing his weight against you and started ramming down deeper into your cunt.

you squealed as you flew your hand to push his stomach back while screaming out, eren gripped your wrist tightly while holding it down to your stomach so you wouldn’t be able to move it. “take this dick, take this dick, take ittt~ fuckk~ it’s so tight~” he looked down between where you guys are connected seeing you already creating a white ring around him.

shaking your head and thrashing it back from how good he was hitting it in you. you started cumming with a shake in your legs, eren leaned down to your neck leaving bite marks and dark hickies on your neck. whimpering as he let go of your wrist letting you wrap your arms under his armpits letting your hands lay across his upper back. the pace suddenly got faster as he relentlessly hit your g spot hardly. dragging your nails down his back and muffling your moans into his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you caging you In his arms to give himself more leverage into fucking you.

you started clenching your pussy up making eren wince you choke you yet again. “open that pussy that pussy mama.” you shook your head knowing if you did he’d go ham, biting his bottom lip with the vice grip you had around his dick. gripping your hair back eren made you stare in his eyes “open that pussy up before I tear this shit the fuck up!” he pulled out then flipped you on your stomach into a arch grabbing your arms folding them behind your back with one of his hands. he used the other to slap your cunt causing you to yelp and try to move away. slapping it again eren yanked you back and slid back in with a harsh thrust.

“keep trying me y/n, you gone open it up” spreading your ass open eren spat down onto your other hole then shoved his thumb inside using it as a way to tug you back into him. this caused you to yelp and accidentally push your pussy out like he wanted and he didn’t hesitate to take the chance to start his harsh pace back up again and killing that pussy.

“o-ohhh fuckkk~ rennn~ its sooo good~” you were trembling on them sheets endlessly, you didn’t know if you wanted more or less but what you did know is you’re finna start crawling out this room in the end. “yeaah~ gimme that pussy, gimme that pussy, gimme that pussyy~ FUCK~!” eren yelled out while throwing his head back from the vice grip you had around him and let alone the sounds your body’s were making. letting out a silent scream you squirted across the sheets, violently shaking then going slump on the bed getting out of your arch.

laying down on your back on top of you while peppering kisses on your shoulder and moving your hair aside eren rubbed your sides. “my baby is tired?” he asked innocently but you knew well that he was up to something. nodding your head with a yes thinking he would give you a break but instead he continued to slam down onto your cunt regardless if you were laying down. sliding his hand under your body to give tugs and pinches at your nipples. “uhh~ uhh~ ouuu~ ren it’s hurttss~ oh my goshh~” drooling onto the sheets you knew fat ma was tired so were you but dick by eren? a fine desert. “it hurts?~ want me to take some out hm~?”

shaking your head no because the feeling of being full was the bestt. it hurted but feel so goodd he was hitting the right spots, and quite frankly you didn’t give a fuck if that punani was tired she was gone take it. “noo~!! keep going~” eren smirked and pulled out slapping his tip repeatedly on your slit yet again. automatically you backed your ass up on him chasing the dick “put it back~ put it back~ put it back-”

mid rant eren shoved it back in gave them deep thrusts only, gripping them seats and shoving your head and the pillow yelping into it feeling like your about to come again. this time it felt so hard pressing against your stomach, it felt like you were going to pee. reeling your hand back pushing eren out and right when he was about to protest he’s met with a fountain of high spraying going out your cunt, you were squirting again but this time it was getting everywhere.

“u-u-uhhh uhhh~!! itss- AH SHITT~!!! ERENNN~!!” you didn’t even know what you were moaning out for but you knew your pussy was going through it. it took a good minute for the spraying to stop then you finally laid till panting loudly. “wow. come here mama~”

laying flat on his back eren pulled your ass to his face then stool his tongue out lapping at your folds. rolling your eyes back in your head you gripped on his thighs leaving scratch marks into them, you even broke your nail ! eren was having the time of his life back there even shaking his head side to side and giving a couple slaps to it, lifting up off his mouth when you felt like you were going to cum yet again and trying to move up, eren yanked you back and going back at it he even added a couple fingers into thrusting them harshly to bring you to your brink faster. clenching your thighs you screamed out and sprayed a bit all over his face then laid still.

“b-brownie~..” eren rubbed your face and kissed the side of your cheek “we were done anyways mama~” laying you down on top of him while giving you praises and upmost love “you lucky that dick good I would’ve pimped yo ass” mumbling out as he snuggled onto him, letting out a small moan when you felt eren slide in two fingers again “oh yeah~? you wanna keep trying me~?” “okayy okayy!!” sliding them out and sucking his fingers eren smiled.

“that’s what I thought.”

[millenialfanfictionaddiction]

Comparing you to their Ex girlfriend

Kiyoomi Sakusa x Fem! reader; Atsumu Miya x Fem! Reader

Warnings: toxic behavior, swearing, Sakusa and Atsumu being big ole jerks, mention of ex’s, angst to comfort

AN: because I enjoy pain : D

Sakusa

Dating life had been pretty dull before you met MSBY’s famed spiker, Kiyoomi Sakusa. It had taken awhile to get to know him. He was a guarded and rather brass individual, not talking much to anyone outside his small circle. However after weeks of trying and being rejected, you finally were able to break thought his defensive walls. He had finally given you a chance.

Now, almost a year later, you and Kiyoomi had a well established routine. It had taken a while to figure out each other quirks, but soon you were able to function as one unit, living your lives both independently and cohesively.

However, one thing you struggled continuously to get use to was Kiyoomi’s high standards of cleanliness. No matter how hard you tried, you never were able to keep up. You knew it was a big reason why Kiyoomi and you hadn’t taken the next step in your relationship, why you hadn’t yet moved in together. It was often a topic of discussion and many times arguments. Your disagreement’s were never fully settled as you both always managed to run out of steam, knowing this was an issue that wouldn’t be quickly resolved.

You tried you hardest, watching his routine and replicating it as best as you could but it was still never enough for him. Despite all this, you loved and adored Kiyoomi and wanted nothing more than the spend the rest of your life with him.

One night, you were sitting on his couch while you watched a movie. He had been at practice all day and you had just gotten off of work. You spent most of you time at his place, knowing perfectly well that he preferred it. While it was inconvenient at times, you kept clothes and the essentials at his place to make mornings and weekends a little easier.

