#shading is not my suit but I’m trying still

[nereidprinc3ss]

early seasons spencer and bau reader undercover at a club and it’s just like. he is so flustered but also weirdly confident and do with this what you will

in which spencer reid and BAU fem!reader have to pose as a couple at a club. she's more than a little flirty. the conversation actually gets quite suggestive. he's cute when he gets flustered.

warnings/tags: discussions of sex, reader wears a tight dress and makeup and heels, discussions of blushing but r's skin color is not implied to be light, i just needed a reason to talk about sex flush LOL, if u don't visibly blush this will still read fine

a/n: I LOVE EARLY SEASONS SPENCER X FLIRTY READER OH MY GODDD thank you for this request angel from heaven I hope you all like this as much as I do teehee

The bass buzzes through the floor and vibrates your teeth. House music has never really been your thing. Neither have tight dresses and high heels while on the job—but you’re willing to objectify yourself just a little if it will lure yet another loser who likes to chop up young couples into the awaiting arms of the American correctional system. 

Or to the wrong end of Emily's Glock. Whatever comes first.  

You scan the club—it’s not your usual scene, and you can only imagine how Dr. Reid is faring. As far as you can tell this is essentially his nightmare. It’s sensory overload central even for you. 

Your eyes catch on him at the bar, tucked away from the writhing crowd. He’s standing near the end, one arm resting on the surface while the other hand is jammed in his pocket. He seems completely unaware of the several women circling closer and closer. The whole earnest and dorky but still handsome thing seems to work well for him. Or, it would, if he had any interest in utilizing it. He’s dressed a little sharper than usual—no doubt styled by Morgan and Prentiss. Hell, the earnest dorkiness and the well fitted dark suit is working for you if nobody else. 

Sometimes he just looks… edible. 

And self-discipline doesn't always come naturally to you. 

“Doctor,” you purr in greeting, grazing the forearm propped up on the bar with white-tipped nails as you insert yourself in front of him. His fingers twitch under your light touch. 

Spencer doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes sink down your frame, sticking to every highlighted curve like you’re dripping honey. Or maybe he just doesn’t realize that you can see that’s what he’s doing. 

“Hi. You look nice.”

“Aw,” you smile, dulling the salacious edge to your voice, “you didn’t have to say that. Someone’s improvising.”

“I meant it. That dress looks nice on you,” he says, simply, and you hate his specific brand of charm because it’s not intentional. It’s not something he puts on. It comes out of nowhere and always knocks you on your ass when it hits—even in the smallest doses. His eyes narrow and he leans closer. You can feel the energy rippling around him like a force field as he examines you. “You’re wearing more makeup than you normally do.”

“Do you like it? Penelope ordered the wrong shade of blush and gave it to me. Supposedly it’s meant to make me look like I just had an orgasm. I don’t know if I believe it.”

Much to your disappointment, Spencer leans back, scanning the crowd for your target and speaking as if he’s only half-interested. 

“That’s not what you would look like. Sex flush deepens the color of your entire face and chest, not just your cheeks.”

Your brows knit as you contend with unwelcome butterflies. 

“Buy me a drink before you start telling me what I’ll look like after I orgasm.”

That catches his attention, and his suddenly wide eyes snap to you. If he had a drink, he’d be choking on it. 

“I wasn’t—it was a general you, I’d never—that would be inappropriate. It was. It was inappropriate. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

You lean with your back to the bar, elbows propped on black granite, and swing your hair over your shoulder. Spencer’s eyes dart back down to your décolletage and then up to the ceiling like he regrets being born. You smile wickedly. Much better. This is the way God intended for you to interact with Spencer Reid. 

“I’ll consider forgiving you. And I don’t blush. Not when I orgasm, not ever.”

Admittedly, you just want to milk the whole talking about you orgasming thing to see how pink you can make him. It’s not often you’re gifted with an opportunity to be so candid about your sexuality or flirt this unabashedly. But you are supposed to be posing as a couple. Maybe you’re just feeling extra in character. 

Instead of stumbling over his words some more, Spencer smiles with a degree of bemusement like he’s caught you in a white lie. 

His smile is so nice. His teeth are perfect, and his lips—

“Yes you do.”

Always so convinced he’s right, this one. 

It’s annoying. And kind of hot. 

“Uh, I promise you I do not.”

“Everyone blushes. It's a sympathetic nervous system activation response wherein blood rushes to your face. Your blood vessels dilate when you get flustered or anxious. Your face gets hot and your undertone changes.”

You raise your brows. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was challenging you. 

“Yeah? Wanna bet?”

“Actually, no,” he mutters, losing any bravado and casting his eyes downward subserviently. “You have a habit of proving me wrong.”

“That’s right,” you gloat, smiling wide. Someone bumps into you, and you turn around, highly unprofessional insult locked and loaded—but it’s just a drunk girl who apologizes and stumbles off. The encounter does, however, remind you that you’re supposed to be finding a killer. “Do you think this is the best positioning? He might not be able to find us way over here.”

“You think we should move?”

You look back at him and nod, holding your hand out. He looks at it uncertainly. You waggle your fingers and infuse your words with sugar. 

“Oh, come on. I don’t want to lose you. And we’re supposed to look like a couple, remember?”

Gingerly he accepts your hand. His is bigger than you’d have thought. Not nearly as freezing as your own perpetually are. It occurs to you as you grab his hand that his bone structure really is bigger than yours. He’s… tall. He is, at the end of the day, a real life adult man. His presence is palpable behind you and you enjoy the weight of his hand in yours as you tug him through the crowd, perhaps not taking the most direct route through the throng just so you can savor being able to touch him like this for a little longer. 

Miraculously you spot an empty booth and slide into it. It’s a deep alcove, shadowy and secluded at the back. That’s where you settle, against black vinyl, and where you wave at Spencer to join you. 

He lingers at the edge of the table, glancing around at the groups of dancing and drinking young adults. 

“I don’t know. Can you even see the dance floor from back there?”

“Part of it. But I’m sure he’ll be looking in the booths for couples. He’ll come to us.”

Spencer faces you again and sighs ruefully, a begrudging smirk playing at his lips as he slides into the booth and joins you against the back wall. His side is warm against yours. He smells nice. Clean. Almost herbal, like patchouli or vetiver. 

“What? You really hate sitting next to me that much?”

Spencer’s lips part wryly before he speaks, like he almost thought better of it but decided to anyway. 

“I think you just wanted a reason to get me alone and secluded so you can finally accost me.”

Your knees bump. You lean into it. 

“Accost you? That seems harsh,” you pout, leaning toward him clandestinely to undo his top button.

“I don’t see how. You are literally trying to take my clothing off as we speak.”

“I’m just increasing your sex appeal. It’ll be good, trust me. Maybe you’ll even end up taking one of those girls from the bar home. Or—back to the hotel, I should say.”

Spencer covers your fussy hands with his own sweetly, like he can sense the true jealousy simmering underneath the sarcasm, and places them in your lap. The touch lingers.

“Are you always like this?” He murmurs, voice lower than you can recall ever hearing it and twisted into the shape of a smile. 

“Only with you, Dr. Reid. Speaking of, how about you? Do you flirt with many other FBI agents on official business?”

“Just the one. She’s kind of a full-time job.”

“Shut up. I’m basically your babysitter. If anything, I should be paid extra for dealing with you.”

“Attempting to seduce your charge seems like a bad business model. There are definitely some ethical issues there.”

His hands still rest on yours. You lace your fingers with his and speak sweetly, meeting his eyes best you can in the dark. 

“I wasn’t aware I was seducing you. Do you feel seduced?”

He’s the first to look away after a few seconds pass—pulls your hands apart gently, politely arranging them back on your lap. 

“I think you’re incorrigible and a terrible influence. In all honesty, you terrify me and more often than not I walk away from our interactions a little confused.”

You clap a hand to your heart, the bare skin revealed by your low cut dress warm under your fingers. 

“Spencer… that kind of turned me on.”

He just looks at you for a moment, a hint of a smile on his pretty face, long enough to make you feel a bit nervous. 

Then he’s leaning forward, and unconsciously so are you, almost forgetting to breath when you’re practically pressed against him in this booth and he’s whispering so low and sweet into your ear. 

“He’s watching us. Right across the floor, next to the girl in the blue dress. White button up and a leather jacket.” His hand slides over yours, fingers skimming your collarbone in the process as he interlocks your grasp once more. “Keep your hand right here and lean closer. We need to maintain his interest.”

“I don’t think I can lean any closer,” you breathe, hoping it doesn’t register as nervous as it really is. You’re supposed to be the confident one who teases him. “But if you want me to sit on your lap, just ask. I won’t say no.”

He chuckles, too loud to be amorous. It’s clearly genuine. It sounds like the way his reddened cheeks always look. It almost does more for you than the bedroom voice.

“You… you are beyond help. I don’t think you could be appropriate if your life depended on it.”

Slowly you pull back so you can look into his eyes—much closer than you normally have an excuse to. They dart wildly over your face, partially obscured by the dark which cuts shadows deep into the dramatic hollows of his bone structure. He really is so pretty. 

You glance toward the man, who’s pretending not to watch you. When you focus your attention back on Spencer, sliding your hand up the curve of his jaw, you find yourself making a dangerous wish. You find yourself wishing that you didn’t have an audience. That this wasn’t all for show. That neither of you had earpieces in.

His pulse hammers under your little finger, and his lips part slightly as he doesn’t have the wherewithal to not glance at yours. He’s so unaware of how obvious he’s being. It’s cute. 

You run the tips of your fingers through the hair in front of his ear, the one sans bluetooth, pushing it back, before leaning in close once more to whisper. 

“Good thing we’re not going for appropriate. Actually—your hands could stand to wander a little more, Dr. Reid. Let me know if you need me to tell you where to put them.”

[m0on-shro0m]

“Do you ever get the feeling of you being watched?”

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[iron-cutting-meteor-sword]

I’m endeavoring to do this thing where I sketch each of the Lupin gang with heavy inspiration from the actors and media that inspired and influenced their creation and design, which is easy (as in finding the resources) right up until you reach Lupin, who does have some clear inspiration from his original voice actor and James Bond, but also obviously is inspired by a lot of the Arsène Lupin adaptions up until that point, and there are A LOT OF THEM. And I can see a bit of Lupin’s design in a lot of the adaptions in movies, tv and even some illustrations! It’s very cool but very overwhelming lmao

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE ] 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 ! ( fourth installment ) in which you are forced to plan a corporate event with your office enemy .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven.

୨୧˚ incl; kento nanami

୨୧˚ cw; smut (?) , dub-con , alcohol consumption , profanity

( flashback; ) Wreaths and holly plants decked the usually barren, white walls of the seventh floor office level, and soft Christmas music looped on the overhead speaker in attempts to induce a jolly spirit. Colleagues conversed, discussing plans for December break over plastic cups of spiked cider. Everyone seemed in high morale; even Gakuganji, who donned a cheaply made Santa suit, still wrinkled from its time being folded in a package. Your first ever office party was about as much as you expected–not the worst time, but certainly not the best time, either. It didn’t help that you were still technically the “newbie” despite having been a member of the company for a few months at that point. Man, it was hard to make friends in an office full of stoic suits.

You remain near a far wall, slumped against the oversized copy machine with a drink in hand. Nobody had even appreciated your dress; a modest crimson thing with white, cottony trims to mimic Old Saint Nick. Figures. You pout into your cup, knocking back a heavy swig.

“Woah-ho, you sure went all out.”

The dialogue was unexpected and you sputter on a swallow of liquor, startled. A preemptive hand pats your back, something like a mother trying to burp a newborn. You swallow your spit at last, recollect yourself, and whip your head up to follow the source of the voice that nearly killed you. There stood a man tall and spindly in his stature with the most beautifully long, goldish hair drawn back into a ponytail. He is dressed down, wearing a simple pair of dark jeans and a sweater in favor of the suits nearly everyone else sported. 

“You shouldn’t sneak up on ladies,” comes your meager reply. Your free hand smooths down the skirt of your dress, and you clear your throat. “You scared the shit out of me.”

The man smiles apologetically. “Ah, I noticed. My bad.”

“It’s okay. Just… just don’t do it again.”

“Roger that.” He has his own drink, and you manage to catch a glimpse of it over the rim of the solo cup. It’s a dark, murky color, much more amberish than the cider that was being served. “I haven’t seen your face around before, it made me curious.”

“I secured a position here during spring.” Now that you think about it, he was unfamiliar to you as well. You would have definitely remembered that ponytail. “Are you–I mean, do you work in this building?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, they got me holed up in the Shibuya location,” he winks, leaning in. “I make it a habit to come to all the office parties, though. I can’t resist a little holiday cheer.” Two bony knuckles move to brush delicately against the trim of your dress. “I’m Haruta Shigemo, and you’re…?”

“Not interested.” 

Shigemo juts his bottom lip out. “C’mon, don’t be like that. I can’t know your name?”

Holding an index finger to your chin, you pretend to think about it. “What will you give me in return?”

A smirk worms its way onto Shigemo’s thin lips. He angles his hip toward you and pulls up the hem of his knitted sweater, gesturing to the uncanny flask half sticking out of his jeans’ pocket. “I brought good stuff,” he sings quietly, away from prying ears, and suddenly you understand the reason for his drink being a couple shades too dark. “And I’m good at sharing.”

Yeah, maybe it wasn’t the wisest decision to accept unknown liquor from a virtual stranger, you should’ve really considered all of the possible outcomes to this situation. You’d already had a little over two cups of warmed cider, rotating on the axis between tipsy and full on drunkenness. Your foggy brain didn’t care much to think about how some of this so-called “good stuff” would only lead to an inevitable, total inebriation. Or, a less likely but just as concerning scenario, Shigemo’s flask could be chock full of poison. Either way, you were itching to turn a less-than-okay party experience into a fun one.

“Y/n L/n,” you said finally, and Shigemo looks pleased. Strategically as to not give away the secret, he stood before you and widened his shoulders to create a makeshift cover while he poured a solid few glugs from flask to your cup. Immediately, the booze reeks of something strong like industrial glass cleaner. Your nose wrinkles as the stench singes the hair from your nostrils. “Smells fucking rancid.”

“Maybe you’re just not used to top shelf liquor?” Was that a dig? You’ll show him that you’re plenty accustomed with expensive booze (you’re not. not at all).

So you drank it. The taste of piss mixed with vinegar nearly made you retch, but after your second glass and an assload of determination, it started to taste… good? Maybe this Shigemo guy wasn’t too bad. The rest of the night was a blur of silly dancing to dumb Christmas songs, ugly laughing at the horse calendars pinned to the wall, and… well, the bathroom.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Your tone was breathy, a cross between giggly and pure apprehension. There in the men’s restrooms, you were perched up on the sink counter. That festive dress was slipped up around your hips by two slender, greedy hands, and a tiny waist worked between your thighs. Shigemo kissed you into silence.

“Why not?” He kisses you again, fumbling with his belt buckle. He’s nipping down your neck, whispering, “The risk is so fucking hot.”

And oh goodness, was he a man on a mission. Tearing the collar of your dress down beneath your breasts, fingering holes into your sheer stockings, stuffing a fist inside your panties… You were in no state of coherence to stop him.

Had it not been a professional obligation on his part to attend this year’s Christmas party, Nanami finds himself fantasizing about all the ways he’d much rather be spending this brisk winter evening. Probably soaking in his tub, nursing a glass of red wine and working on that book he’d been putting off thanks to the ungodly amount of work on his plate as of late. Then, he’d exercise those cooking skills he seldom had time to use and prepare a meal that had much more to offer than these feeble, sugary snacks at this party. Seriously? Cookies and cake? They were adults for goodness sake.

The floor was stuffy and claustrophobia-inducing. Everywhere he turned, Nanami was accidentally bumping somebody with his shoulder or his elbow or some other limb he lost track of. And the conversations were abysmal. Nanami has always been good with his words—he had to be in a profession like this—but Christ, talking to his zombies-for-coworkers was a worse fate than death itself. They drone on about office assignments, about deadlines and paperwork with no hint of light behind their eyes. Is that what he looks like to others? A worrisome thought, that Nanami was just as much of a slave to the corporate world as they were.

The deep train of thought is cut off before it spirals when red catches his eye. A dress red as rubies sticks out like a sore thumb among the sea of blacks and blues and grays of suits. You’re dressed in a silly get up, like those Mrs. Claus actresses in the malls that take pictures with children. Y/n L/n, Nanami recalls your name. He knows you, the newest employee in the office. He’s had very few chances to speak with you, and when he did it mostly consisted of him relaying orders from Mr. Gakuganji. But even in those brief instances, Nanami saw it plain as day: you were different. The first lively fool he’d seen in a while, eyes still glinting with the prospects of optimism and naive hope for the future. Foolish indeed, but he couldn’t bring himself to hate it. You were a breath of fresh air, but Nanami knew that it was only a matter of time before you were beaten and battered into another mindless cog in the corporation's machine.

A strange urge bloomed within the hollows of the man's chest; an urge that told him to initiate communication with you. Perhaps just a "hello" at the very least, seeing as you were his direct subordinate. It was the polite thing to do, right? Or maybe that was just a weak excuse he convinced himself of because Nanami didn't want to admit that you intrigued him in every sense of the word. You would provide an interesting back and forth, something Nanami desperately craved in the throes of this tedious party.

Golden eyes scanned the room. But no matter how long and meticulous he stared into the mass of bodies, Nanami could not locate the shade of red that had incited this search to begin with. There was a muted pit of disappointment the settled heavy in his stomach when he came to the realization that you simply were gone. He didn't doubt the probability that you ditched, no, he'd commend you for doing something he could not. Nanami sighs under his breath, lets his shoulders droop, and takes the last swig of his drink (water of course, the spiked cider was much too sweet for his tastes) before maneuvering through the crowd towards the bathroom. A five minute breather alone in a stall sounded like Heaven on Earth.

He shouldered through the metallic door, eyes closed, fingers tugging the knot of his too-tight tie as he stepped inside the restrooms. Only the sound of a feminine gasp was what pried his heavy eyelids open.

All three bodies froze: Nanami by the entrance with a slack jaw and wide eyes, a man he vaguely recalls from the Shibuya district stood between a pair of opened legs with his jeans tugged down to mid-thigh, and you. You, with your stupidly red dress in disarray, the neckline dipped below your bare breasts and the lower hem bunched up around the curve of your waistline. There you were, sitting up on the sink completely exposed... God, that bastard's hand was still buried down the front of your panties.

As if time suddenly unfroze, said bastard rips his hands away from your most delicate parts in favor of pulling his jeans back up. Nanami blinks once before cocking his head to the side at the unnatural speed of light, focusing on the faux plant in the corner, the uneven tiles beneath his dress shoes, the cracks in the eggshell paint on the wall... anything besides your indecent self.

"Whoops, would ya' look at that?" Shibuya fucker laughs halfheartedly as he fumbles with the button on his jeans, flustered and giggly. "Guess we got a little carried away there, my bad man!" He slinks towards the door, towards Nanami, but pauses. "Hey, you're Nanami Kento, right?"

"Yes." It's a cold response. Nanami doesn't look to the other man, instead he keeps his eyes trained down as to not get another eyeful of you.

"Aha right! Well," Shibuya fucker sweatdrops, clasping a hand over Nanami's shoulder. "Let's keep this a secret from the higher ups?"

The elder grimaces. "Please don't touch me."

The hand is ripped away. Shibuya fucker shows his palms in sort of a defensive stance as more anxious chuckles erupt from his throat. "Good seeing you, then!" And with that, he slips out of the bathroom leaving you high and dry. The prick didn't even bother to stay and help you get recollected.

"I'm decent." You sound meek, a tone Nanami has yet to hear from you thus far. It sounds small. Humiliated. "You... you can look now."

So he does, only to regret it. There you are, hopped off the sink and standing before him in a pitiful display. Your slender neck was tainted with love marks, darkened bruises bit into flesh with little artistry. Your stockings were shredded carelessly, bits of plumpness squishing through the holes. Your hair was mussed, forehead sweaty, lipstick smeared and... why was Nanami so irritated by the sight?

"What..." He starts, trying to find the words. "What is the matter with you?"

You gawk. "Nothing."

"Nothing." Nanami scoffs, hands pressed to his hips. "How careless could you possibly be? Fucking at a work event? I mean, for fuck's sake Y/n."

"I'm sorry, okay?" Your words are clipped. As if you have any right to catch an attitude with him right now.

"Sorry doesn't change the fact that you..." His sentence trails off into a tiny, frustrated growl scratching from the back of his tongue. The man takes his nose bridge between his thumb and forefinger. "The door was unlocked. Anyone could've walked in and saw you like that!" Exposed. Bare. Vulnerable.

"I don't know what else you want to hear other than sorry." Nanami doesn't miss the microscopic vocal crack in the word sorry. You hug yourself tight, forearms crossed over your chest. Your shoulders stutter, and your lips are sucked between your teeth to hide the wobble in them. "I'm... sorry."

You dress strap hangs off your shoulder. Nanami can't peel his gaze away from the strip of fabric. He takes a slow step in, gauging your reaction to it. You don't show any signs of discomfort, so he advances closer. The red strap is dainty against his rough fingers, so he cautions himself to be extra gentle when slipping it back up into place.

"Thanks," you sniffle.

He shushes you. Nanami isn't done yet, far from it. You still look disheveled and sad and weepy and he can't fucking stomach it for some ungodly reason. So he gets to work, first wetting a paper towel in the bathroom sink—the same one you'd been getting groped on a mere few minutes prior—and gingerly swipes away the smeared makeup from your kiss-swollen lips. Then, he's taking it upon himself to straighten out your hair. You let him stroke down your baby hairs without pushback, limply letting him rearrange your appearance as if you were some sort of life sized doll.

Nanami steps back to admire his work. The evidence of foreplay was nearly gone, save for the dreadful state of your stockings and those ugly teeth-shaped indents down the side of your neck. “Take those stockings off before you leave the bathroom,” he utters. “They look…” Slutty is the word that comes to mind first, but he’d never say it aloud. So he leaves it at that.

You’re looking at him with an unreadable expression. If anything, Nanami discerns a little concern in the way your brows turn upwards. “Are you going to tell anyone about this?”

He wants to oh so bad. To be the lame tattletale and snitch to Mr. Gakuganji because fraternization is wrong, and fraternization in the workplace is double wrong. “I should report you,” there’s a pregnant pause, “but I won’t.”

