#like even if it's a little bit IT'S STILL A BIT

[screampied]

RIDIN' DIRTY ?!

⋆˚. sum. you never realized how hot your local mechanic was until he had you arched and bent over your hood. spoiler fucking alert, you end up getting a different kind of pipe that’s of course free of charge just for you.

warnings. fem! reader, mechanic toji, unprotected, degradation, oral (f! receiving), spıt, breēding, shotgunning, fuckıng you on the hood, praise, manhandling, pússywhipped toji, size kink, biting, brief fıngering, petnames.

wc. 5.3k

an. ty kali for beta'ing some x

“she’s all done, ma’am,” your mechanic toji murmurs in a gruff voice, yanking back your stick shift before putting it in park. he drove it near the garage of his auto shop, a rounded plump cigarette sticking from the corner of his mouth. with a yawn departing from his lips, he eyes you up and down for a bit before removing his seatbelt. stepping out, he then towers over you by many, many staggering inches. his silhouette alone was intimidating, and you shift your dilated irises away once he cocks his head to your level. “still in pretty good shape. y’er model ain’t that old ‘n i think you should visit every few weeks.”

compressing your thighs together, you bury your purse underneath the pit of your arm. “oh, okay thank you sir,” and as he’s standing—you then take a good glimpse at the man in front of you. he’s handsome, sweaty, and covered in nothing but a slick sheet of grease. the more you gawk, the more you could see a bit of curly chest hair poke out against his skin. his broad chest, his perky pink nipples that poked-

“heh, darlin’ ya don’t gotta be so formal, y’know,” and your eyes darted toward his work cap that was slightly twisted. god, he was so attractive. he inches toward you closer, watching you struggle to keep composure before you think he’s gonna kiss you. so what do you do, you close your eyes. you close your fucking eyes, thinking he was gonna kiss you but instead, he places a hand on the hood of your car. “oh? silly girl, were you expectin’ something?”

“n- no.”

yeah, you were.

it was late at night, midnight, and everyone had clocked out for the day.

everyone except toji. he was a workaholic. you needed a last minute oil change and he was the only available one near by. he was about to close but made an exception. the auto shop has a cooling air surrounding the inside of the garage before you swallow. you can hear your saliva trail its way down your throat as you finally meet direct eye contact with the older man. “cute,” toji murmurs, and he’s not even touching you. he’s not even touching you but it felt like it. despite his teasing, you get hit face first with a strong waft of his scent. his cologne, you knew the exact type he was wearing. cheap, but long lasting against anyone’s nostrils who takes a first whiff. “it’s been a while since y’er last oil change though, i’d be lyin’ if i said i didn’t miss ya.”

with a quirk of a brow, you murmur up at him, deciding why not to play along. you knew he was most likely teasing but still. “you missed … me?”

“sure,” toji removes his baseball cap, fanning it against the sweat glistening off his bulging muscles that poke through his perfectly sculpted body. he was so fit, you couldn’t help but openly leer at his broad, intense figure. with a sly smile, he leans against your car before humming, taking another hit of his cigar. “not too many pretty faces show up ‘round here. besides, i didn’t forget about our little moment last time.”

your breath gets caught in the back of your throat.

he remembered,

he remembered the little incident the two of you shared. when you came for your last oil change and a battery repair, you also ended up sharing a kiss with toji. it was nothing more, nothing less.

but it was hot, having his tongue shoved down your throat with his big rough hands roaming along the sides of your body. being so pressed up against him, you felt yourself longing for more. in your city, toji was the best mechanic for miles. he we well known, quick, precise, and quite flirty.

you brought out the worst in him that day, and it annoyed you how the steamy, sultry kiss got interrupted by his boss. shiu … something, rich raven hair mirroring the same color as his worker.

“oh y- yeah.” you sheepishly mumble, feeling the tension through the air run thick. you loathed desperately how whenever you were around toji, your stammer would make an appearance. you hated it, it was so embarrassing and he ate it up everytime. toji’s sly gaze lowers and he titters at the cute pullover and skirt you wore before your own eyes trail toward his lips.

his lips,

they were naturally crooked — pink, and that damn slanted scar that remained to slash against the right side of his mouth. you peeped a bit of a growing stubble, but nevertheless he was always well trimmed. toji flashed a grin before he got way close to you. kneeling his head down, he whispers toward you. “oh y- yeah,” he mocks your trembling tone, and he was so close that his musk, his body heat radiates off you completely. “somethin’ tellin’ me you came here for more than just an oil change, that right, baby?”

your heart’s pulsing intensifies at his cunning words. always cutting straight to the chase. he’s so up close, his cologne’s just clogging up your nose by now before your thighs squeeze themselves shut. “yes.”

“yes what, darlin’?” and there’s a hint of jibe in his voice. the moment he grabs your chin gently, you’re ready to lose it right there. toji’s wearing mechanic gloves, the soft padded leather pulling down on your bottom lip playfully. with a coy head tilt, he purses your lips a bit more open. “ah, c’mon. use those pretty words, tell me what ya want.”

your legs, the crevices between them were already starting to slick with moisture.

oh, this couldn’t have been anymore embarrassing. as you meet his jade green eyes, you reply with a tone that comes out far more needy than you originally intended. “i want .. i want you, toji.”

there’s a frisky, playful glint in his eye—as well as the tiny crinkle forming at each twist of his facial expressions. “yeah you do,” and his words were pitched deep, so deep that the timbre lingering underneath his tone sends your spine shivers. “more than a kiss? i’ll hafta charge ya extra, heh.”

still . . it was humor in his voice, you knew he was joking but the heat purring between your thighs only grew. your body was screaming at you, it’s been a while since your last time anyway, the last time you’ve been touched. 

with a nod, murmuring out a faint little, “more than a kiss, ‘toj,” he snickers, closing the awkward distance between you two finally.

the moment his lips crash against yours, everything feels hot. scorching hot — similar to the sahara, his tongue being the water you needed to cool down. the leftover smoke and booze that lingered on his tongue was strong, the second it glided against your buds it tasted stronger. you could feel his smirk creeping against his lips before with two hands, he lifts you up, propping you to sit on the hood of your car. 

it was madly aggressive - teeth clashing, tongues twisting, one taste again and he was addicted.

he made sure to take out his cigarette before hand, squeezing it against his fingers as he’s gradually grinding his hips by you. it’s slow, you could feel his raging boner prod right through his work pants.

it was hard to miss, you couldn’t help but give him a few nosy peeks which he was working on your car to see if he was a packer and he definitely was.

sticky strands of his hair tickle against your forehead as he’s rutting right in you. a free hand makes its way onto your left thigh, slowly dancing his fingers amongst your skin. the moment your legs entrap his slim waist, locking around his torso, he grunts. both lashes were close to touching, breaths were becoming heavy, and you felt his tongue curl around yours. toji was a sloppy yet passionate kisser, and yet— he wanted his tongue to work in other ways. 

and it did, 

your jaw drops open as you’re laid flat on your back, staring at the man with his face shoved deep between your thighs. toji sprawls open your legs, delving his long tongue inside of your slick entrance to get a sweet taste.

gradually, his tongue dips all around your cunt, creating a little swirl before he feels your body twitch in rapture.

“t- tojiiii,” you whine, feeling a bit paranoid at how anyone could just see the two of you.

sure, you were both in a securely locked garage ( at least you hoped ) —but, anyone could just walk in. walk in and see you having your pussy being devoured by one of the most top known mechanics in the city. if you’d have given a rating on his pussy eating skills, it’d be five stars without question. 

he was always so nasty with it— occasionally, with his now bare fingers from removing his gloves, he slides a thumb down your slick.

“look at her, she’s fuckin’ sloppy,” he whispers against your cunt — his warm breath brushes near your folds and you whimper. your voice echoes raw out your throat, ringing through the spacey walls of his garage. this was far better than just an oil change, you were thinking. so so better,

as toji’s still swiping a tongue against your entrance in a circular rotation—nose deep, speaking of nose, it starts to rummage its way against your nub. you gag out a gasp, nearly choking from how out of breath you were with your legs shaking tremendously. with your teeth shattering, he nibbles against your clit, staring you dead in the eyes. “mmf, ‘s fuckin’ good. how generous of you though,” he coos in a gruff tone, easing a single digit inside of your slippery core. “haven’t ate all day ‘n this meal ‘s just what i needed darlin, heh.”

toji’s charisma was simply unmatched.

it was something about him being face first between your legs that made him ten times more attractive.

his hair, it was a bit lengthy but not too much. he grew it out the last time you saw him. a bit of a wolf cut but was neatly trimmed toward his shoulders. it’s rough and unkempt, dark black bangs still running down his eyes. every few seconds, he’s got to whip his head back in vex so his vision isn’t occluded. 

“hnnggh, right there toji. pleaseplease.” you babble out in desperate cries, swallowing your own pathetic pity before savoring the honeyed taste.

a whimper rips out of your throat to where it sounds similar to a gargle. his tongue knows just the right spots to reach. your clitoral hood, he loved to suck on it until that cute scream snatches from your esophagus.

“never tasted a girl so sweet ‘n all my years,” he groans, a single finger still shoved inside. it’s stretching you out more and your back arches against the warm hood of your vehicle.

from side to side,

his head moves and shifts and shakes and you’re about to lose it. in fact, you were already losing it, feeling your legs turn into complete mush. jello even, they felt nonexistent thanks to his sloppy tongue.

whilst he’s buried right between your thighs, the mechanic’s got the smuggest grin that you just wanted to wipe right off his face. 

toji’s so pent up and aroused—he works a regular six to twelve hour shift, it was almost the same situation for you. he can’t remember the last time he’s been … active, albeit he was exhausted. and yet it seemed as if your precious, slick cunt gave him all the needed battery to fuel his energy right back up.

a husky growl vibrates against your pussy and you whine as a hand combs its way into his hair. in the process, your fingers tangle against his strands. your digits - all five of them stroke through his scalp before giving it a brief tug. 

“kinky ‘lil slut, huh,” he grunts, head yanking forward towards your thighs. toji hated the fact that it turned him on. a lot, so much so that his dick twitches in his wrangler rigg jeans. as he’s got you still laid against your parked car, he slurps against your cunt - feeling you pulse right into his mouth. “there’s that cute heartbeat, she wants so much fuckin’ attention today.”

“t- toji, ‘m gonna cum,” you moan, his low words only pushing you further to the edge. barred big hands cling against both sides of your thighs. no longer having a finger inside, he firmly grabs your leg.

you’re quavering,

seeing nothing but splotches of snowy white as he’s slurping up your cunt like a hot dish of pasta. “c- cum, fuck ‘m gonna cum, y- your tongue ‘s goodddd.”

with a low hoarsely chortle, he hums. “careful, doll. cum ‘n i’ll have to add a bit of tax to your bill. plus an extra fee for heh, grease.”

you stare at him with a cute confused expression and he snickers. “aw, ‘m joking, don’t gimme that look,” and with warm lips pressing against your cunt, you mewl out a desperate, shrilling whine.

as the seconds go on, you’re steadily being brung to the teetering orgasmic edge. with your hips bucking against his face, he’s grabbing ahold of waist with his tongue exploring the inner caves of your delicious cunt.

your nub, he continues to flick against it, making your body jerk back against the unmoving vehicle. you whimper and whimper before he shoots you a teasing smile, whistling against your folds. “use those words, darlin’. use ‘em ‘n tell me what you want, yeah.”

“wanna cum- wanna c-cum,” you breathe, feeling the shiver in your jaw. even still, you’re wisping fingers into his strands, gripping it tightly before you’re grinding your cunt against his face.

a snail-like trail of your own clear slick runs down his chin. oh, with the way he slowly pulls his head up to smirk at you, you just wanted to kiss him again. your body’s hanging onto its last and final hinges before you’re spasming, feeling him swat a palm against your pussy thrice. “ngh, toji. wanna cum. please, need it. n- need to cum.”

“i’d beg to differ,” he groans, reaching for the hem of his pants - pulling the heavy piece of clothing down. his dick alone had a bit of weight to it and with murky-like irises, you gawk openly.

with a hand going inside of his pants, he lets off a guttural groan, starting to stroke himself off. a few solid pumps and he’s already sucking his teeth at the almost unbearable friction.

“fuck, y- you don’t ‘need’ shit, little girl,” and he’s multitasking. one hand focusing on your thigh and another on his cock. he’s so hard, he’s so fucking hard and the moving you’re doing against his body - the grinding, it doesn’t make it any better. with a mean slap, he spanks your cunt again before spitting near your folds. “you need it, you need ‘ta cum. right darlin’?”

“y- yes,” you hiccup, white noise deafening your ears continuously. the loooooong, sleazy slurps of his tongue makes you rock more into his mouth, nearly pulling out his strands with your rough, hard grip.

the more you tug and pull against his hair, the more it turns him on. his cock throbs whilst a long vein runs through the very side of his shaft. the center of toji’s thumb brushes against his peeling brief foreskin. “need, i need to cum. please.” you correct yourself, in hopes that he’d let you succumb to your nirvana-filled release.

as your fingers continue to fish through his hair, gathering a nice hold, he starts to make out with your folds. the squelches, they were singing out a cacophony of sloppy sounds. you’re sopping wet so good for him to where your cunt’s just voluntarily cascading on his mouth—cascading down his chin.

with ease, you even drench his stubble with your slick - happily. “go ‘head girl,” he grunts, gazing hungrily at the concoction of strings departing. cobwebs of his saliva mixing along with strings of your slick makes him groan. what a mess. a mess and you were the biggest one possible.

once you come undone, everything’s so hazy. your legs jitter in exhilaration, moaning loudly from the intense palpitation. he licks you clean, lapping up your flavorful juices with his tongue before feeling a few spurts of his own cum paint against his palm. “f- fuck, pretty,” he grunts, each stroke against his hard cock making him grind his teeth together. his jaw tightens, realizing he’d just came with you - all from eating you out. you were shaking still, your climax making your vision turn into a rainbow of color. your eyelids, all you saw was a plethora of colorful tints, slowly jerking your hips forward until you couldn’t anymore. as you move, he guides you to ride out your orgasm, ride it out all on his face. “thaaaat’s it, gimme all of y’er taste, mhm.”

it lasts for seconds, seconds that felt like long, never ending hours. with a sweet elongated battle cry of your own that’s in reality replaced with an ear shattering orgasm, you slump back against your vehicle. 

“such a good girl,” he murmurs, getting up and it’s a concise soreness in his thighs from bending down for that duration of a time. inhaling a breath of fresh air, he inches toward your face. “heh, you look so dumb,” he teases at your state. indeed you were, his tongue had you feral and craving for more. you were still throbbing, his body heat closing the remaining spacey inches between you both before he grabs your chin. “want a taste, do ya?”

“y- yes,” you nod, your own breathing betraying you with how you struggle to maintain easy, singlular breaths.

toji pops his cigarette back into his mouth before taking a long, deep inhale. the smoke burns, and he aligns his dick up against your drooling slit. he didn’t have to do much moving, the skirt you wore made it easy for him to lift the thin piece of fabric up for access. you glance down, and he was so big.

veiny, a heavy fat cock with an even heavier fat base. as the end of the lit cigarette sticks between his teeth, his brows contorts into a furrow. 

toji coos quietly, the mushroom-tip of his dick sweltering inside against your warm heated core. “open wide, babygirl,” he huffs, a thumb peeling down your lip once more. his eye contact had your pussy twitching profusely. it was so intimate, you felt the arising tension reach its peak. not even hesitating, you part your lips open, leaving your mouth open ajar for him. “good. nice ‘n wide for toji,” he refers to himself and you watch with doe eyes as he blows an airy puff of smoke right into your mouth. tepid lips hover against your own, and he’s so close that he can almost smell your longing arousal. you moan at the feeling of his tip easing its way into your cunt, creating squelchy sloshing sounds of acceptance. “there we go baby, nice ‘n easy.” he whispers, and toji finally kisses you. 

you moan, feeling his dick breeze its way into your sopping cunt, the stretch already presenting itself toward your walls. it’s a tight stretch and you moan, throbbing from the way you’re opening up for him. as the friction sets against your twitching muscle, you whine, running your tongue down his to taste the brewing variations of saliva and smoke into your mouth. it’s so sloppy, his tongue game was just improperly risqué. 

fithly, coarse..

with your ass sitting directly on the cool running hood of your vehicle, he’s continuing to drive his dick straight into you.

you moan as his lips attack against yours, savoring your candied flavor. it was something about you that he couldn’t get enough of. toji’s body - it was broad and big. as he towers over your frame, he starts to thrust a bit forward.

“ughh,” he bites down on your lip, dark mean eyes meeting yours as he then opens them.

the stretch had you gasping for air once his lips shortly break away. already, you missed them. he sees the pout and he chuckles before his head tosses itself back. as his lips pull away, strands of spit abruptly leave, saying its goodbyes to each mouth. “so fuckin’ — shit.” he swears, so lost in your swallowing walls that he forgets his initial sentence. 

already, his eyes were starting to flicker back.

rolling back,

it was sexy to witness, especially up close. toji’s cock dives into your cunt further and further before finally, he bottoms out. once he’s reached the hilt - the very hilt, you whine, throwing your arms over his tense shoulders carelessly.

“fuck me, f- fuck me, toji. please.” you stammer out in pathetic babbles, the repetitive twitch in your pussy making him all the more harder. your pleas almost fall on deaf ears before you feel the veins pulse down his cock. it spasms inside you and if you weren’t as wet before, you were certainly wet now.

he’s just so hard, your walls grip and envelope around his length as you bite on his shoulder. 

“didn’t know we’re on bitin’ terms now, heh,” he attempts to joke, one hand gently squeezing onto your waist. his touch, you never failed to lean into his touch. with a needy gasp, his hefty dick tucks its way into the insides of your cunt. your goopy walls squelch and squelch, shrieking out a lewd harmony of wails. you’re so wet - already, his base starts to get painted from your slick. you moan, licking a stripe near the crook up neck. he snickers, feeling the moisture of your tongue collide against his skin. “jus’ so fuckin’ hot,” he gruffs, staring at your already fucked dumb expression. “mhm, such a nasty girl. havin’ me fuck ya on y’er car.”

he’s stretching you out so good, its as if your cunt was a gymnast — easily bending and breaking, stretching in and out. toji’s dick was fat - the foreskin that’s glued against his tip stimulates the insides of your wet core. you whine once more, clinging onto his beefy body as he’s fucking you on the hood.

pitiful babbles of mercy whisper in his ears, your ankles and heels brushing alongside the red lines of his back. toji was sweating a lot more from the constant moving — you, your body jolting up against your car and his sharp, deadly hits going in and out of you. each piston has you weak, stupid even.

despite his mechanic scented musk with a sprinkle of inexpensive cologne, it was still alluring to you. you throbbed as he continued to jerk his hips against the same spot. your toes, all five of them on both feet curl in awe before you start to spasm.

“y- yes, please. right there, right there tojiiii.” and you probably sounded so pathetic but you could care less. your face was all scrunched up and twisting in blissful pleasure as he’s plunging into you at full force. his rhythm, his pace . . it was ruthless. 

safe to say, you were addicted.

cock drunk, easy - just like that. with a secure grip still on your hip, he’s reeling you back with such ease. strands of saliva starts to pour out from the side corners of your mouth and he slyly smiles. “oh, you just wanna be a messy customer today, huh. such a mess,” and with a flick of his thumb, he swipes your spit clean. he does this only to pop the same finger into his mouth, relishing in your glacé, syrupy taste. “so sweet, ‘m gonna need more though.”

your knees embarrassingly buckle. your weeping cunt sobs for more and more as his mean, degrading thrusts is just leaving you utterly dumbfounded. your mouth was open, tiny little pants of air escaping out into the form of a mere croak. toji’s weighty dick thoroughly plummets into your insides with all of his might to where you’re already visibly stupid.

each mocking thrust makes your stomach churn. he’s so deep, his tip located in every area. you’re stretched, worn thin, and the minute his cockhead greets your cervix with a french kiss, you shriek sweetly.

“oh my g- goddd, there please, toji, tojiiii,” and you were just babbling out anything at this point.

it was adorable, every few seconds, the mechanic had to swipe the back of his hand against his forehead. the remaining few droplets of perspiration that resided underneath his bangs was a lot. as beads of sweat race down his face, sable irises meeting your dumbed down state and you moan, nails now clawing into his shoulders. “f- fuck, ‘s good. ‘s fuckin’ big.”

“big just for you, baby,” he groans against your ear - the fat of his balls mashing against your entrance making you dizzy. you’re about to break again, the smell in the air was almost potent.

with his cologne, the mixture of his sweat, and the burning hot gas fumes of your car, you felt like you were floating. your cunt was being stuffed with delirious inches of cock and you wouldn’t have it any other way. toji grabs your chin, pressing a wet kiss against your mouth before his tempo accelerates. “shittt, grippin’ on me so good, ‘m gonna cum, darlin’.”

at his throaty words, you meet his eyes before burying your face into his neck for about the nth time again. the only words he could hear you whine into his neck was, “inside, inside me, ‘toj.”