“They are redoing carpeting in the hallway this week,” Kiyoomi spoke as you looked at him. You knew he had been hoping management would upgrade for a while now so you were thrilled.

“I’m glad! I know you’ve wanted this for a while. You always complain about the stains and stuff so it’s good that they are finally taking notice,” you said as he hummed in agreement.

“Yeah but I’ll have to stay in a hotel for a few days because I won’t be able to have access to my apartment so that kind of sucks.”

You didn’t see this as an inconvenience but rather as an opportunity. You had been waiting to show Kiyoomi how you’ve improved your cleaning skills and you were certain that they were beyond up to his standards.

“You know, you could just stay with me?” You spoke as Kiyoomi looked at you, smiling and then chuckling. Confused, your brows furrowed as you waited for him to speak.

“No offense sweetie but I’ve seen your cleaning skills and I think I’ll take my chances at a hotel,” he laughed. You sat up, looking at him as he stared.

“Omi I’ve been working my butt off to keep my place clean. I do everything you asked and I’ve been keeping in mind the things you taught me,” you said as Kiyoomis face fell. He could tell you were serious.

“YN it’s ok. Cleaning isn’t everyone’s strong suit and it’s obviously not yours,” he replied as you stood up, offended by his words.

“I’m trying my hardest Kiyoomi! I come home, exhausted everyday and I clean. Then, instead of relaxing, I drive over here and spend my nights with you because I know you are more comfortable in your own environment!” You shout as Kiyoomi rolls his eyes m, standing up and walking past you.

“YN you are making a huge deal of this again, we’ve been over this!” He spoke going into the kitchen and plgrabbing his cleaning supplies. You knew he cleaned when he was stress, it wasn’t like his normal routine.

“Omi I’m not trying to-”

“YN just shut up ok?! Just shut up! It’s always something with you! This is always a fight and I’m sick of it! If you were half as good as Becca was at cleaning we’d already be living together!” He growled as you froze, you mouth falling slack as you body went cold. How could he? How could he bring her up? Of everything he could have said, how could he have stooped so low.

You straightened you back, tears filling your eyes as you heart began to crumble, “I’ll never be good enough for you will I Kiyoomi?” Turning on your heels, you grabbed your purse and shoes, walking out the front door.

Leaning on the counter, his anger began to grow, not at you but at himself. He couldn’t believe she had come to his mind, someone he hadn’t thought about in years. Becca had been his high school sweetheart, and he thought she was it. Unfortunately, schedules clashed and his life as a pro-volleyball superstar skyrocketed. He found less and less time for her and she had grown sick of it. Before he knew it, he had come home to an empty apartment, he spare key on the counter with a note that simply rid, “I fell out of love with you.” That was the last Tim he had seen or heard from her again. He figured she’d moved on, found someone who was worthy of her time.

The breakup had broken him in more ways than he carried to admit. He became more reclusive, pulling away from friends and family. He got in the habit of being alone, functioning without someone at his side. That all changed when he met you. You were gorgeous, funny and so outgoing. He immediately found himself attracted to you but he was scared, scare of his heart being broken again, scared he would lose something so precious.

You continued to peruse him, despite his desperate attempts to keep you away. He wanted to be with you, wanted to move on but his fear of being left alone was paralyzing. Finally, he relented and went on a date with you. Soon one turned into two and then three and then six. Your relationship happened effortlessly and he enjoyed every minute of it. He knew he loved you, knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you but he was afraid to make that next step so he kept you at bay with his ridiculous cleaning demands. He knew they were outrageous and over the top but they protected him, they protected his heart.

He stood there, once again in silence as his breathe began to hitch. He had done it again, he had driven the person he lived away. His arms fell to his side as he reached for his phone. He pulled up your contact information and hit the dial button.

The phone rang and rang as you ignored it. You knew Kiyoomi was calling but you couldn’t bare speaking to him, you curled up in your freshly made bed as your tears overwhelmed you. The pain of her name imprinted on your brain as you sobbed.

Kiyoomi had told you about Becca, he had told you why she had left. You knew he was guarded and you were determined to do whatever you could to fix it. You hated how broken he was, how he felt he couldn’t trust anyone. It was a big reason as to why you worked your hardest to live up to his standards, thinking maybe, just maybe, he would let his guard down.

“You’re such an idiot Yn,” you cried as you covered your head up and sobbed deeply.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Atsumu answered as Kiyoomi stood in his kitchen, taking his hand down his face. He had messed up and in a bad way.

“I really fucked update with Yn Sumu. She left and I don’t think she’s coming back,” he murmured into the phone.

“What happened? Did she finally have enough of your bullshit demands?” Atsumu laughed as Kiyoomi sighed.

“We got into a fight because she wanted to me stay with her while my apartment was getting some work done. I thought she was joking but she wasn’t and I kind of threw Becca in her face.”

“You did what??? You asshole!” Atsumu shouted as Kiyoomi pulled the phone away from his ear, “I mean come on dude, YN has been dealing with your bullshit for almost a year now! She does everything you ask of her and all she wants is for you to see that. I think she’s more than shown you she can handle your ridiculous standards dude. Plus she’s probably the most patient woman I’ve ever seen. I mean, literally dealing with you is just as bad as emo Bokuto!”

Kiyoomi didn’t answer because he knew what Atsumu was saying was true. He knew his standards were high and that in a lot of ways, they were just a guard.

“You know she loves you right? She’s not going anywhere Omi. She chased you down for months and she’s stood by you for almost a year, she’s not leaving dude,” Atsumu spoke softly as a tear rolled down kiyoomi’s cheek.

“I think I need to talk to her,” he responded as he heard Atsumu mutter an “mmhmm” before hanging up. He grabbed his keys, locking up before making his way to your apartment.

You groaned as the knocking on your door became obsessive. You had absolutely no intention on answering the door in the state you were in but the person had continued to knock for well over 20 minutes.

With mascara running down your cheeks and you hair in disarray, you made your way to the front door, checking the peephole before opening it.

You saw Kiyooni on the other side, looking visibly upset. Unlocking the door, you swung it open as the smell of cleaning products wafted, hitting his nose smack in the face.