Why? He asks himself.

You seemed to have read his thoughts. “Why?”

Nanami doesn’t have an answer to that. Where is this slice of mercy coming from? All he knows for certain is that staring at the trembling woman in front of him any longer will have him blow a fuse. “Go home, Y/n.” It’s the last thing he offers before turning on his heel and walking back out into the Christmas function, swallowing down each and every confusing feeling swirling around his brain.

likes and reblogs are appreciated !

tags . • @justbelljust @amnmich @ti-mame @silkija @maddietries @vyntagei @ebrysteria @aesukuni

[daddyricsdoll]

Two is better than one ✭ Lando Norris and Jude Bellingham

Summary: It was hard to suppress your feelings for your best friend since childhood, especially if he's the Lando Norris. But then you met an alluring man who had made you question if you had loved Lando or if this was an act of lust. Soon growing a desire for both men but still questioning what to do. Until they decided to give you the answer- two is better than one.

Warnings: Threesome, masturbation, use of toys (vibrator, dildo, clit sucker), unprotected sex, anal, creampie, rough sex, double penetration, overstimulation, teasing, bondage, blindfold, oral, fingering, not breeding kink but likes to fill the reader up, nipple clamps, degrading name (slut and brat).

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Based off of this request. Ok so maybe the reader has some flaws, but who wouldn't when both Lando Norris and Jude Bellingham exist. Especially when they both want her! Writing this was a pleasure and honour because both my favourite things collide. So thanks anon for requesting this, and I hope you enjoy!!! Also, FOR YOUR LOVE by Måneskin is the song that probably expresses the thoughts going through both men's heads. And it's just a great song in general. And if you waited for long then you would want answers to why this took so long, so in a short answer- I nearly died. But I finished this! So Yay!!! You can enjoy now...

“Lando, hun, good luck and be safe.” I hug him tightly, his scent filling my nose and hypnotising me once again. Forcing the butterflies to come alive in my stomach and memorise the feeling of his large hands enveloping my waist. He doesn’t let go, waiting for me to first, and if I could, I’d never let us part. But right now, he has a race to win and I’m not gonna stop him from that, I never have and never will. 

So it takes strength to part from him, but having Lando after the race is leading my hazy mind. Even if it’s not the touch I want, it’s still him even how hard I wished to suppress that thought or feeling. 

I watch him zip up his race suit, hiding his fireproof that shows me each muscle I’d wish to lay my tongue against. Balaclava now pulled over top his head, and curls hidden underneath the fabric. Lastly he puts his helmet on and fits himself into the car that will certainly give him victory. 

I rush back to the McLaren garage, saying hi to some familiar staff and trying to find a place to sit before lights out. My eyes search for my signature spot, but now occupied by an enigmatic figure. He had an aura that you would find hard to describe with one word. Holding himself with confidence, looking straight forward and not giving a care about who watched. Confidence exuding off him, but not one that reveals too much. Rectangular sunglasses covered his eyes, but his tall figure and crossed arms drew me closer. I didn’t move physically but I tried to search him with my eyes, racking my brain to find out why he made me feel this specific heat in the pit of my stomach. 

“Darling, stop looking at me like that or I’ll have to fuck you right here and record it for your boyfriend.” The sentence left his mouth like it was second nature, so smoothly and at a volume that was only for me to hear. His words made my breath hitch and I stood in shock, my core on fire but I was ready to open my legs. 

“He’s not my boyfriend.” 

“Oh even better, you’re only mine.” He takes his sunglasses off, holding it loosely between his fingers as he leans against the wall. Cheeky smirk on his lips.

“Who said I’m yours?” I take steps closer to him, trying to exude the same confidence as him. My heart beating oh so faster at the way his eyes are so intoxicating.

“I did, Darling. Something wrong?”

“You have a lot of audacity.” 

“I’ve got to, or a pretty woman like you wouldn't be talking to me.” I’m certain the blush on my cheeks became a shade darker. Even my skin rising in temperature, it makes me question how I’m still looking at him and not the ground. My mind already hazy as he made me lost for words. I couldn’t speak now, I couldn’t say the wrong thing or this could all crash down. So instead of speaking with words I used my eyes, they flickered to his lips, making mine part once I reverted back up to him. 

“You’re really trying to take up my offer.” He keeps eye contact as he speaks, looking up and down my body once he’s finished.

“Oh you can’t possibly think I’m that easy?”

He inches his face closer to mine, making me think he’ll close the gap between our lips, but instead he goes toward my ear. “So you’re telling me you’re not wet right now. That you don’t want me between your thighs. Or maybe it’s not me, maybe it’s your driver Lando.”

My breath hitches once again and the expression on my face would make you think the words he said were a forbidden curse. A curse that had me rubbing my legs together and thinking of such filthy things.

“Can’t I be wet from both of you? Imagining each thick dick sliding inside and out of me.”

Taking back some dominance, my whisper full of emotion and smoothly leaving my lips. And for the first time it’s as if his character breaks. More colour finding his cheeks, and his smirk faltering. I decide to lean further into him, my lips millimetres from touching his ear. 

“Imagine I'm riding your dick so good squeezing my tight pussy making you moan and whine the shit out of you.” I drag my lips against his ear before biting his earlobe. “All this while Lando is fucking my tight ass. I will be so full-” A moan leaving my mouth and his reaction goes straight to his dick. His large hands try to cover the bulge, somewhat achieving it.

“If you're gonna tease me, you should expect me to make those words true.” Hands coming to my hips to bring me forward, the bottom half of my body now flush against him. Feeling his hard cock press along his pants, and now me. His size, oh I couldn’t imagine. 

“How about I give you something to do when this race is finished?” He whispers to me. His offer so tempting, it would be criminal to say no to. 

“Sweetheart… let me give you something else. If you don’t want it, then you’re not gonna get an alternative.” I wait for him to nod before I continue. “I’m here for 3 more days, that’s the time you have if you want something.” Just as I take my first step away from him he speaks. 

“Give me your number, Darling.” He stretches his arm out, phone held by the tip of his fingers. I take it from him, typing out my number. “Give me your name.” I ask, learning the most basic thing about him last.

“It’s Jude, Darling. Jude Bellingham.” He takes back his phone once I’m done, winking at me before I walk away. Keeping composure and hiding the fluttering feeling in my stomach. 

✭

Lando holding victory after the race was expected, but when he hugged Jude right after me and then spent what felt like hours with him, I could say that was not planned. 

I stood on the side and waited for Lando, usually being the centre of his attention after races, but out of all of them this one had to be different, because of one man. Annoyance grew in me, but not for the anticipated reasons. It was because they both looked so good together, and that one of them knows my desires, while the other knows everything about me except that. The heat that’s now constantly in the pit of my stomach grew. But I couldn’t keep my eyes off of them, whether my stare from the outside seemed neutral, almost as if I’ve zoned out and they were the lucky view I zoned out from, my feelings inside were far from that. 

Lust wasn’t the only feeling lurking inside of me, a pure liking toward them both danced beside it as well– fondness, but maybe infatuation would be a better suit. 

Jude’s eyes flickered to me as he conversed with Lando, a small grin on his face at the expression I displayed on mine. Now I regret my partial “no” to him. Because I desperately need something between my legs, but for now maybe playing hard to get will be on my side, well once he crumbles and ruins me like he said he would. 

I keep my eyes on both the men as they say their “byes”, Jude walking one way and Lando walking to me. My tight lipped expression turned into a grin as he pulled me into a hug. 

“Don’t think I could forget about you.” Lando says into my hair before pulling away. But he doesn’t really, his hands still on my hips even while his body isn’t pressed against mine.

“Yeah, I know.” I try to force my attention from his hands, but when they fit against me perfectly it’s so hard. 

“I heard you met Jude.” His grin now a tantalising smirk.

“Oh, really?”

“You’re not as innocent as I thought; but if you wanted me, you should’ve just asked, I would’ve given you everything.” I suddenly hear my heartbeat in my ears, skin burning hot and desire pooling in my stomach. Lando speaks as if there's no tomorrow, as if he’s the best thing I’ll ever find– and maybe he is, but that doesn’t mean I’ll show my desperation and succumb to him already. I’ve got Jude, and games to play. 

“Oh hun, you know what else can give me everything? Those toys I use while I think of you.” My words sinful and enthralling, leaving Lando standing there watching me as I walk away. I didn’t know what could’ve possibly run through his head, but I’d only hope he could still give me everything. 

✭

Before arriving back in the hotel I had a detour to one of the shops I’m more fond of. Spending hundreds of dollars on items I may not even use, but there were a few I’d be certain to use on this solitary night. 

Once I closed the door of my room I opened my phone checking every notification as I slowly walked into the bathroom with my bag full of the products I purchased earlier. 

‘Darling, have any plans for tonight?’ The number unknown, but the first word revealing his identity he didn’t even try to hide. My eyes are stuck on my phone–his message– as I turn the bath on, filling it with water as I start undressing. Actions speak louder than words, is what they usually say. But in my case, my action is a photo. 

My nipples hard, and body drained of clothing. I stare at myself through the mirror, blinding myself from every insecurity as I lift my phone up. Capturing a photo of me and not looking at it once before sending it to both men. Immediately I turn my phone off and place it beside the sink. Opening the bag and pulling out the few things that will keep me sane for now- my clit sucker, vibrator and dildo. I look at the large bath, not filled all the way yet, so I put my things on the bath tray while I wait. Checking my phone, I see new messages from both men. 

‘What happened to the toys?’

‘Or do you want my everything now?’ 

Lando’s message cut into two, but he shows the desperation I try to hide. I don’t reply just yet, checking what Jude sent.

‘Darling, you can't just send one and leave. Show me’ 

Both men only make my need for them worse, and the toys that my eyes make contact with encourage it too. 

I ignore the tap still filling the bath as I get in, aching for a touch between my legs. My hand drawn to the vibrator as I grasp it and turn it onto its 4th setting already. I put the camera of my phone on and film myself as I drag the vibrator between my breasts, going beneath the water and becoming invisible to them.

My face being the only thing that describes and expresses what they’d wish to be watching. My legs are parted as I start teasing my clit with the vibrator, going between my folds and forcing even more arousal to coat it before the water cleans it away. I go back to playing with my clit, using it like a toy and already bringing me close to my climax. I imagine both men, laying in their rooms with their cocks between their fists, pumping it as they watch me.

Lando thinking about what my lips would feel like when they wrap around him. Jude falling into the thought of me clenching my walls around him as I ride his dick. But in this reality it’s their own fists making them explode, coming on their hands. Just as I released too for the first time in this long night. Moaning out curse words and such pornographic sounds.

I stop filming and send it to Jude and Lando, the clip answering both of their questions and demands. 

My eyes close once I turn my phone off, relaxing into the feeling of the vibrator handing me orgasm after orgasm, turning the levels up by twos and making me release even faster than the last. Each of my actions wanton as my whines filled the room and I grew addicted to the sensation against my swollen clit.

I stopped counting the times I had released once I passed four. The vibrator now became a familiar feeling, but still as good as the first time it touched me. When I opened my eyes again, the sight of the dildo and clit sucker never looked more appealing. I cursed myself for being so salacious, but it didn’t stop me from swapping my vibrator with them both. The dildo being prioritised as I slide it between my folds, trying to cover the tip in my arousal so it slides in easily. 

I push it in slowly, feeling the burn of the stretch, eliciting a moan from my plump lips. Continuing  to make small thrusts until I can fit it all in. Once it sits in me, I grab the clit sucker, whining just looking at it and wishing it was one of their mouths. I get reminded of both men, wondering how the sensation of a vibrator created a haze over both of the people who owned my mind.

Sweat trickles down my chest as it moves with each of my heavy breaths. My body anticipating the contact against my clit. Once it envelopes my slit I turn it on. Nearly pulling another orgasm from my overused clit. I think about how it would’ve felt if it were Lando or Jude’s lips on me. Bringing me back to them and what their possible replies could’ve been to my video. With my free hand I grab my phone, seeing both their messages being sent half an hour ago. It couldn’t have been that long?

‘Fuck, that’s what I wanted’ 

‘Give me more’

‘Darling, it’s been a while’

‘You want to feel my cock? Forget how to walk?’

Jude’s last message sent from minutes ago. Wanton moans, cries and whines leave my mouth as I release again, adding onto every other climax I’ve had this night. I inch closer to another, certain that that one should’ve been my last. Before I let myself release I go on Lando’s messages, somehow making me reach my climax once I read them. 

‘I know what you’re doing’

‘You’re a slut’ 

‘And I’m gonna treat you like one’

‘Once I get my hands in your pussy, I'm gonna stretch you out. And you're gonna take it like the good girl you should be’

My pussy throbs and eyes flutter reading his message. Tired from each orgasm but my core needs more. Just as I reach my hand down to grab the dildo a loud slam of the hotel door fills the room. My heart pounds and I try to cover myself, feeling even more vulnerable that the bathroom door is wide open. I knew I was helpless and my mind was blank of things to do, but then I caught a glimpse of the two men that just walked in.

Both of them walked straight toward me. “So this is where you’ve been Darling.”

“She’s not a darling. She’s a slut.” Landos eyes roam over me, a depraved smirk on his heart-shaped lips.

“You know what? You’re right.” Jude peers to the bag beside the sink, finding interest in it and pulling out each product. A set of restraints, a blindfold and nipple clamps. Jude looks over to Lando, just for them both to keep their contrast of eyes on me. 

“And now we’re gonna treat you like one.” They both move closer to me, Lando grasping me by my arms and Jude moving the bath tray to pull me up by my thighs. They both lift me and make me sit on the edge of the bath, both men cursing when they see the dildo still deep inside of me and the clit sucker barely holding on. 

“Couldn’t really hold back could ya. If I didn’t know better I’d flip you over and do exactly what I said I would when we first met.” Jude brings his face closer to me, just for his whisper to be toned with harshness. Pulling the dildo out and thrusting it back in. Making me choke on my breath and grab his shoulders for stability.

My action works to his advantage as he lifts me up and throws me onto the bed. “We would usually wait, but you’ve already started without us.” Lando walks out of the bathroom, holding everything I bought today in his large hands. Tossing everything onto the bed beside me, he leaves the box of restraints in his hands, opening it and throwing some to Jude.

I stay in my position on the bed, staring at both of them. 

“Come on slut, don’t act like you don’t know what to do.” Landos eyes ravenous, but his voice rough. It makes it hard for me to believe he was hugging me with love and sunshines just hours ago. But I listen to his words, spreading each of my limbs while they keep the dildo inside of me. As they tie me up they let the thought of my comfort out, making the restraints so tight that I couldn’t even think of moving. 

Once they finish, Lando places a blindfold over my eyes. Covering my vision and turning it to black. My other senses heightened as I waited for their next actions. I shiver at the next touch, one of them putting the nipple clamps on me. My core definitely dripping, and the fact that it’s so exposed makes another wave of arousal go through me.

“I’ve always wanted to taste you.” Landos words leave his mouth like a purr and I feel his hot breath against my pussy. Losing the dildo and clit sucker as Lando pulls them both away without a second thought. 

“And I’ve always wanted to see how your lips would look around my dick.” Jude’s voice comes from beside me. The bed lowers from weight beside my head, until I realise that it’s Jude hovering over me. Legs on either side of my head and his cock so close I was millimetres from tasting it. 

“Open up.” Jude commands and subordinately I open my mouth wide. If he had any intentions to be slow, he forgot them all. Already thrusting his dick inside of my mouth with no mercy. Lando gives me no time to think as he starts abusing my already sensitive pussy with his mouth. Pulling against the ties had no use, and every sound I’d let out would be taken from Jude. 

Lando rammed in his fingers to add along to the work of his tongue. Giving me no chance to control my breathing or even make up my own thoughts. It was shameful that I blatantly enjoyed this. Being controlled by two men as they used my body like a toy. Calling me names that I wouldn’t ever dare another man to say and fucking every thought and word out of my mouth.

The pain mixed with pleasure and pleasure brought me to my release once again. Whining out another moan as I knew my body couldn’t handle it anymore. I attempted to writhe under Jude, but Lando’s hand splayed out on my lower abdomen, trying to stop me as Jude continued fucking my face until his cum covered the inside of my mouth. 

It didn’t take a lot longer until that moment came. Jude exploded in my mouth and coating my tongue, throat and roof of my mouth with his release. 

“Gonna tease us like a brat, you’re gonna get treated like one.” Judes words could only be for me. And if I could have one wish, it would be without this blindfold. To see the man who mesmerised me with his beauty but also made me cry because of his cock– but he’ll never know.

“Swallow.” He demands of me, and just like the first time, I obey his order. Feeling his weight leave the bed beside me.

“You know what I’ve always wanted to do Jude? I’ve always wanted to fill her up and watch as my cum drips out of her.”

“Fuck. You know what I’ve always wanted? Is to feel how tight she is through anal.”

I whine out, each word of theirs so tempting but my pussy can’t take anymore. “What was that?” Lando asks me.

“I- no, please.” I struggle to find the right words, choking over myself and hoping they know it’s my end.

“I guess you know what that means Jude.” I follow Lando’s voice as it walks from one side of the room to the other. My heartbeat fills my ears until it eases when I feel my wrists becoming undone from the ties. My ankles are untied next and I don’t do anything, letting them keep dominance over everything. 

I feel Lando’s hands grab me, making me rise onto my knees and I cry out, finally connecting the dots. 

“Oh hun, if you really think you could get away that easily then you’re wrong. So come down and sit on my dick.” And how I wished to refuse, I craved it more. Listening to him as I let his hands guide me down. His dick thicker than I could’ve imagined and it stung more than the dildo, but it was a sting I was happy to get used to. More tears welling up in my eyes, making it a perfect time for Lando to force my blindfold off. 

I couldn’t rely on myself to keep a rhythm so I let Lando lead me. He only made it worse, forcing my clit to rub against him as he pushed me down. By that time, I knew my cries and pleads could never work, so I’d surrendered that, letting the only sounds to escape my lips to be moans and whines. 

My body soon became pressed against Lando’s in favour of Jude. Giving him better access as he very slowly pushed into me. Both of our voices strained as he bottomed out. Tears ran down my face from both men, and I realised how close I was to my climax.

What I had thought of being soft sex, was only a disguise. Once Jude became accustomed to me he started ruining me in a place I hadn’t been before. Lando holding my body and thrusting up into me, making the sound of skin slapping to crowd the room. 

A long moan fleeing my mouth as I released. The knot in my stomach finally exploded and I rested on Lando’s body as I indeed became their toy. Jude’s grip on my hips still growing tighter and Lando’s thrusts still had power but lost pattern. Jude along with Lando spasmed in me, making the clenching of my pussy to let them release one after the other. 

Jude quickly pulled out and released over me and Lando, soon followed by an unholy groan leaving Lando’s mouth as he released in me. Each spurt of his cum filling my helpless pussy just seconds before he pulled out and let me lay on my back. Legs parted and eyes already fluttering closed. Catching a few glimpses of Jude and Lando, achieving a few of the things they’d wanted as I feel Lando’s cum start dripping out of me. 

“Darling, maybe next time don’t start without us. You should get some rest, although I’ve always wanted to fuck someone while they sleep.”

[danikamariewrites]

She Belongs To Me

Mob!Azriel x reader AU

A/n: sorry it’s been forever since I added to this little series. I think this is my favorite story I’ve written for mob!Az so far and I’m really proud of how it turned out!

Warnings: possessive Az, uncomfortable interactions with a man

Twirling once more in front of the floor length mirror you smile, your signature mini black dress hugging every curve perfectly. You pull your lipstick from your mini purse to touch up the darker shade that paints your lips. You decided to go with a clean simple look for the night. You were probably going to sweat it all off later anyway, but you still wanted to look cute for Az.

You were finally going to the club in Velaris Azriel just bought ownership in with Eris Vanserra. A new business deal between the two families. If you had tried to go to this place with Feyre and Mor before you started dating Az you would’ve been turned away at the door, but tonight you’re V.I.P’s. Not that you three ever cared about that stuff before. Just one of the few perks you get.

Azriel exited the lengthy walk-in closet you now share, sliding his usual black suit jacket on. The top buttons of his crisp white shirt undone, showing off his swirling tattoos. Popping your lips and capping the lipstick you turn to face Az, giving him a small smile. He returned your look with a smirk that conveyed his admiration and want for you.

Striding over to you Azriel holds your chin between his beautifully scarred fingers. His eyes dart over your face as they always do. Like he’s committing every part of you to his memory. “Breathtaking. You look breathtakingly beautiful as always, my love.” Azriel says softly. You smile brightly at him. Taking his other hand in yours you give it a loving squeeze. Running your thumb over the ridges of his scars.

“You look breathtakingly handsome as well, baby.” Azriel smiled bashfully, dipping his head to prevent you from seeing his obvious blush. Resting a hand against his strong chest, pushing up on your tiptoes you press a kiss to his freshly shaven jaw. You hold your lips against his skin longer than you normally would, taking in his scent and the feel of his soft skin.

Pulling away you make sure to check that you left behind a lipstick stain. Marking him as yours as he’s done for you on a o many nights. Azriel’s smile hasn’t left his lips, the want gone from his eyes and replaced with pure, unfiltered love. Without hesitating he grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers. “Let’s go,” his voice airy as he pulls you out of the bedroom.

Entering the club you couldn’t help but be in awe of it. The place was nothing like the shitty college bars the three of you went to. The music was appropriately loud, a V.I.P section, a bar stocked with expensive liquor bottles with names you’ve never even heard of before. The lighting perfectly dim, bright enough to navigate your way through the crowd.

Azriel pulls you towards the V.I.P section. Climbing the platform you spot Mor and Feyre with Rhys already enjoying bottle service and a comically large plate of nachos. You notice Rhys giving Azriel a tight lipped look, like he’s not happy to give Azriel the news he’s about to deliver. Azriel slips his hand from yours, kissing your temple. “Go sit love, I’ll be right there.” He whispers.

Without another thought you throw yourself onto the booth between your friends. You start a mindless conversation, Feyre bitching and making fun of how Gavin has been acting since you left. Cassian joins you, coming in from parking the car. Feyre eyes his muscular figure. You know she’s been taken with Cass since the day he picked you up for your first date with Az. And you’ve been trying to push them together for months now, tired of the obvious flirting.