“so y’er a creampieee kinda girl,” he sneers in amusement - watching as you’re slowly being taken to your inevitable rapturous rapture.

you’re whimpering, taking in each of his deep, pivotal strokes. toji brings his hands toward your waistline, skimming his fingertips against the curvature before nibbling on your earlobe. “careful, sweets... ‘s gonna be a nice big load. can ya be a good girl ‘n take that much? don’t wanna give ya too much of a full, heh.”

if it wasn’t for his puns — you’d smack him, but you were too cock drunk to think, let alone comprehend. 

“i can take it,” you nod desperately, a cute tremor in your voice as you’re making haste with your own hips against his. everything’s so sharp. “fuck, f- fuck me, right there.”

toji found it cute how repetitive your sweet nothings were - the same endless chatter flowing past your lips. “yeahhh.” he jibes, although his words were in the form of a question. you grab against his wrist while your slippery soaked cunt braces for the parching, hot fill.

three thrusts, 

three slow deep thrusts and he was at his peak. leisurely, as toji’s cock deeply into the pits of you, almost reaching your tummy - you feel a few hot spurts shoot into you raw. toji groans, his voice echoing through the garage. he was whipped. your expression was so cute, hooded droopy eyes and an abashed little grin.

his swollen fat tip was downright rude with the way it scrapes against your pussy, thrashing all inside as if it knows the place.

it’s so much, colossal big hands of his grab onto your thigh, and he leans in to gently pierce his teeth into your skin. sucking against your tender flesh, like honey—like nectar, he grunts his own gruff climax into your shoulder. 

his voice was low - his adam’s apple bobs at his actions, feeling an unforeseeable wave crash over him at once. it’s intense and he’s just eating up your delicious fervor that was right in front of him.

“t- toji,” you breathe, your arms still slung over his shoulders. easily, he’s jerking away from attentions.

toji wasn’t fully thrusting anymore, but he still had a decent pace of pumps. his fresh, warm cum emits into your cunt like how a volcano erupts. gushing into you, it’s hot and thick like lava, warm and sticky like magma.

you were chasing your breaths but failed to surpass them in the fictitious lewd race. it’s so hot inside, you were almost positive a few slimy spurts of toji’s cum exudes up on the hood of your car. you’ve never felt so full, his chest heaves and yours deflates in harmony. 

with both bodies were in sync and casual harmony, he grunts before leaning in to kiss you. his now flaccid dick was just idly inside of your swollen, greedy cunt. throbbing even still, you rub the backs of your ankles behind his slim waist before tilting your head back. the kiss was far more passionate this time.

if you knew mechanics fucked this good, maybe, just maybe you’d come for an oil change more often.

except, toji didn’t just add the new oil into the engine of your car, he added his own new oil into your sopping, drenched cunt. 

“fuck, baby,” he groans, feverish breaths titillating against the inner areas of your neck.

you pulse from any movement he makes, clinging onto him tightly like a koala. he has a flashy half girn, slowly pulling out his dick to see the mess. your cunt was overflowed to the max - so much cum, so so much. 

toji licks his lips, the tip of it grazing against his fleshed scar as he peers at your pussy’s opening. the way your entrance slowly spitting out his thick, velvety ropes of cum due to its fullness makes him grunt.

inside, it was lukewarm—oozing out of your entrance before you lean back against your hood. “mhm, ‘s still pourin’ out. guess i was so pent up from today, barely had any time to jerk off.”

“i didn’t have to know that.” you huff at his teasing, trying to catch your breaths. your full lungs felt like they were about to collapse. 

toji helps you off your car - although, he wanted more and so did you. surprisingly, he even cleans the hood off for you. as you’re back on your feet, sore and all, he asks for your number. “you’re gonna ask me out or something?”

“maybe, hold still darlin,” and your interest peaked, wondering why he wanted you to be still.

you turn, heaving a bit of shifting before toji bends down. you shudder a bit, feeling what feels like a cold marker starting to drag and scrape down against the right cheek of your ass. you could hear low, raspy laughter as he’s writing on your rear. with a pout, you wait as he’s continuing to write what you assume to be his number onto your skin with a sharpie.

the smell smolders against your nose quickly before he finishes, popping the black cap into his mouth. “there, call me after the hours of,” and he pauses, glancing at his watch. “hm, eleven pm.”

“thank you….” you murmur, that simple action making you throb again before your eye twitches. you make your way towards your car and then you feel a breeze through your legs. eyes widening, you turn towards the mechanic. “um- my panties? i kind of need them.”

with a sly grin, he pulls his work jeans back up before humming. “um, you kind of don’t,” he mocks your sentence, and you almost moan at the feeling of his hand squeezing your ass. toji then spanks it, the sharpie marker of his number imprinted on your skin slightly smearing against his palm.

“darlin, consider y’er panties as payment. ‘s on the house,” and you gulp, meeting his viridescent, green eyes. he looked hungry for more - that natural smirk compressing against his lips never once fading. toji brushes a thumb against your cheek before leaning against your car. “come back anytime for a fill.”

he hums cheekily at you through the mirror, closing your car door once you get in, starting the ignition. with your panties in hand, he shoots you a nod. “i’ll make it extra creamy next time. no charge, baby.”

[lymtw]

It's three in the morning and the sound of your phone vibrating against the bed wakes you from your peaceful slumber. You lazily reach for the blinding light next to you, instantly knowing who's on the other end when you see the blue diamond emoji.

"Hello..."

You were very much asleep, the raspiness in your voice making it that much more evident.

"Hey, sorry to wake you. Are you okay to talk for a bit?"

Satoru sounds like he's wide awake.

"Don't worry about it. What's up?"

You roll onto your side, your phone between your ear and your pillow. If you close your eyes for more than three seconds, you'll fall asleep again.

There's a slight pause between your response and his. Maybe the signal is bad or he didn't hear you.

"Is everything alright, Satoru?"

"I can't sleep."

He responds quickly this time. His tone didn't change. He didn't sound like he was in distress or too worried about the fact.

"Oh. Uh... have you tried drinking some chamomile tea? I personally don't like it, but when I need to rest, I suck it up and force myself to drink a cup."

He chuckles on the line. You always do what is best for you, even if it's not something you particularly enjoy.

"I think i'm just missing you a lot. Can I come over?"

It was strange to think he hadn't tried a tea remedy for his inability to sleep, but who were you to tell him that? Sleep deprivation does things to people.

"Right now? It's a little late, don't you think?"

You blink slowly, trying to adjust your blurry vision in the dark.

"I promise I won't fall asleep behind the wheel. I really want to see you. Please say yes."

You shut your eyes tightly and open them, your vision clearing up a little. When have you ever said 'no' to him? He always manages to change your mind when you do.

You sigh.

"Okay. You have the spare key to my apartment. I'm going back to sleep."

"I'll be there in like fifteen minutes. Love you, bye!"

You can hear the joy in his tone. He was genuinely so uncomfortable being alone with himself, that he had to wake you up so late at night to invade your space.

–

You knocked out again, once you hung up the phone. You were in such deep sleep that you didn't even notice when Satoru got to your apartment, or when he entered your room.

You did feel the bed weigh down when he laid down next to you, and your nose couldn't ignore his sweet, sweet scent.

"Baby," he whispered. His hand went up to your face, caressing your delicate, peaceful features. "I'm here."

"Okay, now go to sleep," you mumble, your eyes still closed.

"Come here." He effortlessly turns you over and pulls you close, lifting your leg over his hip. He scatters kisses all over your face, making sure to elongate duration of the ones he leaves on your lips.

"Baby," he coos. "Come on, kiss me back."

He's like a dog—constantly begging for your attention. The thought makes you crack a smile, one Satoru does not miss.

"I know you're awake." He smiles, putting your leg back in place, before rolling over until he's on top you.

"Fucking hell, 'toru," you break, cracking up at how he had no remorse after crushing your body.

"There's my pretty baby. I'm so glad you're awake now."

"It's your fault," you grumble.

"If wanting to love you is a crime, then throw me in the slammer and toss the key." His nose dove into your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. "You're just so pretty, and you're all mine."

His affection was starting to evolve into more than lovey dovey kisses. His lips stung every time they met your delicate neck. His hands were roaming beneath your shirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

He loved the way your breathing quickened. It had him chasing more of the reactions associated with the hummed melodies.

"You are mine, right?" He knows the answer, but hearing you say it from time to time always makes him happy. His icy blue eyes can read your response before you even form it. He loves flustering you with eye contact tied with touches that burned with desire. To top it all off, he loves teasing you to see the way you scramble your response. "It's okay if you're not." He smirks, catching the way your eyes widened the slightest bit. "That's subject to change, isn't it?" He eggs on.

"I'm yours, Satoru. I belong to you," you say, making it crystal clear to him. "All yours." With this, he wouldn't doubt it again until the next time he wasn't with you.

"Yeah? You know, I would've done anything to hear those words from you." He leans down to kiss you, a spike of arousal hitting him when you bit his lip and sucked on it.

"Oh... you can't do that. I will put a baby in you." He has never said anything so seriously.

"I dare you to put a baby in me," you say, teasingly. You know he won't do it. He's not ready to share you yet.

"Keep acting like that and I will."

His lips ghost the column of your neck, trailing down your chest and lower to your abdomen. Your oversized gown of t-shirt was the only thing standing between your body and his eyes. He pulled it up and off with a little help from you, tossing aside after.

You were a little nervous about what was running through Satoru's head. He was devouring you with just his eyes and already you felt so flustered.

"God, don't ogle me like that, 'toru." You put your hands over your breasts—a makeshift bra to cover what he was staring at.

"Let me see you, baby," he pries, gently. He puts his hands on yours, not pulling them away as to not make you do anything you don't want to do. You end up moving your hands on your own, but turn away, unable to hold his gaze when he's watching you that way.

He cups your breasts, his thumbs swiping over your nipples, instantly making them pebble. He could feel the way you tried to press your thighs together, your relief disturbed by his body wedged between your legs. You tried your hardest to remain composed, but his fingers wouldn't let up. His eyes were glued to your face, watching intently until you let out a shaky breath.

"Mhm..." he hummed, grinning at your bashful attempt to stay quiet. "I know this is driving you crazy."

"Shut... up."

"If it isn't, why can I feel you rubbing up against my stomach."

You stop and your cunt throbs at the suddenness of it.

"Just let it out and we can move on. Let me hear that pretty little ah-"

"Fuck," you whimper, interrupting his instructive moan. Your back arches slightly off the mattress, your hands flying to grip his wrists, tightly.

"Good girl," he praises, his fingers letting off your tortured peaks. Little butterfly kisses are placed between your breasts, trailing down to your stomach, where he spends so much time eliciting giggles from you.

His fingers hook around the elastic band of your shorts and panties, pulling them both down in one swoop.

"I didn't know kissing turned you on so much," he says, eyeing the glossy remnants left in your underwear.

"'toru..." you whine, feeling somewhat embarrassed about the amount of arousal you feel at the simplest touches from him.

"What? I'm not complaining one bit. It's cute."

He slides two fingers between your folds, easily collecting your sweetness. You jolt at the sudden contact, looking at him with doe eyes.

"Oh, baby. I don't deprive you of my touch that much, do I?"

You shake your head as he continues to collect your nectar, his fingers dipping in slightly to fully coat his fingertips.

"My sensitive princess." He smiles, softly. "How many times do you wanna cum?"

He never asks you this, always just giving you everything he can give or what you can take. You go for a small number, not wanting to seem excessively needy.

"Maybe two times? Please?" Your voice sounds meek. Like you're asking him for the impossible.

Satoru just chuckles. "How 'bout we triple that number?"

–

"S-Satoru—fuck— just like that, like that!" Your head pushes back against the pillow, your hands beside your head, scrunching up the sheets.

This was the fourth orgasm. There was cum spotted over your inner thighs and sweat layered over both your bodies. He had driven you to insanity like he planned.

"More, baby?" He grunts, thrusting with his continuous pace.

"Please," you cry out, fresh tears welling in your eyes again.

Satoru loved watching the tears stream down your face because he got to lean down and kiss them away. He takes the opportunity to praise you— to tell you how good you're being for him.

Your back arched and you braced yourself for the intensity of your next orgasm. Satoru swallowed your moans, kissing you fervently through his own rush. His breathing stuttered when he felt your nails clawing at his back, and once again his cum spurted into you. His breathing was heavy through the nose due to his insistence of kissing you until he you patted him for air.

"Fuck," you muttered. You let out an out of breath laugh, your chest rising and falling quickly as you tried to even out your breathing.

"That's five, baby." He exhales sharply, leaning back and running a hand through his dampened locks. You look at him with twinkling eyes, a smirk being thrown in your direction from your admiration.

"Come here," you say, outstretching your arms towards him. Satoru immediately fills the vacancy, sighing when you rake your nails against the nape of his neck. "Want you to take your time with this last one."

He takes that as a green light to start up again. He guides his cock into you again, savoring the hum that leaves you when he stuffs you again and begins his slow rhythm.

"'toru?" Your voice sounded sultry to his ears.

"Hm?"

"This won't happen again. I hope you know that." You're trying your hardest not laugh or make any sounds that take from the meaning of what you're saying.

He had to raise his head to meet your gaze. Something in the way he looked at you made you believe that this would definitely happen again.

"I hope it does. I love having you under me."

"It's inconvenient. It's so late, 'toru. Why can't we fuck when i'm not trying to sleep? Like in the daytime, or earlier in the night?"

His lips trace your jawline, and you just know he's going for your neck. Satoru lives for pointing out the marks he left on you, the day after.

"Simple," he hums. "I want you to myself." His hips continue to rock into you at the same languid pace. "At night, nobody is gonna take you from me. You won't be distracted and I get all your attention to myself." He kisses your neck. "You're all mine at night. Nobody expects you to be awake."

You gasp when he hits a spot that aches deliciously.

"Come on, baby. Give it to me," he murmurs into your neck. You can feel the way his back ripples as he instinctively picks up the pace. He was overwhelming, thrusting deeper and deeper like he was trying to consume you. What was supposed to be a slow drive towards your final orgasm of the night, turned into him unapologetically using his stamina to lure everything he could out of you. He was almost too much with the way his mouth was ruthless towards your neck and the bruising grip he kept on your hips. You were rendered the smallest thing for him.

"Satoru," you moaned, mindlessly grabbing onto his shoulder blades.

"I know, sweetheart, I know." He kisses you, tenderly, heavily contrasting the savage speed of thrusts.

You whimpered into the lip lock. Your heels dug into the mattress and your toes curled from the intensity of the pleasure you felt. Your breathing became heavier but Satoru refused to unlink his lips from yours. He couldn't when the sounds you made tasted like heaven on his tongue. His own sounds mingled with yours, a harmony that let you know that you weren't the only one feeling good. He was rutting into you, a telltale sign that he was about to cum.

"Mmm..." he hums, before unlatching his lips from yours. He panted as he watched you unravel beneath him, the smallest pinch between your brows as you gushed on him again. The way your walls spasmed around him had him following right after, another load painting your walls.

He grinned at you devilishly, the expression followed by a bright and sunny, airy chuckle. He pulls out of you, and looks down to watch your combined fluids slowly ooze out of you.

"Damn, you really tried putting a baby in me." You sigh, heavily, immediately regaining his attention. "Why do we fuck like this every time?" You rub your eyes, your sleepiness coming back around.

"I'll get one in there someday." He rubs his palm over your stomach. "And also, it's always like that because I love the face you make when you cum and you love the process of giving me that sight." His eye conveyed a seductiveness to their expression that kept you in check.

Your face goes red, warm to the touch. "Shut up." You sit up and playfully shove him.

"I get to cover you in semipermanent kisses, too." His hand comes up to the side of your neck and his fingers trace the red smudges that will darken over time. You roll your eyes, yet still put your hand over his, bringing it to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles.

"We should shower. It's almost five in the morning." You ignore the mischievous glint in his eyes and the way he's obviously trying to suppress a boyish grin.

"Carry me, please?"

Satoru chuckles, knowing exactly why you want him to carry you.

[rosesaints]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟI'D GET YOU WHAT YOU WANT (SUPERSTAR STATUS) .ᐟ

: ̗̀➛ BILLED TO: s. ryomen, n. kento, g. satoru, t. fushiguro, g. suguru

summary modern au! how the jjk men spoil you rotten and take you down a lifestyle of luxury, opulence, and excess! a sneak peek into my upcoming popstar series.

cw 18+ mdni, fem!reader, criminal spending habits, self-indulgent, public sex, drunk sex, overstimulation, marking, sub!reader, oral!f and m receiving, angry sex, some eyebrow-raising power dynamics, mentions of nipple piercings, name calling, anal, sex toys, use of pet names, impact play, leaving marks, sukuna's his own warning, lingerie

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . club owner SUKUNA RYOMEN

last spotted at the hottest underground nightclub that sukuna is the silent owner of, deep in the city of angels, fittingly named, DISGRACE. papparazzi lined up in droves outside, cameras flashing as LA's finest and most notorious clamber to enter. that intoxicating feeling of being on top of the world, delirious off the knowledge that scorching red eyes have not left your figure all night, dancing until four am and knowing that he's gonna give it you hard later. your receipt? you've always known sukuna to have reckless taste, and you can bark all you want about his excessive lifestyle, but his ego often trumps yours, and he'd be damned if he doesn't have you dressed to the nines and dripping in diamonds, like that five-figure dior slip dress you're wearing and tantalizingly waving in his face just so he can see a hint of the expensive lingerie he gifted you before your little night out.

you know sukuna's probably fuming, but you can't really find it in you to care. you're still a little bit angry with him for the little stunt he pulled earlier, eating you out brutally to the point that you cried and drooled and became a mess all over the backseat of his bugatti, ruining your makeup just minutes before you had to make an appearance at the opening of his new club, where he knew dozens of papparazzi would be waiting. the worst part? he didn't even let you finish.

he had grinned as he took your hand and helped you out of the car as lights flashed in your eyes, but he's not grinning now.

you're on the dance floor, uncharacteristically far away from the VIP section, on top of the world and practically shimmering. you're a star, clad in all of sukuna's recent gifts, but you feel like being a little bit mean tonight, content to make him watch as you have the time of your life instead.

two can play at this game.

some trust fund baby finds his way behind you and you smile slyly, playing along with this little charade, letting his hands migrate up your hips until you're half exposed and the lingerie set that sukuna specifically picked out for his eyes, are barely visible, showing of smooth skin and tantalizing lace.

you're giddy and feeling victorious when he finally, finally marches over despite obviously being mid-conversation with some investor, storming over to you and wordlessly tossing you over his shoulder without paying mind to the pissed off man you've just abandoned.

sukuna hears you giggle, and you're swiftly silenced by a stinging slap to your exposed thigh. "you think this is funny?"

yeah, you do, but you don't tell him that. you've been pent up all night, and it's about time he got a taste of his own medicine.

when he sets you down, you're in a private, secluded alcove above the club, close enough that you can still hear the thumping music underneath your feet. in seconds, he's got you pressed up against the cool glass, opaque but you know there's still a chance that your shadows are still visible.

his hands are mercilessly pushing up the hem of your skimpy little dress and pulling down your panties, and your eyes widen at the realization that he's going to fuck you, right here, right now.

"greedy, little slut. you wanna show off what's rightfully mine?" you hear his belt coming undone behind you, his hot breath fanning over your neck. he talks a big game, but you know he's going equally, if not more needy than you. "you don't even deserve to get fucked, so fucking nasty. i should leave you here high and dry again. you'd fucking hate that, huh?"

"you—you—fuck—s... started it," you whine when he enters you in one push, hot and wet and pulsing around him. he groans, a low and dangerous sound, before fucking into you like a man starved. a hand snakes around you to play with your breasts, nipples hardening against the cold glass. "w—wanna cum, please, please, please—"

"you wanna cum?" his laugh is cruel, sending tremors down your spine. "i'm gonna make you cum so fucking much, you'll forget your name."

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . ceo NANAMI KENTO

last spotted at the amalfi coast, vivid scenery straight out of a timeless oil painting, warm sunlight bathing your skin, the windows of your villa overlooking rows upon rows of sweet lemon trees flung wide open, salt air and cool marble, and on the table, a cappucino for him and a cornetto for you. your receipt? nanami's tastes have always leaned more towards the classic and timeless, but that doesn't mean he doesn't like to show off what's his, what he can give to you from time to time. he gets you those vintage chanel sunglasses and dainty cartier bracelet you were eyeing at via camerelle, buys a yacht in your name without even batting an eye, starts contacting his assistant to buy the villa you're currently staying in so that you can come back whenever you want.

sometimes, when you wake up early enough, you don't see him as much as you hear him. your nanami's always been an early riser and it used to be something that perplexed you, rustling around the sheets in the morning only to feel the warm imprint of him instead, but then you hear the beginning dreamy notes of a classical song on the piano, and you're at home again.

you're still bare and just a little bit sore from last night, after he coaxed orgasm after orgasm from your obliging body, whispering sweet, gentle praises in your ears as you were reduced to nothing more than a mindless heap on the bed. you follow the music to the grand living room, clothed in nothing but the sheets.

nanami always looks ethereal in the morning, eyes closed in deep thought, long, skillful fingers gliding across the keys. strands of his champagne blonde hair, usually slicked back, fall to the front of his face, and the show of vulnerability makes a side of your lips curl.

when you hum appreciatively, it's like he's awoken from a trance, eyes softening at the sight of you. he beckons you closer until you're behind him, warm and soft and still yawning your sleep away. "g'morning."