“What do you want?” You growled as Kiyoomi stood there taking you in. You looked like you had been crying, no doubt because of him and his actions. Your face was flush and your hair a complete disaster. Still, you looked absolutely breathtaking to him.

“Can-can I come in?” He questioned, rubbing the back of his head as you turned and headed towards the living room.

“Take your shoes off at least,” you said as Kiyoomi looked around. Your apartment was immaculately kept, everything clean and in its place. Dare he say, it may have even been cleaner than his own place.

Having slipped his shoes off, he headed to the couch. You had sat in the arm chair, indicating you didn’t want to be close to him. He couldn’t really blame you for that.

“I can to apologize Yn. I’m really sorry for everything I said, for how hard I’ve been on you. Honestly, I don’t have an excuse at this point. I’ve been a complete asshole to you. I’ve set my standards and walls so high that I was sure you’d never reach them and every time you did, it kind of freaked me out. I was scared of losing you like I lost her. I was scared of how much I loved you and how much I came to need you in my life. I know you don’t have to forgive me and I don’t expect you too but I just wanted you to know how sorry I am and how much I really do love you.”

Tears fell as you listened to him speak. You knew he was guarded but this was a whole new level. Tears streamed down your cheeks as your eyes met his, “I love you Kiyoomi and all I’ve ever tried to do was show you that. I know how important volleyball is to you and what happened with your ex but I’m not her. I’m not going to to fall out of love with you because your passionate about volleyball.”

Kiyoomi watched you as tears fell, he knew you were being sincere and that you cared for him. He stood up, walking over to you and kneeling in front of you, “YN, I love you and I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I said those things and pushed you away. I’m sorry I ever gave you a chance or agreed to come stay with you. I shouldn’t have compared you to her. There is nothing to compare Yn, I love you so so much more than I ever loved her and I hope you can find it in your heart o forgive me.”

You smiled softly as you hand went to rest on his cheek, whiling a stray tear as it flowed down, “I forgive you Kiyoomi and I love you so much.”

Atsumu

Your relationship with Atsumu was an interesting one. When you first met him, you thought he was rather arrogant and annoying, not usually someone you’d date. However the more you got to know him, the more he grew on you, leading to your now 6 month long relationship. Sure it had its ups and downs but you were so in love with the un-toned blonde setter.

Atsumu and you both had extreme personalities, which was a double edged sword in your relationship. You both were extremely passionate and loving towards each other but when you fought, oh boy was it a show.

You didn’t fight a lot, usually only when things got serious or you got annoyed with his normal stupidity. You both had separate lives, somehow managing to cohesively combine them to fit each other.

Both being workaholics, you struggled sometimes to find time for each other. Atsumu was at the gym for long hours and you were at your office for equally as long but you always made weekly dates and kept your relationship fresh.

This week, it was your turn to plan your weekly date. Unfortunately for you, you’d been not only extremely run down at work but your period had just started and you weren’t feeling the best. You decided that it would be ok to keep it low key for one week since you usually always went all out. You’d order take out and watch a movie, it was simple but you knew the point of date was to spend time with your man.

When Sumu came home, he noticed you in your pajama’s chilling on the couch as you smiled at him. He looked at you, confused as to why you weren’t ready to go out. “Uh babe, we have date night tonight remember?” He said, removing his shoes and setting his bag down. He had been busy at the gym, exhausted from all the extra work he had been putting in. He was looking forward to going out, enjoying the town and spending time with his girl.

“I thought we could switch things up once! I was going to order take out and figured we could rent a movie,” you smiled as his face fell. You looked at him as he stared at you, wondering why his expression had all of a sudden turned sour

“Babe we always go out. I was looking forward to not being at home,” he complained as you stood up, walking over to him. You could tell he was growing agitated but maybe if you explained then he’d be ok.

“Sumu, I’m dead tired and my period came today-”

“Ok so take a midol or something! We can still go out Yn. You aren’t the only one on this relationship you know!?” he shouted as you reeled. What the actual fuck?

“Sumu what the hell?!? I planned a nice night in because I don’t feel well and you tell me to just take some pills and get over it?”

“It honestly sounds like you were just being lazy Yn. It’s not like it takes that much effort to make reservations or put a little makeup on. I mean you do it everyday for your coworkers so you should be able to do it for your boyfriend!” He shouted as you began growing angry.

“Well I’m fucking sorry for having a uterus Sumu! Heaven forbid I ever fucking inconvenience you with my bleeding and exhaustion but oh wait, I forgot, I’m not perfect like you!” You screamed back as he glared.

“You know, Layla never bothered me with shit like this Yn, she knew exactly what I wanted and she never argued with me!” He spat as you stared at him, mouth agape.

How fucking dare he bring her up? Layla, his perfect ex girlfriend who was a model and absolutely drop dead gorgeous. He knew bringing up her was a low blow and he didn’t even care.

“Well then, why don’t you go back to Layla then if I’m such an inconvenience,” you murmured, standing your ground.

“Maybe I will!” He shouted, grabbing his gym bag, slipping his shoes on and walking out the front door.

It took a moment, just a minute to sink in before your whole world came crashing down. Your hands flew to your mouth as you began to shake, tears threatening to spill as you quickly turned and headed to the bedroom.

You cried as you grabbed your overnight bag and began throwing clothes in it. You couldn’t believe he had said that. How could he possibly stoop so low. Of all the people, why did it have to be her? Your chest stung as you leave with the bare minimum, throwing your purse over your shoulder and grabbing your keys as you frantically made your way to the front door.

You had to get out of here, you couldn’t stay here. Not in this place, not surrounded by pictures of the two of you and definitely not as the afterburn of her name hit you. The thought of him seeking her out to comfort him chipped away at your heart, you couldn’t stomach the thought of Atsumu being with her again.

You turned, looking around one last time before leaving. The tears fell, gathering on your clothes and shoes. The heartbreak you were feeling immeasurable.

Groaning, Atsumu sat in his car thinking about the fight over and over again. He was pissed, fuming actually but surprising, it wasn’t at you. He only had himself to be angry at. He knew he overreacted, knew you didn’t deserve the shouting match he started.

He sighed, getting out of his car and knocking on his brothers door. Osamu answered, giving his twin a weird look.