“Hello ladies,” he says seductively, “where are my brothers?” He asks, taking Feyre’s glass from her to take a swig of her drink. She lets out a dramatic gasp, reaching for her drink back. “Over there,” she giggles as Cass pokes at her.

The four of you look over to find the two having an animated conversation. You could tell Azriel was tense from the way he kept rolling his neck. Az made his way over to you, pressing a kiss to your cheek, whispering, “I need to take care of some business with Eris. I’ll be back before you know it.” When he pulls back you give him a small smile and nod. He turns and Rhys follows. Cassian gives him a nod, knowing what his duties are while Azriel is away.

Cassian stood, hands clasped in front of him with that stoic ‘don’t you dare fuck with me look’. The fun, carefree boy gone. You loved pushing Cass and Rhys’s buttons when they’re acting as your bodyguards. Hiding from them in department stores, pretending to run from them. Tonight, however, was not the night for your shenanigans. Cass would never risk the girls and neither would you.

For a little over half an hour you, Mor, and Feyre enjoyed drinks and endless nachos and chicken fingers. Cassian, with his hawk like gaze, notices you looking for your waitress. “What do you want?” He asks, holding his hand out to keep you seated. You smile at his overprotective nature. “Just another drink,” you shake your empty glass at him, clinking the ice.

”I’ll get it for you.” Cassian says, desperate for you to stay put. You give him an exasperated look, “I’m a big girl, Cass. I can get it.” Before he can protest you head over to the bar for the V.I.P section.

Ordering your drink you check the time on your phone. It’s been almost an hour. Eris has never dragged a meeting on this long, even if it was urgent. Letting out a sigh you lean on the bar, tapping your manicured nails on beat with the music pulsing through the club.

A throat clearing sounds next to you, making your shoulders tense like Azriel’s when he receives unpleasant news. With lowered brows you turn to face the source of the grating noise. A man, of course, in a wrinkled button up shirt and dress pants that clearly aren’t tailored. His proximity and scent of his cologne making your nose wrinkle.

“Can I help you?” Your voice flat and uninterested. The man smirked as he leaned on the bar next to you. “Just thought I’d come say hi. I saw you with your pretty friends over there, maybe you’d like to join us.” He gestures to a booth behind yours. No drinks, so they must’ve just arrived. Being with Azriel has taught you be very perceptive of people and your surroundings. Not that your boyfriend was paranoid, he just wanted you to be able to spot danger.

You roll your eyes you look back at the man in front of you. “No thanks.” You say curtly, no longer interested in entertaining this man's delusions.

His eyes roam over your body, one of his brows rising as he smirks. The look made you want to vomit on his cheap shoes. “Come on now sweetheart,” he brushes a finger down your cheek and you quickly take two steps back, his touch slimy and foreign. His demeanor changes quickly, anger flashing across his face as he steps toward you. No must be a word he never hears, whether that be his selective hearing or not.

Out of the corner of your eye a dark mass moves with lightning speed. Gripping the man's arm Azriel twists and pins him to the sleek wooden bar. The man lets out a whimper of pain. Pathetic.

“Do you know who I am?” He growled. “Answer me,” Azriel said with more aggression, shoving the man further into the bar. “Yes,” his voice barely above a whisper thanks to how squished his face is.

“Then you know I protect what’s mine. If I ever see you in my club again you will regret it. Get out.” Azriel let go and Rhys swooped in, guiding the man and his friends to the exit before a fight could break out.

You fling yourself into Azriel’s arms, shaken by what just happened and the what ifs had Azriel not shown up. He ran a gentle hand up and down your spine, holding you tightly to his body. “It’s alright, my love. I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” He coos. Taking a deep inhale of his comforting, warm scent you look up at him.

“Are you alright?” He asks, worry clouding his warm hazel eyes as he takes you in. Searching his memory of you from earlier that night to make sure nothing was out of place. “I’m ok. My dark knight came to the rescue.” A genuine smile pulling at your lips as your fear melts away. The comfort of Azriel’s familiar touch washing away the memory of the unnamed man.

“Do you want to go home? I can have Cass bring the car-’’ You press your finger to his lips to stop him. “Absolutely not. I haven’t danced with you yet and we’re having fun. I’m not going to let some asshole ruin what’s supposed to be a celebration tonight.” The guilt for not being glued to your side hasn’t left Azriel’s face yet. “I promise my dear, I am fine.”

Azriel finally relaxed, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry Eris kept me for so long. I’m yours for the rest of the night, I swear it, my love.” Azriel slowly kisses you. Wrapping his arm around you Az leads you back to the booth.

Sitting, he pulls you on to his lap, trapping you with his arms as he kisses and bites at your jawline. Making sure he’s marked you appropriately, the twin to your still vibrant lipstick stain decorating his tan skin.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

[nomazee]

“This is unnecessary.”

At Blade’s snide comment, you pull sharply at the strands of his hair in your hands. He grunts in displeasure before obediently quieting down, only a little scared of you scalping him if he annoys you any further. 

Perched behind him on the couch while he sits on the floor, your hands find themselves coming through his hair (long, smooth, untangled despite the fact that you’ve never seen him take a brush to it). Your efforts to part his hair with just your fingers are fruitless. His hair is thick on the top, so much so that you’re surprised his neck doesn’t constantly ache with the weight of it. Your hands pause, resting on the top of his head while you try and figure out how you’ll style it. 

“Be nice,” you warn, two hands on the sides of his head tilting it from side to side, treating him as a foam mannequin on which you can project your very thorough cosmetology skills. “Your fate is quite literally in my hands. I could knock you out and shave you bald very easily.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he says earnestly, and you can’t help the way your lips twinge into a smile. “This is clearly a hassle. My hair looks fine the way it is.”

“It does,” you admit, “but wouldn’t it be nice to try something new? And at no cost to you, aside from mild scalp pain. I’m good at hair. I did Kafka’s that one time.” You fail to mention that it was only one time for good reason. Kafka said that you handle hair the same way a lobster would handle a violin—that is, with clumsy hands and a clear lack of refinement. She had to hide every pair of scissors from you in fear that you'd give Silver Wolf microbangs.

As if on cue, your fingers get caught in an unexpected snag in Blade’s hair, and you pull and tug and yank as if expecting it to untangle on its own. Blade hisses and reaches a hand back to smack you on the wrist, turning around to glare at you. 

“Watch it,” he orders, gentle but firm. There’s not enough heat in his words to scare you, and his eyes are a particularly beautiful shade of copper in the dim, flickering light of this dingy lounge room. Whatever you say, beautiful, you think to yourself hysterically. 

After a few half-willed apologies from you and some nudges of encouragement, Blade finally relaxes enough to turn back around and tilt his head back in your lap, letting your fingers play with his hair nonsensically. A braid, you decide, would look quite nice on him. One long one down the back. If you had ribbon, you’d use some to tie his hair, but all you have is one of Kafka’s tragically thin hair ties. 

“It’s a nice color,” you comment absentmindedly, pretending that you can’t see the way Blade’s eyes have shut in contentment at your gentle prodding. “It changes in the light a little bit. It looks very blue now, but I’ve always thought it was black.” You section his hair off into three pieces, loosely laying one over the other over and over again. The aged gold ornament still hangs securely in his hair, and you don’t do anything to move it. It suits him. 

“It’s natural, if that’s what you’re getting at,” he tells you, the slightest twinge of a joke in his voice. It plays at your smile and at your heart, too. 

“You say that now, but you’ll be scrambling to come up with a lie when I find box dye in your bag.” 

He only hums in response, reluctantly enjoying the feeling of your hands on him—they’re gentle, and you can imagine he’s not quite used to this. It’s an addictive feeling, to have him at your mercy, even with just your hands in his hair. There’s trust, unspoken, lingering warmly in the air and settling like condensation on your skin. You could very easily do a number of things that would hurt Blade—kill him, almost. You’ve only ever thought of it a few times, and those were all a very long time ago. 

You don’t think of it that often anymore. All you’re paying attention to is Blade and the splitting ends of his hair and how nice he’d look with a red ribbon tied in. 

“We should go shopping,” you tell him, voice close to a whisper now. You’ve secured the end of his braid already, and your handiwork is admirable. The strands are neatly crossed over each other, uniform in size with each other as they taper down into the end. “Some clips for you would be nice.” Absentmindedly, you comb through the layers of hair near his face, digging your fingers gently into the sides of his face and scratching at his scalp. 

“And where exactly would we go shopping? We’re not exactly upstanding members of society in some people’s eyes.” 

“Then I’ll make clips for you,” you say, a naive kind of dedication in your tone. “I used to work with metal, a little bit. I could make jewelry. Ornaments for your hair. I’ll put a ribbon in next time.” 

“What makes you think there’ll be a next time?” Blade asks doubtfully, in steep contrast with the way he lets your hands roam along his scalp, and the way his head leans back into you as if he’s comfortable. 

“You���re a loyal customer,” you quip, “you’d never let somebody else do your hair when you have me as a dedicated stylist.” 

“I’m your only customer.” 

“I know,” and in a moment of weakness—because at the end of the day that’s what you are, weak, malleable and moveable when you’re with Blade like this—you lean down just a little bit, pressing a stupid clumsy kiss on the crown of his head. Your fingers trail down to trace the bumps of the braid, the divots and grooves in it, made by your hands, and yours alone. “That just means I can put all my effort towards you alone.” 

“You shouldn’t.” And he means it when he says that, and it hurts you, puts a sickly pang in your chest that you want to reach for and tear out before it grows into something worse. 

“But I will,” you tell him. Blade is stubborn, but not stubborn enough to keep it up. Not now, not here, not when the overhead lights are flickering and making his hair look just a little bluer, illuminating the warmer ends of his hair, glinting off the metal ornament still clipped into it. He rests between your hands, still sitting on the cold floor, pretending that he isn’t falling asleep with you like the fool he secretly is.

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

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[irisintheafterglow]

hii i would like to request the premise of a feral gojo over reader getting hurt or in danger 🤤 please don't feel obligated to write tho only if u feel like it :3

cross them, cross me (gojo x you)

wc: 1.29k

cw/tags: brief but explicit violence including descriptions of blood (satoru beats the shit out of a curse lmao), swearing, angst/fluff with a happy ending, established-ish relationship with pet names baby and sweetheart

note: ah feral gojo my beloved. i think i got a little carried away with writing the violence aspect but what can i say! he really did go feral when you got hurt! anyways, hope you like this anon and thank you for the sweet ask <3

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated :))

The sound of bones crunching between his fingers is euphoric.

One by one, he takes the Curse’s limbs in his free hand, the other effortlessly holding it by the neck against a wall. Its desperate wriggles and squirms are futile and pathetic. With a tightened grip, the wretched body parts in Satoru’s palm wither and become a limp slug of skin. He’d tuned out the Curse’s howls of agony minutes ago, the world around him falling silent as he focused all of his energy into making the Curse beg for death. The phrase “seeing red” was familiar to him, sure, but the hue tinting his vision now was a deep shade of crimson. Whether that was from the blood or his own concentration, he didn’t know and he didn’t care. 

“What, did you give up?” His taunting smile turns into a snarl when the Curse fails to answer him the first time. It slumped itself against the wall, but he woke it up with a firm slap across its face. It wasn’t allowed to die, not yet. Not until he’d had his fill of its cries. “Learn your lesson yet?” It coughs out a plea for mercy, but he isn’t satisfied. Times like these were the only time his power truly went directly to his head. 

“Gojo.” Nanami’s voice temporarily breaks him from his trance, but Satoru doesn’t bother glancing his colleague’s way. His hand still remains around the neck of the Curse, scathing blue eyes burning holes into its face. “It’s time to depart.”

“I’m not done yet,” he hisses, embedding the Curse’s face further into the wall. The suit of his coworker is pristine and unscathed; his own uniform, on the other hand, was soaked in blood that wasn’t his own. No, he wasn’t done yet. Not until every Curse within a ten mile vicinity knew exactly what would happen to them if they attempted to harm you again.

“They’re asking about you,” Nanami states impatiently with a quick look at his watch. “And I’m working overtime.”

“Five more minutes,” Satoru commands and Nanami has no choice but to obey, releasing an exhausted sigh and leaving his superior to his crusade. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, realizing that the Curse must have died while he wasn’t looking. He examines the lifeless creature with pure disgust, flinging it so intensely at the wall behind him that its innards splatter like wet paint. “You are below me,” he says to no one in particular, but he can sense the frightened energy of the weaker Curses inhabiting the building. “Touch them and you will meet the same fate.” 

Once he’s exited the abandoned hospital, taken down the Curtain, and found the alley corner where he’d instructed Nanami to watch you, all remaining malicious intent in his body disappears. You’re scowling at him, your default expression when in his presence, and it reassures him that you’ll be okay. 

“What took you so long?” You wince and try to adjust yourself against the wall, swatting his hand away when he crouches and tries to help you. “I thought Nanami said there was only one Curse in the building.” He shrugs and you give him a skeptical look, slightly less potent than usual due to your injured state. “Toying with a Curse while I’m bleeding out? That’s a new low, even for you.” He knows you mean it in a joking matter, but the darkness that passes over his face after he laughs doesn’t escape you. It unnerves you, a little bit, trying to imagine what he was doing to the Curses when you weren’t there.

“What can I say? I was just trying to make you miss me,” he replies with only the tiniest hint of hesitation. He’s put his blindfold back on, you notice, but the subtle dip in his eyebrows tells you that he’s not revealing the whole truth. “I’m gonna lift you now–”

“I can walk on my own,” you protest, rooting a hand on the concrete and trying to push yourself up to no avail. You fall back against the wall and glare at his silently patronizing expression. “I just need a second.” 

“We don’t have a second. We need to clear out before the police get here,” he reminds you and you wave him off. “C’mon, just let me help you.”

“I can do this on my own,” you reiterate while simultaneously failing to stand. “It’s because you’re watching me. Just turn around.”

“If you wanna see my butt, just say so,” he grins and you roll your eyes. “But, really. I’m gonna lift you now, so try not to wiggle.” His arms extend to cradle beneath your legs and lower back and you’re surprised to feel the fabric of his uniform, not Infinity, when your hands try to push him away. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” you stammer in panic. He pulls away immediately and his teasing expression softens. You let him brush the dirt from your cheeks with one of his hands, the other coming to cover yours on his chest. His heartbeat is unwaveringly steady, his body warm beneath your fingers. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. We’re okay,” he reassures you. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you now.”

“It’s gonna hurt when I get up,” you whisper back. “A lot.” 

“I know it will, but it’ll only hurt for a few seconds.” Your exhales are too uneven. He had to get you back to the school if he didn’t want you to continue losing blood. 

“Seconds? What about the car ride back?”

��Oh no, baby. We’re not taking the car.” He shakes his head and gently laces his fingers with yours. “I’m warping us back so we can get that wound taken care of faster.” His grip on your fingers tightens, a crack in his composure revealing a glimpse of his own anxiety. “I just need you to let me help you.” After a few more moments, you nod and he doesn’t hesitate, scooping you into his arms before you can even register the searing pain in your side. The world goes white for a few seconds, just as he said, but then your head finds his shoulder and the pulse in your ears quiets. 

You wake later in the day to the sun casting an orange glow through your bedroom window. As you sit up, the pain in your side is still present but significantly dulled. When your eyes adjust to the light, you finally notice the figure slumped in your desk chair, a respectful distance away from your bed. 

“Satoru.” His eyes fly open and he’s in front of you within seconds, searching your face with concern and running his thumb over your knuckles. You give him the smallest smile you can muster and he reciprocates with a blinding grin. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, adjusting his position so that your legs can swing off the side of your bed. He rests on one knee in front of you, holding one hand in his, the other continuing to caress your face. “How are you feeling?”

“A little shitty,” you admit. “But, not nearly as shitty as earlier.”

“I’m glad,” he smiles. “Need me to get you anything? A snack? Two snacks?” Your laugh feels warmer than the setting sun and you shake your head, lightly tugging him to stand up and crawl under the covers with you. “I guess this works too,” he mumbles against the top of your head, pulling you close until you’re snug against his body. 

“What were you doing in the time you were killing that last remaining Curse?” He hums thoughtfully and you swear his muscles flex protectively around your body. 

“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. For now, we both need rest.”

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[imagining-in-the-margins]

Sunscreen & Statistics (S.R.)

Summary: Reader asks for Spencer’s help putting on sunscreen (and washing it off after).  Request: Spencer lecturing Reader on the statistics of wearing sunscreen, but his mind going blank when reader needs him to help put it on. A/N: This is my (first) entry to my Summer Sunshine Challenge! Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Spencer POV, so much sexual tension, mutual pining, heavy petting, fingering, rough sex, unprotected penetrative sex, coworker relationship, so many statistics (showers, skin cancer, sunscreen, sex), schizophrenia mention, Reader wears a bikini Word Count: 5.6k

MASTERLIST

It was a beautiful day—the kind that artists had attempted to capture through many mediums. The summer sun was relentless, stretching its rays across every inch of the region. Even the shade hardly seemed spared, with bits of bright light slipping between green rustling leaves.

This seemingly idyllic set of circumstances offered the BAU a wonderful excuse to stay behind on the sunnier coast. Everyone was quick to buy new bathing suits and Rossi had already begrudgingly extended an invitation for everyone to stay at his favorite luxury hotel (on his dime, of course, or none of us would’ve made it).

The celebrations were already in full swing, and everyone was blissfully happy. It was, after all, the perfect day to hang out by the pool. So, they did. Each and every one…

Except for me. I stayed inside.

I wasn’t trying to ruin the fun. I had my reasons. Some were more reasonable than others.

Others were scary and slightly embarrassing. They wore a smile so bright it would rival the sun and managed to make me turn red even quicker than the star could. The kind of reason that turned me to nothing but a blubbering mess of a man.

I should’ve known better than to try to avoid her, though. Because that reason, that very important and tempting enchantress of a reason, always seemed to find me at the most inopportune time.

“Are you still hiding in here?”

I nearly jumped through my skin at the sound.

“No!”

I turned to find her staring back with an entertained, albeit disbelieving stare.

“Sort of. Maybe,” I felt compelled to continue.

When she still didn’t believe me—for obvious reasons—I finally conceded, “Yes.”

To my joy and eternal shame, she laughed like it had been an intentional joke.

“Well, I got banished back inside because I forgot sunscreen, so I’m trying to figure out where JJ left her bag,” she sighed.

Thankfully, that had been something I could help with. Despite everyone’s enthusiasm when they’d tossed the bags into the center of the suite lobby, I had managed to determine who owned which brightly colored pattern.

From my seat in the center, I reached over to pull JJ’s bag from the fray.

As soon as (y/n) spotted the motion, she was quick to exclaim, “My hero!”

Immediately, I felt the blood rush to my face.

I suppose there were worse places it could have gone.

“How did you forget sunscreen?” I asked.

“I hate the way it feels, so I almost never wear it unless forced,” she shrugged. Then, she turned to me, pointing the bottle like a weapon as she explained, “Plus, it always feels like they’re trying to trick me with all the numbers. I don’t know what SPF is. They could just be lying to me.”

“Well, the good news is that even a weak sunscreen is helpful,” I tried to reassure her. “Regular daily use of at least 15 SPF can reduce your risk of squamous cell carcinoma and melanoma by up to 50%.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah. I can tell you more about this product specifically, if you want.”

When I held out my hand, she was quick to hand me the bottle. I was, in turn, very happy to have an excuse to look at something other than her before all the blood left my brain.

“Okay, so, this one is an interesting formula. It offers a decent coverage and—,” I started, but my voice died just as soon as I looked up.

Because there she was, pulling her top over her head to reveal the barely-there bikini beneath it.

I knew I only had a few seconds to shamelessly ogle her before she would find out, and I greedily accepted the sight of soft curves that all consisted of and led to her.

My eyes traversed her body the way I wished my hands could until I was left practically trembling.

The blood wasn’t in my face anymore. It wasn’t even anywhere near my brain. To the point I’d barely even noticed she’d already taken her pants off until her voice snapped me back to reality.

“And what?” she said.

“What?”

“… You stopped talking.”

“I did?”

She reached forward and grabbed the bottle from my hand. If she’d noticed the way I had been looking at her, she didn’t say anything about it. She just sort of… smiled.

“Are you alright, Doctor?” she asked.

“Yes,” I lied.

I might’ve been able to answer honestly if it hadn’t been for the way she dumped the contents of the bottle into her hand and began lathering it over her legs.

“A-Anyways,” I tried to continue. With a wavering voice and wandering eyes, I rambled, “to maximize protection you should really use about an ounce of sunscreen with an SPF of 30. Anything over 30 is, well, like you suggested, sort of a scam.”

All the while, there she was, smoothing over slick skin that smelled like summer.

“An ounce, huh?” she hummed as her hands traveled between pillowy thighs to coat skin the sun could rarely reach. “Feels like you could make it a drinking game with enough motivation.”

“Drinking alcohol actually dramatically increases your risk of sunburn, so you should definitely wear more sunscreen if you’re drinking,” I muttered absently while my eyes stayed firmly fixed between her thighs long after her hands had abandoned the area.

“Noted,” she said, the end of the word tinged with a little bit of amusement.

I looked up at her to try to understand what had excited her, or perhaps annoyed her.

Or at least, I tried to look at her face. My eyes made a few involuntarily stops along the way. Once they settled safely back on her smile, however, she was quick to get my blood pumping in a different way.

“So, will you help me?” she asked.

“With what?”

She scoffed, then laughed.

“… the sunscreen? Duh.”

Despite my best efforts to make any sense of the request, I was, once again, a hopeless, lovesick idiot.

“W-What?” I babbled, “You… You want me to put it on? You?”

“I can ask JJ if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No!” I blurted out with both hands raised in opposition or surrender.

Didn’t seem to matter which.

I tried to explain it away, but my attempts to bolster my good character seemed even less convincing than the sudden outburst.

“N-No, no it’s fine. I-It’s… why would that make me… uncomfortable? I’m fine. I can do it.”

“Wow. Convincing,” she teased.

And that is what it was. There was no anger in her tone; not even a hint of resentment. She laughed, and I did, too.

“Okay, I admit that wasn’t very convincing. But seriously, I can do it. Promise.”

She spoke through her teeth when she muttered, “Whatever you say.”

When she tossed me the bottle back, we were both surprised to find that I’d caught it.