"good morning," he toys with the hands that you've got draped over his shoulder, plays with the new cartier bracelet he just got you and appreciating how it shines in the morning light. he presses a kiss to your wrist. "did you sleep well?"

he doesn't have to turn around to know that you're grinning from the rush of memories of last night. "yeah. yeah, i did. did you?"

nanami lets out a low sound in agreement, "wore me out, kid."

you giggle. "you hungry?"

"starving."

"how about room service? or maybe that cute little cafe we drove past yesterday—" you're interrupted with a gasp as he spins you around to face him, plopped down rather ungracefully on the piano as nanami gets to work unraveling the sheets you've got around you.

"think i'm a little hungrier for something else," his voice is husky and sends a trail of goosebumps down your skin, hoisting you up higher so that your legs can straddle his eager face. he kisses the length of your thigh, nibbling and sucking on the plush skin before pressing a teasing lick down the seam of your pussy, relishing the taste.

your thighs clench around his head, and you can feel the ghost of a smile before his tongue probes deeper, lapping at how wet you're very quickly becoming. he sucks on your clit, harsh and unforgiving, just as a stray hand reaches up to pinch and squeeze at one of your tits. "oh... oh! nanami!"

a couple of those slender, graceful fingers of his come back down to where he's making out with your cunt, pussydrunk but precise with the way he's hitting all the spots that bring stars to your eyes. you're sopping wet and needy when he enters you with two fingers all at once, head falling back as he fucks you with vigor.

"we'll get breakfast after, sweetheart. just let a man enjoy his vacation first."

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . actor GOJO SATORU

last spotted at the swiss alps for another PR stunt orchestrated by your respective managers, but you can't really complain with the cushy arrangement they've got you in, a ski resort situated in the rocky mansions that celebrities are known to torment frequent, snowflakes landing on your tongue, wood burning in the fireplace, vanilla and cashmere in the air, flushed cheeks and icy blues following your every move around your suite, a wing built for two people with too much space and money in their hands your receipt? technically, gojo doesn't have to spoil you, it's not really part of the arrangement, no one's paying attention to where you get all your new digs from, but it matters to him. it's just instinct, he says, as he buys you everything you could possibly need, a loro piana salzburg cape with fur, la mer beauty products, tickets to the ballet you've been eyeing...

it's been a constant tug of war to see who breaks their composure first ever since the paparazzi retreated from the hills amidst an incoming snowstorm. it's always been like this between the two of you, even before this fake little pr relationship, like precious china on the precipice of falling over the edge and breaking.

as much as you hate to admit it, you're two sides of the same coin, prone to boredom after so much time in the limelight. you're no stranger to his games, and this might just be your most daring one yet.

"whoever breaks first," satoru's eyes gleamed, gaze traveling down the side of your neck to your ample cleavage and then all the way to your supple thighs, licking his lips slightly. "chooses where we go next for vacation."

it's a trick question. you're always the one who ends up choosing.

but he's been torturing you all day, accidentally leaving the bathroom door open so you can see his soaked, chiseled torso, half-concealed from the bubble bath he's drawn for himself, smirking when you yelp and close the door in a hurry.

but you've got more tricks up your sleeve.

you shed your robe in front of him, content to laze around the suite in little scraps of lace, lingerie that satoru specifically picked out for you ages ago. this probably wasn't how he envisioned you revealing it to him, throat drying up when you sit across from him with a hot cup of cocoa and a book you've been dying to read, paying him no mind.

he's been fidgeting for the past hour, and you know you're going to win soon. so when he leaps across the l-shaped couch and bends you over the coffee table, you're not surprised.

"holy shit, baby, you look so good, all mine, huh?" he fiddles with the strap of your bra as you're keening out from under him, other hand snaking around to play with your clit as he fucks deeper into you. "no one else gets to see you like this. just me."

gojo groans at the way you whine, and all of a sudden, you hear an all-too-familiar rip of lace coming apart. when you turn around to give him an admonishing look, he pounds into you as if to shut you up. "i'll buy you a new one, geez."

it fills you with pride, knowing you've got hollywood's darling at your beck and call, submitting to every one of your whims with just a bat of your lashes. though, he easily has the same effect on you as well.

you know your arrangement isn't real, not really, but when he fucks you so good like this, you can almost pretend.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . musician GETO SUGURU

last spotted at his luxurious bel-air mansion after a night of causing trouble around the town, high above the hills like an imposing shadow. he complains that it's too big, black marble and steel, walls adorned with vintage instruments played by musicians long past their prime, a studio reserved for recording your needy croons and whines, watching you with half-lidded eyes while he's got a cigarette in one hand. your receipt? suguru's thoughtful and takes time considering what he wants to give to you. he buys you all sorts of trinkets while he's on tour, a vintage saint laurent lighter, limited edition vinyls that feel criminal in your hands, archival pieces that you have no idea how he acquired, but they feel so perfect on your skin. when he's feeling a bit bold, a bit indulgent, he showers you with works of art.

suguru's always had a bit of a possessive streak.

the first thing you discover about him, is that he can't quite keep his hands off of you. his hands, his most treasured anatomy, known for producing the most heavenly musical pieces, renowned for its way with an electric guitar, and he's got them all over you at all times. veiny arms that ripple with strength and they always lead back to you.

doesn't matter if it's in the middle of a crowded club, the fucking grammys, or the comforts of his own home, he's engulfing you with his touch, underneath the hem of your skirt, on your shoulder blades, or, currently, on the soft plush of your chest.

suguru's got you squirming in his lap, fingers squeezing and pinching the nub of your nipples as he sucks and licks up a side of your neck, tongue hot and needy against you, and you can already feel the most delicious marks forming. "such a good girl, sitting so pretty for me."

his praises send a rush of heat straight to your core, and he knows it. he could spend hours just like this, barely even touching you where you need him most, completely at his mercy and pliant beneath his hands.

he hums appreciatively, rolling his hands over your tits, as if lost in thought. "how would you feel about piercings?"

"piercings?"

behind you, suguru nods. "some piercings to match mine on these," he pinches one of your nipples and your lips fall open in a silent gasp. "only the best, of course, since you're always so sensitive here... so needy.... god, you're gonna be the death of me, you know that?"

it's something he's always wanted to do. he wants everyone to know exactly what you do to him, how you've brought him to his knees and how he would let you take him for everything he was worth, if only you'd let him. just wants to return the favor, wants everyone to know exactly who you belong to.

"one day," he murmurs against your skin, and the promise rings in your ears.

when you keen, arching your back in desperation to get him inside of you, he obliges, finally shucking off both of your clothes. you try to get into position under him, but he stops you, situating you right above his cock.

"you're gonna ride me until you can't," suguru whispers, breath ghosting over your tits. "and if you're a good girl, i'll let you pick out the jewelry later."

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . TOJI FUSHIGURO (bonus!)

"i'm not like one of your prissy little rich boys," toji's voice is raspy and deep, just a hint of want that betrays that nonchalant nature of his. you feel his fingertips graze your bare shoulder, leaving goosebumps in his wake. you're stark naked in front of him, while he's fully clothed. "'m not gonna fucking spoil you, gonna give you exactly what you need."

he knows that what you really need, is someone to bring you down to earth, someone to pull your hair and spit in your face and show you exactly how depraved you can be. you wouldn't be here, otherwise.

you're putty in his hands as he maneuvers you exactly how he wants, ankles going over your shoulders as your eyes widen. toji's wicked grin deepens. "you scared?"

"n—no! 'm not scared—" you're fiery and way too defensive and toji rolls his eyes, pulls you down on the bed so that your hips are flush with his. you can feel how hard he is even through layers of clothing, swallowing the lump in your throat as you realize, there's no way he's fitting inside of you, he's long and thick and—

toji snaps his fingers in front of you, bringing you out of your daze. "eyes back on me, doll."

"you like that feeling of fucking someone who's underneath you? who's underneath who now, huh?" he's always been so graphic and the way he talks to you, with no concern for your propriety, his end goal always to see you get flushed from head to toe.

the sight of you, debauched and needy, so far removed from your immaculate image, sobbing and scratching his shoulders as you lose yourself in the feeling of his cock pulsing inside you, a rough, padded thumb glued to your clit.

"been a spoiled brat your whole life, but not with me," toji doesn't stop even after you shiver through your third orgasm on the night, no signs of even wanting to slow down. "you're gonna take exactly what i give you."

© ROSESAINTS ! — do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.

[goldsbitch]

remember that

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. But everyone need assurance that they are still loved sometimes. The first time Lando almost slept on a couch blurb

warning: couple fight, angst

It was bad. This time, it was really fucking bad.

After weeks of snarky comments being swallowed in, the "it's fine" line being burned into Lando's ears almost on a daily basis and growing minutes Y/N had to wait before Lando decided to respond to her texts, shit finally hit the fan.

They hadn't seen each other for two weeks now. Inevitable fight broke out right as he crossed the threshold. Postponed dates and forgotten dinners lined up. They couldn't help themselves and put it all on the table. First it was the fact she didn't smile upon seeing him, then it was a reminder that he promised to bring something from Italy and forgot. It went on and on and on. She sat at the dinning table, while he leaned over at the kitchen counter.

"Lando, sometimes it feels like I'm in a relationship with your assistant and not you! For heaven sake, this week I had to call him once again when I could not reach you. Do you know how emberassing it is?" she half-screamed into her hands.

Lando took a breath so deep an average yoga teacher would be jealous. "How am I suppose to be expected to pick up on a race day. You know that I get super busy and distracted."

"Funny how you never were when we started dating," she murmured bitterly.

He had to turn away, couldn't watch his love giving up on him just because they were not in the honeymoon stage anymore. "Yes, but now I'm winning races! Closer to my dream that I've ever been. It's different now."

"I'm glad I met you back then, because obviously you'd not date me if we met now," she couldn't stop those words that rotted in her coming out.

A beat. Maybe it was time to actually break the rule for once and go to sleep angry, because it was getting out of hand. "You know what, that's probably true and it breaks my heart that once I start doing well, you're suddenly not the supporting girlfriend anymore."

A crushing blow. "Tell me how am I suppose to support you if you don't even answer my phone! We used to talk for hours!

"Maybe understand that I can't!"

"I do! But you can't assume that I'll let you push me away completely!"

Lando thew his hands up in desperation. How could she not see it? "I'm coming here to you whenever I have a slightest chance! And I come what? You constantly dragging me through the mud."

"Oh interesting you mention that. How sad that your assistant had to remind you of my sensitive skin before you having him book me an "apology mud massage" when you cancelled on me few weeks ago," se shot, knowing it would hit the target.

"How do you even know that!" he said, unable to comprehend that he did not even control his paid assistant, not mention his own life anyway.

"Well, I talk a lot to you assistant! And he slips up!" It was a weird friendship between people who both wished they could get a little more info out of Lando.

"That's it. I can't deal with this now," he said, with the intention to sleep on the couch for the first time in their relationship. He didn't even know why he chose that action, walking towards their bedroom and dramatically bringing a pillow and a blanket over to the sofa, but if this is what couples did when the fought, there must have been a reason for it.

It absolutely infuriated her. Sparked up something she hoped she'd never feel. "Oh, sleep tight." she spitted with bitter undertone.

"I will!"

//

They walked around each other in silence, him getting ready to sleep on the couch and her cutting her skincare short this time and spending more time debating whether to close the bedroom door as they usually would or leave it open. Just in case.

He could hear her shifting back and forth. It angered him a little bit, since he was the one playing a cruel joke on his already tired muscles.

Thousand things she wanted to say and only one came to her mind in a form of an actual sentence. There goes nothing. "Do you still feel good about this?"

"What?" he whispered, not expecting her to speak to him again before the next day.

"Nevermind, forget I asked."

"About what!" He hated when she did this. If you didn't catch up at the first moment, she did not give you a second chance.

"Do you still feel good about us, being together?" She cursed herself for asking this. Dangerous questions brought up explosive answers. She wished for a reassurance and a rejection. She snuggled deeper into her blanket and turned around to face the door. As if wishing for him to stand there and coming back to her.

Lando hated her question. In fact, it made him furious again. But it was a peace offering, he had already learned that before. "Even here, lying on the bloody couch, because we're fighting...It's the place I wanna be at."

Anxiety kicked in Y/N. "What, you mean like away from me?"

He laughed lightly. She was always thinking the worst. "No, silly. The exact opposite...We could both be at thousand different places at the moment. But we're not. And for me at least, it's because like---I want to be with you. I hate that we'd drifted apart lately. I'd love to be in bed with you, laughing without a care in the world, like we usually do. But, we can't do that now. And yet, I'd rather be left on the couch if I know you're next door than all alone in my bed." His words hit like small drops of rain after a long draught.

She whispered, choosing her words carefully. "You're my twin flame. You make my soul light up in fire, make me feel like I'm the sun. Do you know what my biggest fear is?"

Lando also tuned into sweeter tone, one that was more familiar from days filled with sunshine. "What, my love?"

"That we're gonna burn out. You and me, ending up like an epic love story. The good ones work because they end in tragedy."

"You're always so poetic," he smiled, proud to think he was her love story.

"There is no other way to describe how you'd changed my life. Flipped it upside down the moment you walked into the same room."

Lando chucked. "Yeah, remember that?"

"How could I not."

"You were not having a good day."

Finally, she spoke loudly again. "So, what? Everything was going to shit and the event we were doing had to be perfect before the 'important people' arrived".

"Such an ego boost to know I was your priority before you even met me," he uttered, happy to push her buttons.

"Oh, and you were so cocky! Just laughing around, like we were some sort of comedy sketch."

"Well, I'm sorry, have you heard yourself when you're upset? The way how your voice goes up seven octaves higher?" he laughed, his breath feeling lighter now.

"Coming from you, that's rich! You were giggling in a tone so high the elderly couldn't hear you!"

"I'm so happy I managed to bag the grumpiest person in the building. And bare in mind there must have been around 500 people there."

"980 if you could in staff as well."

He let out a heavy sigh. "You with your pristine memory."

She paused before responding. "Yes. Wish I didn't have that sometimes."

"Wish I had at least a pinch of that."

Silence fell in both rooms. Heavy breath and wondering eyes. The lack of their touch suddenly being more obvious than before. Playing a contest who will reach out first.

"Lando?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Can you back here, please?" she said, somewhat nervously. Lando took a pause. There was nothing he wished for more. It hurt to fight. But he figured a relationship needed that sometimes. As the poets say, you loose a woman when you forget to cherish her. He liked to think this went both ways. And they both started slacking a bit. He could only affect his own behavior, with the hope that she'd also come to the same understanding.

"I'd like nothing more in the world, my love."

[humanstein]

I am extremely convinced that we are just beginning to unwrap what's going on with Ruby Sunday.

Ruby received the perfect fairy tale outcome—wish-fulfillment-level picture perfect. No New Who companion has had such a mellow and completely amicable resolution.

The mystery of her mother resolves with a blameless biological mother who made the right choice and a father who didn’t know she existed. And the mom who raised her is there too. She gets to have everyone. That happy ending was like a picture-perfect Christmas card, narrated by Mrs. Flood.

Additionally, I will need to rewatch to make sure but it did not seem like winter when they were at the coffee shop, yet it’s snowing at the end when we pan up to Mrs. Flood. Unless that was supposed to be much later...?

They also kinda raised more questions about 73 Yards than they answered. They confirmed that Ruby did not prevent the timeline in 73 Yards and additionally made that timeline essential to uncovering who Ruby's mother was. They also emphasized 73 Yards as the limitations of the TARDIS perception filter. Were the people in 73 Yards seeing beyond a filter on Ruby? Is the TARDIS projecting something on Ruby? Did both Rubys cancel each other's out? What did they see?

I'm completely willing to accept that ending if it’s just what it says on the jar, but I'm very suspicious right now. The "watch where you step" thing hasn't paid off yet either.

Something is still up. I’m starting to think the TARDIS is hiding something about Ruby and might have even conjured up Ruby's mom and dad out of nothing to keep hiding it. I know thats a little crack pot.

To clarify, I really liked the episode and I can certainly appreciate the themes of having her mother be normal and having intense value projected onto her.

However, that doesn't explain why the memory was changing, why it snowed, or why Sutekh would be especially interested. Certainly, the TARDIS has encountered more intriguing mysteries. Additionally, I feel like we would have been shown her face in the time window or the video somehow. It's either something or a bit of a missed opportunity in the script.

I feel like “projections of Ruby's subconscious” and “TV show” might still be on the table. Tell me if I'm off my rocker, but combine this with the fact that we know Ruby will be back, and, well, I think there's much more still to come.

So, basically, I'm thinking this is some sort of fake-out.

[foreveradreamaway]

helmets and hats- MV33/1

summary- the stress his father put on him never left his head, and neither does his helmet. only until you turn up with his lucky cap.

yes i know max won 2021, this is for the plot don’t come for me

Abu Dhabi 2021. the ride or die race for max and lewis. both of them just one race away from being the world champion. this was one of the biggest races of maxs life. this was what he had been waiting for his whole life. everything his father had put him through was for this. he could not mess this up.

but he did.

you stood in the room with all the engineers and important people who help to ensure maxs car runs perfectly throughout the entire race. you knew how much pressure max had been putting on himself in the weeks leading up to the race. spending 10 times more time at the race simulator and even more time working his body tirelessly to make sure it was race ready. you had watched hopelessly when he would do this many times before and knew this was just how he works. no protest from you will stop him, only make him work harder. he will come to you whenever he needs that little bit of comfort and reassurance, or even just a quick kiss to keep him motivated.

it was your favourite thing. knowing that he still needed you. he could be so deep in his own mind and would still seek you out. only you. he relied on you. for some things more than others, but he still did and you both knew it. he didn't always admit it, or want to, but you both knew. you were his main source of comfort and he couldn't go a day without it. he needed you in every sense of the word. he needed your love, he needed you there to remind him to pack enough socks when he goes away, he needed you to look after him when he was ill and most importantly he needed you there for the losses.

your heart drops when they cross the finish line, further than its ever dropped before. he wanted this so bad, needed it even. he had never lost a race this big before. but you were prepared, you would do the exact same as you did every other loss.

your feet carry you over to the intern whos specific job was to hold maxs hat. it was a very important hat and needed a whole person for it. you had had many interactions with the intern, retrieving his hat every time he lost. she gave you a knowing smile as you took the hat from her hands and went to meet max at you're usual spot.

he doesn't look at anyone as he exits the car and storms off. he physically cant. he doesn't even remove his helmet as he walks over to you, something you were already prepared for. his head is hung low as he approaches you, your hand immediately finding his shoulder. his feet stop in place, keeping his head down. the visor of his helmet was still all the way down so you couldn't make out the expression on his face.

he doesn't say anything as he places his hand softly over yours that sits on his shoulder. you knew not to push him at a time like this, letting him take your comfort when he needs. you stayed like that until you felt a sob rake his body. immediately wrapping your arms around his neck. his arms stayed at his side as you just held him. it wasn't often that he cried, but when he did, he did.

you weren't sure how long you stood there until his hands found your hips. you took this as your sign to move both your hands to his shoulders, finally speaking the words on your mind.

"you did so good baby" your hands moved to the sides of his helmet, attempting to lift it over his head but his hands quickly grabbed yours and brought them down in between the two of you. your face scrunching in compassion. lots of people knew what his father was like when max was younger, you more than most. the constant badgering and abuse never left his head, sticking with him throughout his life. as much as you comforted him and told him how proud you were of him, he always did the same thing after his losses. refusing to take his helmet off.

instead, you move to lift his visor up, catching a quick glimpse of his tear stained cheeks. you didn't see them for long before he quickly swiped it back down to cover his face again. your hand, once again, went back to swipe it up. his hand repeating his previous actions. smiles appeared on both your faces as you both kept up the act. his hand returning to yours when he heard a giggle escape your lips, allowing the visor to stay up. your laugh was his drug.

your head tilted to the side when you finally got to look at him. his cheeks slightly squished from the sides of his helmet and those slightly red eyes staring back at you, full of emotion.

"let me take your helmet off max" you whispered. his eyes shut as he shook his head, dropping it down again. you rested you forehead against the helmet in front of you. hands still gripping each others.

"you're safe baby, ive got you. its just me and you here." his head still didn't rise until you pressed a kiss to the top of his helmet. "im sorry" he croaked. your arms wrapped back around his neck to provide the comfort he desperately needed in that moment. the front of his helmet rested on your shoulder causing your head to tilt to the side, when it did you caught a glimpse of his oh so special hat.

you let go of one of maxs hands and leaned slightly to be able to grab the hat. as you did max slowly lifted his head up to see what you were doing and caught you with the hat in hand. a small smile appeared on his face when he noticed. it was always the small things that he loved about you. the fact that you noticed all the little things that comforted him made him feel so seen and loved in a way that he never had before.

you made eye contact with max and he gave you a small nod, approval to remove his helmet. your hands reached up to the sides of his head and slowly lifted it off. you placed it on the table where the hat had previously sat and moved back in front of max. one hand going to the back of his neck to carefully remove his under layer. you had never seen his face look sadder.

he closed his eyes and moved his head to rest between your neck and shoulder. this time you could feel the tears that were coming from his eyes. your heart breaking even more with every tear that fell.