“I thought tonight was date night?”

“YN and I had a fight,” he spoke as Osamu rolled his eyes.

“Of course you did,” he responded moving out of the way, “what happened in paradise now?”

“Well it was suppose to be date night and instead of planning a date, she decided it would be ok for us to just have takeout and watch a movie,” Atsumu reiterated as Samu stared at him.

“Ok and what’s wrong with that?”

“I wanted to go out but she said she wasn’t feeling good, her period or something. So I suggested she take midol-”

“Bro you didn’t?” Samu spoke, eyes widening as Atsumu stared at him.

“I mean, I guess it was kind of rude but dude I want to go out, I want to do stuff!”

“Ok but maybe Yn wasn’t feeling good. Date nights aren’t about going out, it’s about spending time together,” Samu replied.

“Yeah I guess so,” Atsumu said, thinking back to the conversation, “fuck I said something else too. Something kind of mean.”

Osamu looked at him as Atsumu raked his hands through his hair, “what did you say?”

“Fuck- I fuck! I compared her to Layla,” Sumu said, collapsing on his brothers couch.

“You compared Yn, sweet Yn, to that cunt? Dude she was such a fucking bitch and she cheated on you! What the fuck is wrong with you?” Osamu shouted as Atsumu sat down, hands going straight to his hair.

“I know I know man! Fuck I was just so upset about not going out and I- I guess I overreacted.”

“You think? God Sumu you are so stupid! YN is literally the best thing that ever happened to you! Do you realize how fucking annoying you are to deal with? How much YN puts up with? Do you remember when you found out Layla was cheating? God you were the literal worst! Sakusa, heck even Meian, couldn’t handle you!” Atsumu’s hands went down to his knees as he contemplated everything he had been through.

Atsumu had been single for almost a year when he had first laid eyes on you. After Layla had cheated, he had stuck to mostly one night stands. While they weren’t in short supply, he missed the connection of having someone to care for and love.

The first time he saw you was at a bar, dressed in a skin tight outfit he couldn’t remove from his mind. His plans for you started out like all his other plans but immediately changed when you flatly turned him down. He’ll never forget the look you gave him and the giggle followed by the words, “not in your lifetime big guy.” Those words, the look you gave him were definitely what first attracted him to you and after chasing you for months, he finally wore you down enough for a date.

He was utterly broken after his ex had left, crushed by the weight of feeling not good enough. He didn’t want that to ever happen again which is why he kept all potential flings at a distance m, never bringing them to his apartment and never bothering to learn their names, but when you came into his life, that all changed. He learned that he could love again and that not all women were like Layla.

Atsumu stood up, walking to Osamu’s door and exiting. He knew exactly what he needed to do. He needed to grovel at your feet, beg for forgiveness and pray that you’d find it in your amazing heart to forgive him.

Arriving at your shared apartment, he ran upstairs grabbing the door handle and pushing it, only it was locked. His eyes widened as he again pushed on the knob. Why was the door locked? Did you not expect him to come home tonight? The words hit him like a ton of bricks.

“Well then maybe you should go back to Layla!”

“Maybe I will!”

“Shit shit!” He whispered as he quickly grabbed his keys and unlocked the door, pushing in as fast as he could. The apartment was dark and quiet, something he wasn’t use to.

“YN!! YN!! Baby where are you?!”

He searched the entire apartment, frantically looking for any sign of you. He stopped, his breathe hitching as his mind wandered to the worst.

“No no! Please tell me she didn’t!?” He yelled, running to the closet in your bedroom and throwing it open. The blood drained from his face and his eyes began to water as he slowly backed up. Your suitcase was gone, some of your clothes also.

Scrambling quickly, he ran to his phone on the counter and quickly found your number. “Come on baby, pick up!” He whispered.

“Hello?” You answered, somber in tone and sounding like you had been crying.

“Baby? Oh thank god! Where are you? I came home and you were gone, I was so worried!” He sighed, feeling a little relieved that you actually answered his call.

“Why don’t you go back to Layla? I’m sure she can console you!” You spat as Atsumu whinced. Ok, he deserved that, he definitely deserved that.

“Baby, listen I just want to talk ok? I know I fucked up and I’m so sorry Yn. I know I overreacted and I know my words don’t makeup for what I said but I love you Yn. You are the one I want, the one who helped me to trust again. Please Yn, baby come home,” Atsumu sobbed as you sighed.

“I’m sorry Sumu but I’m not going to come home tonight or for a while. What you said was so hurtful and low. You didn’t think of anyone but yourself Sumu. I told you I wasn’t feeling well, that I was exhausted and you told me to take some medicine and suck it up! Then on top of that, you threw her fucking name in my face! You don’t know how fucking much that shattered me Sumu,” you cried, sucking in a breath as Atsumu listened. He knew he fucked up but this was by far the worst he’d ever messed up.

“Princess please, I know- I know I’m a fucking asshole and I should have never ever brought her up, I was mad and I let me anger get the better of me. Just please, please can we talk about this?” He pleaded into the phone, tears running down his cheeks.

“I’ll talk to you later Sumu,” you sighed, hanging up as Atsumu collapsed to his knees, his body shaking as he tried to process everything. You were gone, really gone.

The next morning, your phone rang as you sighed, bracing for another phone call from Atsumu. You picked up the phone, looking at the caller id as your brows furrowed.

“Hello?” You said as Osamu’s voice filled the receiver.

“Hey Yn, uh I’m really sorry to bother you but Sakusa just called me, Atsumu didn’t show up for practice today. I can’t leave the restaurant right now or I’d go check on him but I was wondering if you were with him?”

You breathe stopped, your mind functioning of auto pilot as you raced from your hotel room to your car.

“YN is everything ok?” Osamu said sounding more panicked.

“I- I left Samu! I left him alone! Oh god, Samu I was so hurt by what he said! I got a hotel room and he called me last night. He told me how sorry he was and I told him I needed time! Oh my god what if something happened to him!”

You were sobbing as your tires squealed, your foot hitting the floor as you peeled out of the hotel parking lot. The tears rolled down your face as you heart sped up, your brain automatically going to the worst possible scenario.

“YN calm down ok? I’m sure he’s fine! Please don’t do anything irrational right now,” Sumu spoke, trying to calm you.