My hands, still shaky, were quick to close the gap between our bodies. The sunscreen felt nearly frigid compared to our skin, but she didn’t seem to mind.

In fact, she rewarded the sensation with a dreamy sigh and a slight arching of her back.

That motion, however small, felt like fire to an already ruined man. I tried to stay focused on more innocent areas. I worked my hands over knotted muscles in her shoulder and tried to free her of those burdens, too. With each swipe of my thumbs, she would let out the most delicious rumble that made me want to do it again.

Each time that I pulled away to add more, I came back a few inches lower until my fingers nearly slipped beneath the top of her bikini bottoms.

At that moment, with her arched lower back pressed against my palms and my fingers brushing against the little fabric between us, she shivered. Silently, I watched as the goosebumps covered her skin like a sheet.

Reaching forward to grab hold of the couch in front of her, she arched her back once more. The movement seemed intentional, closing a couple inches of the distance between us until there was almost nothing.

With more speed than I’d intended, I stepped back and nearly fell.

“O-Okay, I-I think that’s it!” I said with a squeak.

To my dismay, she stayed exactly where she was for a long moment. In fact, she deepened the stretch and fell forward with a sigh before she whined, “Shame.”

I tried to calm my fast beating heart while simultaneously trying to run from the thoughts that continued to chase me the longer she stayed bent over. My hands were still buzzing from the contact, and I felt almost lightheaded from the strength of the unrelenting erection still struggling against compression shorts underneath my pants.

(I had been right that I would need them if she was going to be there.)

And there she was, finally standing and stretching her arms over her head. They dropped back down and I couldn’t stop myself from admiring the effect of physics on her chest.

“It felt nice to be touched like that,” she sighed.

I couldn’t respond to that without making a complete fool of myself, so I tried to distance myself from the moment, instead.

“You’re actually supposed to wait 30 minutes after application to go into the sun, but, y-you can probably just sit in the shade and wait.”

“Did you already apply yours?”

“I’m not taking off my clothes so I could do it myself,” I explained.

I should’ve known better than to doubt her ability to get whatever she wanted—which, at the moment seemed to be my catastrophic defeat.

“Well, that’s not fair,” she whined, “I want to return the favor!”

“I-I mean… I’ll probably have to reapply it to my face soon, but I doubt you want to—.”

“Awe! Fun!” she cried before I could finish the thought, “Gimme!”

“Oh… um, okay.”

I handed her the bottle and whatever I still had of my heart. With expert fingers, she spread the chilly contents over my cheeks. We were both smiling, the expressions growing wider and more genuine as she started to play with pliable skin.

I involuntarily joined in on her laughter. Her hands and eyes were so warm, I couldn’t help but melt into a puddle in her palms.

The moment ended far too quickly. I missed her immediately, but she made sure that my smile didn’t fade.

“There. You’re only sort of pasty now,” she sighed contentedly before adding, “Mostly red, actually.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” I grumbled back. The sarcastic tilt to the sound wasn’t lost on her.

I realized in that awkward, somehow lonely quiet that I loved her more than I’d thought.

I almost wanted to tell her. I’d even opened my mouth, ready to spill the contents of my soul and hope for the best.

I never got a chance, though. Because before I’d uttered a single syllable, she jumped with her own realization.

“Oh, I forgot the most important part!”

“What?”

She turned away from me and dove her attention into the pile of bags without further explanation. I watched as she dug through clothing and whatever else she’d stuffed into her tote until she stood triumphantly with a closed fist.

“What?” I asked again.

She held up a single finger in reply.

I followed her instruction, waiting patiently as I watched her uncap a small tube of chapstick and use it to thoroughly coat her lips. Once again, I was left to shamelessly stare at a beautiful woman as she dutifully cared for herself in a way I’d wished I could.

Swallowing the lump in my throat that carried heartfelt confessions, I spoke again.

“What am I waiting for, exactly?” I teased.

Her eyes narrowed with what seemed to be a playful warning.

“Sunscreen application,” she explained flatly, “Duh.”

I paused. My head cocked to the side and my face twisted as I struggled to find any explanation for why she’d needed me for this part.

“Wha—?”

Then, just when I’d started to speak, it hit me all at once.

And by that, I mean she kissed me.

With both hands cupping already-reddened cheeks, she pulled me forward until I could taste flavored lip balm and her.

Her lips opened, sliding against mine with an undeniable affection that made my whole body tense. I tried to hold her, but it all happened so quickly that by the time I raised my hands to her arms, she was almost gone.

“There!” she said happily, “Now we’re ready.”

For what? I wanted to ask.

But before I could make myself speak, she was already gone.

I spent the next several hours outside.

The rest of the team seemed both surprised and not surprised about my decision to join them. After all, everyone knew I didn’t particularly enjoy pools or any body of water, and, despite my Vegas origins, the sun and I didn’t quite get along.

But they also knew I liked her.

It had never been more obvious than it was that day, when I emerged from the safety of darkness with freshly kissed lips and an expression filled with utter confusion.

(Y/n) was quick to greet me in her usual manner. She said nothing about the kiss.

Part of me had even started to wonder if I’d hallucinated the whole thing. Maybe the doctors had all been wrong, and I was already waist-deep in psychosis that manifested purely through happy memories of her.

It would be an odd presentation, sure, but at the time it somehow felt more likely than her returning my affections. But as soon as I started to convince myself, she would flash me a glance that set my already overheated body on fire. Even as she peered up at me from the edge, I could still see her smile under the water.

She wore that same look in her eye she always did when we were alone. It was a slightly unnerving but mostly flattering feeling. It felt like being wanted by a beautiful woman.

I’m definitely losing it.

That was the only reasonable conclusion to reach. Because when she emerged from the pool, I could’ve sworn she paused before to make sure I was watching.

Of course, I was watching. I made sure that my flawless memory captured damn near every droplet as it caressed her curves. I stared, practically worshipped the sight of her lips parted with a relieved exhale that I could see leave her chest.

The blood was gone again. I was doomed.

“You’re still hiding, huh?”

I was too afraid to answer until she took the seat closest to me.

“No, not hiding, just… staying safe,” I explained through my typical awkward smile.

I pointed up to the umbrella above me, but she didn’t look. Her eyes stayed glued to me.

“It’s probably time for me to reapply, huh?” she laughed.

I liked the way it sounded, so, I laughed, too.

“Yeah, to be honest, you really should’ve done it a couple hours ago, but I didn’t want you to think I was… a wet blanket or a pervert.”

She snorted at the suggestion. Her eyes squinted, playful as always and carrying some meaning that evaded me.

“It’s very interesting that those were the two options that came to your mind,” she said.

I panicked.

“I don’t know, it’s weird, isn’t it? Me insisting you should let me touch you?” I rushed, “I’m not crazy, right? It’s… weird! It’s…!”

She sighed.

At first, I mistook the sound for annoyance. But when I looked into her eyes, I knew that wasn’t right.

Because she looked… like she had been caught in a dream. A melancholy fantasy of something she felt was just beyond her reach.

She was looking at me, I realized, exactly the same way I looked at her.

 “You’re not crazy, Spencer,” she said with a smile, “Just a little oblivious.”

My lips twitched as I fought a smirk that came through, anyway.

“I can accept that.”

She seemed pleased, as if I’d given the right answer.

“Well, the good news is I’m done with the sun for the day,” she announced.

Her eyes finally left me as she once again stretched her arms over her head and left me to ogle her like an idiot. Then, when I was thoroughly distracted, she glanced around like she was checking to see if anyone could hear her.

“They don’t seem to be calming down, so…” she said, much quieter now, “any statistics on what I should do with sunscreen when I’m finished with it?”

“No statistics, per se, but you definitely should wash it off. It can be pretty irritating for skin,” I answered matter-of-factly. “Not to mention the salts and chemicals from the pool.”

“I see,” she laughed.

Then, when she realized that I was, in fact, a hopeless, perverted fool with no blood in his brain, she made her intentions much clearer.

“Will you help me with that?”

Not clear enough for me, though.

“What?” I asked.

“With the sunscreen,” she answered simply.

“Uh—.”

Even that eloquent thought couldn’t make it through a parched, tightening throat. With each passing second and every syllable uttered, my voice got higher and even more unstable.

“I’m sorry, are you—what—w-what are you asking me?”

That’s when she took my hand, bursting with laughter as she dragged me from me seat with the most terrifying, alluring, and magical answer.

“Come on, pretty boy.”

I followed her without question but many concerns—the largest of which was the fear that she was actually leading me to my demise by humiliation.

Those worries grew tenfold when she yanked me over the threshold into her private room.

I stumbled forward and practically fell into her arms. But she was waiting for me, seemingly anticipating the clumsiness. Her hands were still soft, still soothing on boiling skin as she guided my lips to hers for the second time that day.

That time, I was prepared.

My hands covered her sun-kissed cheeks and pulled her even closer than she’d done to me before.

She tasted like salt and sugar from summer fresh fruit. I gave her every breath that I had, panting hopelessly against her lips each time that we broke apart.

Her hands were gentle when they found mine. I was reluctant to leave her until I realized that she was simply repositioning them to less innocent areas.

Still, I hesitated to go any further. I let my hands rest softly against her hips while I struggled to express my relief.

“Thank god,” I laughed, “I was sort of worried you were going to beat me up for staring at you all day.”

Her eyes locked onto mine with a hunger that seemed almost insatiable.

“No, I like it when you look at me like that,” she stated so simply it hurt. “In fact, I think I want to thank you.”

Before I could ask her how she intended to that, she made her intentions very clear by grabbing my dick through the fabric of my pants.

“So, tell me… any statistics on why we shouldn’t have sex in the shower?” she asked.

I don’t know how she’d expected me to think clearly. It actually seemed like she was purposefully trying to make it harder for me to form any words at all.

“It’s actually—,” I started just to stop when she started stroking the full length of me with devilish fingers.

“It’s actually really dangerous to try to have sex in the shower,” I tried again.

That time, she began applying a cascading pressure through playful fingertips. I spoke faster, trying to finish any thought before I truly lost my mind.

“There is a—fuck—a 44% chance of injury,” I forced out.

Her hand stopped. She cocked her head to the side with a brilliant smile and asked, “Is that right?”

I was almost relieved. Almost.

“Yeah, and…”

Then she started taking off my pants.

“A-and it can be quite uncomfortable for a woman without additional lubrication,” I said while shaking my head.

Even my subconscious knew I was speaking against my own self-interest, that I could’ve just accepted her question as rhetorical. I could’ve just shut up and go along with whatever she wanted because I would always be happy so long as she was happy.

She dropped down as she pulled my pants to the ground and revealed a second set of bottoms. I couldn’t be sure of it, but she seemed vindicated when she realized how hard my body was struggling against the compression shorts.

“The movies make it look so fun, don’t they?” she hummed as she stood back up. “I guess it is pretty dangerous. And inconvenient.”

“Yeah, but also, I sort of wish I hadn’t said any of that,” I responded immediately, “Let’s do it anyway.”

Thankfully, she found my eagerness charming and not pathetic (or perhaps those were the same to her). Her fingers sneaked past the band of the compression shorts, but she didn’t make the move to remove them yet.

Instead, she used her free hand to lead mine straight to the knot holding her bikini bottoms together.

My fingers twitched. She leaned closer, her cheek pressed against mine and her breath hot on my ear as she said the most beautiful words.

“We can shower after, then.”

“Thank you god,” I cried.

Practiced fingers untangled the knots within seconds, and I fought the urge to stare at her newly exposed skin by kissing her instead.

Her skin, still wet, was chilled enough from the cooler air that she barely reacted when I backed her against the ceramic countertop in the bathroom.

She leaned back, groaning with relief when I finally undid the knots of her top.

Again, I shamelessly admired the wonderful world of physics as it was displayed before me. With each breath, her chest lifted and came closer to my own.

Seemingly sharing the same thoughts, she reached forward and practically tugged my shirt off of me.

As soon as I could, I held her naked body as close to me as I could. My hands covered her lower back and drifted further down her hips, seeking every inch of cold skin that remained.

“God, you’re beautiful,” I whispered. I couldn’t see most of her, but the memory from mere seconds ago was as vivid as it would ever be. “Words don’t exist that would ever do it justice.”

She pulled back, still toying with the tops of my shorts with that insatiable look in her eyes.

“I’d say take a picture, but I think your memory might rival a camera,” she giggled.

“I’ll never forget this,” I promised her, “I’ll never forget you.”

But there were so many other ways I’d yet to see her. So, after carefully loving each inch of her hips, I turned my attention to the burning heat between her thighs. 

At the same time my finger slid through slick folds, my lips found hers once more.

“I wanna make you feel good,” I slurred.

Her lips parted in a broken gasp as I tried to do just that. I inched eager fingers between tight muscles and didn’t even bother fighting the urge to moan into her mouth.

She swallowed that desire and returned her own with a growing enthusiasm. My fingers grew faster, sloppier in their gentle beckoning for her to fall apart.

“That’s it. Good girl,” I reassured her when her breathy moans became pitchy. “Oh, you deserve to feel so good, sweetheart.”

That spark in her eyes had turned into a wildfire further stoked by my praise. I leaned into it; I became more confident in my loving her. Her walls were tense and insistent, seeking something more than what my hand could give them.

I withdrew them despite her immediate protests. She recanted any complaint as soon as I moved drenched fingers to the small pearl at her center.

Her moans became shameless, and I accepted them as an imminent victory. She rocked her hips against my hand, riding it to find her elusive end.

All the while, her eyes were locked onto mine. She refused to look away, forced us both to acknowledge that I was the one who brought her here. To the edge of the abyss, to the ultimate euphoria.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” I said through a smirk, “Come for me.”

She followed the direction with the utmost enthusiasm. She fell forward, favoring me to the cold countertop. I caught her but continued my relentless efforts to please her.

I kept going, kept cherishing her until she whimpered from my touch. Then I held her. I pet her damp hair and laid a gentle kiss atop the crown of her head.

“Good girl,” I assured her.

But I wasn’t finished yet.

“Now turn around.”

She perked up the second she’d heard the order. Although she’d barely caught her breath, she turned on shaky legs without question.

My hands found her hips just like they had before. Except this time, there were no bikini bottoms. There was only pillowy flesh and the strong muscles of her backside pressed firmly against my dick.

Barely moving away from her, I finally freed myself from the confines of compression shorts. I groaned with relief and noticed how the sound made her back arch further.

When I lined myself up at her entrance, she rewarded the action with a dreamy sigh.

It wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to see the look on her face, to hear the desperation in her voice before I gave her what I’d fantasized of from the moment I met her.

My hand knotted in her hair. I pulled her back from her comfortable position braced against the countertop. I held her up so that I could whisper in her ear the same as she’d done to me earlier.

“This is what you wanted, right?” I asked, as if her whimpers hadn’t been answer enough.

“Yes,” she moaned, “please.”

The sound of debauchery on her tongue sent shockwaves through me. My cock twitched involuntarily, bumping against satin skin now dripping with desire.

I barely resisted the urge to slam into her with full force. Instead, I stayed there, with just the tip of me inside of her as I groaned.

“Oh, I’d give you the whole world if you asked me like that.”

“This’ll do for now,” she giggled.

Her hips began to sway as she rocked on her toes. She chased even just a half inch more of me and rewarded me with beautiful sounds when I finally started to sink into her.

“That’s it…” I sighed.

Her confidence was quickly shaken, though, as my pursuit continued. Not even half of my dick was inside her when I felt her start to tremble.

“You can take it,” I assured her.

She responded by tightening her muscles even further, resisting the gentle stretch of her body as it accommodated my own.

“That’s my girl,” I groaned. The blinding heat of her demanded my full attention to the point that I was barely coherent as I slurred, “You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart.”

But all it took was one word to unravel my best efforts.

“Spencer,” she whimpered.

Any hesitance I had vanished without a trace. I thrust my hips forward to the hilt with so much force that she scrambled to stay on her feet. Manicured nails struggled to find a grip the ceramic before my next motion.

I took my time pulling back, and I watched her struggle with the fullness that was our bodies come together. I reveled in the sight of her heaving chest and clouded eyes.

That time, I didn’t fight the urge to slam into her. I even pulled her back as I did it, bringing our bodies together over and over again with a blissful type of violence.

With each thrust, I watched her reaction in the mirror. I made sure that my mind captured each second of her pleasure. Each time her jaw dropped open with whines and praise in the shape of my name.

“Please, Spencer,” she keened with a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the counter.

I hadn’t been sure what she was asking for, so I continued to love her the same as I always had.

But she only became more frustrated, sobbing with pleasure the next time my hips crashed into hers.

“Harder,” she cried out.

And I tried. I tried to follow her instruction, to grant her the release that could only be found in the fullest expression of years of repressed passion.

The problem wasn’t my unwillingness to give my everything to her. Rather, it was the siren’s call of resistant, relentlessly desperate muscles.

“You’re so fucking tight,” I ground through clenched jaw. 

Then, with a small and wavering voice, she insisted, “I can take it.”

Every atom of my being burned with a suffocating desire. It felt nearly feral; fully free to show her just how badly my body ached to be with her.

She began slamming back against me with a similar fervor and I almost made myself stop.

“Fuck, I’m so close, but I don’t want it to end,” I begged her.

But that beautiful, evasive, brilliant star of a woman just giggled. I could practically feel myself leaving bruises in the shape of my fingertips and she couldn’t have been happier.

Through the mirror, she looked at me and reminded me of the full, unrelenting power of the sun.

“Don’t worry,” she purred, “we can do it again later.”

That was all it took. With just a look, she practically brought me to my knees.

“Fuck!” I choked as I slammed into her with my full force. We both nearly collapsed against the counter, but I managed to pull her hips down harder against me just as I found my release.

The blissful heat of her grew to new heights as I filled her. Each wave of pleasure caused her to shiver with sheets of goosebumps.

I watched through half-lidded, lust-clouded vision as she accepted every inch and every drop of my desire with a euphoric smile.

“Sorry,” I said while trying to catch my breath. Even when I managed to capture some breath, it escaped me with a laugh as I explained, “I… I wasn’t expecting you to say that.”

“Don’t apologize,” she slurred.

I might’ve thought she was just being merciful if she hadn’t immediately followed, “That was fun.”

It was so obviously sincere, but I was so ridiculously stupid that I had to be sure, anyway.

“Yeah?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she laughed.

The sound was even more beautiful when I could feel the vibrations from within. I groaned from the thought of how it might feel for her lips to be wrapped around my cock. It twitched inside her, and she responded with a small whimper.

My hips bucked one more time, forcing me to the hilt before I withdrew in one quick motion.

I stood there for a moment, holding her hips steady as I watched the evidence of what we’d just done drip down her thighs.

My stomach was filled with butterflies doing flips and there was no accounting for the blood that still hadn’t made its way back to my brain.

(Y/n) was patient as ever with a pitiful man.

“Come on, pretty boy,” she chuckled as she took my hand, “help me get clean.”

Despite my best efforts, there were significantly less attempts to get clean in the shower than I’d expected. It was only thanks to her self-preservation that we didn’t end up having sex in the shower, although we came pretty close.

I could never tire of kissing her, but I realized I could love her just as much with lather as I could with my lips. My worship shifted as I dutifully cared for her the way I’d always wished I could.

When it was over, I didn’t give up. I followed her into her bed and she made no attempt to stop me.

In fact, she moved closer to me until my arm could reach around her waist and her head rested on my chest.

“Any other statistics you want to share?” she mumbled, now sleepy from the sun and… other activities.

“Always,” I answered. “Like, did you know, I have now joined the 54% of people who have slept with a coworker?”

“Fascinating. Was it worth it?” she chuckled, having already known my answer.

“Yes,” I told her, anyway. But the way I always did when it came to sharing statistics, I couldn’t stop myself. “Although, there is a smaller subset of that group that’s even more interesting.”

She gasped, quickly pressing her fingers to my lips to stop me from ruining her moment.

“Let me guess—at least half of them fucked in the office,” she said.

And in that quiet, private moment, the only thing more beautiful than her hopeful smile was the fact she’d gotten it right.

“You are, without a doubt, the most attractive woman I’ve ever met in my life,” I confessed.

She gave her wholehearted admission that she felt the same in the best way she could.

With a cheeky smile and the utmost sincerity, she asked, “What are the odds of that?”

(Tell me what you thought about this fic here!)

Looking for another mutual pining summer-themed fic? Check out my 11.2k oneshot Lost Time, where Reader and Spencer spend their mandatory leave taking the Spring Break Spencer never got to have. 

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Thanks for reading!

[steddietogo]

So. This is my own take on Steddie meet cute at the Grammys (gets a little thirsty in the middle for a second so warning I guess??)

———

The buzzing in his veins feel too much to contain in Eddie’s body, his cheeks ache from grinning too hard. He grabs Jeff by the shoulders to shake him and Jeff takes it without complain, too busy floating in his own cloud nine to do anything about it. All four of them are.

They’re being carted off from one interview to another, it’s all hazy in his mind, all he can think of is that they won a fucking Grammy.

“We’re here backstage with Corroded Coffin with their first ever Grammy from the best rock performance category,” the interviewer is saying, then he turns to face the band, and shit. Eddie has to sling an arm over Gareth to keep himself upright. “So how are you guys feeling right now?”

“It feels very validating to get the recognition for all our hard work—” and everything else Jeff says barely registers. Eddie is staring, he’s distantly aware of it. But he should hardly be blamed. The man before him is dressed in a deep caramel suit, jacket cinching around a trim waist and bubble gum pink lips stretched in a smile as he diligently listens to what his band has to say.

“— and Eddie, he’s really put his heart and soul in this song in particular,” the mention of his name unceremoniously drags him back to the land of the living where his bandmates know him too well and are actively trying to sabotage him before the sexy interviewer. Gareth is innocently blinking up at Eddie with his I’ve-never-done-anything-wrong-in-my-life eyes, urging him to speak.

“Um,” Um? Seriously? “Mob Mentality is an especially significant song to me personally—” Eddie’s given this spiel a hundred times, not that any word of it is untrue, but the practiced response lets him zone out just the right amount to fully drown himself in the shade of hazel of the interviewer’s eyes, imagine them looking up at Eddie from between his thighs, full of tears— goddamnfuckstopit.

The man must notice, because there’s a gorgeous smattering of pink dusting his cheeks Eddie could swear wasn’t there before.