"im so proud of you max" you whispered gently in his ear.

"i did so bad, schatje baby" his voice could barely be heard as he just felt too weak from everything. his body was filled with emotions that he didn't even know existed. the disappointment he felt was sickening and he didn't quite know how to deal with these feelings. the only thing he could do was cry in your arms.

"no way you didn't, you drove so well my love. that race was yours, it was a split second thing. there was nothing more you could have done. ive never been more proud of you than i am now max, everyone is so proud of you" you always tried your hardest to comfort him after a loss but he was stubborn and rarely actually took in what you said.

"not my dad" his voice was low, as if he didn't even want you to hear what he said. but you did. his father always loomed in the back of his mind no matter what he was doing. his fathers voice booming through his brain.

"he isn't here, no one else matters but me and you right now. im proud of you and thats all that matters. you've given this season your all, trust me i would know" a soft smile fell on your lips, max couldn't help but stare at your mouth as you talked. "you've spent countless hours in that bloody gym at home and did everything you could to make sure the best max was out on them tracks this season. i promise you max so many people will believe that you won this race and are standing behind you" his face had seemed to calm down a little now. his eyebrows no longer scrunched and his frown was slowly become flat.

his eye fell to the hat that was in your hand, your eyes doing the same. your smile got bigger as you knew what he wanted. you quickly secured the hat on its rightful place on maxs head. hats had slowly become a comfort for max. you would hardly ever see him without one, especially on race weekends. it became a shield between him and the scary eyes of the world. all he needed to do was tilt his head slightly down and he was alone and away from the chaos.

he quickly secured his lips to yours as his hands found the sides of your neck. your hands grabbing his wrists. he needed one final reassurance from you before he had to face the horrible questions of the media.

"go do what you need to do baby, call me and ill come find you. remember, im so proud of you." you placed a final kiss to his nose and cheek before he grabbed his helmet and began to make his way out the room. "you'll always be my champion max verstappen" you winked before he disappeared out the room.

he was a champion, he didnt need a trophy to prove it.

i hope you enjoyed my first max fic, many more to come. please send me requests i love hearing them

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor au anthology

MDNI | Poly 141 x Fem Fat Reader | masterlist

New Girl

You stare up at the sign reading ONE - FOUR - ONE in old English font. It’s an old building, all brick and stuffed in between several others. The windows have a thin, semi-opaque cover them to let in the light without allowing you to see inside.

You make your way to the front door, trying the handle and feeling stupid the moment you do. Your eyes connect with a small intercom beside you and you press it. There’s a small buzz, then silence.

A few beats go by, you debate pressing it again. You don’t want to be too insistent.

“Hello?” A voice comes through just before you reach up to press again.

“I, uh…” You stutter. Despite having many, many tattoos you somehow still feel like a poser every time you enter a new studio. “I have an appointment at one? With John?”

The man on the other side confirms your name before buzzing you in, the door letting out a loud click before you step inside. It both makes you more nervous and more relaxed - you can appreciate a closed storefront like that. Especially for something often as private as tattoos and piercings, but it still feels like you’re doing something wrong. Just a little bit.

The front room is lovely, though. The texture over the glass bathes the front room in a calm, iridescent light. There are a few waiting chairs, a low, black table piled high with books of flash. The front of the high counter is covered with posters and stickers from events going all the way back to the 90s.

The pretty man behind the counter repeats your name absently, obviously thinking about other things. Probably the half-finished design that sits abandoned on the iPad next to the appointment book he’s staring down at. You just nod in agreement.

“I’ll let John know you’re here.” He nods back, turning and pushing through a pair of saloon style doors to disappear down the hall. You take the time he’s gone to look around, flipping through yet another small book of designs on top of the counter. They’re good. Unique. Very gothic and interestingly detailed. Somehow both fine and bold simultaneously.

“Afternoon.” You jump, snapping the book shut and looking up to meet a pair of soft blue eyes and an easy smile. He looks you over briefly before extending his hand. “John Price.”

You murmur your name quietly, trying very hard to not stare at the incredible traditional work patched into a sleeve up his strong arm. Damn.

He leads you back to his work station - past a piercing studio and across from another room with the door shut and an IN SESSION sign on the door. The dull, buzzing sound of a tattoo machine drifts through.

“Now,” John says as he cuts down the extra paper around the stencil. “Just remember if you don’t like the placement we can move it. No problem.”

“Okay.” You nod, appreciative that he mentioned it. Sometimes these older men in the industry are gruff and have an attitude if you do anything less than treat them as if they are anything other than Absolutely Right and Perfect. Not that John came off that way. There’s a softness in his affect that relaxes your muscles and leaves you breathing easy.

“I know y’have several but I’m still going t’do a line and then see how you feel.” He murmurs, voice low.

It’s sweet, the way he’s walking you through it all despite the piece being small and you obviously having done with process several times. The sting of the needle is as expected and you murmur that it was fine before he really gets to work.

“Just let me know if y’need a break…” He mumbles, voice dipping even lower as he concentrates on his work. In any other situation that rumble would probably have you squirming in your seat. There’s a silence for a while before he speaks again, almost as if he forgot you were there. “This design have any significance?”

“I just wanted to get a new tattoo in my new hometown.” You snort - now at the point where most of your tattoos fall under the ‘because it’s cool’ category. “Probably stupid, seeing as I don’t have a job yet but… I don’t know. Feels like good luck.”

John grins. “Well then, thanks f’lettin’ me be your good luck charm.”

Your face heats at the rumble in his voice - glancing away nervously.

There’s another lapse of silence while he works, the only words exchanged are when he asks if you need a break and you decline. Eventually, toward the end you think, he asks another question. “What brought y’here then? If not a job?”

You would shrug, but you try to keep as still as possible while he works. “Just needed a change. Found an apartment easy enough - now I just need a way to make money.”

He hums in agreement. “What do you have experience in? Been around here a while - might be able to recommend somethin’.”

“Oh! Thank you!” You brighten up. “Receptionist work, mostly. Some admin assistant stuff.”

He pauses, cocking an eyebrow. “Y’know, we’re hirin’ right now.”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head. “I don’t have, like, a resume with me.”

“You’ve got enough tattoos I’m assumin’ you know how the industry works. My apprentice is going to start actually tattooin’ soon, an’ I hate t’ have him still pickin up extra duties at the front.” He sits back, carefully smoothing saniderm onto your arm before turning and reaching for the ink-stained sketchbook behind him. “Tell y’what, you write down a few references for me and your number. If they’ve got good things t’ say we can do a trial period.”

You blink at him. He’s awful forward, and insistent, but you suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try. A temp job is better than no job. “Alright…”

Just like that, you gained employment by way of making a stupid financial decision.

John’s an incredible boss. He pays fairly (generously, but you know better than to accidentally negotiate your pay down). He gives you plenty of hours and trains you well - with the help of his apprentice. He doesn’t get annoyed when you ask questions, seeming content with your determination to do your job to the best of your abilities. The shop goes by appointment only - no walk ins and potential customers have to call to book. John keeps things old fashioned like that. All pen and paper and cash transactions. An ATM sits in the waiting area. The most complicated part of your job is changing out the cash box in it, and that only take a few days to learn. Not that you mind, it’s sort of refreshing to not deal with some fuckass new and “improved” register and appointment system.

Turns out part of the reason they operate in such a way (other than preference) is because John is a big name in the tattoo world. You hadn’t realized until he pointed out a couple of your flash tattoos were from his best-selling book of designs.

“Wait, you’re famous!?” You gasp, staring wide eyed at the old binder of newspaper clippings and book sales. ‘My Mum Wasn’t Impressed At First - Now Even She Has One’ reads the title of one of the older clippings - yellowed with age. John lacks his signature beard in the photo. It almost looks wrong.

John chuckles, crossing his arms and leaning back in his rolling chair. “You could say that. You really didn’t know about our shop before you booked?”

You shake your head. “Nah, I just saw y’all get recommended on Reddit.”

He barks out a laugh at that. It’s a low, pleased sound that sends a shiver down your spine. His beard only emphasizes the apples of his cheeks as he smiles. Yeah, that’s the other thing, having a hot boss is kind of fire.

Plus, he’s not the only one. The whole studio is full of hunks.

Kyle is easily the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. Like, run for Miss Universe pretty. Big doe eyes with a little scar on his cheekbone - small golden hoops glitter from both his earlobes. They frame his face so well, creating a perfect diamond from them to his sparkling eyes to his pretty smile; curled and genuine with perfect teeth. He walks you through the booking process step by step, that first day, a warm hand on your back and the other tracing down the columns of the physical appointment book.

His work is as beautiful as he is. At least, the ones done on fake skin. John hasn’t let him tattoo anyone for real yet - but his practice sketches are immaculate. At least to a layman. Kyle himself never seems quite satisfied with them. He gets such vivid color, though.

“Tattooing darker skin is an art form in and of itself.” He murmurs as he works on a piece of very dark fake skin. “I want people like me t’ be able t’ get exactly what they want, with just as much color as they want.”

You nod along, sipping at your coffee from across the street that you’ve taken up stopping at every day before work. Kyle has so much passion for the industry. The look he gets in his eyes while talking about it or designing a new piece makes your heart flutter.

Simon, the other resident artist, you’re the least familiar with. You can’t quite decide how to feel about him, or decipher how he feels about you. John introduced you a couple days after you started, but all you got was a perfunctory nod and a ‘good luck’. You couldn’t help but feel starstruck, despite his blunt nature. Both thick arms covered in full, detailed sleeves. High quality, ornate black work. A man of stature - six feet and some change with a breadth that a barn would envy. Pretty, blonde hair cropped just short of turning to curls and dark eyes that bore through you to the very core.

Sometimes, when he comes to ask about his next appointment, you let yourself indulge in the fantasy that he stands close because he likes you. That his knee briefly knocks against yours because he wants to touch you - not that you’re crazy enough to believe it. Just crazy enough to be a tiny bit delusional for the fun of it.

You meet their resident piercer on the weekend. Apparently, he’d been away visiting family your first week.

He leans up over the counter, grinning at you from ear to ear. A well-built man only a few inches shorter than the others with a perfectly groomed mohawk. “Well, hello there. Aren’t you a bonnie little thing?”

You frown, hackles raising instinctually. “Uh, can I help you?”

“Och, they dinnae tell ye about me yet? I’m hurt.” He pouts, thick brows emphasizing the puppy like nature of his blue eyes.

“Let her be, Soap.” Kyle sighs heavily, walking to his area of the front with a fresh sketchbook.

“Soap?” You repeat.

“Aye. Cause apparently I need my mouth washed out.” He pokes his tongue out, only to reveal a silver piercing. He holds a hand over the counter. “Johnny MacTavish.”

Johnny is the most egregious man you have ever met - always touching you in one way or another when he checks in about appointments and so on. His Scottish brogue rings in your ears, every word loud and confident. A hand finds it’s way around your waist, a finger poking under the band of whatever bottoms you wear that day. At any other job, you would have considered it harassment and tore him a new one.

Johnny’s different, though. If you shrug him off he steps away, if you flinch he pulls back. Plus, he does it to everyone else just as much as you. More, if you’re honest. If Simon is within arms reach they’re touching. You noticed Johnny pushing a hand under his shirt at one point, grabbing at the soft layer over Simon’s abs. (A great view for you, frankly.) Hell, you saw him casually hold Kyle’s hand while they were talking over lunch. Even John isn’t immune to the clinging. You don’t think much of it. Body modding attracts all sorts of people. If Johnny’s just a touchy guy then he’s just touchy. Besides, you don’t mind that much when he slips an arm around your waist or hooks his chin on your shoulder to talk to you. Warm breath tracing the shell of your ear with a quiet ‘bonnie lass’ punctuating ever other sentence. A slight pinch to your hip before he trots away to set up his station.

You feel nauseous when your trial month ends. John sits you down across from him in the back office. A practical space with not much more in it than a desk, computer and the large safe. None of you spend much time back here outside of counting down the cash and dragging the trash bags through the back door to the dumpster.

“Think you’ve done really well, dove.” He grins. You try to ignore the way the pet name looks warmth in your lower belly. “You’ve picked up quickly, you’re good on the phone. Kyle’s been very happy about the extra time to practice.”

You let out the biggest, most relieved sigh of your life, shoulders slumping slightly.

“You don’t seem to mind Johnny, but if he gets to be too much let me or Simon know, yeah? He means well but he can be… well, you know.” John says absently as he reaches for something across the desk. “How are you feelin’?”

You nod. “I, uh, feel good. I like this position a lot. Everyone’s been very welcoming.”

John nods along. “Good, good. I see no reason to not hire you on full time. Here.”

You hold put your hands as John drops a small, silver key into them. Holy shit! You get your own key! Up until now they’d been buzzing you in, but they’re trusting you with your very own key!

John must see the excitement on your face because he chuckles and extends a hand. “Welcome aboard, kid.”

A/N: I was very wine drunk writing most of this and it has next to no editing but I hope you enjoyed it! I just want something I can write that’s episodic and not as serious/brain heavy as Fancy or Across the Way

[bamsara]

I dont know if it was intentional but I love that Narinder when he sees Lamb throwing up he turns gentle and pushes their wool and ears back so they dont get stained with vomit and for some reason it reminded me of how when Nari was throwing up too after the nightmare he had when they were on route to fight Leshy, Lambert helped him with camellias for the nausea.

Ahh, parallels. I think.

IM SO GLAD YOU POINTED THAT OUT allow me to ramble for just a moment.

Narinder was trapped in the Afterlife for over 1000 years, with little social skills and plagued by wishing for vengeance and his only company being two kittens who become disciples under his rule. He has terrible social skills, if not lacking them entirely.

(I would argue that Aym and Baal also have horrific nonexistent social skills, so those three cat's can't really help each other communicate properly to anyone else outside themselves.)

It can be argued that since The One Who Waits had other vessels to pass time and try to kill /annoy his siblings before the prophesized Lamb arrival, that he would have developed them a little bit more, but I would argue that the power balance would have been oodles more severe since the vessels weren't the promised one. He didn't need them, so if they no longer were of service or disobeyed him, he got rid of them. Whether just sending them out or killing them, any how.

Lamb, however, knows they are the last Lamb, the prophesized liberator of The One Who Waits, and therefore his only option. They knew that they were his only reasonable way out of there (whether they asked for it or not) so they were oodles more comfortable than how a professional relationship would have been.

So they asked questions, bothered him, played and ran around him. Complained and vented to him. Yapped and yapped. What is he gonna do? Kill them? Find a new vessel? He can't. "You're as trapped into this prophecy as much as I am, so let's be friends"

Example parts from Chapter 3:

The power balance equalizes because Lamb did not see his presence a God, but rather a fellow prisoner and victim of fate. Rude and demanding, but in the same chains as they were. 'My lord' was simply formalities at first.

This puts Narinder / The One Who Waits in social situations he hasn't been in (or hardly been in) in over a thousand years, and frankly, he had no idea how to navigate them:

Example from Chapter 5:

The God of Death has not needed to comfort or 'be there' for someone in a long, long time. The Lamb's presence is what forces him to try, even if his first attempt aren't perfect. So in that same chapter, he'll ask them a question to distract them. Conversation. Like how they do it.

While I won't post a screenshot of everytime this happens in written format (not including the dreams/memories/flashbacks that haven't been posted yet)-

The One Who Waits is pushed outside of his bubble when it comes to socializing in a way that isn't just 'God-to-Lowly-Vessal' format. He has to talk to them like a person, because he's being talked to like a person, not a god on a pedestal.

Obviously after the final battle and betrayal (to both of them, otherwise known as the Grand Miscommunication) this means nothing for a while as tempers are still high and feelings are hurt. But overtime, this returns, and can show in small ways (ways that may not seem like comfort but is certainly an attempt) like just in Chapter 18:

Trying to bring them an 'offering' (breakfast) mirroring other times the Lamb has done the same for him:

Crudely offering to replace something they are upset at losing/later offering reassurance abet in a curt way:

And what you mentioned: earlier when the Lamb is throwing up, narration shows they're having trouble with keeping their wool, cloak, bell, ect all back at the same time. He can see that. He has a mental boiling pot explosion over the fact that helping them is even a want that he has after the denial crisis he's experiencing where the only answer a minute ago seemed like he needed to kill them, and he chose comfort.

It is intentional. Narinder is learning how to show care, and allowing himself to show care. Slowly, and not perfect, but learning.

[bigwishes]

Big Man on Campus

(a trade with @alphajocklover)

Trent had been going to college for almost 4 years at this point, he was 21 and steadily approaching his 22nd birthday and approaching his graduation even faster. He had spent most of his time inside, working on his computer engineering degree or gaming. He didn't really care for the college party scene, he'd much rather stay in his tidy little single all weekend until monday classes.

but when it finally sank in how close it was to being over Trent couldn't help but have a little bit of regret, should he have hit the gym with the other guys on his floor? should he have joined the casual rowing team just for some fun and exercise? was computer science really what he wanted a degree in? Senior doubt and regret flooded his mind, but there was still an upside. 4 months were left, 4 months he'd make the most of.

Trent went on the college forums looking for something to do, he thought about a few of the options but found two that he really liked. The first was a dungeons and dragons club the second was listen as an exercise club but it also seemed to be a project for two sport science students.

Transformation Experiment Ground: "Our names are Brody and Clark, we are looking for young males on campus who are out of shape looking to get in shape and help with our experiment. Come form a sense of community, get the body you desire and help us with our research!" Monday came and classes went. Normally Trent would go home and smash out a few ours gaming but it was time for his clubs to start. First he had the sport experiment thing, the only issue was he only had a few minutes to get to the dnd club across campus, but he wasn't sure how sweaty he'd get or if he'd need a shower. He just had to hope there was a shower at the campus gym.

Trent checked his phone, he thought he was going to the campus gym but the address was for a room in the athlete scholarship dorms. Trent walked passed the gym and into the building next to it. The halls had photos of previous college athletes plastered up between the doors.

Finally he arrived, right on time, room 223. Trent raised his hand to knock when the door suddenly swung open. Standing before him was a jacked guy with spiked blonde hair in a black tank and grey sweat pants and standing next to him just slightly down the hall was an equally jacked dude with shaggy brown hair in the same outfit.

"hey bro what's up I'm Brody and just over there is Clark"

Brody stuck out his hand but when Trent went to shake it he realised Brody was waiting for a fist bump not a hand shake, Trent awkwardly closed up his hand and bumped Brody's fist. Clark let out a douchey laugh that echoed out the door.

"Come in man, come in"

"You are, the only one comin" Clark sighed

"oh, was I the only one who signed up?"

Trent started to get anxious, guys who looked like this normally bullied him and now he was going to be on his own with them for an hour. Trent made his way into the room, following Brody and Clark.

The athlete dorms were so much bigger than the other rooms he'd been in. There was a large lounge space with a small kitchen, a door to a private bathroom and two bedrooms either side of the lounge.

In the corner of the lounge there was a small fold out chair and table. On the table were 5 green vials and what looked to be an oculus rift stripped down to its basic components.

"so ummm, where do we start with like a workout plan?"

"nah dude, I mean I can totally write you one but this is a bit more of a series of practice experiments" Brody said as he walked over to the small table

"get him hooked up man, I'm gonna grab my laptop with the video"

Trent followed Brody over to the small fold out chair

"its nothing too fancy but our class mates got the actual sports lab, apparently our experiment is pseudo-science"

"what exactly are you guys studying?"

"we are trying to see if active suggestion and nutrients redirection can get people to actively pursue fitness"

"oh damn, I just thought this was like, a workout class" Trent sat down as Brody began setting up the make shift visor. "if you don't mind me asking, what are you guys majoring in?"

"well I'm getting a double major in bio-chemistry and psychology"

"and I'm getting a double major in computer engineering and software development" Clark said as he walked back in carrying an open laptop

Trent's jaw almost dropped to the floor, he'd come here thinking he was going to be made to workout by two dumb jocks who were just going to scribble times on a napkin, but instead he's participating in a proper experiment designed by two people probably leagues smarter than him.

"okay man its real easy, we are gonna hook up an image display for a few minutes and you'll take a shot of this" Clark said as he handed over one of the small green vials.

"errrr, is it safe?"

Clark burst out laughing and Brody couldn't help but crack a smile.

"yeah man, its just a diet supplement you can get offline, fda approved, basically it tells your muscles they want to hold water and your fat cells to burn"

Trent downed the green liquid as Clark flicked the visor down over his eyes. There was a short beep sound before images began to flash on the visor. Flashes of guys working out, of dumbbells and the words you are a jock and you love working out and muscle.

Trent couldn't help it, he burst out laughing.

"I'm sorry guys this is so corny" He laughed.

The other two began to chuckle as well as the room filled with laughter.

"Look dude, Its the closest thing I could find on YouTube, its about the suggestions" Clark laughed

Suddenly the lights in the room began to flicker and all 3 globes in the lounge burnt out at once.

"what the-" Brody and Clark said in unison, but they were interrupted when sparks began to fly off the oculus. They rushed to try and take it off Trent but were shocked by the electricity. Sparks shout out of the power point in the wall and the two boys watched helplessly as Trent began to convulse in his seat.

Trent let out a painful and stalled out moan as the electricity travelled over the oculus and shocked his temples.