You couldn’t answer as you speed to your apartment, parking and throwing open the car door. You left Osamu shouting into your phone as you as you quickly raced to the door.

Ramming into your front door, you threw it open and we’re greeted with Atsumu standing there, staring at you.

“YN what the hell? Are you ok?” he said as you through your body into his, bracing as you sobbed into his chest.

“Osamu called me and said that you didn’t show up to practice! I thought about our conversation last night and oh god Sumu!” You cried into his chest as his arms wrapped around you, holding you close and rubbing your back.

“Baby, hey it’s ok. I’m ok? I texted Meian and told him I needed a day off. I just couldn’t get you off my mind and the thought of even trying to push you out just hurt,” he said, hugging you tight as his eyes began to well with tears.

“Baby I’m so so fucking sorry! I can’t believe I was so selfish. I know I don’t deserve you but YN, I love you more than anything. You are it for me, the only thing I ever want.”

You pulled back, eyes softening as you quickly placed a kiss on Atsumu’s lips, “Sumu what you said was mean and hurtful and you are the biggest jerk ever but I love you so much and the thought of losing you well, it crushed me more than anything.”

“I promise Yn, I’ll be better for you,” he smiled, leaning down and taking your lips once again.

[golden-boy-of-the-gazette]

Jed after a long day.

SFW pure fluff.

When Jed arrived home- at your home, you live separately because he insists upon it. "Don't want to intrude." He says even though he sleeps there nearly every night now. Anyway when he gets to your house after work he doesn't announce himself. You're busy cooking dinner, something simple, something easy and quick enough for anyone to do.

You don't hear him coming up behind you. He doesn't want you to. He whispers a small "Don't move." And it startles you of course, his voice husky and low directly into your ear where there once was silence. So obviously you flinch a bit and turn your head to look at him but he corrects you, using his left hand to reach around and put two fingers on your jaw to gently push your face back forward to focus you back on your cooking.

He moves his left hand to your waist, holding you gently while slipping his thumb into the waistband of your pants but not bothering whatsoever to go any further. This is where you turn off the burner on the stove and push the pan to the back burner. He moves his glasses to sit above his forehead before his right hand starts at the small of your back, his large calloused hand almost covering all of it. He slowly slips his fingers under your shirt. It's not malicious, you would know if it was. His right hand slides around to your front, resting in your stomach. He gives a little tug, thats all it took for him to pull you back flush to his front. He let's out the smallest sigh through his nose and hides his face in the crook of your neck.

"I made food." You murmur, to which you get an almost dismissive, deep grunt from Jed. You're quiet for a moment before asking, "You hungry? I can make you a plate?" He doesn't even answer. You feel him grimace, his nose scrunched and eyebrows furrowed at the thought. He felt more nauseated than anything. Then he slides his hand away from your hip and your stomach before he stands up straight, leaving cold to linger where he once was.

He doesn't say anything before walking over to the couch and plopping down, his left arm hanging over the side as of dragging against the floor. You were a little worried. He would usually at least tell you if he wasn't hungry. Usually he doesn't even know if he is hungry until he sees the food but this was no such case. You watched him lay on the couch, not bothering to even properly take his shoes off, simply putting the tip of his shoe above the heel and pushing them off as he smooshed his face into the cushion.

You tiptoe over, not wanting to bother him to much but he still hears you. He hears just about everything you do. You asked him how he could do that once and he didn't really respond. You now realize that he actually diverted the question at the time. His eyes flick up towards you as you kneel down beside him. He stares at you. It's almost chilling. You started to prefer when he couldn't keep his mouth shut. God, it seemed like he was hunting you. It also seemed like he was tired. You gently put your hand against his cheek, gently stroking it with your thumb. If he was surprised he didn't show it. He stopped staring at you, finally diverting his gaze to the couch cushion beneath him. He can tell you're going to ask a question. Its written all over the worry in your face. He seems annoyed by it but you never were able to figure out his emotions too well. Just as you open your mouth to speak he speaks first. "M'fine. Just tired." He paused for a moment. "Been a long day."

You get the feeling he doesn't want to talk about it. So instead you quietly ask, "Can I sit with you?" He sits quietly for a moment as if confused about your question before he sits up, about to sit up all the way until you stop him, putting one hand against his head and the other on his shoulder, encouragement to stay in his half sitting up and half laying down position he was in. Then you slid yourself onto the couch and promptly forced his head into your lap, not aggressively of course yet surprising him anyway.

He's silent for a good moment, pausing before scooching up closer to you. You take his glasses off his forehead and lean over him to set them on the coffee table, to which he is enthused to be pressed between your thighs and your stomach. You think you even see a smile tug at the corner of his lips. He moved his hand off of the floor and onto your knee, inching closer to your thigh. You run your hand through his hair and he let's out a heavy sigh. Looking at him reminds you of a dog really, you're sure if he had a tail it would be wagging stupidly right now.

You turn on the TV and sit there for a good while. Only halfway into a movie does he start talking about his day. You don't interrupt and instead respond with small hums of acknowledgement or inquiry unless prompted to respond. A "yeah?" Or two tossed in for good measure. He seemed to be feeling better after a while but not even two movies in and he's asleep? Snoring like he's never slept in his life. And in his defense he rarely does. You let him stay on the couch until you finally convince him to go to bed.

He doesn't care about you and probably never will but there are times where you make him think he does. There are times that you make it so he's not thinking at all. He's not thinking about murder for once. It's nice. For a moment. Until that itch comes back a moment later and actually feels like himself. It makes those moments pretty fuckin nice.

[wheredafandomat]

Pledge Allegiance

Prince! Loki x female reader

18+ | contains a little smut

“There’s a guest here for you, your majesty.” Your messenger spoke, averting his gaze as he entered the room.

“Who is this guest?” You questioned, glancing at him.

“He said he’s a prince, should I tell him to wait in the—” he began before you interrupted him.

“Send him in.” You instructed.

“You want me to send him in? Now?” He asked incredulously.

“I don’t take kindly to repeating myself.” You answered evenly.

“Yes your majesty, sorrows.” He apologised before turning around and leaving.

You turned back towards the court painter, the silence resuming as he continued to paint you before you heard the door opening.