After, Eddie is pretty much bodily dragged away from there, legs refusing to carry him away. He twists even as he’s walking, desperate to keep the man within his sights for even just a second longer. To keep him looking at Eddie, which by some miracle, he still is. And like an idiot Eddie waves, wiggling his fingers at him.

The man raises his own hand in return, and then he’s turning away, leaving Eddie to mourn the loss of his attention. But then he hears it— Steve. The camera guy calls him Steve. Sexy interviewer’s name is Steve. That in itself would be enough to sustain Eddie’s daydreams for some time.

———

Predictably, its all over social media the very next day. Or more accurately there’s one particular clip circling the net like there’s no tomorrow.

Eddie Munson simping for hot guy at the Grammys.

The comments were the worst (best) part. Eddie hasn’t dated since coming out to the public. And the fact that most of the comments people have about him openly showing interest in another man is just nonchalance or excitement makes him feel much better about it.

Eddie’s heart skips as he sees the face from last night in the clip, looking even more gorgeous than in his dreams if it were even possible. And then there is also Eddie in those clips, practically undressing him with his eyes, right there in public. He looks like he wants to open him up and lick him like melted chocolate in a wrapper.

Eddie was so screwed.

———

Top comments:

user 80085: that man is stronger than me because I don’t think I’d survive Eddie Munson looking at me like that

CorrodedFC: Eddie Munson Rendered momentarily speechless? by an interviewer?? More likely that you think

you_call_me_munson: they need to date. Right this second or I’m stealing one of the hotties for myself

———

Part II

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the unveiling

buttercup, chapter five

a/n: I mean, I just had to make him wear the black suit.... (said in a foreshadowing way)

summary: you only mustered two steps down the stairs before you spotted a surprising, yet familiar masked man sprawled out on the living room floor, unconscious and bleeding.

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, smut, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, the black daredevil suit, injuries, kissing, dirty talk, fingering, protected sex, penetrative sex, multiple orgasms

word count: 3236

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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Your eyes fluttered shut a moment as you felt the cool night breeze caress your features. You hadn’t bothered with a coat, so it was simply a woollen blanket you clutched around your pyjamas. 

Jumping slightly, you whirled around as you heard one of the doors up to the rooftop creak open. 

“Oh!” you clutched your chest as you discovered the identity of the intruder, “it’s just you.” 

“Hey,” Matt closed the door that led directly down into his loft. 

“I was just about to call you actually, or knock on your door, but then I figured that you were probably asleep,” you eyed the dark sweatpants he wore as well as the t-shirt that clung to his brawny arms as he stepped closer to where you stood, a vision that caused sinful thoughts to stir within your mind, “how did you know I was up here?”

“Uh, I didn’t,” his touch found your lower back as he reached you, “I just heard a noise.”

“Well, it’s just me,” you turned your gaze back to the night sky. 

Tilting his head, he checked, “you okay?”

“Yeah, just couldn’t sleep,” you nodded, “but I’m okay.”

His eyes twitched slightly as the faintest of smiles threatened at his lips, “so you didn’t wanna call me because something was wrong.”

“No…” you bit down on your smile, “I was just thinking about you…” the smug smirk that then bloomed on his face caused you to instantly chuckle with regret, “oh, that came out sounding a lot more dirty than I intended it to,” the meaning behind your words had been dirty, but he didn’t have to revel in it. Curling his arm around you, his laughter mixed and mingled with your own as you soon exhaled, “man, I should probably head back to bed soon, try and give sleep another chance. I just–, urgh,” you let out an adorable groan and buried your face in his broad shoulder, “I don’t wanna leave now that you’re here.”

“I mean, you don’t have to, if you don’t want,” he suggested, his tone staying on the lighter side as to not build up any pressure, “you’re welcome to come sleep in my bed if you want to.”

“O-oh,” your gaze fluttered up to flicker across his face, “alright, sure.” 

Stepping inside and descending the creaky staircase, the living room was lit up in bright fluorescent shades of lavender by the huge billboard directly outside. Letting the blanket around you drop to the coffee table, you eyed Matt’s dark bedroom before his hand found yours. 

“What side do you prefer to sleep on?” you asked as you neared the dusty grey linens adorning his bed. 

“I’m fine with either,” his fingers gently brushed across your knuckles before you let go of him. 

“Alright,” you slipped in under the silky covers on the side of the bed nearest to you. As he crawled in on the other side, you drew in a sharp breath, “well,” tugging your knees up further towards your chest, you didn’t dare to twist and look at him even though you wished for so much more than a glimpse, “goodnight, Matt.”

His knuckles briefly found your back, caressing it just for a second before he uttered, “night.”

You had never been further from slumber than you were lying there in Matt’s bed. Just the knowledge of him resting right behind you had you hyper-aware of everything. Lying as still as a rock…your ragged breathing… your wild pulse… but mostly the throbbing between your thighs…

Turning slowly to lie on your back, your hand came down to rest on the mattress but landed instead on Matt’s gently closed fist. Instinctively, you yanked it back, recoiled from his warmth just a second before you carefully let your fingers shyly slide across the covers to find him again. The coy dance beneath the duvet was playful till his digits unravelled and welcomed yours. 

“…Matt?” your voice came out no louder than a whisper. 

“Yeah?” 

Glancing over at his visage in the darkness, you asked, “are you very tired?” 

With a gentle smile blooming on his lip, a soft shake tilted his head from side to side against the pillow, “no.”

Curling closer, his arms tangled around you in an instant. When your lips brushed against each other at first, for a while it was just this sweet and slow midnight kiss, nothing more, nothing less. But when you nuzzled in nearer, the simple peck grew into something much more heated. 

Your leg curled up over his hip, gliding it lavishly against him as his tongue slid across your own. His strong arms felt so incredible around you, but you wanted more, you needed more. 

On an exhale, he rolled onto his back, but you weren’t quite sure if he had dragged you with him or if you had clung to him, perhaps a mixture of both. All you knew was that now you were sprawled out on top of him, completely melted against his chest as his lips were still locked with yours.

When you adjusted yourself slightly and shifted down further, your hips instinctively rolled enticingly as you settled atop of his growing hardness, already straining against his sweatpants and desperate to be hugged by your warmth. He let out a low groan as his wide palms slid down the length of your spine and over the curve of your ass. 

Parting briefly, you breathed, “Matt?”

“Hm?” he hummed as his lips nipped at your jaw. 

“You sure you’re not tired?” your eyes threatened to flutter shut. 

“I’m sure,” his hands slid back up to your waist as he let his kisses fade.

Blinking down at him in the darkness, you felt as if your heart could burst out of your chest at any moment, “do you wanna, maybe–, uhm… you know…”

“Do you want to?” his thumb soothingly circled your side and your hips unintentionally rolled once more. 

“Yeah,” you nodded. 

Your confirmation caused a smile to tug at his lips as he uttered, “okay.”

“Can I–…” your teeth briefly caught your bottom lip, “can I take your shirt off?”

A warm chuckle rumbled within his chest as he nodded lightly. Sitting up, your frame followed along as you didn’t shift to get out of his lap. As your fingers dug into the soft cotton of his t-shirt, he let you pull it off of him yourself. 

You couldn’t make out too many of the fine details that decorated his physic, but perhaps that was a good thing, perhaps that’d make it easier. You could always study every millimetre of him later. Right now, the dim vision of him the night granted you was more than enough to turn you into a puddle. 

Running your hands over his bare skin, they only stayed a moment before straying away from the warmth to yank your own top off. 

One of his hands swiftly soared up and gently caught one of your boobs. A shuttering moan flew from your lips, inadvertently letting Matt know that his intuitive move wasn’t unwelcome, allowing his assurance to grow as he permitted his caresses to move more freely. 

Seizing your lips as he softly squeezed your peak, his kisses then began to migrate and dance down the column of your neck till they reached your tits, his palm cupping one closer to his attentive mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimpered as his lips enclosed around one of your pebbly nipples, his tongue swirling over it before he nipped, causing your core to clench around nothing. 

You couldn’t help but stuff a hand into your pyjama pants and offer yourself an ounce of relief. 

Gliding his touch down to your bottom, his fingers fleetingly dug into your ass before they slid up to your hips, hooking his digits in the fabric. And with his face still buried in your tits, littering the soft skin with hickeys, Matt slightly tugged at your waistband, “do you want these off?”

Your answer came out sounding breathy, “yes,” before you stopped playing with yourself as he then helped pull both your pants and the soaked underwear beneath them off. 

As you settled back down into his lap, he pulled you in and seized your lips. Fingers finding your glistening folds once more, his soon joined yours, digits briefly weaving before your own touch began to falter and you let him take over entirely. 

Your head tilted back when he eased a finger inside of your creamy cunt, your juices swiftly coated his digit and dripped down his hand as he caressed you at an overwhelmingly slow pace. His touch made you feel as if you were floating on a cloud and you were already so far gone that when he filled you up with another finger, dreamily giving your eager pussy just a little bit more, you tumbled over the edge. 

Eyes only half open as you watched him curve down to plant soft kisses all along your ribs, both of his solid arms wrapped around you and keeping you up as you panted, “do you have a condom?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, “you wanna keep going?”

“Please,” your fingers then tried to push down the remainder of his clothing, “I wanna feel you,” he swiftly aided your efforts and slipped his dark sweatpants off, “I wanna feel all of you.”

Reaching a long arm over into the nightstand’s drawer, Matt fished out a little foil packet. Your foreheads joined and pressed up against one another as he rolled the latex on. 

His fingers grasped onto the base of his girth, silkily stroking himself as you supported your wobbly balance on his broad shoulders, steadying yourself as you raised your hips further up. Reaching a hand down, your touch met his as he teased his tip against your puff, nudging at your swollen clit before parting your petals in a lush motion. Your palm briefly floated up to your mouth and collected a dollop of saliva before you lowered it back down, only taking a second to glisten his throbbing cock up with it before you dragged him down towards your entrance. 

“Oh my god…” you moaned shakily as you slowly began to sink down upon him, shallowly at first as his arm tightened around your waist to support you, “fuck…” 

Trailing his other palm up your quivering thigh, he groaned, “that’s it, take your time,” before his fingers settled where you united, “fuck, you’re doing so good,” he rolled your clit slowly under his calluses, your nectar dripping down his length as you gradually slid further down.

When his dick eventually settled so deep within you that you thought the night sky would appear on the ceiling of his bedroom, you pressed a breathless kiss to his lips. 

As you gave his shoulders a slight push, his frame rested back down against the mattress and you followed suit. Tits smooshed down against his chest, his fingers had disappeared from your puffy pearl as you just stayed there a moment, frozen as you took in the staggering sensation of what he felt like buried so deep inside of you that it made you lightheaded.

“This,” you uttered thickly, “this is what I thought about earlier,” your laboured breaths fanned across his face, “and you wanna know what?”

“What?” his answer flowed from him swiftly.

A smile bloomed on your lips as your hips began to roll, “my imagination couldn’t even come close to how amazing you feel.”

As you found a gentle pace, a low moan escaped Matt’s lips as the details of his cock dragged against your silky walls, “christ, sweetheart,” he couldn’t help but buck up into you, an instinct that earned him a lewd whimper of approval.

Keeping up his own efforts, you briefly stole a sloppy peck from him before your spine straightened back up and you established a new and intoxicating rhythm. 

“Fuck, that’s it, there you go,” he grunted as you rode him, the majority of his length never strayed from the warmth of your pussy as you electrically rolled and rocked atop of him, “atta girl,” his fingers dug into your hips, “god, you feel so good, fucking perfect.”

As your fingers lowered to find your clit, the bouncing pace you’d found slowly began to waver as you felt yourself begin to near the end once more. Your form then collapsed back down against his as your hips tried and failed to keep up the same euphoric pattern you’d found before. 

But as soon as Matt’s hips thrust beneath you, effortlessly hitting a molten spot deep within you that you’d barely managed before on your own, all of your brief worries melted away. 

“Matt-,” your face smooshed against his chest as you panted, “h-holy shit!”

Holding your hips steady, he ravenously bucked up into you, “please keep making those noises for me, sweetheart,” his low growl harmonised with the lewd melody of his desperate efforts, “you sound so fucking good.”

As you felt your pussy clamper around him so hard it nearly halted his movements completely, your fingers sought out your nipples in a harsh pinch, trembling above him and crying out as you came undone. 

With how tight your cunt clenched down around his throbbing girth, even if Matt didn’t wish for the marvellous moment to end just yet, perhaps fantasise about dragging it out till the sun rose, he couldn't help it as your pussy milked him so perfectly of all of his worth and he joined you in the boneless tangle of satisfaction. 

Sluggishly, you clung to him, utterly melted atop of his frame even as he carefully pulled out and nimbly snaked an arm between your limp forms to peel off the spent condom and toss it. 

His chest rose and fell with every deep breath beneath your head as he eventually asked, “how do you feel?” 

Letting yourself ponder a second and uncover the answer through your haze, you only found yourself thawing further down against him as you let your eyes flutter shut and uttered, “safe.”

Rain hammered against the windows as you rushed out of the door. The sun was nowhere to be seen yet, but your day had already begun. 

As you locked your front door with a dull click, a worrying thud halted your feet from scurrying along. 

Whirling your head around, you glanced to the source of the concerning crash, at your neighbour’s door, before slowly walking up and letting your fist softly collide with it. There never came an answer, not even when you tried again, that time more forcefully.

Unable to shake that unsettling concern off of you, your feet carried you up to the roof and the apartment’s emergency exit. As your fingers enclosed around the cold knob, you momentarily snapped yourself out of your unease.  

Maybe something wasn’t wrong. Maybe Matt hadn’t hurt himself and desperately needed help. Maybe, even though your ears had interpreted the sound as something troublesome, it could have just been that he wasn’t alone, that perhaps you weren’t the only girl he let into his bed, perhaps one more prone to making a ruckus. 

Either way, it wasn’t under any circumstances appropriate for you to not only invade his privacy, but literally break into his home, yet you still found your fingers slowly twisting the door handle. 

Just one peek. If he didn’t need someone to call for an ambulance, then you’d slip right back out, even if whatever the true cause was broke your heart. 

You only mustered two steps down the stairs before you spotted a surprising, yet familiar masked man sprawled out on the living room floor, unconscious and bleeding.

You scarcely breathed as you slowly neared him. Even in the low pre-dawn light, you were able to make out the slashes that tore up parts of his black suit. Carefully, you kneeled down beside him as your eyes scanned over his wounded frame. 

You had to do something. The vigilante had saved your life, so the very least you could do was repay him the favour. 

Spotting a trickle of crimson drip down from beneath his black mask, streaking down across his gruff jaw, with a trembling hand you pulled the mask further up to get a better look at how grave the injury was, only for you to discover who was hiding behind the disguise.

“…Matt?”

Settled on the couch and with a dark blanket draped over him, only covering some of the scars the darkness hadn’t let you spot previously, Matt stirred awake. 

From one of the armchairs, you hugged your knees closer to your chest as you uttered, “hi,” your voice came out sounding small and fragile.

Freezing up, Matt’s head tilted toward you, “Y/n?” he cautiously spoke, “what–… when did you get here?”

“A few minutes before Foggy did,” his friend had shown up, concerned out of his mind when Matt hadn’t answered his phone after recklessly throwing himself into a stupidly dangerous plan. He’d stayed a while, for as long as he could till he eventually had to leave, “I heard a noise, thought something was wrong and you needed help…”

“You–… you know…” he stated, and you just let your crushing silence confirm it, “…did you patch me up?” 

“No, that was a friend of yours that Foggy called–, Claire I think, but that was a while ago. You were out cold for a really long time,” you averted your gaze and stared down at your hands, letting the silence momentarily consume the space before you hesitantly opened your mouth once more, “…how do you–… Foggy tried to explain to some extent, but how do you–, how do you do it?” 

“It’s complicated,” he said slowly, letting out a hushed groan as he carefully pushed himself up to a seated position. 

“Complicated, how?” 

A low exhale flowed from his lips before he uttered, “…I know that yesterday you worked with strawberries. You didn’t eat any, but I can still smell them beneath your fingernails from when you cut them up… I know you’re hungry right now and the only thing you’ve eaten since breakfast was an apple a bit ago. I can still taste it off your lips… and I know that me telling you all of that is making you uncomfortable… because I can hear your heartbeat… but I’m not scaring you.”

Blinking back at him, you saw your chest rise and fall rapidly in your periphery, “wow… I mean, Foggy did say that your senses were sharp, but that–… I can’t fucking believe it…”

Bowing his head lightly, his jaw clenched, “you have every right to be angry–”

“Angry?” you repeated, your eyes growing wide, “Matt… it’s you. It was you…” tears began to blur up your vision, “did you–… did you know who I was when I moved in here or was that first when I told you about that night?”

Staying quiet a moment, he eventually nodded, “yeah. I knew… I am so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? Matt,” rising from the chair, at an instant, you’d crossed to his side and sat down on the couch beside him, “you helped me, you saved me. That was you. You’re–…” hands drifting up to carefully cup his scruffy cheeks, you uttered, “you’re him.”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

hot in sarajevo i

[ part two ]

könig x f!reader operator (no use of "y/n") / 4k words / NSFW

cw: assassination, dubcon (not really bc reader is into it and consents, but better safe than sorry bc ymmv), unsanitary conditions, rough sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, fingering, creampie, brief mention of burn injuries, pre-established relationship a.n.: no excuse for this, indulged a brain worm on my day off bc i wanted to write something nasty. enjoy!

It’s been a blistering, miserable six hours out in the hills outside Sarajevo proper. The height of summer, surrounded by dead-brown grass blown about sadly in the weak breeze. You cook in your ghillie suit, knowing it could very well be another six hours under this heat with zero shade, just waiting on your target. Sweating. Searching. Souring. 

König is your spotter, and he’s already not pleased with the fact. He’d much rather be the one wrapped around the Steyr HS .50, instead relegated to the seemingly miserable role of binocular jockey. But the fact is, he’s better at recon, and you can stay planted in one place without moving even when your lower body burns with numbness. 

“I’m hard,” he announces in his way—no preamble, no fanfare, moderate expectation. 

“Christ,” you snort, pulling away from the scope only enough to throw a glance at him. He’s still pressed against the oculars, jaw working on sunflower seeds because they can’t smoke without setting the tinderbox field around them on fire. Otherwise, you can barely see the shape of him in his own ghillie suit among the grass. “Clench your legs and your torso, or hump the fucking dirt.”

“Not going to get the job done,” he laughs darkly, dumping back another mouthful of seeds. You can hear them crack between his molars as he bites down hard. 

He’s going to be a fucking handful after this. 

Going back to your scope, watching the highway, you promise him, “If you’re good helping me with this assassination, we can play when we’re done.”

Another hard bite, another gravelly laugh. Sing-song, he warns you, “Better hope he drives by so-oooh-oon, Schatzi.”

“Always nice to get a visit from mean-König,” you hum back, trying for unaffected, even as your cunt floods and clenches around nothing. 

It’s just hitting golden hour when the target finally deigns to bomb past your scope in a civilian vehicle trussed up in subtle armor. You and König slot right into the predator drift, bodies left behind to fall into the hunt. Working like extensions of one body, he confirms a PID, and throws calculations your way, sharp and sleek, and your blood turns into straight adrenaline, pupils dilated to pitch black.

You work like the sword of god, lining up your crosshairs, allowing for lead, allowing for wind and elevation, and when you exhale and give the trigger what it wants, the sky cracks in half with a sonic boom, big gun bucking brutal against your shoulder. With one shot you take out the target and driver, vehicle careening off the road. 

König’s low, restrained laugh blends into yours, your teeth chattering under your face covering. Two more shots cut the blood-and-gold colored sky, killing the remaining passengers, and something vile in you shrieks with delight when one of them staggers around without a head a few steps before falling backwards stiff as a board.

Your eyes catch his as you throw the safety, pulling the massive rifle into your arms to flee the scene, and he looks blood-poisoned with arousal. The normal blue-gray of his eyes are gone, sore, unblinking pink sclera around inkwell pools of black. His back heaves with his breathing, body rigid and clenched, hips grinding against the ground. He is going to fucking tear you apart and eat the pieces. Saturn Devouring His Son, König Devouring His Lover.

Without a word, you both force your bodies around in the tall, dead grass, ghillie suits blending your belly-drag crawl to the treeline.

There’s a five mile hike between your abandoned perch and the exfil vehicle, following back the steps you took this morning, with a staging site in the middle of it. Small clearing, deep enough that no one could stumble across it, a temporary home for your rifle’s case and minimal necessary equipment. 

The moment you’re both upright in the treeline, König’s got a vicious hand under your camo, gripping your belt, dragging you close and up, forcing you on unbalanced tiptoes. “You’re going to fucking give it to me,” he demands. 

You turn it around, snatching a hand under his hood, gun sagging in your arms. Your fist wraps around the jaw strap of his helmet, knuckles pressing into his jugular–his pulse is fucking racing, booming, screaming through his veins–and your teeth are shards of glass as you command him, “Fucking heel. You’re not being a good boy.”

That makes him pant, almost reeling, eyes blinking out of sorts, pulling you closer, almost against him. 

“That is not how it’s going to work today,” he says, slow and damning. Turns your blood into lava, thick and slow and lethal pumping through your heart as it fights for its life. He pulls the rifle from your hand, and it weighs nothing to him. Nearly looks like he’s got more to say, and he’s trying to figure out how to word it, but his brain is too clouded with lust to put it in the right order.

Hefts the gun over his shoulder like a bat, and shoves you back by the pelvis, releasing you. Time to go, the moves say, leaving you no dignified way to hold onto the authority that’s slipped through your fingers. 

You know he’s burning frustration, anger, and resentment as fuel for this mood. You were the designated sniper, he was a lowly spotter. In his mind, that position belonged to him, and you took it. It didn’t matter that you were the superior choice, that he was invaluable to the kill. 

No. Not at all. You stole from him, and he’s taking something in return.

If you weren’t thinking solely with your pussy, you would admit that it would probably be wise to exercise caution with him at the moment. But you’re not. You’re going to get your brains fucked out and painted on a tree.

At the staging area, scant gold light is cutting through the trees as the sun lumbers its way to setting, and the woods are humid and dense. Your boots crush fallen beech nut pods and pine needles. Could almost be Thoreauvian, if there was a lake, or not a gun big enough to kill god in the arms of a sexually frustrated Austrian maniac.