The room was dark was illuminated every few seconds by a shock or spark and the two boys could swear they could see something, something happening to Trent's body. A few more seconds passed before it finally stopped.

Brody and Clark stood there stunned, the sound of beeping could be heard from the kitchen as the oven entered safety mode, but a more concerning noise echoed in the boys ears. The sound of sizzling. Clark carefully walked over to the curtains and opened them, the room filling with light and showing them what had happened to Trent.

He sat in the chair with his head slumped forward, his chin hitting his chest as smoke was rising off the device on his head and all over his body. But what the two saw in the dark wasn't a trick of the light, Trent had indeed gotten bigger. His skinny fat body had expanded, he'd become more lean, his muscles more pronounced and most of the fat on his body had melted away.

Trent let out a moan as a string of drool fell from his mouth

"OH THANK FUCK HE'S ALIVE" Clark cried out with a sigh of relief.

The two rushed over and pulled the device off his head. Trent's eyes instantly responded as he looked up at the two of them.

"wooahh bro, huhu, that was intence" Trent mumbled

"yeah, thank god you're okay" said Brody.

Trent lifted his arm to the side and flexed his bicep and let out a dumb chuckle.

"errr, dude, real quick, what's your name?"

"Trent, duuuhuhuhu, you fuckin forgetful bro?"

Trent seemed okay but something was wrong, even with the short interaction the three of them had, Clark and Brody knew something had happened to him.

"hey Trent, what are you" Brody asked

Trent smirked as he lifted his other arm, completing a double bicep pose.

"a jock, duuuhuhuhu"

Trent stood up and effortlessly pushed passed the two as he started heading towards the door.

"well at least we know his motor functions weren't damaged"

Clark and Brody quickly followed him

"Dude, I really think you should go to the medical centre"

"Nah bro, I got dnd like NOW I gotta boost"

"wait Trent!" Clark yelled out "err, dnd thats an interesting hobbie for a jock, what else are you into"

Trent spun around on the spot with a big smirk on his face

"glad you asked dude, I love three things, gymmin, gamin, dndenin..dndin.....dndining....." Trent's voice trailed off as he tried to finish forming his catchy sentence

"and, what about your major? what are you studying?" Brody asked

"errr huhuhu, like, what's a major?" Trent said turning around to leave again

"FUCK DUDE I THINK WE ACTUALLY FRIED HIS BRAIN" Clark started to panic

"I mean, yeah, but it seems like his core interests and that jock hypno video have combined into a new personality, I dunno if we friend his brain more, re-wrote it"

"DUDE NOW IS NOT THE FUCKING TIME FOR YOUR INTEREST IN THE HUMAN BRAIN WE FUCKING CREATED GYM BRO FRANKENSTIEN"

Trent walked out the door into the crowded hallway. Students were all talking over the top of each other in front of their dorm rooms trying to work out what was going on. The two boys raced out to follow Trent.

"Trent dude wait!, errr, tell me about your dnd character" Brody called out desperately trying to stop him from leaving

Trent continued to power forward through the crowd, pushing through them like water with his new powerful body.

"well bro, I was gonna play some like, lil spell caster dude, but like, i dunno bro, numbers are hard, so like, I think I'm just gonna play, like, some sick fucking, roided out minotaur with a huge axe"

Brody was struggling to keep up with Trent, they both had already lost Clark to the sea of students. Brody grabbed onto the back of Trent's shirt which caused him to stop and turn around.

"woah lil dude, if you wanted some action all you had to do was ask, I got an 8 inch python with your na-"

"WHAT!, ha, oh, no dude, errr, that's" Brody's face turned bright red as he got flustered.

"no? damn too bad, you lil fuckin, science dudes are kinda cute"

Brody was stunned, some how all this muscle and new persona had also added a level of charm to Trent that dug right through to his core. But it was too late to grab his attention again. Trent had already pulled away and gone off out of Brody's sight...

One week had passed since the extreme power surge that had hit the Athlete Scholarship Dorms. There almost wasn't a single incident other than a few blown light bulbs and some damaged electronics....almost. The college had found out about Trent, no matter how hard Brody and Clark tried to hide it. However the two got off lucky. Both the College and the investigation into what happened deemed it was an accident that unfortunately resulted in what was being called "Personality Death". Trent had an entirely healthy body and brain with no signs of damages, but something had happen to completely re-write who and what he was.

The college couldn't let Trent graduate, he couldn't even remember what he had enrolled for, but the college still found a purpose for him. The hid the extreme and sudden body transformation from the investigation and gave Trent a 'job'. His official title was research assistant but he was too stupid for any serious work. His real job was to sit there and be injected with experimental steroids. Forced to grow like some roided out lab rat. Not that he cared, every time Trent put on even an ounce of muscle he'd spend hours in the mirror flexing. He was the biggest guy on campus.

[6 years later]

"okay babe, just hold still"

"aahhh, fuck, it feels so good when it goes in"

"you are so weird, I hate getting injections"

"well huhuhu, when you got a sexy lil piece of meat to do em, its a huge fuckin turn on dude"

Brody stood up from the kitchen table and began to clean up the injection kit, chuckling as he did it.

"Trent, that's so cheesy"

Trent stood up, the sound of wood scraping against the floor filled the room as he effortlessly and accidentally moved the entire dining table.

"will it make me look like Captain America huhuhu?"

"babe...seriously, I think we passed the Captain America stage about 150 pounds ago"

"then hit me with all 6 and make me the hulk" Trent pressed his body against Brody and the table.

Brody was no stranger to 300+ pounds pressing against him "I said no Trent" a slight grin cracked across Brody's face, 'besides, for all I know that one shot will add another 50 pounds, we gotta wait and see."

Trent stood there staring into Brody's eyes with an expression that could only be described as a computer failing to load a basic program 10 times in a row.

"Then jab me with all 6 and give me" Trent stopped to count on his fingers, "120 pounds of muscle" a large smirk crept across his face, proud he was able to do the math in his head.

Brody rolled his eyes and chuckled

"that'd be 300 pounds babe" Brody packed up the rest of the kit and left the kitchen.

Trent went to follow after him, he had hit the gym already today so no other thoughts existed in his mind other than getting attention for how big he was from Brody, but as he walked out the kitchen he caught a glimpse of himself and began flexing in the lounge room mirror, completely forgetting what he had been doing just 2 seconds again...

He was so proud of the roided lab rat he had become...

[cumtastiics]

"oh... how beautiful you are," his voice slightly shaky as he whispered, the back of his hand caressing your cheek.

he admired you. the way you spoke so kindly, how your voice was so sweet compared to other people.

you were a gift from god.

"please stay still for me, my love.. i can't have you squirming around while i paint, now can i?" his voice was still soft, never daring to raise it even the slightest bit.

he never wanted to share you. was that bad? you could be his pretty little doll... whimpering and begging for him.

"f-uh-ck," he'd moaned desperately in your ear. you're so perfect for him, whimpering at each touch. "don't cum yet, y-you can hold it in.. right? be a good doll.."

he wasn't a loud person, he never was. yet, whenever he made out with you, it felt like he could never stop talking about you.

"s-so pretty," he shivered, watching you reach your climax. "good doll.."

he could never degrade you... you were too perfect for that.

he gently wiped your tears with his thumb, desperately trying to go as gentle as he could with his cock sliding in and out, but he really couldn't help it. "i'm sorry.. you're doing sososo good for me.."

after all, he was the painter and you were his muse.

tried to make it g/n.. i don't really write smut like stuff so idk if I did it well

[hitomisuzuya]

SOMNO WITH ADVENTURINE AND HYBIRD SCARA ARE MY TWO ABSOLUTELY FAVORITE THINGS I AM DRIPPING. DROOLING. BOTH GOD WE NEED BOTH

(Separate) Hybrid! Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Degradation. Scaramouche receiving. Scaramouche in heat. Collar and leash. Aventurine x fem!reader. Consensual Somnophilia. Smut. Cunnilingus. Mention of alcohol.

I have been meaning to write these for awhile😭 Aventurine's part is kind of long.

Scaramouche

Catching Scaramouche fisting his cock, lost in the unbearable heat and ache of his rut is what landed you in the position you are in now: on your knees, a collar around your neck with a silver chain leash attached, and taking Scaramouche's cock down your throat.

The links of the chain leash scrapped together as Scaramouche's hand tightened on it, you'd flattened your tongue on his cock in such a way as you sucked that it made his cock pulse hard on your tongue. Groaning, he yanked on the leash, lazily thrusting his cock in and out of your mouth. Holding your head in place while he enjoyed the feeling of your throat.

"What a good little slut, letting me use your throat like a fleshlight," His ears flicked, moaning huskily as he pushed his cock into your throat. Your eyes widened, coughing and gagging as you adjusted your breathing. His thighs shook feeling your velvety throat spasm and convulse around his cock.

He ate up the adoring, teary look welling in your eyes as he degraded you. "You little whore, you've thought about this, haven't you?" He said shakily, looking down at you with a predatory smirk.

It would've been a struggle for you to nod with his cock stuffed in your mouth. Instead, you vibrated a long, happy moan on his cock, drool pooling from your mouth and rolling down his cock. You shivered feeling a hand tighten on your hair, shifting restlessly realizing your panties were wet and clinging to your throbbing clit. You slowly rubbed your thighs together in an attempt to gain some relief.

The smirk on Scaramouche's face widened. It flat out looked like you were teasing yourself. He relished in the fact that you were getting off on him using your throat however he pleased. He pulled on the leash again, using your hair as leverage to bob your mouth up and down his cock.

Your worshipping tongue lapping and curling, warm and wet on his cock sent him closer to the edge. His hips rock to pump his cock in and out of your mouth, forcing your mouth down onto his cock randomly to feel you choke on it.

Scaramouche let out a shaky whimper hearing you muffle submissive sounding moans on his cock, his fingers stroking through your hair before pulling on the leash again. "Swallow it all, pet," He hissed as cum spilled into your mouth, "Swallow it all and beg to be bred."

He was getting drunk on the power he had.

He is the hybrid, and yet you wore the collar instead.

Aventurine

Being Aventurine's secretary, it was common for you to travel with him, even if it was on a job that would demand months of his time. As much he enjoyed always having you at his side, there were certain meetings he couldn't bear to expose his sweet, doting secretary to.

Even moreso now that sloppy, drunken kisses were becoming more frequent. Kisses that he could still taste your mouth on his tongue long after he'd reluctantly pulled away.

It wasn't helping your case either that you were the walking cliche: hopelessly in love with your boss. You knew Aventurine was meeting with people that he considered a bit too unsavory, and that made you anxious. Anxious that couldn't take notes for him, or get him something that he needed.

You were anxious without him.

And Aventurine immediately sensed that. It was easy for him to see it in the way you sent him the occasional text telling him to text you if he needed anything. How sweet of you to offer to make lunch for him and bring it to him. When you sent the third text asking if he needed anything that he decided to video call you.

"Are you sure you don't need anything?" You asked, your eyes searching his multicolored ones. Eyes that never failed to steal your breath away.

Aventurine chuckled. You just looked so cute he couldn't help but tease you a little. "What? Are you anxious without me?" He pulled his sunglasses down his nose some.

"No, I.." You looked away from your phone screen shyly, a deep blush coating your cheeks. Your heart shook that he saw right through you. You struggled to find your next words, shifting restlessly a little on your bed.

The shy little noises you let out made Aventurine chuckle again. "Alright, alright, I'll stop," He moved his sunglasses back up his nose. "My secretary is displeased. What to do? What to do?" He tapped his chin once thoughtfully for moment. "Tell you what, help yourself to anything in the hotel bar. Just start a tab."

"A-A tab? But.." You started to protest, but Aventurine hushed you, shaking his head. The teasing smile never left his face.

"The tab is on me. Relax a little, and I'll come check on you later," Winking, he hung up before you could protest any further. And a drink or two would surely sooth your nerves.

Much later that night, Aventurine let himself into your room. You hadn't answered the door when he knocked, nor did you answer when the lobby called up to your room to let you know he was on his way up.

Closing the door behind him, he saw why. There you were, passed out cold asleep on the bed. There a few empty glasses of your preferred choice of alcohol on the table next to the bed.

Aventurine sat down on the corner of your bed, his eyes wandering over your sleeping form. Oh, you probably didn't mean to let him see you like this. You'd fallen asleep on your back in only your panties, your shirt hiked up a little over your stomach.

You looked twice as delicate as you normally did. He moved closer to you on the bed, hesitantly reaching his hand out to touch your thigh. He gently prodded his fingers into the soft flesh, marvelling at how pliable your thigh felt. His gloved hand wandered up your thigh, keeping his eyes carefully trained on you for signs of you waking up.

Aventurine froze hearing you sigh softly in your sleep, stirring a little. His hand hovered over your thigh, close to your panties. He let out a soft sigh of relief when you did wake up.

"Aventurine," You said softly, sighing again in your sleep. His breath hitched in his throat as he took he off his sunglasses. How cute. Were you dreaming about him?

Your legs had moved apart slightly when you'd shifted in your sleep. You'd been so anxious all day, wound up so tight. His name sounded so pretty coming so dreamily from your even prettier mouth.

What would his name sound like if he made you moan it?

Call it a gamblers greed gripping him as used two fingers to push your panties aside. Why not give you something sweet to dream about? It was the least he could do given just how much you doted on him. When he shared those deep, drunk kisses with you, he could always tell your feelings for him were just on the cusps of spilling from your lips.

Aventurine pushed the tip of two fingers inside of you, biting back a groan as your juices started to soak into his gloves. He let your pussy soak into the material a little more before he raised them to his lips. "Just a little taste," He murmured, slowly licking his fingers.

A shiver danced up his spine. You tasted nothing short of divine to him. His tongue lingered, curling around his fingers to savior the taste before he carefully moved between your legs. Laughing shakily, he somehow knew just one little taste wouldn't be enough.

Aventurine's tongue dipped greedily between your folds. He struggled to swallow back moans, licking the shape of your pussy. He slurped quietly on your cunt, swirling his tongue around and around your clit.

Your body started to subconsciously react to pleasure in your sleep. Soft moans started to sound from you, only fueling the greed of his tongue. He pushed the tip of his tongue inside of you, rutting his now pulsing cock into the mattress feeling your pussy clench around it.

"Shit, I'm getting hard," He mumbled drunk into your cunt. He hastily took one of his gloves off, pushing two fingers inside of you as he scooped your clit into his mouth to suck on. "Just a few more minutes, sweetheart. Your moans sound so pretty," He fucked his tongue into your pussy with new vigor hearing you moan his name.

[httpiastri]

nsfw alphabet – ln4

author's note: this pretty much wrote itself, oh my god. hope you enjoy (and hoping for some good results this weekend!!)

nsfw content below !! minors dni !!!

a – aftercare (what he is like after sex)

after sex, lando craves having you near him. he needs his skin on yours, he needs to kiss you, he needs to hold you. it doesn't matter if he's just fucked you senseless, he still can't live on if he doesn't feel your body pressed up against him.

lando gets soft and mushy after sex, and especially if he's been in a certain type of mood; he just needs to make sure you're alright and that you understand that even if he got a little too into it, he's still your cute and sweet boyfriend. he thanks you for being there, he asks you if you're feeling good, and makes sure he wasn't too rough with you.

another thing about lando after sex is that he loves cockwarming. the first time you tried it was probably just because he was lazy, too tired to pull out, but after then it's so much more. again, it's that craving for your touch and what better way than to completely drown in you all night? he doesn't care if you're both sweaty or sticky or if your combined juices make a mess of the sheets. that's a problem for another day.

b – body part (his favorite body part of his and also his partner's body)

lando likes a lot of his own body parts for different reasons. his tongue because of the way he knows it makes you feel and because he's confident in his skills with it. he likes his hands, the size of them and the way they never fail to make your back arch off the bed (and because of how they look wrapped around your wrists, your legs, your waist, your neck...). he knows his neck makes you go crazy, and he'll think about you leaving a trail of lovebites down it whenever he does his neck exercises at the gym. but honestly, i think he just really likes all of his muscles, partly because of how defined they are and how good they look, but also a lot of it is because of how strong he is; he loves being able to hold your body down in bed, or hold you up in the shower, or throw you over his shoulder and toss you onto the bed.

i genuinely can't figure out if i think he's an ass guy or a boobs guy – i'm pretty sure he's both, and he's obsessed. it doesn't matter if you're petite or curvy or somewhere in between, he's pretty much gawking at you 24/7. if you're turned towards him, he's happy to have a view of your chest. if you've got your back turned against him, his eyes won't be leaving your gorgeous butt. his hands will be on them all the time, doesn't matter if you're out in public or home in your apartment. he needs to feel you, and nothing satisfies his needs as much as having his favorite body parts of his favorite person in his hands.

c – cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

oh he's good with anything. coming inside you, in your mouth, over your chest, doesn't matter. he finds it all so insanely hot. seeing you lick it up? he's dead. seeing you lick your own cum from his fingers after he's fingered you? even more dead.

d – dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of his)

lando loves a good photograph – and that definitely goes for pictures of you. you bet he's got a whole private folder on his phone of just pictures of you on top of his covers, hickeys adorning your skin... ass or breasts on full display... tied up to the bed frame or with one of his hands wrapped around your neck... of course, the two of you have had a serious conversation about it to make sure it's consensual, and he would never ever even think of showing anyone else, he's far too possessive for that. they're purely for his own enjoyment.

the only thing that makes him even more aroused than pictures of you is videos... he's a bit shy to bring it up but he would love to make some kind of softer sex tape one day. but for now, he'll settle for the short clips he has of himself slowly thrusting into you or you riding him.

e – experience (how experienced is he? does he know what he's doing?)

lando is experienced, no doubt. mostly with casual hookups, though, which i think influences his style. he definitely knows what he's doing, he knows every little secret about your body and what every touch will make you feel. he also surprises you with a new trick every once in a while that just blows your mind because how can he still impress you even after all this time? that's just lando.

f – favorite position (this goes without saying)

lando doesn't settle for just one position, he wants you every way all the time. he loves to switch positions mid-way through just to get another angle and another feel of you. plus, the bonus of getting to see different parts of you is great. doggy just to have his hands on your ass, cowgirl to get to see your breasts bounce... he doesn't really have a set favorite, anything that makes you both feel good is perfect for him.

g – goofy (is he more serious in the moment? is he humorous? etc.)

oh he can definitely be goofy with it. lando laughs at pretty much everything and that doesn't just go away in the bedroom. it's not overly frequent, like he doesn't just crack jokes out of nowhere, but he's a smiley dude. he's also very teenage boy-ish, which leads to a lot of laughter and funny situations.

h – hair (how well groomed is he? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

i don't think he cares too much, to be fair. he's tried shaving a couple of times just to see how it looks, but he's much too lazy to keep up with it. as long as you don't mind a lot, he will just let it grow however it wants.

i – intimacy (how is he during the moment? the romantic aspect)

he's intimate, sure, but not overly romantic i think. there are moments or certain occasions where he definitely is, though; he enjoys getting all romantic and fluffy for you every once in a while. but for him, most of the romance comes after it. the aftercare is where he'll show just how sweet and domestic he can be.

j – jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he used to love a good handjob, especially during a race weekend when he didn't have access to any girls and just needed to blow off some steam. but ever since he started getting with you, it's just not the same anymore... he misses your touch, the feeling of sinking into you, getting to hear your whiny breaths as he fucks you. he doesn't properly get off by himself unless he's watching a video of you or looking at a particularly suggestive picture you've sent him.

k – kink (one or more of his kinks)

i think lando definitely has a bulge kink. seeing your stomach move around when he thrusts into you makes him so weak. also, i'm sorry but he has a bit of a pregnancy kink, too. especially after spending days with baby relatives or just seeing kids around. it doesn't come out very often, but don't be surprised when he gets all "you'd look so good with my baby inside you" and "let's make that belly round and beautiful, hm?"...

l – location (favorite places to do the do)

i feel like the location doesn't matter a lot to him. bedroom, kitchen, living room, bathroom, the windowsill that any of his neighbors could look through any day... having someone watch you two doesn't matter to him; he just feels like a generous boy for giving them a treat.

he isn't shy to get it on in public, either. obviously, behind closed doors is a must, but if he gets particularly horny at a friend's party? then the bathroom seems like a good place to spend some time. he isn't shy to play a little with you in public either, his hand on your thigh underneath the table at the club slowly but surely inching up... and giving you a few teasing strokes until you're begging for him to just take you home...

one of his weaknesses is swimming pool sex. as long as there's no one else in the pool, it doesn't matter if there are friends nearby (if it's a pool party, etc.); he just loves the feeling of the water around you and how easy it is to slip into you.

don't know where else to put this than here, but i think it's very important to add that lando does not care at all who else is near when you're around and he's in a mood. pda is his middle name, and his hands will be on you at all times. holding your hand, wrapping an arm around your waist, a hand on your ass...

if you're at a party, lando will be upset if you choose a seat that isn't his lap. having you straddle his thighs or sitting sideways in his lap is his biggest wish, and he feels like the world's luckiest man whenever you give him the pleasure of doing it. he also loves it because it means he can make sure you're not off talking to some creepy dude, and that everyone sees who you belong to. lando is very possessive and this is the perfect way to keep his possessiveness in check.