“Hello silvertongue.” You welcomed coyly as Loki stepped inside. His gaze darkened a shade as he took you in, laying sideways on the chaise lounge, nude, a thin layer of silk draped across your lower body shielding your modesty as you looked up at him.

“Y/n.” He greeted fondly, gaze meeting yours again as he stepped towards you before crouching down and taking your hand. “My queen.” He added, kissing the back of your hand before lowering it. You nodded chastely in reply as he stood again.

“And pray tell, how may I help you?” You queried.

“I’d prefer to speak in the absence of doting ears.” He answered, clearly gesturing to the other person in the room.

“Well you heard the man, he’s a prince” you turned to the court painter “make haste.” You ordered, flicking your wrist before the man scampered out. Turning back towards Loki, you picked up the grapes that were propped up in front of you. “Loki, would you like a grape?” You offered with a smile as you ate one. “I tend to grow quite peckish myself when posing for portraits” you spoke, eating another “and then these are just here, teasing me.” You snorted. Lifting one of your fingers, you gestured Loki closer before grabbing another grape with your free hand. Instead of crouching, Loki knelt in front of you as you fed him the grape with a wide smile on your face.

“How succulent” he complimented, looking deeply into your eyes once he finished the grape “a refreshing burst of sweetness.” He grinned.

“Now, away from flibbertigibbets, tell me what’s so important that you mustered up the dark energy needed to come here, surely it wasn’t just to pay me a visit.” You insisted.

“Can I not just simply visit you?” He answered bashfully.

“No.” You smiled as Loki stood up again.

“What’s so far-fetched about me coming here and paying a visit to the queen of a realm once promised to me?” Loki shot back, seemingly walking towards your unfinished portrait.

“What do you want?” You asked, smile falling.

“I remember when it used to only be me who painted you undraped, I was the only one you’d let see you so unclad” Loki reminisced as he looked at the painting “but I must admit, your court painter has done a splendid job at capturing your beauty y/n.”

“I could get him to paint you next, I’m sure he’ll be able to capture those sleepless nights under your eyes.” You snapped, sitting up as you pulled a silk robe around you.

“And she bites.” Loki smirked, turning towards you.

“Oh, I can do a lot more than just bite.” You answered, narrowing your gaze.

“Yes” he agreed “I seem to recall many of those sleepless nights were spent with you.”

“What do you want Loki?” You asked, looking up at him. Walking towards you, Loki stood in front of you, raising his hand to caress your cheek as he looked down into your eyes. Wordlessly, his thumb found your lips, circling them before he dragged his thumb down, your lips moving in the process before they were released, his thumb travelling lower. It ventured between the valley of your breasts and lower as Loki knelt back onto the floor.

“I find this more appropriate, a queen shouldn’t look up at a prince, especially not in her own realm.” He finally broke the silence.

“Even in a realm you insist you gifted me.” You spat.

“I did gift it to you.”

“I bested you.” You insisted.

“Did you?” He questioned, kissing one of your knees, lips travelling up your legs. Using one of his hands, Loki pushed them apart as he kissed your inner thighs. “Or did I let you win?”

Before you could even answer, your hands had curled into fists, fists that bored into the chaise lounge below you as you arched your back towards Loki, his name escaping your lips in a lewd moan. You moved further to the edge as Loki’s tongue ravished through your folds before his lips wrapped around your clit. One of your hands found the back of his head, fingers working through the knots in his hair as he suckled against your clit leaving you thoroughly pleasured.

“We are at war y/n.” He spoke between licks, not even lifting his head to speak.

“W-war?” You questioned, head thrown back with your eyes closed.

“Yes, a very real, a very merciless war.” He stated, lips smoothing over your clit as he spoke.

“And what can I do?” You asked, looking down at him. Without answering, Loki engulfed the bundle of nerves with his mouth again, making you moan out loud.

“There are two things” he began before you nodded “first, you could finish” he grinned, glancing up at you “refresh me with another burst of sweetness.”

“Loki” you sighed with rapture as he alternated between licking and sucking your clit. You could feel the pleasure swelling in your abdomen as he continued his victimless torture before your delight gushed out of you. Loki continued, slowly licking you until you pushed him away. Sitting back against the chaise, you tried to compose yourself as Loki stood. You closed your legs as you looked at him, wiping his face.

“And now I’m looking up at you again.” You noted.

“Secondly, I need your allegiance.” Loki answered seriously.

“My allegiance?”

“Yes.” He nodded.

“Was it not you who cursed me to an eternity by your side?”

“I simply saved your life.” He shrugged.

“Exactly, you saved my life. There’s no war where I fight against you Loki.” You assured as he crouched down again.

“Do you promise?”

“I promise” you nodded “do you want me to swear on it like when we were children?” You chuckled.

“Your word is enough.” He smiled, kissing the corner of your mouth. Turning your head, you captured Loki’s lips in a proper kiss, an uncouth one. It didn’t take long for him to join you on the chaise lounge, below you, holding you down against him as he lifted his hips, fucking up into you.

My favourite genre: random drabble 😂

Tags:

@lokisgoodgirl @thenotoriouserg @chantsdemarins @donaweasley @xorpsbane @mcufan72 @loz-3 @evelyn-kingsley @sailorholly @lovingchoices14 @lokiedokiee @noideakitten @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @lokiprompts @lulubelle814 @fictive-sl0th @peaches1958 @gigglingtiggerv2 @tmilover1993 @lyds247 @dustychinchilla74 @lokis-dark-queen @november-rayne @12-pm-510 @vickie5546 @newtomofgods @eyesbluelikethetitanic @lokiestorch @somewhereinthegalaxi @beautyb1ade @angelilacsworld @lokidokieokie @mushypork @iamlokisgloriouspurpose

[cilil]

Ok, listen… what about Mairon taking dick for the first time…

I would prefer if the reader is gentle at first, but then Mairon demands him to go faster. The reader is a soft dom, but doesn’t talk too much during sex. (Bonus if he has a big dick)

If you’re uncomfortable doing this, I completely understand. No pressure :)

AN: Thank you for the prompt and apologies it took so long. I took some time to give this some thought because I wanted to (hopefully) make it good and when I was finally inspired I had to put the fic aside after a third or so due to exams. I hope you enjoy my take on this :)

Pairing: Mairon x male!reader (2nd person POV) Synopsis: Mairon has recently taken you as his lover and now has an unusual request - he wants you to take him Featuring: Soft dom/service top reader, pushy bottom Mairon, first time bottoming, sex toys (briefly), fingering, anal sex Warning(s): Smut, explicit Oneshot (~1.65k words)

"Are you sure you want to try this?" 