König is fast and quiet, ripping the mag out of the gun, emptying the chamber, dropping the gun on its case. You’d seen him piece apart a pistol to base components in ten seconds many times, he’s making himself take time with the rifle, leaving it barely touched.

You’ve got enough time to just prepare for him to grab you around the middle so you aren’t thrown off balance, leaning into his momentum as he hauls you to an enormous beech tree, his back sliding down the trunk. Keeps you pinned in his lap, laughing harsh and ugly as you deal with your belt, button, and zipper, “Good girl–good fucking girl. Know what I’m going for.”

“You’re easy to predict,” you bullshit him with a sharp edge. He’s going to get his way, and you’re going to deliver unto him whatever the fuck he pleases, but you’re going to keep your teeth through it. “Could’ve taken the suits off, could’ve really given you a show.”

“Cute that you think I’m in a rush. You’re in the suit on purpose,” he grates, thrusting against your ass, forcing you open with your legs over his knees. “Keep being mouthy. Only fucks me up worse.”

“Stiff breeze gets you fucked up,” you snort, but when he hooks his gloved thumb in your zipper, you lift your hips to help him pull your pants down your thighs. Leaves you exposed, drenched in sweat, and wet in his lap. “Goddamned freak.”

He bypasses the true and mutually reflective accusation completely, grinding the forehead of his helmet against the back of yours. Still looking for affectionate closeness, even when he’s out for blood. “Can smell you, good god,” he growls, sliding his huge hand into your underwear, grabbing your sex in ownership. “You and the military issue drawers–typical. Been a while since I fucked you in gear. Still wearing the boxers because you wish you were hanging dick, or is it just to match the attitude?”

“Commissary ran out of crotchless combat thongs. Waiting on a restock.” The rough fabric of his gloved middle finger splits your lips, teasing your hole, and for a flashfire second you think he’d better not give you a UTI with those dirty fucking things, before it burns straight out of your head. 

“Better luck next time,” he taunts, jaw tight. You can hear the wolf-fanged smirk in his tone. “Start going commando. Make it easier.”

“Maybe there isn’t a next time,” you volley back, “best you make the most of this.”

“There’s always a next time. No one else could fuck you like me. Little whore you are, you’d get bored.”

He blots all the thought out in your head, adding his ring finger to the mix, pushing both huge digits into your starving cunt. Rips a bark right out of you, arching off his chest and pushing against his hips for leverage, trying automatically to fuck down on them even as the pain of the fabric feels like it’s rasping your insides. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you gasp, going hot-cold-and-blind all at once, nipples pulling tight under your gear. 

He throws a heavy arm around your stomach, pulling you back down, merciful or mindful enough to know he needs to go slow, or this isn’t going to go anywhere except the infirmary. “Take it, Liebes, swallow them down with that pretty cunt,” he commands, his English as sharp and scraping as scythe blades felling harvest in wide, practiced strokes, “I’m not even close to done.”

You can already feel his fat cock straining against his pants, even through all the layers between you, and you rut back against it, at least trying to get some torture of your own added in. That just makes him stupid and animalistic, pushing his chin over your shoulder, trying to butt into your jaw. He wants to bite your lips, but there are too many impediments blocking the way.

His fingers squelch down to the last knuckle, your pussy spasming around them, soaking the fabric. He’s a pervert to such a degree that you know he’s going to leave them unwashed, and he’s going to wear and suck on them while he beats off when you’re not there until there’s no flavor left. 

For now, he’s slow, rocking them into you in a curve, his sense of touch dampened as he searches out your g-spot. The exploration makes you feel filthy, and just a little humiliated. Used. Faceless and disrespected. It’s so opposed to his usual dogmatic worship, fresh and frightening. 

He gives a little something extra, grinding the heel of his hand over your clit, telling you to use it. You do, finally feeling something physically pleasurable, even though it’s too dull and not nearly enough. 

König is segmented; you’ve known that for as long as you’ve known him. Don’t know if he did it to himself, or if it was an after-affect of all the bad shit he didn’t die from. He’d let you in on enough to know that his best days are numb neutrality and boredom intercut with adrenalized high-chasing. His worst days are lost dogs and veils of blood floating through his mouth.

He almost clicks over from one facet to another when you push against his arm, hissing through your teeth as a stitch on his glove catches a fold in you. For a microsecond, lover-König surfaces, shifting you around against his body, repositioning his fingers so you aren’t hurting too badly, and then he’s gone again.

With a rough hand, he shoves the tan boxer-briefs down your thighs, and bucks your ass off his pelvis, going to release his cock.

You push your shoulders back against his chest, plate carrier digging into your shoulderblades. “Only two fingers, aren’t you acting like a fucking prince today.”

“You’re lucky you got that much,” he snaps back, groaning when his cock springs free of his trappings, and he strokes it beneath you. Monster fucking thing it is, long enough you can see the swollen, leaking head between your legs, even as you’re still hovering. There’s no give in the skin, and the head is a needy red with arousal, completely slipped from his foreskin. “Put it in.”

You ignore his order, writhing against him, your discomfort only ramping up your arousal. It’s nightmarish how badly you actually want his cock fed into you, desperate to have anything to fill the void his fingers left in you, and, shit, it would be so much sweeter and smoother than the gloves. Hot and throbbing, his precum mixing with your slick–it’s going to be so loud. 

“It’s your dick, you figure it out,” you hiss, wrestling your shoulders up just enough to piss him off. His other arm moves up to your ribs, slamming you back down against him. 

“Nein,” he seethes, as close to your throat as he can get, and you hear him suck back spit. Wonder if you busted his lip on the way down. Trained himself too hard not to do that otherwise, because of the harelip he’s hiding under the hood. “I said put it in, Schatzi.”

His laugh is airier this time, when you cuss him and comply, thinned out with need. He shudders into you as you brush your fingers over the length–teasing bulging veins and hot, thin skin–trying to scoop him up. He squeezes you tighter, letting out a furnace-bellow breath, as you tease the head through your wet folds, stupid fly-by-night sex-trigonometry screeching through your head as you find the angle you both need to get him in. He drops his free hand on your thigh, pulling you further open, giving himself a handle to hold.

As soon as his big cockhead plugs your hole and seals a seal with the wet, you fly to grip both his wrists, nerves on high alert. For good cause, as well, because instantly, he starts fucking up into you with harsh thrusts, constricting all around you with bruising force.

The sheer mass of him is over-fucking-whelming, and white spots crackle in your vision as you pant, trying desperately to relax and accept him into your body. Usually–when he’s sweeter and taking his time with you, not punishing you for a perceived slight like he is now–he is slower, considerate, almost hesitant until you dig your spurs into his sides, demanding he cut loose. 

This time he’s forcing you to ride him, emptying and filling you in deeper and deeper strokes, forcing you to take his cock. Somehow it still feels right, just being full of him, aching with it, pussy hungrily sucking him in, wanting more and more and more.

But, god dammit, you can’t just let him get away with this. You fuck back down against him, trying to meet his rhythm with the little movement he affords your bound body, the sound of his boots grinding for purchase in the substrate, your combined dead-sprint breathing, and his balls slapping wet against your ass breaking the utter still-life quiet of the woods. 

“Insertion specialist,” you bite, throwing your head back against his shoulder to belt out your whimpering laughter, and, oh, that burns him. 

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snarls, his helpless thrusting turning focused, dragging you down in hard thrusts, hitting your cervix with every deep, powerful stroke. It knocks the wind out of you, and you’re left speechless, probably what he wanted. 

It puts you in a trance state, your eyes unfocused looking up at the canopy as he uses you. A wet, liquid-gold heat starts building pressure behind your pelvis, and a frantic harebrained thought tells you that you have to piss. It only gets worse when he drops his hand back between your legs, putting a finger on either side of your clit, his intent clear.

“Wait,” you wheeze, barely surfacing the trance, rolling your eyes wildly toward him, finding his focus is between your legs. “Wait, König, I–”

“Just fucking take it,” he cuts you off, and it’s not entirely cruel. He’s forcing an orgasm on you, maybe the thought crawled up out of the part of his heart where his empathy lives, the part he hides until his real-boy-skin-suit has fallen away in tatters. You know what’s underneath. You love him for what he is.

You squirt when you come, pouring down his cock, soaking your thighs. Your cunt tries to push him out, but he belligerently stays buried, riding it out with you, and he whimpers as you spasm and ripple around him, biting your shoulder through his mask and the gaiter beneath it. It’s a dull pressure, and you wish it was sharper.

“Oh my god,” you keen, trying to turn and hide your face, trying to draw your legs back together as wave after wave of pleasure rock your body, your stomach turning in benign shame. König praises you, “Good, good, good, good,” his words falling away into a German blur that you have a hard time translating.

“Arch your back, curl up,” he tells you in his native language, his command voice withering, getting lost as he gets closer. He’s gotten fatter in your swollen cunt, and he throbs against your walls. His balls are pulled up so tight, you can feel them against your lips on the upstroke. 

All you can do is listen, lifting off of him and curving like you’re living through an exorcism. 

Doesn’t that make him lose his goddamned mind. Moans like a shocked virgin getting his first piece of pussy, in tandem with the cry you release, sliding in at a new angle. He can’t even help himself, he’s just stupid with pleasure, chasing it. All the bite and venom he had floods out of him, and he’s just a panting, greedy, whimpering mess, holding on to you because he needs an anchor, because he needs you.

He pushes up onto the balls of his feet, leaving the tree completely, forcing you back against him in the cage of his body. Your legs slide open over his thighs, and you’re dependent on him to keep from falling face-first in the forest floor and eating shit. He keeps you up, clutching to you, fucking you with short, fast thrusts, the soaking wet sounds of his cock demanding everything your cunt can deliver obscene, carnal.

Your idiot hand grabs for his hood as it hangs over your shoulder, spilling dumb swears and nonsense, “Fuck–oh, fucking–god dammit, König, you’re. I can’t,” that he meets with simple begging, “Bitte, bitte, Schatzi, bitte, Ich brauche, bitte, Ich brauche–”

His form staggers, and he takes a knee, locking up tight, letting out a thin, high-pitched cry of shock as he cums, flooding you completely in big jets. The pressure is uncomfortable and delirious, but you try to tighten around him, hold as much as you can. 

Both of your heads ring in the immediate aftermath. You can suddenly tell that both of you reek, the scent of twelve-hours worth of stakeout body odor mixing with musk, sex, and cum. You can tell by how his mouth sounds as he pants and tries to collect himself and work through his intense but inescapable post-nut shame that he’s dehydrated. You are, too, your head pounding. And, just because you know him, and you know how you work as a team, you don’t need to look at either of set of your shaking hands to know both of your blood sugar is utterly fucked.

Slowly, he lumbers back up against the tree, his touch turning softer. You flop back against him, winching when his cock slips out of you, hanging glistening and messy between his legs. He buries himself in the crook of your neck, trying to steady his breathing. His arms come up again–not to pin you in place, but to hug and hold you. You pat the scant sliver of bare skin between his gloves and the cuff of the ghillie suit.

Only occurs to you right now how stupid you two must’ve looked. Like a monkey fucking a football. Or maybe two bushes getting battered around in a storm. You snort a weary laugh, and he shakes his head, nosing deeper. He’s asking for quiet. You give it, letting your eyes slip closed as his cum drips out of you.

A few minutes later, he stirs, kneading your sides with his fingers. Mean-König has fucked off, you can already tell. It’s not KorTac-König, either, the one that’s nasty and loud and abrasive. This is just König. The slice of him that you know the first and last name of. The one that takes you on dates, and to go grocery shopping at Lidl–who lets you kiss his harelipped mouth, who lets you moisturize and massage the gummy wads of keloid burn scars eating up the left side of his face and neck, from when he was burnt by boiling sugar as a child, when they feel tight and miserable.

For convenience, and knowing you’re both going to seek it out, you unclip your helmet straps, letting them tumble off your heads. Further, you reach back and pull the hood off over his head, dropping it over your thigh, and pull your mask down as he pulls down his gaiter.

He helps you shift enough that you’re lying on your side over him, wet, soft cock pressing into your naked thigh. He sighs when you kiss him, light, quick, over and over, never really leaving his lips. He’ll be needy for the rest of the night.

His pupils are slowly going back down to a normal size, and the blue is coming back, all puppy-eyed and wet as he presses your foreheads together. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I had fun.”

“I shouldn’t have been that rough. Or mean.”

You shrug. “You know I thought it was hot.” You give him simple facts, easy to chew and swallow while his teeth are hurting from his harshness. You think he’d probably ask you to pull them so he couldn’t do something like it again in the future, but that is simply not in his nature. Fanged, or not, his moods will come and go.

His hands tremble, going to his thighs, and he digs up a zippo and a pack of cigarettes, pressing them into you. “Could you light some for us, please.”

You do, giving him another kiss before you break to try to attend your given task. He helps stabilize your hands, and you end up with lit menthols, popping one between his lips. He inhales deeply, shuddering as he relaxes a physical notch.

You heavily pet his face, traveling his bone structure, and then down his neck. Start to focus on his chest and shoulders, because it will help him down the easiest. Even though he took charge today, you still readily slot into the process of leading aftercare, truncated as it is by being in the field. Almost literally.

“Think you’ll be up for more later?” you ask, digging your fingers into the spot behind his ear that always makes him lax. “Safehouse would let us take our time.”

He makes a grumbling noise, touching your noses together. “Want to love you. Not fuck.”

“Yeah, no. I couldn’t take another fuck tonight,” you snort in agreement, and, finally, he snorts back. “We need to get moving. Sun’s going down, and we need to report.”

He gathers you up for a final, lingering, sloppy kiss before he unwinds from you, knowing that you’re right. And, besides, there’s a safehouse looming on the horizon. 

[foreingersgod]

kate martin x girly reader and readers pet name for kate is “bear” because she’s so big and cuddly and reader calls kate “bear” in front of her teammates after kates game and they all tease her for it

Bear . KM

pairing: kate martin x reader

synopsis: your little nickname for kate has quite the impression on the team

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

you don’t really know when it started, but it just stuck. the idea to call kate “bear” conjured in your mind one evening, when you were laid atop kate’s chest with her strong arms wrapped around you. she towered over you in height by quite a lot and was the biggest, cuddliest, clingiest girlfriend to ever exist so what better pet name than “bear”?

“love you, bear” you had mumbled one night, yawning and drowsy. you offered her a toothy grin while your eyes fought to stay open.

you and kate had just gotten home from a night out, only leaving as early as you did because you were absolutely exhausted and about to fall asleep in the booth. your girlfriend had so graciously helped you back to your shared apartment where she dressed you into your pajamas and tucked you into bed.

“bear?” she questioned, climbing into bed next to you, letting your head fall onto her shoulder.

“mmm yea” you giggled, definitely almost sleep by now “you’re like my big strong cuddly bear, i jus’ love you s’much”

she chuckled to herself, finally hearing your gentle snores. kate thought it was sweet how you had come up with the pet name, loved that you were thinking of her. so she encouraged it, obsessed with the way it had sounded coming from your lips.

the buzzer had sounded, declaring the end of a wonderful game for iowa. the girls had won by a landslide against the other team. you had watched from the sidelines, like you always did, cheering the entire night as your girlfriend kicked ass.

when the teams post-game celebrations died down, family and friends crowded the arena floor. you followed suit as you pushed past groups of people to try and find kate. she was across the floor, glowing with excitement and talking to the team.

you bolted over towards her, calling out her name to grab her attention. she turned with the biggest smile on her face to see you approaching her. seeing you after a big win was one of her favorite feelings.

she let out a soft ‘hmph’ as you jumped into her, arms wrapping around her neck, kate’s large hands finding the small of your back. her nose nudged against your neck as she hugged you deeply.

“you did so good, bear!” you praised, pulling away from the hug to kiss her cheek “i’m so proud of you!”

“thanks baby” she said, holding your waist to keep you at her side.

“bear, huh?” caitlin teased “is that what we’re calling you now?”

the team laughed, making harmless jokes about the nickname you had for kate.

“shut up” kate chuckled back “that name is reserved for YN and YN only”

you felt a faint heat form on your cheeks, turning them a shade of scarlet. the jokes didn’t bother you at all, but you really did enjoy how she was quick to take full possession of the name.

“what about teddy? teddy bear? can we call you that?” gabbie chimed in “our big ol’ teddy bear!”

“whatever, you wish!” kate responded, shoving her playfully.

after a bit more teasing she finally started saying her farewells for the night “hey, i think we’re gonna head out, but i’ll see you guys tomorrow”

they all nodded, hugging her before she dragged you off the arena floor. you congratulated her again as you made your way to the car to drive home, making sure she knew how proud you are of her.

the apartment was quiet when you arrived home. kate dropped her things at the door before hopping into a hot shower before bed. you, even though she practically pleaded for you to join her, opted for getting cozy in bed. you listened to the flow of the water stop, listened to her follow her nightly routine to a “t” as you scrolled on your phone. when she finally emerged from the bathroom, hot steam trailing behind her, you were still awake.

“still up?” kate asked, already under the covers.

“can’t fall asleep without you, bear” you smiled. she looked down at you, biting her lip when she heard it. she would listen to you calling her bear on repeat if she could.

“i love you so much, y’know that?”

“always,” you replied “i love you so much more”

[seraphdreams]

NO PHOTOS — BAJI KEISUKE/KAZUTORA HANEMIYA.

— CONTAINS. fem!reader, 3some, slight choking, praise/degradation, reader is referred to as sweetheart and doll, multiple rounds, tora is an energetic fucker. 18+ mdni.

— WORD COUNT. 4.0k

— NOTES. this is like my 50th repost cause i’m trying to not get flagged but i hope you enjoy the first addition to this miniseries. i really loved writing it all and i hope i don’t have to repost it again :( also listen to the song “no photos” by don toliver!

— LINKS. series masterlist — general masterlist.

They say rivalries could fuck up a friendship.

Not particularly for Baji and Kazutora though.

Rivalry was invigorating to them, something they needed in their day to day lives like water to survive, and even after their childhood years, they still found themselves battling against each other somehow. So, it didn’t come as much of a surprise to Kazutora when he arrived at Bonten’s freshly established headquarters, complete with its own separate hotel and casino, to see that his opponent was Shibuya’s best, Baji Keisuke.

A smirk then followed a laugh when Hanemiya thought over it more. Baji? It’d been years since he last saw his best friend, his only fond memory being attending Keisuke’s graduation; How strange of someone with their veterinary degree to take on racing. To each their own, he presumed.

In turn, however, Kazutora spent most of his time in jail. Trouble seemed to follow him everywhere he went like a lost puppy with its unreliable owner. And at the end of every day, he promised himself he’d get better—He had to. And he did. Prison struck the opportunity for him to pick up new dexterities, other than his last hobby of breaking and entering. With that, he grew increasingly knowledgeable in the field of motorbikes. Once he got out, he landed himself a job at a local bike shop. Comfortable; the pay was great, he did what he loved, and when he was exceptionally lucky, he’d get to compete against others in his area, being an undefeated favorite as well.

Now with him settled into his suite, alongside his roguish roommate, the need for competition grew stronger.

“It’s been a minute, huh, Keisuke?” Kazutora sighs out, laying across the opposite side of his bed. Coming from Tora, it was rich. Rich in the sense that whenever it came down to the two going head to head back in Shibuya, Kazutora conveniently found himself sitting in a cell. “Sure has. I was startin’ to think your bum ass was scared of me.” Baji responds with a snicker, adjusting his head on the headboard of the luxurious hotel bed.

“Never. But hey..” Kazutora starts, sitting up straight and resting his weight against his hands behind him. From the shift in octave of his last vocables, Baji knew to listen intently despite aimlessly scrolling on his phone. Probably looking at bikes again..

“Y’seen that new girl Bonten’s been hoarding? Fucking gorgeous.” Kei’s focus flits immediately to Hanemiya. “New girl?”

If you could only see the look on Tora’s face when he described you, as if he’d seen an angel from Heaven and came back down to Earth just to report it back to Baji. It was entertaining to say the least, how expressive he got when telling Keisuke you were about this tall, and your hair was the sexiest shade of this color, and he can’t fucking forget about your body. Each dip and curve of your frame was engraved into his brain with so much depth that if he’d somehow end up with amnesia, he couldn’t forget—He wouldn’t forget.

“Sounds like a real peach. The hell they need her for?” Baji queries. The truth being, Bonten needed you as a morale booster. Someone to remind them they were human even after a gruesome day’s work, and of course at times they’d get distracted, bend you over the desk in God-knows-who’s office just to make the prettiest mess out of you. It kept their spirits high, and they were fun men so you didn’t mind as much as you should’ve.

Kazutora thought for a second on what his next words would be. Spontaneously, he asks, “Wanna find out?” The question didn’t quite register in Baji’s mind until Tora graciously added that you were the designated flag girl. What a shame it’d be if you didn’t get to know your racers a few hours before they become less than friends and more than foe.

—

Last night’s packing took an immense amount of your energy, leaving you only to manage a quick shower in the morning after less than a full night's rest. You blamed Haru; That forgetful bastard, only he would make the mistake of relaying to you that the flight leaves at 6 A.M instead of P.M, which forced you to scramble for time you thought you had.

When you finally arrived at your suite, you opted for a nap to rejuvenate lost time, and fortunately you had been granted the night shift at what was beginning to feel like your new part-time job. You slept soundly without distractions for the next few hours, and once you awoke, a necessary shower was in your presence.

It wasn’t until you stepped out of the shower that you noticed your phone buzzing on the counter, paired with an unknown caller ID at the top of the screen. Normally, you’d ignore it, wait for the ringing to stop and carry on with whatever plans you had for the day, but since Bonten had a particular way of wiring your phone, to say the least, who knew what business you could be called in for.

“Hello?” You hold the phone between your ear and shoulder as you drape the towel around your dampened body. A soft voice projects through the other line, so gentle as though it were merely a whisper. “Is this Y/N?”

You move on to heading out the bathroom and into the bedroom where you set the phone on speaker and begin to apply your smell-goods. “Mhm, what’re you calling for?” There’s a brief bout of silence from the other side until the familiarity of hearing that docile tone vacated and it was replaced by a deeper, brasher timbre. “Y’not busy, are ya? Gotta race in a minute ‘nd ‘m losin’ motivation, sweetheart.” The sentiment of the pet name had heat surging through your body.