m – motivation (what turns him on, gets him going)

honestly, it's not hard at all to rile lando up. he can and wants to get with you at all times. but drunk lando = extra horny lando. never is lando as frisky as when he's downed a few drinks (or half a champagne bottle on the podium). his hands will be on you constantly.

whenever you wear anything that shows off your cleavage, he's done. his brain will short circuit.

as i've covered before, and will cover again, lando is possessive, but also quite easily jealous. seeing you with some other dude makes him really easily riled up. it's not that he likes it – he hates the thought of you actually being with another man – but just a little teasing never hurt anyone. he's too confident in himself and he knows that you love him and only him, that even when he sees you flirt with someone else, it doesn't upset him because he understands that it's all just a game.

n – no (something he wouldn't do, turn-offs)

lando doesn't like to share you. he thinks it's cool that you flirt with other men, but if you were to ever cross the line and actually do something with another man, he would be so mad (and not in a good way-). he could possibly be up for a threesome if you really want to, but he needs to be there and he will be watching over the other guy with so much suspicion. he would want to make sure that you're enjoying everything he's doing much more than the other dude, and to be fair it would pretty much eventually turn out to be just regular sex between the two of you with the other man just not being involved.

o – oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he loves both of them. he's a messy giver, hastily licks and just eating you out like a starved man. he loves the taste of you – he swears it's one of his favorite things in the world – and he will just never get sick of it. he can go over and over, a million rounds, until he has you completely ruined underneath him; legs trembling, eyes rolled back, brain empty of thoughts.

your blow jobs, though, are like god's gift to him. he would never force you to give him them, but oh does he think about them about 24/7. unless you're completely oblivious, you'll understand quite quickly how much he enjoys them. and why would you not want to please him and make him as happy as he wants? he gets completely lost in the feeling, his hands tangling in your hair and fingers pulling on it, guiding you up and down... and he just can't hold back from thrusting ever so slightly into it. you're just too good – and you bet he'll praise you for it.

p – pace (is he fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

i think this can vary a bit, actually. fast and rough sometimes, slow but deep and hard other times. it's not often that he's on the sensual side, though it does happen every once in a while. but you bet he's going to pour all of his energy into it and make it real hot and needy, no matter the pace.

q – quickie (his opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he definitely likes a good old quickie! you've both gotten quite used to them, especially during race weekends when you have a tight schedule. if you're really really tight on time, a quick blowjob does the job, too.

r – risk (is he game to experiment? does he take risks? etc.)

definitely. he loves trying new things to spice things up, and he's not shy to experiment and take a risk that maybe not everyone else would. he would adore having a partner who's as open to experimenting as he is, it would just make him feel so free and non-judged. if you get to see lando in his fully comfortable state, you'll definitely find him suggesting all kinds of things.

s – stamina (how many rounds can he go for? how long does he last?)

lando is obsessed with you, so nothing can tire him out. he can last forever (or, at least so he thinks).

t – toys (does he own toys? does he use them? on a partner or himself?)

as we've talked about already, lando is up for anything. bring up any kind of toys and he's sold. he's also really curious about how you please yourself when he's away, so you bet he will love watching you get off without him helping you out.

u – unfair (how much he likes to tease)

lando is definitely a big tease. pressing pecks all over your body except for where you really need and want him, fingers stroking up and down your sides a little too lightly for your taste; leaning back when you lean in to kiss him, pressing a finger to your lips with a silly grin on his lips; pulling out of you just as you're about to reach your climax, tilting his head and letting out a little "oh? you wanted to come? sorry, baby. you'll have to beg for it"....

this also happens, maybe even more, when you're in public. he doesn't care who's around; he knows you get a little extra tense and that you're easier to work up when you don't want anyone to know what lando is doing to you. his specialty is kneeling down and pretending to tie your shoelace or brush away some dirt from your heels, and when no one is looking, he makes sure to press a short trail of kisses right above your knee and up the inside of your thigh. it makes you react with the same wide eyes and speechlessness every time, and he loves it. almost as much as he loves seeing your friends ask you what's wrong.

v – volume (how loud he is, what sounds he makes, etc.)

lando is not scared of being loud, he's very very vocal during sex. he loves to moan, seeing it as a way to let you know how good he thinks you feel. he's the type to moan and groan even when he's the one doing the work; just watching your juices drip out of you brings a warm sensation to his chest because he's the one who did that. you react like that to him and only him.

he also loves to talk you through it. a lot of guiding, even though you already know what to do, and a lot of praise.

w – wild card (a random headcanon)

one thing lando thinks is the maybe hottest thing you can do is pull on his chains when he's wearing them... just yanking him towards you so that you can press your lips to his, it has him dead in seconds.

he also has a thing for seeing you wear necklaces or chains (esp his chains) because it reminds him of this other type of necklace that he loves seeing around your throat much more...

x – x-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

he's a big boy for sure. thickness is his strongest suit but he's got some good length too.

y – yearning (how high is his sex drive?)

as i've said before, lando is obsessed with you, so he could have sex with you anytime anywhere. there's not going to be a time where he doesn't want to have sex with you.

z – zzz (how quickly he falls asleep afterward)

i think it depends. if you've been at it for a while and he's very energetically drained, he'll be quick to fall asleep. but in some other cases, it takes him a long while to mentally calm down from his high and actually relax his mind. he'll be all pumped up.

[cordeliawhohung]

the prowl - single dad! Price x teacher! stripper! Reader (fem)

[1] a mishap

She comes to you with shredded knees and fat tears.

Amelia Price is a quiet girl, and even her squeaky cries mimic that sentiment as she paws at the skirt of her uniform, bottom lip trembling. She stares at you like she can’t afford to look anywhere else, but her whimpering gives away that she can feel the trickle of blood traversing down her shins. It glints a bright maroon in the afternoon sun where it bakes in the unforgiving September heat, and you feel your heart shred at the sight. The beads race, viscous as they soak into her pristine cotton socks. 

“Oh, sweetie, what happened?” you ask, voice gentle. You bend forward, soft zephyr toying with the skirt of your dress as you try to get a better look at the damage. Rocks pierce her skin, jutting out like sanguine teeth feasting on her flesh from the inside out, and even you almost wince. 

She sniffles, but refuses to wipe the tears from her reddened, blotchy cheeks. “We were playing tag,” she chokes out. Each word leaves her chest shuttering as her diaphragm spazzes against her ribs; unforgiving. “Tripped on something and- and fell…”

You shush her before she can work herself up, before the dam does more than just crack, and you straighten yourself up and glance at your colleague. Mrs. Addler, a veteran primary school teacher, is hardly phased by your young student’s mishap. The crows feet in the corners of her eyes deepen as she waves you off, attention returning to the swarm of navy blue uniforms buzzing around the playground like marine bees waiting to be picked up by their parents. 

“Get her cleaned up. One teacher missing from guard duty won’t cause any trouble,” she assures you. 

Barren corridors greet you as you lead Amelia back inside of the school with a gentle, guiding hand on her shoulder. Sweat starts to wick and evaporate off of your skin, and you quietly revel in the building’s cool halls, shielded from the unforgiving sun. The bell rang not even six minutes ago, releasing your students for the weekend, and you can’t help but feel a bit of pity for her. Had she just been careful for a little longer, she could have gone home unscathed. 

For a six year old, Amelia does a better job at composing herself and regulating her emotions than most adults you know, yet you still find yourself cooing to her emollientally about how everything will be fine as you lead her toward the infirmary. Her sniffling stops echoing off polished floors and brick walls the moment you enter the empty, sterile room. Cartoon posters paint the walls with Cover your sneeze! and Have you been vaccinated yet? mantras, shedding little color in the otherwise grey space.

The light flickers on with a quiet hum as you approach the green-leathered treatment bed shoved against the wall. You give Amelia an understanding smile as you pat the bed, paper crinkling underneath your touch as you invite her up. 

“Hop up, then.” 

While your student situates herself as instructed, you search through cupboards and drawers for supplies, fetching alcohol wipes and disinfectant spray. Amelia’s tears are less frequent, and the blotchy redness of her cheeks have faded by the time you bring your attention back to her. She even gives you a timid smile — comforted by your presence, yet anxious about her minor wounds. 

Flowing fabric brushes against the ground as your dress fans around you, knees sinking onto the floor to better clean Amelia’s knees. Without prompting, she holds her skirt out of your way, meticulously taking care that she doesn’t make a mess of it like she did her socks. Darkened blood soaks into the cotton, staining them a near brown color. You hope her father knows how to clean it out. 

“What do you have planned for the weekend?” you question. Interrogate. Distract. Keep her mind off of the pain. You rip open an alcohol wipe, and its aseptic scent burns your nose within seconds. “Anything fun?” 

Amelia winces as you brush debris free from her skin. Unforgiving rocks and sticks clatter on the ground, tinking like bells as they scatter out of sight. Whatever discomfort she feels is ephemeral though, and she sniffs and huffs to answer your question.

“I’m going to my granny’s,” she informs you, blue eyes unable to look away from the ghastly sight of her knees. 

“That sounds like fun!” you beam, voice high pitched and engaging. Always chipper and bright with the young ones, lest their attention get caught by something else. “Do you know what she has planned?” 

“I think uh… the pool?” 

You grin. “How lovely. No rocks to trip on at the pool.” 

Melodic giggles erupt from the girl at your joke, and you continue your banter until her knees are free from rubbish and blood. Slight bruising muddles the cuts; makes her delicate skin look like rough terrain rather than the unburdened flesh a child should have. Either way, the bleeding has ceased, and so have her tears. 

“Alright,” you say as you stand. You discard bloodied wipes into the trash and fish out a few boxes of bandaids where you try to balance them for Amelia’s viewing. The wounds bled worse than the cuts would have you believe, and though dressings aren’t necessary, it’s always a bit of fun for the kids. “I’ve got Barbie, Transformers, or… dinosaurs.” 

Sapphire flames ignite behind Amelia’s eyes the very moment you mention those freakishly large lizards. You’re already putting the other two boxes away before the answer comes out of her mouth. 

“Dinosaurs!” she cheers before sheepishly coiling in on herself. “Please!” 

It takes two bandaids for her right knee, and only one for her left, but soon the pain is long forgotten as you're kneeling in front of her, talking about velociraptors and stegosauruses. Eventually, her starry-eyed expression melts into something more diffident as her legs begin to sway off the side of the table. 

“Uh… Miss. Lolly…” Her voice trails off, unsure of herself, but you can see the way she keeps glancing at the pockets of your dress. 

Reading her mind, your hands follow her gaze where you fish out a lollipop. Your students know you well, and you didn’t earn the name Miss Lolly just because they thought you were nice. A sugar addict yourself, you always reward good students with a well deserved treat. She giggles as you hand it to her, wasting no time at removing the cellophane wrapper before devouring the grape flavored candy. 

“Of course. I think you���ve earned a treat for being so brave,” you chuckle. 

You’re still kneeling on the ground when heavy footsteps march through the door, where they cross the threshold of sterility before halting. Head snapping, you look at this new figure with wide eyes. The sizable form of Amelia’s father towers over you, still on your knees, as his attention is brought to his daughter with a solicitous glimmer clouding his gaze. 

“There you are.” 

There’s no denying it; John Price is a handsome man. You came to that conclusion as early as last year when Amelia started reception. Freshly trimmed facial hair curls with his lips as he gazes down at his girl, and you find your teeth digging into the soft flesh of your cheeks. Ardor exudes from him as he looks at Amelia like she’s God’s greatest gift, and it’s almost enough to wipe the acrimony haze that always seems to hide in the depths of his eyes. 

Fat muscles struggle against the expertly steamed fabric of his shirt as he crosses his arms — business casual, light fabric, a fitting sky blue. A silvery sheen catches your attention as the buckle of his belt catches the light, and you feel your face flush with terrible realization. Such an angle you have, looking up at him like that. Low and kneeling. Even with the polite distance, it’s more precarious than you would care to admit. 

Jumping to your feet, you give John a polite smile yet you can’t find the words. Your brain is still swimming, clogged with inappropriate and unwelcome thoughts. You’re utterly chagrined, and you curse yourself for it. Luckily, Amelia’s adoration for her father is poorly hidden as she slides off the table and rushes to his side, saving you from any awkward conversation.

“Hi papa!” she says, words slurred due to the lollipop in her mouth. 

His hand holds the side of her head as she leans against him in a hug, short arms hardly reaching around his waist, and for a moment it’s like you don’t even exist as he looks down at her. “Everythin’ alright, pumpkin?” 

Amelia nods before she rips the candy from her mouth. “I tripped on the playground, but don’t worry, Miss Lolly fixed me.” 

John’s eyes flash to you with obvious gratitude, and you busy yourself with running your hands over the skirt of your dress. It’s beautiful, the playful pattern of flowers is just flashy enough to keep the kids interested, yet not so much so that you anger the headmaster. His eyes follow your movement, lingering on the way the fabric flows around your legs like he’s sizing you up. Reading every bit of code in your DNA based on scent alone.

“She’s got a few scrapes, and a little bruising, but nothing serious,” you conclude politely. 

John nods, lips pressing together as Amelia grabs hold of his hand — a small grain of sand in a never ending desert. “I appreciate it. She’s gettin’to be too much like her father. Always findin’ trouble.” 

That sentiment is so absurd you aren’t able to stop the incredulous laugh that leaves your lips. “Oh, not at all. Amelia is a fine girl, Mr. Price.”

Something of a smile pulls at his lips, and your heart stops in your chest. “Just John is fine, Miss Lolly.” 

“Come on, papa,” Amelia urges as she pulls against him, cutting your conversation short. There’s no possibility that a girl as young and small as her could drag a man of John’s size and weight, yet he plays along as he stumbles and huffs after her. “Granny’s going to get mad at you again for making her wait.” 

A hearty, raspy chuckle exudes from John at his daughter’s bluntness, and he raises his free hand at you in a polite wave. “Alright, but don’t forget your manners. Say goodbye, Melia.” 

Pausing, the girl waves her sucker at you with a grin. “Bye!” 

“See you Monday!” you smile. 

The playground is barren by the time you’ve retrieve your items, and Mrs. Addler and the other teachers are long gone. Children’s laughter ghosts somewhere in the distance, making the skeletal remains of the play area terribly daunting. Despite the heat, you shiver before turning away from the window and locking up your classroom. 

You wave goodbye to the custodian as you slink off to the bus stop with aching feet. It’s a bitterly loud ride back to your flat as older students crowd the seats and yell about their plans for the weekend. Brash. Annoying. A tense ache blooms at the base of your skull where it wades through the mess of your brain until it’s pounding behind your eyes. It’s a fine way to end the day, you suppose.

If only it was the end.

What a terribly long week. 

You’re dropped off unceremoniously, and you huff and puff in the sticky heat as you climb the steps up to your apartment. Leaving the windows open all day did you some good, as the entrance isn’t as warm as the building itself, but there is little relief to be found. Dragging your feet, you slink off into your bedroom where you begin to shed your layers. Off comes that eye-catching dress, the one with pretty roses and lilies, the beautiful display that gets your students chatting and whispering to one another in the morning. Off comes your smile. Away goes the affable tone in your voice as you mutter curses to yourself. 

You wear many skins. Many hats. Many masks. All of them are meticulously made; sewn together with tentative effort and care. As you clean yourself in the shower to prepare your body for a different skin, you fight the urge to cry. No amount of suds or scorching water can cleanse you of the delassation that taints your soul. It permeates your skin. It is permanent. 

Rest your body screams. Rest. Recuperate. You have had a long day of performance; of shaping children’s minds for the better. Yet when you drag yourself out of the shower and look at the time illuminating on the microwave in the kitchen, you feel your stomach drop. The backsplash that sits behind it is cracked and molding, but you pay it no mind as you groan at the numbers on the display. 

7:30 PM. 

You are tired. Beyond exhausted. With a pounding headache, screaming feet, and a growling stomach, all you want to do is sleep. Sleep and sleep and rest. But there’s no rest for the wicked. 

No, it’s time to really get to work.

[xrux]

❝ your boyfriend, satoru, has been raving about you to his best friend, suguru. he finally finds the time to let the two of you get acquainted, and asks you to smile for him — live on camera ❞

⟢ ﹒ cw. dub con filming / dub con voyeurism, yandere undertones, fucking on camera, sucking on satoru’s thumb (gagging), overstimulation, humiliation, male masturbation, double penetration fantasies, dirty talk, no reader pronouns, 600+ words

╭ nsfw + potentially triggering content below the cut ╰ ➤ minors do not interact, 18+ only ♡ ♡ ♡

"S-satoru, what are you doing?" You giggle, shielding your eyes with the back of your hand, trying to blink away the red spot where the bright light hit. "Put the camera away,” you coo, waving your free hand in front of you.

But how can he take your request seriously? Your pussy fluttered around his cock the second his flash turned on, walls still coiling as you squirm underneath his stare.

He's on his feet, eyes lidded, breaths growing ragged and carnal as he watches his cock stretch you out through his phone screen. He thinks you’re so fucking pretty with your legs wrapped around his waist, tits bouncing with every slam of his hips against your ass.

“Smile pretty for me, will ya?” He swats your hand away from your face, interlocking with your fingers as you grip the sheets with your other hand. His slow pace is killing you so hot and so good it makes you roll your eyes back. Hips sticky from a mix of sweat and your own slick, it leaves kisses on your clit as he rams into you balls deep. The intense light shining on you in an otherwise dim room now buried and forgotten with every wet slap of his hips against your pussy.

You’re almost there, almost there, almost—

“Yo, Satoru— hm? what's this?”

“Wha—hmmmffuuuck!“ you cry out, the sound of someone entering a facetime call rushing you to your high.

“Fuck, ‘s tight!” Your walls flutter around Satoru’s cock, forcing him to release a grunt.

Tears prickle your eyes from the overstimulation — sensations all over the place when you’re met with someone’s unfamiliar voice coupled with the bright light in your face and the insane heat in your stomach.

“Oh? Is that ___? You're even prettier than I imagined."

“S-satoru, hhaaa, who is—“

“Shh shh.” Your boyfriend cups your face. His thumb brushes your lower lip before it lightly pushes on, allowing him entry to your mouth. “So fucking pretty,” Satoru groans, his thumb presses down on your tongue, coating it with your warm, wet, drool.

“Fuuuuck, Satoru,” the voice on the other end of the line breathes out.

“Wanna say hi?” Satoru asks before flipping his phone, your only source of light being the maxed out brightness of the four corners of his screen.

“I’m Suguru. Nice to meet you ___.” The man you know to be your boyfriend’s best friend shows up on the screen, finally allowing you to attach a face to the name.

Suguru’s camera shakes for a bit. Next thing you know it’s angled down to his waist, rock hard abdomen flexing behind the camera where he begins to whip out his hard, throbbing cock.

“Ffuuuck,” Suguru groans at the first pump of his cock. “‘m so fucking jealous, I want to fuck that pussy myself.”

“Mmmhh,” you moan against Satoru’s thumb, drool dripping on the side of your face. You wonder what it feels like to be fucked on both holes, finding your walls knotting around your boyfriend’s cock at the sight of someone else’s.

“I think ___ likes you.” Satoru hisses at how tight your walls are clenching. “What a little minx, putting on such a good show for my best friend.”

Your muffled moans are in sync with Satoru’s ruthless pace. Pretty soon, you turn into a mewling mess. Your eyebrows furrow from the intense pleasure of how well your boyfriend’s cock stretches your pussy, fucking you through your high. Your eyes, wide-eyed and fixed at Suguru who’s pumping his fist so fast at the sight of your bouncing tits, at the sight of you creaming, coming undone before him.

For the final act, Satoru decides to paint your top white, sending his own best friend to his own climax painting his top white.

“Let’s do this again sometime?”

[pulisicsgirl]

in my hour of need - mason mount

summary: eight months after the end of their relationship, Y/N and Mason find themselves at the same event—a charity gala—and the night’s events leave them both unsure of where they stand with each other

pairing: Mason Mount x reader

word count: 8.4k

warnings/tags: inappropriate joke is made about the reader, angst, self-doubt, exes-to-lovers, hurt/comfort (hee hee hee), ends with fluff of course don’t worry, lots of crying involved along the way

requested: no

based off of this concept from @mountttmase and @saltyheartnightmare

A/N: I’m so excited to finally have a fic ready to post for y’all again!!! I’ve literally been working on this one for the last three months, so it’s definitely a relief to put it out there! This is set during the TFSL gala that Mason attended back at the beginning of March, so some things might be a bit”outdated” by now… I hope yall enjoy!!!

Seeing Mason tonight had been more difficult than you had anticipated.

Eight months had passed since the fairly amicable breakup between the two of you. Things had ended on fairly good terms, but it had been the little things that built up that had led to the end of your relationship. Between Mason’s injury along with the situation at United and new, huge career opportunities that had arisen for you in the last year, the two of you seemed to be in completely different places in your lives. It seemed like you barely saw each other for a few minutes after you woke up in the morning and a few minutes before you fell asleep at night.

In the end, the disconnect was too much, and the two of you agreed to end things before they could get ugly.

You were thankful to have avoided the period of fighting and bickering that you knew would inevitably come with the track that you and Mason were on. Your relationship with him had many fond memories attached to it, and you didn’t want to see those tainted by a messy breakup. But every day that passed, you missed waking up in his bed, being by his side, spending time with him— all of it.