You look at him quizzically, resting next to him on his luxurious divan, propped up on your forearm. 

"Of course I am." Mairon smiles. His lilting, chuckling tone suggests that he finds your concern amusing. "Have you no faith in the strength and capability of my fána?" 

"I do," you reply without hesitation. It's the truth, you know well how powerful he is, yet when you look at his elegant, slender figure, you can't help thinking how awful it would feel to accidentally hurt him. 

Mairon traces the rim of the goblet of wine he's been holding with his index finger. Your eyes follow the movement. 

"I know what I want and how I want it," he says in a low voice. "So when I ask you to take me, I mean it." 

You nod. Your mouth suddenly feels dry and your tongue too clumsy to respond, but it's prickling excitement rather than paralysing fear or any other unpleasant emotion. The thought, now that you allow it to unfold in your mind, is tempting. 

"Will you do as I ask then?" 

You nod again. Of course you will. And you will do your best to ensure that he isn't displeased with you. 

"Good." Mairon leans forward to peck your lips, then pushes his goblet into your hand — a silent order. Dutifully, you take it and roll over to deposit it on the nearest table. 

You hear the sound of fabric. When you turn back around, he has already undone the sash holding his satin robes in place and is in the process of undressing himself. No need for frivolous pleasantries, no waste of time. 

Mairon leans on his forearms and lets his head fall back. In the flickering, warm light coming from the fireplace his skin looks like it's made of pure gold, as if he himself was a marvellous piece of art rather than a living, breathing being, and you take a moment to simply admire him. 

In spite of him not facing you, you feel his gaze on you. Maybe he placed his third eye in the fireplace or a candle flame somewhere, you can never be quite sure. 

"Well? Are you going to sit there and stare or..." Mairon trails off, spreading his legs invitingly. 

He has a way of maintaining control even when he puts himself in positions others might consider submissive. 

You clear your throat in an attempt to regain your ability to speak. "Do you have any oil on you? I need–" 

"Left pocket," he cuts you off. 

Bowing your head, you move to sit between his legs and search his half-discarded robe as you've been told. Indeed, there is a tiny flask of oil in his pocket, but when you bend down and push his legs back, you discover a fine ruby between his cheeks, decorating the end of what you presume to be a toy stuck inside him. 

"I did some preparations on my own," Mairon comments on your discovery. His voice is calm and casual, as if you were discussing minor business or idle gossip instead of sex toys. 

"I'll just make sure you're comfortable, if that's alright," you mumble in response. 

He lets you. When you pull out the toy, you notice that he's as tight as you suspected, but relaxed and well-oiled. Dutifully, you pour a little more oil on two fingers and push inside, finding little resistance. Still, he could use more stretching if he's going to take your cock. 

Mairon watches you, only letting out tiny noises of enjoyment as you go deeper and start scissoring him. You pay attention to the movements of his muscles and the way he clenches and unclenches around you, mindful of any tension you feel. Despite his inexperience with receiving his partner, his control over his fána is impeccable. 

"I should perhaps remind you that I am no fragile incarnate," Mairon says after a few minutes. 

"Sorry. It's just... you see..." You bite your lip and blush. The truth is that you are rather well endowed, something you have become aware of after past experiences and learned to pay attention to with your partners. 

"See what?" Mairon smirks. "Why not show me?" 

You get the feeling that he knows. Maybe it's precisely the reason he chose you as one of his lovers. Nevertheless, you obediently proceed to take off your clothes. Your cock is already hardening, reacting to the delightful sensation of your fingers knuckle-deep inside a gorgeous Maia. 

Mairon stares shamelessly. You even believe to see greed flaring up in his golden eyes. 

"Sorry if–" 

"I want it like that." He spreads his legs wider. "Now give it to me, precious." 

"Y-yes." 

You take a moment to breathe, yet don't dare delay any longer; not only because it's an order, but also because you are eager to do exactly what he's asking for. 

The first thing you feel is heat. For a moment you fear Mairon could burn you, but there is no pain. You begin to feel as though it could be pleasant once you adjust to it. 

"Go on." 

You nod. The second thing you feel is how tight he is, despite your best efforts, though it doesn't seem to cause him any discomfort. Mairon keeps his eyes on you when you push deeper, half-lidded and glowing with simmering pleasure. His lips part ever so slightly, but he makes no sound; you haven't earned it yet, you know. 

Wishing to please your lover, you kiss him instead — a promise, perhaps mixed with an apology. Mairon is not impossible to please, but not easily either. 

He wraps his legs around you and allows himself to sink into his pillows. What he wants is clear, and you don't even need the gentle pressure of his heel against your back to spur you on, though the gesture is welcome. When you lean forward, get on top of him, place your arms at his sides and sink both with and into him, you truly feel it. You are fucking this beautiful creature, and he wants you. The thought is exhilarating, maddening. Your hips begin to move before you know it. 

Mairon's eyelids flutter, and you observe him well, even as you give in to your growing desire. He's content with slow, careful thrusts for a while, enjoying the feeling of your cock filling him again and again, then he speaks up.

"Harder," he commands, "faster." 

You nod. You are no longer at a point where you have the focus or patience to ask if he's sure, and neither does he, you can sense it. Obediently, you increase the speed and vigour of your movements and marvel at how well he takes you, how good he feels, how hot and beautiful and perfect he is. Being taken by you for the first time doesn't prevent Mairon from performing well in his new role, from being as admirable as ever. 

He wraps his legs around you more tightly, pulling you in. You understand — deeper. Shifting your weight onto your knees, you reach for his hips and thighs, angle them to go deeper. Part of you briefly worries that it might cause discomfort, then you hear Mairon moan, long and indulgent. It encourages you to keep holding on to him like this and thrust as hard, fast and deep as you can. 

You intend to keep doing so even if your hips give out. The tight heat of his fána ever tempts you, burning away any exhaustion you may have felt. 