This must’ve been what Rindou was talking about. And to think all that talk about needing to “stick close by his side” because the others were bound to want you, was just a scheme to be possessive. Maybe actually listening to Bonten could teach you a few things.

You weren’t dumb as to not realize who was on the phone. It clicked for you the moment you heard his voice. He was your Boss’s friend, the one you reigned attractive against the others in the photos he’d shown you. Mikey had warned you that he was an unpredictable man, but seeing as Sanzu was someone you dealt with on a daily basis (regardless of if you wanted to or not), Baji was nothing.

Surely, you weren’t too busy with anything, and a quick welcome visit couldn’t hurt. “Not busy at all. Which room are you in, Keisuke?”

Fucking hell. Just how cute can you get? Kei tries his hardest to not let the grin on his features go noticed, or to not let the excitement rush straight to his dick, yet he fails at both. “Na, Kazutora..” You could hear him on the other end calling for Tora’s attention. “What room are we in?”

You couldn’t hear Tora’s response over the phone but luckily Baji was gracious enough to repeat it a second time, not necessarily just for you to hear; but for emphasis. An allure, roughly.

Room 602 — Who knows what’s to come?

Luckily, you were provided with the cutest checkered set, a gift from Ran Haitani himself—complete with a teensy tiny skirt and tight little crop top that left no part of your chest to the imagination. Truly adorable, the way it had fit your body, the uneasy feeling of bareness waning away once you stepped into your platform Miu Miu heels.

After some twirling in the mirror, you felt ready enough to make your way to their suite. You knocked gently against the lacquered door, in contrast to how sturdy, heavy almost, it felt underneath your knuckles. The handle turns and the door is pulled from the inside, revealing the men who occupied the area.

They had to be over 6’0, the both of them. You weren’t expecting to be towered over within the first ten seconds of arriving, it was evident on their features that they found you rather cute. The one you came to recognize as Baji was posted against the wall with his arms crossed, sharp eyes taking you in gradually. Hmm, intimidating.

The other held the door open, a soft close-eyed smile on his face. Ran would make the same expression with you at times too. A dark mole near his right eye gave him a more feminine look in comparison to the raven haired male a foot behind him. He seemed friendly, this must’ve been the carrier of the dulcet voice you heard from before.

“Cute outfit, that what you’re wearing tonight?” Baji queries, relaxing his stance in the slightest. Kazutora pulls the door in more, allowing you ample room to slip past him and to shut the door behind you. It takes a while for you to slowly nod while taking in the view of their room. Bonten really outdid themselves when coming up with floor plans for the hotel because every inch of each square foot seemed to be crafted specifically to fit their divine tastes. Nevertheless, a golden view of the water from the window situated in the living space. “I’ll try not to ruin it then.” Huh? What does he mean by that?

Your focus hastily snaps back to the man before you, a sinister smirk quirking at his lips that reveals two sharp… fangs? He’s far more frightening in person.

A hand on your wrist enthusiastically guides you to their room, it’s Kazutora, sitting you down amongst the bedsheets. Baji follows behind him, sitting across from you two. “Tora, relax. You’ll scare her.” You giggle at Keisuke’s assertiveness, receiving an eyebrow raise from him as soon as the airy chuckles reach his ears. “‘m not scared.” You respond, hands placed over your bare thighs.

“You’re so cute, like a doll. You’d let us get to know you a bit?” Kazutora’s voice resonates from the side of you he sat beside. You turn to look at him only now noticing his golden-hued eyes.

Very pretty.

“Of course.” Your response came out in a reassuring tone, the pair falling harder and harder for you as each second passes. Kazutora’s hands wrap around your waist to pull you closer to him, the tips of his fingers dancing dangerously close to your inner thighs.

“You gotta boyfriend?” He sing-songs. Baji leans in closer despite only being two feet away, his hands folded and rested over his lap. “Not technically.” You chime out, feeling as though you’ll go dizzy from the tantalizing scent of the man beside you.

“Not technically?” It’s Baji’s voice you hear now. “I mean, ‘m not with Bonten, but sometimes they treat me like a girlfriend.” Which wasn’t far from the truth. Your relationship with Bonten could be described as something similar to a friends with benefits ordeal. Not quite, but not far off.

“Your little boyfriends would probably be disappointed if they found out you were here, huh?” In response to Baji’s question, you shake your head. “They don’t have to know.”

So perfect and so fucking dumb. What did they do to deserve you?

Kazutora’s hand trails up your abdomen, to your sternum, and right under your jaw where he grips your throat with the lightest pressure and angles your head upwards to meet his eyes.

Those same friendly orbs from before diminished into something colder, with the faintest hint of mirth behind them. “Be honest with me, pretty baby. Who do ya think is gonna win today’s race? Me, or Keisuke?”

Hypnosis is what it felt like when you stared into his eyes, attempting to muster up an answer that would satisfy both parties, although you just… didn’t know. Kei’s eyes narrow as they land on Tora’s, the quick glance they give each other filled with devilry.

“I-I don’t know.” You give him your final resolve. Kazutora releases his grip on you and moves his hands back to your thighs, slightly pushing them open to reveal the barely there panties you wore underneath your skirt. “Don’t know?” Hanemiya’s voice is whispered against the shell of your ear, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. “How ‘bout we show you? You’d like that?” Hands that were previously between your thighs find themselves tugging down your little shirt, kneading the flesh of your tits softly. You elicit a low whine, nodding your head as Baji situates himself between your thighs, using his sharp teeth to pull the fabric of your panties down until they hang off one ankle.

“Imma make ya feel fucking good.” His eyes lock onto yours as he uses his tongue to switch between flicking and sucking at your clit. Kazutora settles behind you, allowing you to somewhat rest against his back while he continuously plays with your nipples.

Baji’s tongue is dangerous, he’s messy. The feeling of the wet muscle in and out of your core causes a docile whine to reverberate from your throat. He keeps your shaky legs open with his large, calloused hands, his pointed nose inadvertently aiding in the pleasure stemming from your clit and the only way you can really react is by bucking your hips up like a desperate whore. You couldn’t help it, he knows he’s too good.

“Kei-Keisuke!” You stutter out, hand moving to tangle in his dark locks, tugging gently. He returns your whine with a groan, speeding up his ministrations which make your hole twitch around him, legs threatening to close any second. From his perspective, you looked like an angel. Everything about you so sweet, cute, and innocent. Just the thought of knowing how other men have had their way with you, gets him harder than a fucking rock.

It’s incredibly messy at this point. Kazutora’s lips take purchase on yours, kissing you sloppy and rough. His fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples cause you to go crazy, just a thread holding you back from your orgasm. You’re so incredibly wet too, Keisuke can’t even tell if the strings of slick dripping down the bedsheets come from his saliva or the growth of your arousal.

You can't take anymore at this point, opting to run away from the pleasure instead of giving in, but Baji’s hands grip hard around the fat of your thighs, keeping you still as he gives you a sharp glance, one that’s only a warning. Kazutora pulls away to recollect his breath, eyes scanning over the scene on display. There’s a dopey grin on his face that you miss as he watches your clit twitch. “Fuck, her pussy’s so pretty!”

“Gonna cum! L-Lemme cum!” Your voice is slurred, hips uncontrollably rutting into Baji’s mouth. He slows the jerking of his own hips against the mattress, pulling away from your heat and replacing the lost feeling with his fingers on your clit. He circles them against the nub with slight pressure, watching how your jaw drops open and sonorous mewls slip out.

“This whatcha wanted? Y’sound so pretty, even that pussy’s talkin’ ta me.”

You were too caught up in your own pleasure to even notice the raunchy squelches of your creamy cunt resonating throughout the room. How embarrassing.

It only takes a few more moments for your body to convulse under the sensation, your juices dripping down Kei’s arm and back arched against Kazutora’s chest. “Atta-fucking-girl! Look at that!” Tora coos. That signature smirk returns back to Baji’s features, mesmerized with the way your pussy pulses in orgasm. “We’re gonna have so much fun witcha tonight.”

Keisuke sits up, kneeling at one side of the bed, repositioning you so that you’re arched nice and pretty for him while Kazutora kneels at the other end, your face millimeters from his cock. Kei wraps five digits around the back of your neck, pulling you towards him to meet his eyes. You stare up at him with those angelic orbs, doe eyes rendering nothing behind them, just pure vacancy while you pout in the slightest, a reaction from his vice-like grip around your throat. “Y’gonna take it all for us?” A quiet mhm is muttered from your throat, Baji beaming down at you with his menacing smile, satisfied with your answer. “Be careful with Tora,” Keisuke lets his grip go and he leans down over you, whispering into your ear, loud enough for the other to hear. “He’s a throat fucker.”

He sits back up straight, unzipping his pants slowly before taking out his hard-on. If only you could see how much Kei leaked, just how huge it was. You could only guess when he teasingly slipped the tip in and out, entertained with the way you stretched around him. Kazutora, on the other hand, slides his length down your throat fully, not giving you any time to adjust to his size. Instinctively, you wrap your lips around his shaft, gradually building up a bobbing rhythm.

Kei wanes his teasing enough when he watches how well you envelop the half-blond. He slowly pushes into you at the hilt, sighing out a deep rasp before practically pounding your hole, leaving you no room to adjust to his massive cock.

God, his dick is fucking heavy. It stretches you out wide enough to the point where you feel as though your cunt can’t take anymore, all while your hands grip the sheets underneath you for leverage that only helps in the slightest. Tora’s hand grips at the hollow of your cheek while you continue to take as much of him as you can. He’s really trying his hardest to not let his hips take control and accept the pleasure you’re languidly giving him, yet he fails, letting his hips reel back and cock slip down your awaiting throat. His thrusts are hard in tandem with Baji’s, both the men using you to get off.

Little tears begin to pool at your waterline which Kazutora finds amusement in, fucking your throat at a faster, wilder pace. Vibrations from your throat shoot through the parameters of his length, eliciting a whimper which follows a groan. “So fuckin’ good, baby..”

A harsh slap stings across your ass once Keisuke finds his rhythm, the warmth and wetness of your hole inviting him in like he was just meant to be there. You wince in response, trying your hardest to not run from the pleasure. “Guess your men are good for something, cause fuck, you take it so well.” His hand slips down partially, enough for his thumb to enter your puckered hole, pumping the digit slowly. From this, your eyes roll into the back of your head, legs starting to feel like jello and even you can’t seem to keep yourself arched for him. “Y’got so tight after that, ‘s like you want me to cum in you.”

Your mind goes hazy, the only thing bouncing around in that empty brain of yours being the need to make a mess. Just the feeling alone of being used like a toy has your core tightening, the sign of your next orgasm. Tora’s grasp on your cheeks reach lower, the taut sensation of his hand now around your neck. He groans while watching as his cock struggles to fit down your throat. He could virtually grab his phone and record how he’s having his way with you, possibly use it for future reference when he’s alone and missing the warmth you give him.

“Ah shit, I think the little thing’s gonna cum. Is that right?” Keisuke goads, using both hands to pull your faltering hips back up. A tiny mhmm is sounded from your throat and he takes his fingers to rub your clit in tight circles. It was almost embarrassing how quickly he coaxed your orgasm from you, spit dripping from your lips and around Tora’s shaft as a sheer layer of your essence coats the entirety of Keisuke’s cock.

The sight of it all has Tora’s eyes crossing and balls tightening, being the first to shoot his load into your mouth. He gradually slows his movements to a halt, pulling from your mouth to give you a chance to finally breathe. You’re gasping, practically choking when air settles back into your lungs, your body shaking from the overstimulation of Baji inside your heat.

There’s a hard thrust, then another before Baji releases inside you, creating a beautiful mosaic of the messes you both made. Quite the artist, he was.

Before you know it, you’re being manhandled into yet another position, this time being ass up for Kazutora and face to cock with Baji. Just how much stamina do these guys have?

Kazutora’s first to slip in, a more fucked out moan leaving his lips when he observes the way his cock slips easily into your cunt. You’re so fucking wet, he can’t think straight. Baji lines his length up with your lips, shallowly pushing in. “Just the tip, sweetheart. Wanna see if you know how to control yourself.” You wrap your lips around his plush tip, sucking harshly.

Tora finally starts to move. You’re just too fucking wet he can’t help it when he’s already getting carried away, fucking you senseless. Such a mess on his cock, he’s lost.

It was easier to take in as much as Baji prohibited but with the trajectory of Hanemiya’s thrusts, you’re going past your limit.

“Kazutora, slow the fuck down. You got her chokin’ on my cock more than she usually does” Baji hisses out, vexation fueling his arousal. Even though it wasn’t your fault, you’d probably apologize if you could, let the man before you know that you were totally capable of at least trying to keep control. Much to no avail, Kazutora refuses to ease up, instead letting pleasure overrun his senses.

It was loud. The sounds of skin slapping, mixtures of whining and groaning, anyone from outside the door could probably walk past and hear just how cute you sounded getting fucked out your mind. Maybe that’s what they wanted, the whole establishment to know that you weren’t just Bonten’s little slut, but theirs too.

The next few moments whizz by like nothing, your hole getting stuffed for a second time and your tongue met with the acrid flavor of cum. You’re splayed across the bed, heaving for air with fatigue growing inside you hastily. “So, who d’ya think was better? Me or Kei?” It’s that giddy tone that lets you know it’s Kazutora speaking. Both the men seem unaffected from the previous situations yet you're the one left winded. “Both..You both were really, really good.”

Kazutora makes a buzzer-like sound, as if you’d been mistaken in your resolve. “Wrong! There’s only one winner.” Baji scoffs at Kazutora’s antics, checking the time on his phone. “We should probably head out, seems like races’ll start soon.”

“Do me a favor, baby..” Baji’s words hang off the tip of his tongue purposefully as he makes his way to you, standing you up and adjusting your outfit back in place. “Be good and keep our cum stuffed in this tight little hole, or else your boyfriends’ll be real upset.”

He tilts his head in a mocking manner and you nod along.

A quick wave of goodbye and wishes of “good luck!” leave your lips as you finally leave the BajiTora abode. Tonight’s race should be interesting one.

— In the end, it was Kazutora who reigned victorious, leaving Baji to his first defeat. The victor didn’t matter to them, they just enjoyed it; enjoyed being together whenever they could. For sure, Chifuyu would have to hear about this once they get back home.

After your limited experience of waving around a flag while trying to keep your panties from revealing too much, you grew tired, quite frankly. There had to be other things to do once races completed.

“Wonder what Koko’s doing!”

[doobea]

BORN TO MAKE HISTORY ─ RIN ITOSHI

synopsis: After his brother takes a nasty fall and calls out before the new season starts, Rin has to step up as your new figure skating partner.

✰ ✰ ✰જ⁀➴ PLAYLIST. | MASTERLIST

contents: an ice skating au fic (very much yuri on ice inspired), fem!reader, ice skating terms and irl figures thrown around, inaccurate depictions of figure skating, sfw, rin being awkward, sae is a decent brother in here, characters are in their early-mid 20s, talks about ISU grand prix, mentions of mental health (depression, anxiety, burn out, imposter syndrome), heavy narration, rin centric word count: 5.1K a/n: life has been super busy and hectic recently :( kisses to @popponn for beta reading my works as always <3 im forever grateful for you :) more notes towards the end of the fic <3

PREV. RINK | NEXT RINK

“What should we wear?” You’re pacing across the living room, hand tucked under your chin and brows furrowed. 

Sae’s leaning to the side on the couch, trying to get a decent view of yesterday’s playback practice run on the rink every time you cross his line of vision. Rin’s also trying to pay attention to the jumps and step sequences too but, whenever his parts are about to come up, you seem to pause in front of the TV.

“I dunno, ask Rin,” Sae shrugs and turns up the volume, hoping that you would catch the hint. 

It doesn’t matter though, because you’re shuffling in place and now your attention is honed on your phone, scrolling rapidly through what Rin can only assume are images of various costume designs. He’s seen a few of your professional photos from the previous years during his recent down time, a lot of the designs highlighted your feminine side with bright colors and pastels. It suits you, no surprise there, considering your outgoing personality. Rin, on the other hand, likes to keep it moody and, as his fans would like to call it, “Dark Paradise” core — whatever that means.

Well, it wouldn’t really matter if you did happen to ask for his opinion because, recently, Rin didn’t give two shits about what he wears. If anyone were to peek into his closet, which they would definitely need to fight through him first, they would discover an array of all different shades of black and blue in their deepest forms. Oh, and all he owns is athleisure attire, too. Rin doesn’t bother with all things fancy and tailored ever since going on break, though he has a creeping feeling that he might have to go back to it soon.

“As long as it’s not flashy, I’m fine with whatever.” Rin answers finally, and closes his eyes as he says it, realizing that he’ll either look incredibly out of place with whatever costume idea you’ll have in mind. He can’t quite place why he feels so stressed about it. 

“Whatever?” You chirp back with a slight tilt. Rin can almost see the gears turning desperately in your head as your foot taps away in deep thought. “Have we even decided on a theme yet?”

“Considering we literally just started practicing? No.” Rin huffs out. He tips his head, letting his cheek settle comfortably against his palm. 

Safe to say, his thighs and feet hurt like hell, laced with heavy exhaustion from yesterday’s session. He probably needs more sleep in more but, with both you and Sae knocking on his bedroom door this morning, he firmly decided in his mind to sneak away after today’s practice to catch up on some hours.

“Your jumps are sloppy,” Sae points out casually. 

Rin rolls his eyes. “Thanks for the tip.”

“Anytime,” his brother shoots back before replaying the same damn sequence where Rin nearly loses his footing. The video is now playing in slow motion and zoomed in, painfully reminding Rin that he needs to upgrade his skincare routine. Somehow, he’s glad that you’re still covering half of the TV screen, unaware of the near wipe out scene from behind. 

A few seconds later and Sae speaks again. “You look stiff here, bend your knees and loosen your arms.” 

Rin sighs. “ ‘Kay…” 

“We’re still going for ‘love’, right? Or are we not doing that?” Your arms are crossed, fingers drumming away, still deep in thought and tuned out from their own conversation. “What songs do you wanna skate to?” 

Before Rin could even provide a half-assed answer to that, Sae interrupts his thoughts with, “Please try and at least look like you’re having fun.”

“…noted,” Rin decides with a sigh. “I’m going back to bed when this is over.” Screw napping after practice, he barely got a full eight hours last night and being berated so bright and early in the morning killed any sort of energy he had prior.

“Nope,” Sae pauses halfway through the video, turning to face him with a stern look. “You’re not going back to bed, because then you won’t wake up in time for practice. Sleeping in will only ruin your current sleep schedule, too.”

Rin wants to retort that he’s not a fucking child anymore, that he doesn’t need Sae to be looking after him. However, there’s the fact that his brother is sorta his manager now and in charge of quite literally everything of Rin's career. Also, it’s kinda hard to come up with a solid comeback when they’re reviewing his rusty movements, lackluster jumps, and every thirty seconds he’s taking a small break to catch his damn breath. 

You eventually plop down in the middle of the couch, between both brothers, when you realize that your question isn’t going to be answered simply. After Sae finally gets the chance to thoroughly watch a good chunk of yesterday’s practice sequence, you switch topics. “Just so you know, Rin, have you seen your comment section lately?”

Sae shuffles in his seat and suddenly Rin feels the air in the room thickening. Rin fiddles with his phone in hand, knowing full well that he did post a ‘comeback’ announcement only to then quickly turn his app notifications off, because… of his feelings of self cautiousness? Would that be the right term he’s looking for?

“What did he do?” Sae’s asking you because he knows damn well Rin wouldn’t give him the full details and you’re just so damn open about everything so Rin can’t possibly hide from this one.

But, instead of answering Sae, you cough, loud and awkward, before shooting Rin an apologetic look. “Um, nothing…?”

Alright, well Rin takes it that you’re a god awful liar. 

Sae’s now staring directly in Rin’s direction and he’s trying so hard to avoid eye contact right now by pretending that their family portrait wall is the most interesting thing in the room. Of course, that doesn’t work because he can hear Sae tapping away freely on his phone and—

“Did you fucking block me on Instagram?”

Okay, yeah, Rin totally forgot about that, too. To be fair, when someone is going through a depressive episode for over a year, the last thing anyone would want to see on their feed is the success of their older sibling.  

“No?”

And, turns out, he’s also an awful liar. 

Sae is not happy. He is very, very unhappy. 

He’s not usually the emotionally expressive type to most people, so that usually leaves Rin the luxury of experiencing the back end when his brother does decide to let his walls down. And, well, in the past, when he did get pissed off, Sae would normally vent about his coaches and stalkerish fans with a bit of sass to it, but today? 

He’s currently grumbling and groaning and Rin’s pretty sure his shirt is on backwards, and bless your soul, but also fuck you, for dragging him into this mess. 

After a very short Google Search of what Rin has done, followed by an equally as short lecture on how to be professional on the internet, Rin is grimley reminded by the large number of likes and retweets on Twitter that his announcement might’ve not been the best thing he’s ever posted. He really can’t understand why though, because Rin was deadset sure he was going to lose his career nearly three years ago when he got into a fight with another skater, so why is he getting canceled for announcing something… tamed? Well, he also hasn’t exactly opened his social media apps since then. A strange gnawing feeling comes up whenever he fights off the urge to check.

“You should’ve held off or at least came to me before posting something like this.”

It’s a miracle that there’s nobody else but you three at the local rink right now. It’s been nearly an hour since arrival and Rin has gotten nothing but an earful from Sae. If any family were to walk in, they’d probably immediately walk out by the sheer amount of heavy tension steaming off on the ice. 

You’re stuck in your own little corner doing all sorts of warm up jumps and stretching, glancing over every now and then at Rin as your way of saying ‘sorry’ and ‘are you doing, okay’. To which, Rin would glance back with a very stiff shrug. 

“What difference would it make?” Rin’s cheeks are a little flushed and there’s a slight hitch to his breath, he had just completed a couple of routine jumps Sae instructed him to do.

“Plenty,” then Sae flashes Rin a quick glimpse of his phone screen. 

An array of outrageous news articles and forums come through, many of them pointing out the strange timing and the internal turmoil of sibling rivalry. There’s a couple of them mentioning drugs, two threads from some third-party news site throwing your name to the mud, and then a short Buzzfeed article listing a slideshow of other skaters congratulating Rin for rejoining the sport again. 

“People are speculating that you’re only stepping in because I’m down for this season. If you would’ve just waited until everything was put together then everything would’ve been different.” 