The two of you had tried your best to remain friends, truly. You had texted back and forth a bit, doing your best to keep up with each other’s lives and keep each other updated. You met for coffee about three weeks after the split, but after that your communication had quickly fallen off. You wondered if, like you, Mason had realized that trying to maintain a friendship had grown too painful. If, like you, it was killing him to have you sitting across from him and not be able to hold you, to kiss you, to call you his.

But there was no way for you to know— the two of you hadn’t spoken since.

It hadn’t come as a surprise that he was making an appearance at the charity gala. After all, it was him that had connected you with Together For Short Lives, the organization that Mason had a long-standing relationship with and also the organization benefitting from tonight’s events. Mason’s passion for the charity and its work had sparked something within you, and you had quickly pulled some strings to get your workplace involved with it as well— all of this while you were still together.

So when your boss told you about his contribution to the charity gala and has asked you to be the representative for the business at the auction itself, you knew that seeing Mason would be inevitable.

But it’s been eight months since the split—seven since you last saw him. Surely, you’d be fine by now, you had thought.

Unfortunately, you had thought wrong.

The first glimpse of him in the sleek black suit had sent a sharp pang through your chest, a wave of emotions crashing over you. His hair and beard were neatly trimmed and the softness of it immediately made you think of how it felt when you would run your fingers through it, or the scratch of his beard when you would cradle his jaw in your palm. His shoulders seemed to have grown broader, if that was even possible. His eyes looked brighter, and he seemed far more well-rested than you had seen him in the months leading up to your breakup.

And then the terrifying thought had hit you.

Maybe he was better off without you.

Maybe the breakup had been good for him. Maybe you had been the thing draining him in the last months of your relationship.

You felt the tears spring to your eyes as soon as the thought crossed your mind, blinking them away quickly.

But the thought continued to plague you as the night went on. There were a thousand things that were making you feel unsure of yourself and the thought that your relationship with Mason had actually been detrimental to him was just the cherry on top.

This just wasn’t the kind of event you usually found yourself at, even less a setting that you felt comfortable in. You would much prefer a quite night in or the opportunity to fade into the background. When you had been with Mason, you found yourself at a few events like this one, but you always had him at your side. Often you would allow him to navigate the evening for you, so you didn’t even have to think about anything. Tonight, instead of standing next to you so you cold hold tightly onto his arm when you felt unsteady, he was 100 feet away, engaged in conversation with someone else.

To make matters worse, you had asked a friend of yours to help you find and choose a dress for the evening, and she had insisted you would look and feel great in this elegant, low-cut, dark green dress that had an open back. At the time, she had convinced you that the piece complimented your figure and would make you feel confident and sexy. However, it was completely out of your comfort zone, and you regretted your decision to listen to her as you tugged on parts of the dress to try to cover yourself up more throughout the night.

Between the unfamiliar environment, the dress, and Mason’s presence, everything left you feeling quite unsure of yourself.

When you reached your seating assignment, you were relieved to see that you were familiar with a few of the individuals that were sitting at your table—acquaintances that worked for the same company as you who, no doubt, were also sent as representatives for the charity gala. The relief was short-lived, however, when you realized that, directly in front of you, a mere two tables over, Mason’s seat was directly in your line of sight.

You did your best to sink into the shadows, allowing conversation to flow around you without making any contribution, unless someone directly asked you a question. You also tried your hardest not to look over at Mason— this sight of him happily engaging in conversation, seemingly unaffected by your presence, was too much for your heart to handle.

A wave of relief washed over you when someone got up on the stage, removing any pressure to engage in conversation at the table as everyone turned their attention to the announcer. He spoke a bit about Together for Short Lives and the work that they did, soon announcing that it was time for the items to be auctioned off.

Some of the auction items piqued your interest, seeming like items or experiences that you thought you might enjoy. But any sort of intrigue faded when you heard the amounts of money that some of the gala’s patrons were volunteering for them, quickly realizing you were way out of your depth in this room of people.

Before too long, the announcer introduced a “Manchester United Experience,” involving a tour of the team’s facility, accompanied by the team’s star boy himself. Mason approached the stage, walking up the short flight of stairs as applause rang throughout the room. You didn’t hear much of the discussion of the experience as you got caught up in watching Mason and the playful way he interacted with the announcer and the crowd. His silly boyishness sent a pang through your heart, missing the playful way he used to interact with you.

You could’ve sworn his eyes caught yours as they swept the room, and you flashed him a short, forced smile as a sort of sign of goodwill. You weren’t exactly sure where the two of you stood, but you wanted to show him that you didn’t harbor any negative feelings toward him, despite the loss of contact.

The faintest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lips before he turned his attention back to the announcer who had just asked him a question— one that Mason had to ask him to repeat.

Soon Mason was leaving the stage, having earned an ungodly amount of money for TFSL with his promised tour of Old Trafford.

A sick feeling settled in your gut, knowing it couldn’t be much longer before your company’s contribution was auctioned off. The mere thought of stepping onto that stage sent a rush of fear through your veins.

Before you knew it, you found yourself standing to the side of the stage, awaiting your queue to join the announcer on it. Your palms felt sweaty, your heart racing as you tried your best to compose yourself. Applause rang through the room, and you put all of your focus into not tripping as you walked up the stairs.

The room felt ten times bigger from atop the stage, filled with many more people than you had realized were in attendance. You tried to focus on smiling and nodding at the appropriate moments as the announcer explained what your company was auctioning off.

“And of course, we’re very appreciative of Miss… uhm…”

“Y/L/N,” you spoke quietly as the announcer trailed off.

“Yes, we’re very appreciative of Miss Y/L/N being here with us tonight,” the announcer resumed his charismatic personality after it had faltered briefly. “She’s certainly doing her part to raise money for a good cause. I mean, with this much skin on show, that has to be worth a few extra pounds on your bid, right?”

Your stomach sank to your feet as laughter erupted in the large room. You felt the heat in your cheeks, your smile faltering at his words. You suddenly felt ten times more self-conscious of yourself as you stood on the stage, feeling like a zoo animal being laid bare and displayed for everyone’s entertainment.

“With that, we’re going to start the bidding off at…” The announcers voice faded as the room felt like it was closing in on you. Your eyes flicked through the crowd, jumping from face to face until you found the one you were looking for— Mason.

While everyone else seemed to still be composing themselves from the eruption of laughter at the joke the announcer had made at your expense, Mason’s eyes met yours with the saddest expression you though you had ever seen. You could just barely make out his lips mouthing the words it’s okay, you’re okay, before your misty eyes could no longer make out his face.

You composed yourself just long enough for the announcer to finish off the auction, and you offered him a forced smile before you rushed off of the stage.

All you knew was that you needed to be anywhere but this room. You needed to get out, away from all of the people who had just witnessed your very public humiliation.

You made a beeline toward the back of the large hall that everyone was seated in, spotting the double doors that you knew led out to the hallway. Your heels click on the floor as you push through the doors and find the exit out to the decorative garden off of the side of the building being used for the gala. Thinking a bit of fresh air would do you good, you rushed outside, ignoring the chill that rushed through you as the cold air met your skin. Moving quickly away from the building, you ducked behind some hedges in the hope that no one would see you.

Your breathing was heavy as you tried your best to dampen the emotions welling up inside of you. Your throat felt tight as you fought back the tears of embarrassment, frustration, and regret. Forcing yourself to breath slowly, in through your nose and out through your mouth, you did your best to wipe gently at the corners of your eyes, praying that you wouldn’t ruin the makeup you had done only a few hours before.

“Y/N?” you heard a voice call from around the corner. Your heart sank as you recognized the gentle tone and the footsteps let you know that he was close. This was surely not the circumstances you had hoped to be in when you spoke to him for the first time in months.

You turned your back just in time for Mason to round the corner and find you hiding away in your little nook. There was nothing you hated more than the idea of letting him see you cry in this moment.

“Y/N, love-“

“I’m fine, Mason.” Your voice came out harsher than you had meant for it to. “Really, I’m okay. Just go back to the auction.”

Undeterred by the way you had spoken, Mason took a couple of steps closer to you. “No, you’re not, Y/N. I know you better than that.”

You couldn’t respond, and you knew he hadn’t missed the small sniffle you had let out as you bit your lip to keep it from trembling.

It was only a moment before you felt his fingers gently take hold of your arm, turning you to face him. Your head was bowed low, still unwilling to let him see your misty eyes.

“C’mere, love,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around your torso as he pulled you in for a tight hug. You couldn’t keep yourself from returning the gesture, your arms wrapped under his as you pressed your palms into his broad back to hold him close. You tucked your face into his neck and suddenly, your heart felt more settled than it had in months.

“He had no right to say anything like that— about you or about anyone,” Mason mumbled into your hair, pressing a barely-there kiss to your temple. “It was completely inappropriate, and you have every right to feel upset. I’m so sorry.”

He brought a hand up to cradle the back of your head, holding you closer to him. You didn’t fight it at all, settling into him more and taking comfort in the proximity.

When he could tell that your breathing had steadied, Mason pulled back, still holding you with one arm as he looked down at you with a soft smile.

“There she is.” He brought his free hand up, brushing his thumb gently under your eyes to wipe away a tear that had fallen. The gesture was so gentle and intimate that you felt like your knees were about to give out, thankful that he still had one arm around you to steady you. “Whatever waterproof makeup you’re using is working because you still look perfect,” he joked, warmth flooding through him at the soft giggle you let out before dropping your forehead onto his chest.

“For the record, your dress is beautiful,” Mason said softly. You knew he must have sensed your discomfort with how much skin you had on show, even before the gala announcer had made any comment about it. “And, in the least creepy, predatory way possible, you look amazing tonight.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, wanting to convey your gratitude to him while trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach at his words. The one thing you did like about the mostly open back of the dress is that you could feel Mason’s palm flattened directly against your skin as he held you close, his thumb rubbing back and forth in soothing motions. This, combined with the look in his eye that you couldn’t quite place as he looked down at you, made your skin feel like it was on fire, the heat rising up your neck and into your cheeks.

You brought your hands to his chest, holding the lapels of his jacket in your hand before you spoke quietly. “We should go back inside before anyone realizes we’ve gone.” You felt suddenly overwhelmed by the interaction with him, feeling yourself falling back into old habits without even intending to.

Mason unwound his hands from your waist, seeming a bit discouraged by your comment as he merely nodded, holding his arm out for you to take. You did so, holding onto his elbow to keep yourself steady as he led you back inside.

It was quiet between the two of you, neither sure what to say to the other after the intimate moment in the garden. Once back inside you squeezed his elbow gently, saying, “I’m gonna go freshen up really quickly, but I’ll see you back out there,” with a gentle smile. Mason nodded, letting you step away from him and into the bathroom.

In truth, while you did feel a need to freshen up a bit after the tears you had shed outside, you needed a moment to collect yourself— not because of the auction announcer’s comments, but because of Mason.

You stood at the small sink in the ladies’ room, watching yourself in the mirror as you tried to stop the way your head seemed to be spinning. The last time you had seen Mason was seven months ago, engaged in stiff conversation because neither of you knew how to speak to each other after the breakup. But now, he had come to your rescue without a second thought and held you as if the breakup had never even happened.

And it felt right…

You shook your head, telling yourself not to read too much into it— Mason is a caring person and just because he ran to your side when someone had said something hurtful about you doesn’t mean he wants you back. You were self-aware enough to recognize that you had a tendency to let your thoughts run away with you, and you did your best to shut it down before it got out of hand.

At the same time, Mason’s mind was also running wild. His brain felt as if it was under some sort of fog, intoxicated by the feeling of being able to touch your skin again. He was like an addict who had quit, cold turkey, some months ago, and the first taste of your proximity had nearly done him in. He couldn’t stop thinking of how it felt to be so close to you again— to feel your weight against his body, to smell your shampoo that was still the same, to hear your soft voice, muffled by his own neck, your gentle breaths fanning over his skin.

He was worried that maybe he had been too forward— maybe you hadn’t wanted him to run after you. He didn’t want you to think he felt like he needed to rescue you from every poor situation, but after hearing the announcer’s comments and seeing the way it had so clearly upset you (even though everyone else seemed to have overlooked it), he knew he couldn’t just let you be on your own.

He been wary of overwhelming you, but it felt right to pull you into his arms out in the garden. It felt right to hold you close to him and rub gentle, soothing circles into your back with his thumb, the way he’d always done before.

Mason felt unsure of himself. He worried that your hurry to get back inside was to get away from him. He pondered with the idea of going back into the gala so it didn’t seem like he was hovering. But he battled with himself internally, thinking that you may not have wanted to be left to your own devices.

He hated that the months he had spent apart from you had robbed him of his ability to read you. He just wished he could figure out what was going on in your head.

In the bathroom, if you hadn’t had a full face of makeup on, you would’ve taken this opportunity to splash your face with cold water. However, a few deep breaths while you told yourself to get it together would have to do, and you exited the bathroom, planning to find your way back to your table and leave as soon as the event was over. It would be best, you thought, to not engage too much with Mason to avoid getting your hopes up before they were inevitably crushed.

Those plans were cut short the moment you stepped out of the bathroom and into the building’s foyer. There, Mason was waiting for you, and your stomach did a flip at the soft smile that took over his face when he lifted his head and saw you.

A wave of relief that you hadn’t expected washed over you at the sight of him waiting there.

“It sounds like they’ve wrapped up the auction in there.” Mason jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing toward the large hall that you had fled from just a bit ago. You could hear the sound of loud conversation and laughter, signaling that Mason was, indeed correct, and the guests would be starting to exit the hall soon.

Unsure of what you were meant to say, you were thankful when Mason spoke up again. “Look, I’m here, and you’re welcome to stick with me if you’re still feeling a bit overwhelmed, but if you want me to just leave you be, I understa-”

“No, please,” you rushed to cut him off, the thought of having the face the room full of people before you alone sending a feeling of dread down your spine. “I mean… I just… can I just walk with you?” Your voice was small when you spoke again, feeling pathetic for being incapable of facing an event without him by your side.

A warm feeling spread across Mason’s chest at your words, feeling a sense of pride that his presence made you feel even a little bit safer in the unfamiliar environment. Wordlessly, he offered his arm to you again, a reassuring smile on his lips.

As much as you wanted to portray yourself as an independent person who was able to take care of yourself, you had to admit that the rest of the evening felt much easier with Mason at your side. It was so easy to slip back into the same old routine—everyone wanted to talk to the star footballer, and you were happy to stand quietly at his side while he shook hands and unleashed his irresistible charm on each one.

Mason kept you close to him at all times, and the warmth of him settled your nerves tremendously. The gentle placement of his hand on your lower back sent tingles up your spine every time, and it took everything in you not to wrap your arms around his waist, afraid of overstepping.

It wasn’t much longer before Mason was leaning down, mumbling in your ear to ask if you were ready to leave. He knew this wasn’t your scene at all and had been looking for an opportunity to get you out of there since the two of you had stepped back into the gathering hall.

You had to hold back a shiver as his breath fanned over your neck, nodding in response. You let him know you just had to pop over to your table to grab your things and he nodded, following as you led the way.

Once you had retrieved your clutch and bid as quick of a goodbye as you could muster to those that were still lingering at your table, you and Mason turned to leave, heading back toward the set of doors you had entered through. The hall had grown more crowded, and as you weaved between tables, you allowed Mason to grasp your hand, leading the way through the sea of people so you wouldn’t be separated.

As you entered the foyer, Mason tugged you forward gently so that you returned to his side. The two of you exchanged a short smile.

“Is your hotel close by?” you asked, trying to make a bit of small talk as the two of you walked toward the exit.

When the bridge of Mason’s nose went red, a shy but unsure smile on his face, you slapped a hand over your face, realizing the double meaning of your question.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” you felt the heat in your face as you, no doubt, were turning bright red. “I was just trying to make small talk. Clearly, I’m not good at it.”

“No, no, it’s okay.” Mason couldn’t hold back his laughter. “Uh, I’m actually making the drive back to Manchester tonight. We’ve got training tomorrow morning, so I’ve got to get home.” Mason reached the door, holding it open for you. “What about you? Are you nearby?”

“Yeah, actually.” The two of you reached the sidewalk in front of the building, coming to a stop as you turned toward each other. “I’m supposed to be a hotel just a bit that way.” You pointed behind him, toward the accommodations that your job was paying for.

There was a beat of silence between the two of you.

“You know… you’re welcome to tag along back to Manchester with me, if you wanted to. I could use the company to keep me awake.” Mason smiled softly at you, remembering how much you hated staying in hotels.

“Don’t you have Lewis or someone with you? I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Mason shook his head in response, mumbling a quiet, “just me.” He was subtly rocking back and forth on his feet, and you could tell he was nervous about your answer.

Getting to go home, rather than sleeping in an uncomfortable hotel bed did sound pretty nice after the turn your night had taken.

Mason watched your eyebrows furrow in thought, an anxious feeing settling in his tummy as he awaited your response.

“You’re sure?”

Mason did his best to conceal the excitement he felt at the idea of getting to spend a couple more hours with you. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he whispered. “Come on, you and I both know you won’t get any sleep in that hotel bed.”

You couldn’t deny that he was right.

It wasn’t long before you were ducking into the passenger seat of Mason’s car, making sure the bottom of your dress was all the way in before Mason closed the door behind you.

The drive started out quiet, neither of you sure how to navigate the situation that you found yourself in. But as soon as you asked Mason about the FA Cup quarterfinal win over Liverpool where he had made his return following injury, his face lit up and things felt like they were almost back to normal.

You did your best to keep the topic of conversation on Mason and his life, not wanting to speak about yourself. Any time he seemed to be coming to the end of one topic, you were sure to ask another question before he had the chance to ask one to you.

Because, truth be told, life had been nothing but dull since the two of you had parted ways. Seeing him tonight was the most interesting thing to happen to you since… well, since the last time you’d seen him.

It was no secret that the transition to Manchester had been difficult for the both of you. There was no doubt it had contributed to the ending of your relationship. Leaving behind your friends, your old flat, and all of the things you had known had been no easy task. Thankfully, you had been able to stay in the same line of work, merely transferring to a new location. But you had struggled to adjust to the new, unfamiliar city, even more so when you didn’t have Mason at your side. Weekend visits back to London to visit your old friends were all that had kept you going in the last months.

As you listened to Mason telling stories of all of the fun things he had gotten up to with the boys on the team that he had grown closer with, the self-doubt creeped back in. He seemed to be doing so much better since the two of you called things off, and again your mind told you that maybe he was better off without you.

Mason noticed the change in your demeanor almost immediately. The car grew quiet, and you sat with your head leaned against the window, watching the lights as they passed. It may have been months since he last saw you, but he could recognize the signs of you overthinking from a mile away, unsure of whether it was about the announcer’s comments from earlier in the night or the fact that you were sitting in a car with him.

Wanting to provide a bit of reassurance, Mason reached over, taking your hand in his, bringing it up to his face, and pressing a quick kiss to the back of it. He placed your hand back in your lap, moving to put his back on the steering wheel, but your grip tightened slightly to prevent him from doing so. Your head remained pressed against the glass, but the small gesture brought a smile to Mason’s face as he shifted to intertwine his fingers with yours.

Mason didn’t press you for conversation, allowing you the space to process the events of the night however you needed to. Before long, Mason heard the soft sound of your deep, steady breathing, and a quick glance in your direction revealed that you had drifted off to sleep, your hand relaxed in his. The dull ache that had settled in his chest all night grew a bit sharper as he stole a few glances in your direction, admiring the peaceful expression on your face.

As much as he tried to hide it, as much as he tried to put on a brave face and talk about all of the amazing things that had been going on in his like recently, he couldn’t deny…

He missed you.

He missed having you like this, at his side at the end of a long day. He missed the feeling of ease that washed over him just by knowing you were close by and being able to have that same effect on you. He missed catching up with you at the end of the day, instead of trying to accurately recap the seven months that had passed since he’d last seen you.

He just missed you being in his life and had spent the last eight months trying to find out how to get you back in it.

*

You were jostled awake as you heard the sound of a car door closing. You sat up straight, blinking your eyes a few times as you tried your best to figure out where you were. You recognized the interior of Mason’s car, a flash of confusion running through you before the memories of the night came flooding back in.

The car door at your side opened, Mason appearing at your side as he crouched down, offering you the gentlest of smiles.

“Hey there, love,” he spoke softly, and the kind look in his eyes made your heart flutter. “You fell asleep on the way back, and I realized I don’t know where your new flat is.”

The little flutter of your heart quickly died, the reality of your failed relationship crashing back in after you had been able to put it to the back of your mind for much of the night since Mason had come to your aid.

“O-Oh, I’m sorry,” you shook your head, reaching for your bag to pull out your phone. “I’ll just order a car, I’m so sor-”

“Don’t be silly, just stay here. I’ve got some extra things you can use, and I’m going into training late tomorrow anyway, so I can drop you at home on my way,” Mason smiled at you, and the way his eyes shone hopefully meant you wouldn’t need much convincing, whispering a soft “okay” in reply.