The greater challenge is to last. You wonder, for a second or so, if you are allowed to spill inside, but Mairon hasn't told you otherwise and says nothing whenever your cock twitches inside him — and you know he feels it, you can see him smile and hear him moan whenever it does. Proud and pleased with himself. Even his arrogance is sexy. 

The thought of filling him with your seed as you do with your cock pleases you. He is yours, for a few precious moments at least. But you know Mairon wants this to last, wants to enjoy himself thoroughly. He expects you to give him your best, like he has done for you; even if perfection seems almost effortless on him. 

You do your best to hold on. Focus on the flow of your movements instead of his voice, instead of the maddening pleasure, instead of him. You give it your all, and it works for a time, until exhaustion erodes your barriers and lust floods all your senses and you come with a small grunt. It feels as though Mairon clenches around you with feverish greed, taking all you have, not relenting before you have given it to him. 

Only then his fána lets you go. 

You sit back on your heels and attempt to catch your breath, lest you collapse on top of him like a stag with an arrow in its chest. 

Mairon has closed his eyes for a moment, looking almost peaceful. You see pearly droplets glistening all over his stomach; not even he managed to escape your climax and came with you. Pride makes your chest swell — you succeeded. You pleased him. 

His legs release your hips and drop to the bed. He keeps them spread, allowing you to watch as seed trickles out of him.

"Well done, precious," he purrs. "You may now leave."

"Shouldn't I take care of you first?" you ask. 

"My attendants will see to it." 

You bow your head, accepting his decision. Perhaps, you muse, his decision to let you take him was a first step, a sign of trust, and you will be allowed to care for him and spend the night if he has need for you again in the future. 

Perhaps it wouldn't be entirely foolish to look forward to it. 

 ˚ ੈ✧̣̇·˖ 　˚ .　　　✶ ˚　　✦　. 　 ˚　.　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　.  ˚　

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist:

@angbangbaby @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @uruk-thighs @bluezenzennie @destinyeternity1

@edensrose @elanna-elrondiel @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human

@numenhore @sauron-kraut @urwendii @wandererindreams

[syllvane]

soldier, poet, king - tolya yul-bataar x reader

a/n: reader is sister of nikolai, feminine pronouns are used but no physical characteristics are ever described. ty for all of the love <3

Your brother would fire him if he found out that you had even considered Tolya in a romantic way. Not out of any disdain for him- out of anyone you could have grown fondness for, you were sure that Nikolai would prefer Tolya over the numerous suitors that waited for you back at Os Alta, but out of a protectiveness of you, as if you weren't perfectly capable of taking care of yourself.

“What are you thinking about?” Tamar asked, leaning against the wooden side of the ship, bright eyes looking at you.

”Nothing.”

“You know I can tell when you're lying.”

”When has that ever stopped me?”

Tamar scoffed, a smile pulling at the edges of her lips.

“Never,” She said, her eyes shining. “I don't know why I even ask, your heart only beats like that when you're thinking about my brother.”

Your heart jumped and Tamar let out another breathy laugh, feeling it without any effort.

“Too easy.” She said smugly and you rolled your eyes.

“Not funny.”

“Speak for yourself, moya tsarevna.” She said and you cringed at the title.

“As soon as Nik becomes king, I’m banning you from using that title.”

“Not Tolya though?” She asked, raising an eyebrow and gave her a look.

“I’m going to push you off this boat.”

A firm arm went around your shoulders, startling you and from the other side of you, Tolya grinned down at you.

“Now you know I love you, but why are you threatening to throw my sister off the boat?” He asked jokingly and you prayed to every Saint that your heart wasn’t going as fast as you felt it was.

You looked at Tamar and instantly regretted it, barely contained laughter on her lips.

“As first mate, I demand it.” You said stoically in response, a small smile on your lips and Tolya raised his eyebrows, removing his arm from your shoulder.

“Well, we should at least run it by Sturmhond.” 

“Oh who are we kidding, he’d choose you over me everyday.” You joked, able to relax more now that you weren’t in direct contact with Tolya.

“I’ll choose you then.” Tolya said and your smile softened at the sweetness of the sentiment.

“Spoken like a poet.” Tamar teased and Tolya scoffed, but beamed at the accusation.

“Do you think you would be happy, living a life like the one Nikolai and I had?”

“Back in the castle?” Tolya asked and you nodded. “I mean, I know you’re both going to go back eventually. Me and Tamar will be there as your guards.”

“Not as guards though, as… forget it, I’m just being silly.”

Tolya looked at you, studied for you for a moment with only the moonlight illuminating your features, peering off into seemingly endless sea.

“It’s not silly.” He said, moving so that he was ever so slightly closer to you. “I’ve never really thought about it before. Do you think I’d make a good noble?”

“No,” You answered quickly. “You’re too kindhearted. You’re too good.”

“So are you.” Tolya argued and you smiled.

“And I’m hardly the picture of good noble, I ran off with my older brother to play pirate- sorry privateer.”  You said. “I’ve always been a better soldier than princess, much to my mother’s dismay. I used to sneak off and follow Nikolai to his basic training instead of go to etiquette classes.”

Tolya snorted and you couldn’t help the smile that appeared on your face.

“I’m glad you skipped your etiquette classes, I like you how you are.”

Your heart jumped. Tolya looked over at you but didn’t say anything.

“Why do you ask? About me being a noble?” He pressed and you shook your head.

“As much as maybe me and Nik want it to, this can’t last forever. We have to go home at some point, him to try to take the throne that Vasily has never wanted, and me to sit around as set dressing, I suppose. To get married. I just… it really is silly, Tolya.” You said, standing up and preparing to walk away before he stood up and quickly caught your wrist, making you look at him.

“Tell me.” He said softly, letting go of your wrist. “Please.”

You took a step closer to him before grabbing his hand and putting it on the cloth covering your heart.

“Do you really not know?” You took a deep breath, painfully aware of how fast your heart was racing. “I’m not asking for marriage or anything like that, I’m asking… I don’t know what I’m asking.”

“May I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

His hands moved to your shoulders and he leaned down, pressing his lips against yours gently. He pulled away, his hands still on you.

“As long as you will have me, I will be here.”