Mason took your hand, helping you out of the car and leading you inside as you wiped your bleary eyes. He led you to his room, releasing your hand as he wandered through the room, laying out a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants for you to wear. He wandered to the bathroom for a few moments. When he emerged, you watched with confusion as he collected a few things in his hands and walked toward his door.

“You can sleep in here tonight. I still had some of your skincare products left over from before, so they’re out on the counter,” he smiled at you. “I’ll just be in the guest room, if you need anything.”

His generosity caught you off-guard, and before you could come up with a response, he placed a quick kiss to the top of your head and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

You stood in the middle of the room for a moment, just looking around, taking it all in. You never would have suspected that you’d find yourself here again, and you couldn’t wrap your head around the turn that this night had taken.

Finally snapping yourself out of it, you slipped out of your dress, pulling Mason’s shirt over your head. The scent of his cologne mixed with the laundry detergent he always used brought a wave of emotion crashing over you, and your lower lip wobbled as you walked into the bathroom.

Along with a spare toothbrush that he had set out for you, all of your skincare products were lined up on the counter, and the thought that he had held onto them for you after all this time was what finally caused the tears the spill down your cheeks, the emotions of the night finally catching up with you.

When you crawled into the bed, face washed and feeling fresher after the long night, you allow the tears to flow, pressing your face into Mason’s pillow.

All of it was so overwhelming. Seeing him again after so long. How unsure you had felt of yourself throughout the night. Being humiliated in front of an entire audience. The way Mason had run to your side without a moment’s hesitation. The way it had felt so natural to fall back into conversation with him, to touch him, for him to touch you. Being back in the house that you had once shared with him.

It was all too much.

Not even 30 feet away, Mason was lying on his back in the guest bed, eyes wide open as he stared at the ceiling. There was no way he was falling asleep any time soon, the thought of you in his bed only a few steps away enough to keep him awake.

After an hour had passed, accompanied by only his racing thoughts, Mason toyed with the idea of sneaking down to his room to see if you were awake. There were a thousand things he wanted to say to you, and he felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t get to say them soon.

But he thought better of it, guessing that you were probably already asleep, and he didn’t want to disturb you.

However, Mason had guessed wrong. Instead, you were lying on your side, legs tucked up close to your body, staring at the small, framed photo of the two of you on Mason’s side table. It had always been there during your relationship, and the thought that he had kept it in the time since you had split brought such a weight of sadness over you that you felt sick.

Did he miss you the way you missed him? Did he, too, regret not fighting harder for your relationship with every day that passed?

The thought kept you awake until the early hours of the morning.

When Mason awoke the next morning, a heavy exhaustion weighed on him as he had only slept a few hours, tossing and turning the entire time. He crawled out of bed and slipped a shirt over his head, his feet padding softly on the carpeted floor as he moved down the hallway to check on you. He noticed that the door to his room was already open, and when he peeked his head in, you were nowhere to be found.

From the way the blankets were shifted, Mason could tell that you had slept on his side of the bed, and his chest tightened at the thought.

The sound of clinking pots and pans coming from the kitchen caused Mason’s ears to perk up and led him in that direction.

As Mason rounded the corner, he found you, with your back facing him, standing in front of the oven. Your hair, falling across your shoulders, still held some of the curl that you had done for the event the night prior. Mason’s heart clenched at the sight of you in his shirt and a pair of his sweatpants.

A few pans and bowls were scattered across the stovetop and counters, and Mason recognized all of the components of the hearty breakfast you used to make when both of you had the day off. The combination of smells was so specific, and the déjà vu nearly made him dizzy.

You turned around, reaching for a bowl on the counter and jumped slightly when you saw Mason there.

“Sorry,” he breathed, still at a bit of a loss for words. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.”

You just gave him a small smile and a short “s’okay” as you turned back to the stove. “Sorry if I woke you.” Your voice sounded so small—Mason hated it. He hated the tension that hung in the air between the two of you. He hated the fact that you had nearly become strangers to each other.

In the hours that you had spent, lying awake with your thoughts running wild in Mason’s bed, you had resolved to avoid complicating things further than they already had been. Things were awkward enough between the two of you after Mason had graciously come to the rescue, despite the ending of your relationship, and you were determined to make it home without making it worse.

You owed it to yourself— your feelings for Mason were still there, hidden just beneath the surface. But you refused to put yourself out there and put your heart through that pain again.

You wished you had it in you to be cold with him, completely cutting off any chance of rekindling something between the two of you— any risk of getting your hopes up. But you knew Mason, and you knew that he often wore his heart on his sleeve, and you couldn’t bring yourself to hurt him like that, either.

But despite your resolve and determination, the sorrow-filled gaze in Mason’s eyes had already begun to pierce through the armor that you had put around your heart.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Mason slipped into one of the chairs on the opposite side of the island countertop. His eyes followed you as you finished preparing the last of the breakfast. You dished out two plates— a portion for yourself and another, larger portion for Mason.

“You didn’t have to do all this, you know?” Mason spoke softly as you set the plate in front of him.

You shrugged, standing on the opposite side of the island from him as you stared down at your own plate. “It’s the least I could do. It’s your food anyway,” you mumbled, poking at your eggs with a fork, suddenly feeling too sick to eat anything.

“Well, thank you, Y/N,” Mason said, earnestly. “I really appreciate it.”

Mason couldn’t help but feel discouraged by your stony demeanor. He had hoped that after the night prior, the two of you might be on the right path to sorting things out between you, but now he wasn’t so sure.

He kept stealing quick glances at you as he ate, savoring every delicious bite. But he could tell how uneasy you felt as you stood there, tucking your hair behind your ear as you took small bites from your plate.

The tension was thick as the two of you ate in silence, neither one sure how to even begin the conversation. Did you talk about last night, or leave the topic untouched?

The longer the silence stretched between the two of you, the heavier the weight on your heart grew. As much as you had tried not to get your hopes up, and as many times as you told yourself that your relationship with Mason was well and truly over, a small part of you had still hoped that he would say something this morning— anything, really. That small part of you wanted to believe that this chance encounter was the key—a sign that the two of you needed to find your way back to each other.

But despite it all, the spark that you had hoped was still there seemed to have been snuffed out.

You kept your eyes glued to your plate, afraid that Mason would see them shining with tears and start asking questions. You didn’t want him to think you were pathetic— needing him to rescue you the night before and now here, standing in his kitchen, crying because he didn’t want you back.

You took a breath and steeled yourself to pack up your things from his room and get the fastest Uber back home you could manage.

Swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat, you scraped the last of your food into the trashcan, no longer able to stomach another bite, and placed the empty dish in the sink. You left the kitchen as quickly as you could, trying to hide your face from Mason as the first tears fell.

Mason was taken by surprise at your sudden rush to leave the room, the noise a stark contrast to the silence that had hung thick in the air. He watched your back as you walked out without so much as a glance in his direction.

His stomach sank. He had hoped, after lying awake all night thinking of you, that you had been cooking breakfast for him as a sort of sign—a signal that you wanted to talk things over again and revisit the topic of him and you. But the unpleasant aura that had remained between the two of you while you ate had gotten you no closer to that conversation.

Maybe he had read too far into things. Maybe the breakfast had just been a ‘thank you’ for driving you back to Manchester last night. Maybe he had pushed too far and inviting you to stay at his was too much, too soon.

Mason pushed his plate away from him, dropping his head into his hands and huffing a sigh as he felt his eyes burn with tears that surprised him. He hadn’t realized just how much the last 24 hours had gotten his hopes up for reigniting a relationship with you until you seemed to have walked away from it altogether.

It was almost like he could feel his heart breaking all over again.

But no, Mason resolved. He refused to let you walk away from him again, not until he had fully expressed to you how deeply he missed you, how much he still cared for you.

With renewed determination, Mason stood from his chair and nearly ran to his bedroom.

Standing outside of his own bedroom door, Mason hesitated for a moment, again overthinking his decision to confront the issue head-on.

But that didn’t last for more than a second before he was tapping his knuckles gently on the door three times.

“You can come in,” he heard your small voice.

When he opened the door, slowly, he found you just returning from the bathroom, several of your own items in hand. As you attempted to collect all of your things, Mason didn’t miss the tear you tried to inconspicuously wipe from your cheek or the soft sniffle you tried to hide with a cough. His heart softened— seeing you cry had always been one of the things he hated most.

“I have an Uber on the way. Should be here any minute. I don’t want to ask you to drive me again,” you spoke hurriedly, as if overcompensating for your fragile state by talking too much. “I can, um, just wash these clothes and drop them off sometime. I really-“

You were cut off when you turned to walk around to the other side of the bed and instead, ran straight into Mason’s chest.

He steadied you with a hand on each of your arms. He held an unreadable expression on his face, and you knew there was no hiding the tear streaks on your cheeks now. However, Mason’s eyes shone with as he looked down at you.

It was silent for several seconds until Mason spoke in a whisper, pleading.

“Don’t go.”

And the silence returned. Your thoughts were spinning a mile a minute. Your mouth dropped open, your brain making its most valiant attempt at forming a response, and yet no words came to you.

Mason took your loss for words as an invitation to continue. “I miss mornings like this. I miss falling asleep with you in my arms and waking up next to you. I miss talking to you at the end of the day,” his lower lip wobbled as he paused to collect himself. “I miss you, Y/N.”

His words pierced right to your heart. Whatever walls you had built to keep him out were nowhere near strong enough and you could already feel them beginning to crumble.

“Letting you walk away was the biggest mistake of my life, and I’ve spent every day since then wishing I could go back and change it all. I would’ve fought harder for you— for us.” Mason pleaded softly. “Seeing you last night made me realize that none of that has gone away, I still feel the way I did before. Please— please tell me you feel it, too.”

The tears poured freely from your eyes now, and there was no holding them back. You rolled your lips into your mouth, attempting to hold in a sob. Mason’s hands left your arms, coming up to cradle your cheeks as you closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. His thumbs swiped at your cheeks, trying to dry your tears.

“I can’t, Mason. W-We can’t,” your voice trembled.

“Why can’t we?” Mason was desperate, resting his forehead against yours. The proximity was making your head spin, the feeling of his breath fanning across your face too familiar, too overwhelming.

“Who’s to say it won’t be the same as the last time?” you cried, finally looking back at him. “I can’t go through that pain, not again.”

“We decide that it’ll be different.” Mason was ready to get on his knees and beg if he had to. “Things will be better this time— I’ll be better.”

He knew that what you had was worth fighting for, and if there was any chance—even a shred of hope—that you would give him another shot, he had to take it.

You looked up into his tear-filled eyes as he whispered, “I just know I can’t lose you, Y/N, not again.”

Like a dam breaking loose, a sob wracked your body at his words. Whatever had been left of the walls you had built up came crashing to the ground. Mason was quick to pull you into his chest, resting his cheek on the top of your head as he rubbed soothing circles into your back.

It was like all of the hurt and emotions from the last eight months tore through you at once. Mason, feeling the way your frame was shaking, held you tightly to him, as if he were the only thing holding you together in that moment. He kissed the top of your head, and you could hear him sniffle, knowing that he was crying, too.

As your cries grew softer and you began to calm down, you clutched Mason’s shirt tightly in your fists, afraid that if you released him, he would disappear.

Mason eventually leaned back to look at you and you lifted your head from where it was buried in his chest. There was the softest hint of a smile on his face as he tried to wipe away the remaining tears.

“I-If we do this…” Mason’s tummy flipped at your words, clinging to the sense of hope that they brought. “If we give this another chance, we have to take it slow.”

Mason nodded quickly, his eyes flicking all over your face for any sign of hesitation. “Anything you need, love. Anything at all.”

Your lower lip wobbled as you took him in. “I’ve missed you so much, Masey.”

Mason pressed his lips firmly to your forehead, his heart soaring at the use of his nickname. “I’m here now, and I’m not leaving— never again.”

You leaned forward, pressing your face into his neck and hugged him again, trying to drink if the feeling of being back in his arms. You let him overwhelm your senses— the feeling of his arms around your body, his comforting scent as you breathed him in, the sound of his heartbeat that calmed you so easily.

“I know we’re taking it slow, but I have a couple more hours until training,” Mason spoke softly as you pulled back, looking up at him. A hopeful smile played on his lips. “Will you stick around? Cancel your Uber. I can take you home on my way.”

“Are you sure?” There was still that shred of lingering doubt, the fear of imposing yourself.

“I’m so sure,” he smiled. “I don’t think i’m ready to let go of you just yet.”

You couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped your lips before you whispered a soft “okay.”

Never, when you left for the gala the night before, did you think this was where you would find yourself—back at Mason’s house, as he led you to the couch to cuddle while you talked about what your next steps would be. But as you lay in his arms, admiring the soft scattering of freckles across his cheeks, you felt a piece of your heart that had been missing those last few months begin to heal.

And you couldn’t be more thankful that you had your boy back.

As always, your feedback is greatly appreciated!!! 🤍

tag list:

@hischierswhore @thoseboysinblue @lovelynikol16 @swimmingismywholelife @masonsrem @brasiliangp @neverinadream @lizzypotter14 @notsoattractivearenti @chilwellspulisic @sid-vii @captainpulisic

[lcriedlastnight]

Fake dating and drunken kisses with Oscar. The drunken kisses, with reader's fingers in Oscar's hair and reader sitting in his lap, kissing him with no restraint; things getting heated, Oscar's hands slipping under reader's top and earning a slight shiver from her. All the while, Oscar could only wish reader would kiss him like this when they're sober. Oscar lets that thought linger until they both fall asleep in each other's arms after kissing way too many times to count because they can't seem to get enough of each other.

thanks anon, lovely! i appreciate you very much.

tw: fem!reader. maybe a few swears. not spell checked. not too sure, lmk if you want me to add any.

w/c: 1.8k

it wasn’t oscar’s idea, he swears. but now he’s here, at this club, filled with his fellow drivers, random celebrities he can’t be arsed to learn the names of, multiple fan girls trying to get with lando and you.

he wasn’t even sure it was lando’s idea to go out to some random club in miami to celebrate his first win. it probably was, if he thought straight, but how could he? with a mix of a constant supply of alcohol and you swimming through his veins, he doesn’t know how anyone expects him to think straight.

he had the pleasure of you being glued to his side from the moment the both of you stepped into the club, your hand not leaving his arm for a whole thirty minutes.

this was all for show of course, but his friends around him didn’t know this, they thought whatever you and him had going on was real and it was nights like these where he could play into his deepest fantasies. the ones where you’re not all over him because you have to be, but because you want to be. like he longs for you to be.

you started off sitting beside him. your hand sitting loosely on his forearm, your touch light and tickling a little as you run your fingers over his bare skin. the more drinks you were convinced to down with lando, and the shots logan told you tasted so good, ended up with you being a little more than drunk.

so you went from sitting politely beside him, three hours before, to your legs slung over his lap, half sitting on him half not.

because oscar had had significantly less than you to drink tonight he was way less drunk and more tipsy. drunk enough to follow in your footsteps with how affectionate you were being. although he didn’t think he had to have alcohol to do it. just your permission.

“the thing is, batman really did hate the joker he was just afraid to let him know it. he for sure has like emotional problems or something. but by the end of the film he lets everyone in and it’s so nice!”. you had just finished explaining the plot of the lego batman film to oscar. he nodded along, listening as best as he could, although you did loose him at some points, he would have to watch it to see what you were talking about.

the table was almost empty by the end of your ramble, everyone having left because they didn’t really care much, neither did oscar but he cared about what you cared about so maybe he did.

he hums as his hand played with your hair, brushing it away from your face and tangling it between his fingers. he had a strong urge to kiss you right now. but your agreement had been to only kiss if everyone wasn’t convinced, which meant you guys had only kissed once or twice. and that was at the start of- well whatever this was. everyone was easily convinced you two were together. oscar didn’t know whether to be happy at annoyed.

oscar’s knocked out of his thoughts by you shuffling around to sit yourself on his lap. your smile bright.

“thanks for listening osc. m’gonna kiss you now, okay?” you mumble out, your hands holding onto his shoulders. oscar’s on your hips, holding you still.

he barely get a second to even register your words before your leaning down and locking your lips on his. he feels guilty because you’re way more drunk than him but before he can pull away from you, your mouth opens and you’re sloppily kissing him a little bit harder. he returns the favour, quickly.

you’re both interrupted by a voice calling over to you both to ‘get some!’. you pull away embarrassed, hiding your head in the crook of oscar’s neck. his hands jump to cradle the back of your head and your neck. his touch gentle and loving. oscar wants to kill whatever driver hollered at them. now you’re embarrassed and you’ll probably never want to kiss him again!

after maybe ten minutes you pop your head out from it’s hiding place. your eyes glassy as you stare at oscar.

“can we go home?” you ask him. you seem less drunk than you were before the kiss. maybe it sobered you up? oscar thinks for a moment before replying. “home?”.

“your room.” you clarify. your words come out shy, which surprises him. he’s never really seen you shy before. it’s a side he comes to enjoy. he nods at your words and quickly pulls his phone out to book an uber for you both.

you ungraciously pull yourself off his lap and stand, wobbling in your heels next to the table, waiting on him. oscar is quick to follow suit, making sure he has your purse and that your purse has all your things inside. once he’s sure he has everything he grabs your hand in his.

“c’mon pretty. we gotta say bye to lando first before we leave.” he tells you, voice all soft and syrupy. you nod, agreeing.

oscar pulls you through all the dancing bodies on the dance floor, his hand gripping yours tightly making sure you wouldn’t get lost in the crowd of people. he eventually spots lando in the corner and explains that you’re both leaving.

“you’re leaving! why?!” lando complains over the loud, thumping music. you wobble on your heels and half fall into oscar, who catches you quickly, like if you were to fall you would die.

“we’re getting pretty tired” oscar tells him, his eyes saying sorry, but he wasn’t really. not when you were coming home with him. lando pouts and complains but eventually bids you both goodnight before finding his dance partner again.

oscar says goodbyes to other people he sees on the way to the door, hand still clutching yours. you mumble your goodbyes too not wanting to seem rude. the uber is waiting for you both outside and oscar couldn’t be more glad wanting to get you to the hotel as soon as he can.

the boy helps you inside then gets inside too. he helps you buckle your belt, the alcohol in his system helping him converse with the driver, his hand glued to your thigh, rubbing softly.

you rest the side of your head on the car door and it thumps against it as the car follows the roads bumps and turns. oscar looks at you in concern but doesn’t mention it. the ride to the hotel isn’t as long as you thought it would be but you think it must be because of the alcohol.

oscar helps you out the car and thanks the driver before grabbing your hand again and leading you into the hotel. he thanks his luck once again this night, as he thinks about how lovey you were being with him. he knows you don’t do it normally because it’s not in your agreement unless necessary but god, to have you touch him like this when you were sober.

you both cling to each other in the elevator as oscar presses soft kisses to your shoulder as you stand in front of him. you lean your head back on his chest, revelling in his affection. the elevator stops at his floor and he leads you to his room.

“i’m sleeping in your bed with you tonight, by the way” you say as he swiped the key card and ushers you inside.

oscar’s brows jump up in surprise and amusement as a smirk makes its way to his mouth. “where else would you be sleeping, hm?” he asks.

that stupid smirk just makes you want to kiss it off of him, so you do. you lean up on your tiptoes to kiss him gently. oscar feels you straining and leans down to kiss you better. your hands make their way up to his hair to tug a little, earning yourself a little groan. this makes you smile into his mouth. he pulls away at this.

oscar doesn’t think his life can get any better as be presses firm kisses to your lips before pulling away, your own lips chasing his. he throws his head back with a silent groan before asking, “m’kay pretty girl, time for bed?”. you nod and let him lead you to get ready for bed.

you take significantly longer than oscar to get ready for bed, so he sits in his once lonely bed waiting for you, thinking about how good he must’ve been in his past life to be able to do this with you tonight. he wants to be this domestic with you for the rest of his life. he’s not even being dramatic. the sound of your footsteps breaks him out of his train of thoughts.

“hey, look at you! c’mere pretty.” oscar coos as he pats his lap, signalling for you to sit. you follow his directions and clamber into his lap, still a little drunk. the boy holds back a chuckle. he feels drunk then too but not off those stupid shots you took with logan, off your touch. he thinks about your dress from tonight. then he kisses you again.

oscar traces your lips with his tongue and you open for him, letting him in. you kiss each other lazily, you’re in no rush. your hands find his hair again tugging again. in retaliation his own hand moves from your waist to slide underneath your (his) t-shirt. he lays a big, open palm on your back, almost supporting you as you sit on top of him.

you two kiss for what seems like days but is only a few hours. oscar can tell from your kiss bitten lips. he smiles at your tired and glassy eyes as you tell him you’re tired.

you end up with your face pressed against his chest and your legs tangled up with his, your feet touching his somehow. you mumble into his chest, but oscar misses it.

“what, pretty?” he asks, a hand scratching gently at your scalp to help lull you to sleep.

“said night osc.” you tell him, a little louder this time. he grins at your tired voice.

“oh. sorry, g’night pretty girl” oscar must be too late though as he feels your breath even out. he sighs to himself, his hand still moving. there’s no way he was getting sleep any time soon. mind racing around the fact that he could be doing this every night with you, if he just told you.

your touch, your kisses, every night. oscar loved seeing you free tonight. he wanted that for you everyday. there was definitely a conversation to be had tomorrow.