Rin blinks a little, surprised by the flush coloring his brother's cheeks that’s most certainly not from the cold rink. 

Although, in a way it did make sense. If there’s one thing that famous athletes do know about the media is the fact that news outlets love fabricating drama out of nothing. Sae’s a well known gold medalist, no matter what division that medal came from, so his name came out of people’s mouth as frequently as compared to Yuzuru Hanyu or even Yuuri Katsuki, whenever figure skating was mentioned. It made sense for others to grow suspicious when Rin randomly posted that he’s coming off of hiatus without further explanation. Sae most likely hasn’t told anyone that he’s being subbed in.

Rin hesitantly nods, his snarky response dies in his throat and he feels like he’s swallowing needles when faced with the awkward reality. He’s now reluctant to speak, unsure if anything he’d say would make a difference — for better or worse. Knowing himself, probably the latter. 

After a few seconds of silence, followed by a few jumps performed by you in the background, Sae runs a hand through his hair, in what Rin believes is a rare nervous gesture, looking away briefly. 

“Revival,” his brother finally blurts out. “That’s the theme. You guys fine with that?” Sae’s asking, but there’s a finality to his tone. Rin and you will have to be fine with it. The season starts in a few months, soon Sae would need to prepare choreography for two programs, consult a designer for custom fittings, and take over all things that a coach and manager would do. Somehow, despite being out for this year, Rin thinks Sae might have the hardest job here.

“No objections here.”

Two months and many hours of exhausting training later, you and Rin are standing in the locker room for the first competition as an official pair. It’s the first day of the Japan Figure Skating Championships and, somehow, you look more put together than he is.

“Think this looks good?” You do a 360 spin in front of the wall mirror in your short program outfit. It’s a simple short black, gray dress with mesh sleeves and small rhinestones running down the middle. According to the designer, it’s supposed to represent the night sky. 

Rin stands behind you and adjusts his black vest. Gold and white thread accents throughout his patterned shirt compared with plain black trousers. He’s supposed to adjust his cuffs, but his fingers keep fumbling with the last button because his eyes are awkwardly getting lost in your outfit. Luckily, you’re too focused on yourself to take notice.

You eventually lean closer, repeating the question when he takes too long to answer, and he feels your breath against his shoulder. “Everything alright? Are you nervous for today?” Your voice is a little hesitant, full of concern that makes Rin’s stomach slightly jump to his throat. 

“Everything’s fine,” Rin sighs as he manages to shove the last button through. It’s not like he’s going to lose this competition, he might be somewhat rusty but he didn’t qualify for the Grand Prix Final just based on his name alone. “It’s just… a little bit weird that we’re the oldest ones here,” he confesses. 

“You’re still hung up about that?”

It’s stupid and maybe a bit irrational, he knows that much.

You’ve also already tried to convince Rin otherwise multiple times today, but he couldn’t shake off the humiliating feeling of entering a competition where your competitors are almost half your age. Okay, maybe Rin’s being dramatic, but at least five years younger. From what he can recall, it was usually the other way around whenever he competed in men’s singles tournaments. Having to see and now experience that is something he never really mentally prepared himself for.

From the moment he stepped into the locker room, Rin was basically towering over the rest of the athletes. It’s fine, kinda, all he really needs to focus on right now is landing all of his jumps and catching you. Sae’s a strict teacher, but he doesn’t force weird techniques on others if he knows they can’t handle it. 

“Isn’t he, like, totally washed up right now?”

“Shh, don’t say it so loud, Makoto! He’s right there.”

“Oh, shit, let’s go before he…” Rin didn’t get a chance to hear the rest of the sentence, not with you scooting right beside him on the bench and shoving your right ear bud into his ear. 

He’s learned quickly from the following days that you are not the playlist type of person like most people. Unlike normal and sane folks, you have all of your liked songs in one playlist and you like spending your time shuffling away through the vast hundreds of genres and artists until finding the right one. In your own words, if you were to make a playlist then it would easily be over a few dozen — why do that when all of your favorite songs are in one spot? 

That being said, you’re currently blasting a Frank Ocean song before shifting through a couple more songs with the intent of finding both the short program and free skate song. Oh, and for some reason you don’t use the search function at all through your liked playlist. Apparently, it “ruins” the fun. 

“This would’ve been a nice song to skate to,” the tune switches to something more upbeat and indie, Rin recognizes the band to be Florence and the Machine from the vocals alone. “Sae complained about the song being too long and I called him a lazy loser shortly after.” You say with a smile but Rin’s eyes drift down only to see your leg bobbing up and down rapidly.

Rin tries to pay no mind as he continues to put on his skates. “A six minute long performance would be too much,” he agrees with Sae’s previous answer.

“Hey, tickets to these sorts of things are expensive nowadays with scalpers everywhere!” You try to reason. “If someone’s spending two hundred dollars on a seat then they can sit through a six minute long skating sequence.”

Rin rolls his eyes as he fiddles with a tangled lace. “I didn’t mean the people in the audience, I meant the skaters.”

“Well, maybe we should learn a thing or two from people who do Disney on Ice?”

“I do not want that to be my fall back career, thank you.” A shiver creeps down his spine at the thought of being forced to skate while wearing a Mickey Mouse costume of all things. Seriously, do people clean those suits?

“Hey, are you…” both of your ears perk at the sound from behind. Rin turns around first, he’s immediately greeted by one of the younger male competitors. The boy looks like he’s still growing into his body, probably not any older than seventeen.

“Yeah, I am,” Rin finishes the obvious question. Maybe the kid’s a fan by how bright his face lights up soon after. “Is there something you need?” Sae’s been drilling him to be a little bit more receptive to fellow competitors and fans alike, in order to fix some of his reputation. 

“I’ve been looking at your past performances, lately,” the kid starts with a smile. “Last year, during the Grand Prix Final, you did good!”

“Thanks—”

“Your theme was the same as the previous years, but I guess that’s just something you’re comfortable with, right? The falls that you took, it was because your balance was off. You need to work better on finding your center during jumps if you seriously plan on competing in the senior division again.”

Rin only notices the pain digging in his fists when you reach over, palm encasing over his closed ones. You don’t bother looking his way, but you do say something to the kid. It sounds muffled though, or maybe Rin’s somehow zoning out? He’s not sure. 

The loss from the Grand Prix is apparently still at the forefront of his mind, no matter how much he tells himself otherwise. People love to pick out that particular part in his performance, acting as if they could pull it off any better. And, for a brief moment, all his past of anger and frustration at the sport suddenly comes rushing back at an overwhelming rate. Rin’s wondering who else wants to criticize him when they meet him again. 

“Don’t they teach kids manners these days?” You try to shoot a glare back but, from Rin’s perspective, it just looks like you’re mildly constipated. 

It kinda ends up working, because the kid backs off, scurrying away and off to his manager for last minute pep talk. Sae’s currently running late as usual, but it’s not like you two would need any words of encouragement. Rin’s competitive nerves have fizzled out by this point, at least for this event, but he’s now seething with discomfort. He’s certainly positive that you’re feeling the same way. 

“I take it back, some of these kids need to be humbled and maybe even bullied.”

Okay, while Rin would agree, he feels like he has to somewhat step up in Sae’s place to make sure you don’t accidentally get kicked out of this competition for sucker punching a kid.

“It’s fine, don’t get too worked up over it. I more or less expected comments like that.”

Rin never expected anything to come easy. Climbing for his spot again in the competitive world can be absolutely ruthless and meeting skaters who are arrogant, condescending, and taunting are just part of the reality. He suspects that everyone else sees him as a washed up skater, never as a real competitor, or a real challenger for the gold medal.  

“Still,” you pout, unsatisfied by his logical response, but drop the conversation as Rin tightens his laces. Then, you finally manage to find the song for the short program section after the relentless shuffling.

“It’s fine,” he reassures, and really, it’s kinda-sorta fine. It’s something that he’ll eventually get used to, even if he’s well aware of the heinous rumors floating around. Everything will die down after a week or two since most people can barely hold their attention span nowadays. 

“If you’re positive,” you go back to your phone, but not before poking Rin’s sides and redirecting his attention towards the TV screen in the locker room. “Hey, the first pair is competing.”

Pair skating is a lot different from competing in singles. Aside from the obvious involvement of another party, there are more requirements in the short and free skate performances. In the Adult Singles programs, the skater focuses more on their jumps, having a higher emphasis on how many quads they can shove in — or at least that’s how Rin used to work. Quads granted him the majority of the points, it’s something that he can take some pride in compared to his other juniors and seniors. 

For pairs, instead of focusing on jumps in the sequences, it’s lifts. There’s two types of lifts, overhead and twists, both are required in the programs. In general, overhead lifts rely on the movement of the person in the air, the control and execution of their rotations around the person carrying them. For twists, the most “exciting” part of the performance by judges’ words, requires an insane amount of coordination and strength since Rin has to propel you into the air by the waist.

Sae had the lovely idea to throw in three overhead lifts, just because he thinks Rin can handle it. Those evening practices at the rink, followed by early morning lifting sessions absolutely killed him, both physically and spiritually. Though, safe to say that he’s just about near his physical peak last year from all the training. 

You and Rin both waited patiently in the locker rooms for the first three pair performances, only leaving and heading by the outer rink when you guys queued next. Sae leans against the railing, the brace on his foot now gone and, instead of chunky sneakers, he’s opted back to his expensive loafers. Maybe that’s why he ran late, just in case paparazzi took snapshots of his entire outfit. Go figure.

“I think you guys will have no issue securing gold.” Sae’s voice comes through the haze of Rin’s thoughts, sounding distinctly unimpressed by the current line up. “Even if you guys fumble your lifts, I think the amount of it will carry enough points.”

Erupted cheers soon fill the air and all eyes turn to the rink as the pair’s performance ends. You soon recognize one of the skaters being the teenager from earlier and throw Rin a look. 

“We’re going to make sure that he doesn’t get a chance at winning until next year.” You announce, tone casual but eyes flickering something darker than what Rin’s used to.

Sae scoffs and leans against the railing, holding Rin’s Winnie the Pooh tissue box in his arms. “I’m assuming the locker room talk wasn’t all too friendly?”

“Maybe not your usual idea of friendly,” and Rin surges forward, taking your hands into his, when the pair in question struts by and casts both of you a nasty glare. Your grip around his bicep tightens and, while he didn’t care too much about beating a bunch of lukewarm competitors earlier, Rin’s fully certain that he wants nothing more than that gold medal and to clear both of your names from accusations right now. 

Piano sounds ring throughout the arena from the speakers, starting with a single word that you’ve both heard countless times during practice. The soft piano notes quickly turn into a somber melody, growing louder with every passing second. The music is beautiful. Haunting, even. Capturing the audience in a trance while Rin prepares you for your first lift.

It’s strange, he thinks. While he’s gotten used to handling you, this is different from every other time. During practices, you’re always carefree and cheerful but, out here, surrounded by cameras and opinions of others that don’t weigh a thing, you’re focused and extremely precise in your form. 

Rin thought he knew your routine. Clearly, he’s mistaken. 

You skate with conviction, confidence, and accuracy. He can understand why you were originally Sae’s skating partner. 

Once you’ve landed back on the ice, keeping up with Rin’s speed, the two of you follow the song’s beat with a smooth series of spins and jumps, each one rotating faster and faster until it feels like the mere audience is just a blurry backdrop in the foreground. 

The final lift jump transitions easily into a simple step sequence before finally ending in a death spiral. Rin has a firm grip on your hand as you begin flattening your body low enough, face barely grazing the ice below, as he pivots you around in lull circles. 

Judging from the sounds from the audience, Rin didn’t need to stay around to know the results of the performance. The roars, chants, and the standing ovation from them is enough to make out the outcome but, for your sake, he’ll stick it through.

You both glide through the last few seconds of the short program, focusing on nothing but the music and remaining movements. Finally, the music notes fade out and the two of you come to a rest in the middle of the rink, the final position has Rin tipping your body backwards with your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, as if you both were reaching for something just out of your grasp. 

Thunderous roars ring in his flushed ears and you’re shooting him a look, eyes glassy and lips parting, possibly saying some sort of praise, but Rin can’t seem to focus. He’s too lost in thought, too distracted by the tenderness of the performance, the flashing lights, the way your chest is heaving in rapid waves, and didn’t realize he had been holding in his breath until you pulled him into a tight embrace.

Everything is just about perfect. Every jump, lift, and spin. He can already imagine the gold medal around his neck, and the thought of winning gold at the Grand Prix only makes the rest of his blood course through his veins faster.

Being a professional athlete again is… exhausting. 

Rin spends the following day in back to back conferences and being introduced to people. Most of them end up being unremarkable and forgettable. A couple of them are rude and eccentric, with one guy in particular honing down Rin in a corner and bombarding him with questions both surrounding his performance last year and his personal life. You and Sae had to step in to diffuse the situation before Rin blew a hole in his career again. 

By the end of the night, Rin debates whether he should switch careers because this shit is absolutely not for him. It’s no surprise to anyone that Rin hates being around people and this night he’s probably escaped to the restroom maybe about five times to catch a breather. And, while Rin is not the type to exactly care about his image, he absolutely does a full body inspection in the full body mirror every time before he steps back out. Each time he revisits a new wrinkle line forms.

And his brother hasn’t told him when it’ll be over.

Rin’s hands twitch after another self-proclaimed journalist finishes up a half-ass interview about his latest goals for this year. He pulls out his phone when they suggest giving out their contact information and Rin just zones out, tapping away gibberish in his notes app and nodding until they finally went away. 

He feels like he’s going to vomit and pass out if this goes on any longer.

“You look like you’re about to freak out,” and of course, you have the decency to point that out as he’s made the fruit salad section his little hideaway spot. Turns out people really dislike any sort of fruit dishes at these fancy events. 

“I’m not,” Rin muffles back, mouth stuffed with various chunks of honeydew and grapes. Even if it is true, he’ll never admit it, but it also does suck that he's stupidly easy to read. “The food just sucks here, that’s all.” The fruit isn’t that bad. Maybe just the strawberries. 

“Whatever you say, partner,” you roll your eyes playfully, almost giggling at the nickname before taking a sip from the glass of champagne in your hands. “If you want, we can sneak out of here and explore the city.” It’s a suggestion but, from the way you’re smiling, Rin picks up that he can’t wiggle his way out of it. 

But he tries anyway.

“Do you even know your way around?” He sounds vaguely concerned. 

Sure, it’s been approximately two months since you’ve crashed and turned his life a complete 180, but you’re still new to the area and very much new to the country. Rin’s heard you picked up basic phrases from his brother to get around but it’s still nearly not enough to go and explore, especially late at night. And, rightfully so, he doesn’t plan on babysitting while you waltz around half tipsy off your mind after winning first place.

You fake a wound over your chest and gasp, hiccuping soon after. “I have maps on my phone! I already pinned and favorited a bunch of cute stores we can check out.”

Rin doesn’t know why you even bother throwing him into the equation considering it’ll clearly be stores you’ll like. 

“And where exactly do you think you’re going?” Sae’s sauntering over, a half empty glass of wine in hand, and his movement is a little sluggish, but he’s probably the only few sobered up person in the room aside from Rin. 

“Out,” you reply with a casual shrug, as if Sae’s supposed to be satisfied with the answer. 

“Out...” Sae echos before flickering his sudden sharp gaze over to Rin. He feels himself straightening up before he realizes. “You guys still have to make your statements to the press, you know that, right?”

“Can’t we do it after we get back?” You quickly dismiss Sae’s annoyed scrunch with a quick waft of a hand. 

Rin really doesn’t want to stand in front of a bunch of drunken and overly zealous journalists right now if he doesn’t have to. The idea of visiting a few late night street vendors might just be his highlight for today. 

“Hey,” Sae’s agitated voice snaps him out of his daze. “Are you seriously going out?” 

Instead of providing his brother a proper answer, Rin takes a hold of your hands and throws his jacket over your bare shoulders. You were complaining earlier about losing yours, and the last thing he wants is a drunk and cold skating partner in the middle of the streets of Nagano.

2024 — NAGANO: JAPAN FIGURE SKATING CHAMPIONSHIPS

Posted 16 hours ago 278,293 views

Comments 543

[niCOnii] - 10 hours ago All these rin haters from earlier can eat my socks because i knew he would comeback!!! his partner ain’t half bad either tbh View 30 replies [klnen2003] - 9 hours ago GO TO THE VIDEO AT 4:45 and see how Rin looks at Y/N!!! There’s definitely something there, right??? View 12 replies [YOICHISAGI OFFICIAL] - 9 hours ago Can’t wait to see Rin Itoshi and Y/N L/N compete at the Grand Prix this year!! Let’s catch up sometime! View 154 replies [jiroMark8734] - 8 hours ago I dunno… isn’t it weird how they swept everyone else tho? Can’t tell me that they’re both not taking anything lmao [my_skates_my_life] - 7 hours ago Congrats to everyone for winning!! And thank you so much for posting this. LOVE FROM ARGENTINA!! [merhaba234] - 7 hours ago Rin’s always doing the same level type program both in technique and artistic. It’s refreshing to see something new!

TAGLIST - OPEN

@anurst @blissblossom @genneii @wooasecret @chaosinanutshell @kaiserkisser @rroxii @takotakigum @jaynawayna @peachesncats @sseishiross @izumi-astra-123 @sereniteav @pokkomi

a/n: im crawling on the ground,,, if anyone knows me: i love making rin suffer but please know its in a loving way. is his brother hotter? yeah. but does his brother have a sad backstory? yeah probably. either way, i love working w men with sibling complexes and his whole design basically oozes with melodrama. rin!!! you are gonna be in it for a surprise next chapter!! also apologies for the late update everyone hehe i dont have a set schedule for everything ;-; and my mind runs either at 500 miles an hour or 0 miles. as of late, life has gotten in the way of things and maybe i do need to stick with some sort of plan to make myself ... less stressed when creating content :> anyways, i love you guys!!

[starry-bi-sky]

Ugh im writing this on mobile but i’ve been thinking about it nonstop for an hour and I’m just- mmmmm thinking about Clone Danny and his wardrobe choice as Phantom. Cuz like, he doesn’t have any powers, right? He has no built-in secret identity and suit that he can change into in a flash of blinding circular light. If a ghost shows up he’s just got what he’s got on, and whatever he has in his bag.

And I’m just. I have a lot of thoughts about him and his canon self, thoughts that i dont think i can all fit on my phone and im. Thinking about the dichotomy between him and his canon counterpart. From an in-universe perspective, the halfa Danny Phantom looks remarkably human-like. Especially compared to the ghosts he fights, all of whom are unnatural colors, shapes, and sizes. From flaming hair to glowing eyes and pointed claws, there’s nothing about them that doesn’t scream “ghost!” “Inhuman!” “Unnatural!”

And then you look at Danny Phantom, the ghost boy fighting them. And he just… looks like a glowing human boy. The only unnatural thing about him is his white hair and green eyes - and green eyes is a natural human color. Maybe not the shade it’s in, but it occurs in human genetics. He’s about as close to human as he can get.

Think about that from an in-universe perspective, and then think about it with the idea that ghosts take pride in their ‘ghostly’ look. They pride themselves on looking scary; unnatural; inhuman. It’s a showcase of being unique, of their own individuality, of their interests and wants. Looking ‘scary’ is part of ghost culture, and if not scary, then unique and ‘inhuman’. They don’t want to fit in, they want to stand out.

And you look at Danny Phantom, as his canon self without any of the fanon customizations, and he’s none of that. He’s about as human-looking as a ghost can get. He’s got human-like skin, hell he’s even tanner than he is as a human! His hair is normal, his eyes are green but normal, his hands? Soft and round, not a claw in sight, and his teeth are blunt and ears are round.

His suit is all black, it doesn’t even tell you anything about him other than he probably died in a lab accident, and he looks like he’s straight out of a b-rate comic book. There’s no story to tell about him, he’s a book with the pages all blacked out in ink.

His name, if you take it as him only calling himself “Phantom” isn’t even all that unique. It’s a generic ghost term that you can find by googling ‘ghost’ and looking at its synonyms.

And then look at his behavior: yeah he fights ghosts, and fighting is all about ghost behavior. Its one of their social activities- but its clear from Phantom that he’s not being social. He’s being aggressive, he’s doing it for the sake of the living (which while fair, doesn’t make him look good in the context of everything else). Then he comes into the ghost zone, he doesn’t do much to integrate himself into the culture, and yeah he makes allies but it still doesn’t feel enough. He’s not participating in anything, he’s alienating himself.

All in all, Phantom looks like a ghost trying to pretend he’s human, that he’s still alive. And for a ghost culture that prides itself on not being alive? It’s insulting.

And then let’s circle back around to that human thing, but from a different angle. Probably one that’s more mindset than outside looking in. But Danny’s alienated by the rest of the town for ages despite helping them. And while him looking human likely has to do with his own mindset of viewing himself as “living, but with ghost powers” and thus reflects back as a ghost, it also makes it look like he’s trying to fit in with the humans.

“I am not a ghost” he says, with his human skin and blunt teeth. “I am human like you, see? See? I look like you.”

He’s making himself look approachable, friendly. ‘You can trust me, I’m not a ghost. I’m not like them. I’m not scary. I look just like you. I’m different.’ He looks about as harmless as a human child could be. He’s trying to be relatable. And in turn he’s giving his fellow ghosts a cold shoulder - i’m not like you, i’m better. I’m different. I’m not ghost. I may be dead, but I’m no ghost.

Danny is trying to tie his ghost self in with the living as much as possible - he wants them to think he’s almost human. The same way he wants to think that himself. He’s distancing himself from his ghost half and the ghostly qualities the others have. Whether intentional or not, he’s doing it.

He shows his face and goes ‘see? See? I’m just like you.’

And then lets look at clone Danny, mister not-a-halfa. Who doesn’t have his canon offensive capabilities, who only has his ghost sense and the ability to hit ghosts without gear, his scary eyes and pointed ears, and the ability to see weaker ghosts not visible to the mortal eye.

He has no ghost form, no powers. And yet the first time he goes out as Phantom, he wears a mask that looks like a skull. Instead of distancing himself from ghosts, he’s distancing himself from humans. And at first it stems from the need to be unrecognizable, the last thing he wants is for his parents to find out that he’s ghost hunting. To do that, he needs to hide his face. That’s the first step.

The next step is to act in such a way that people couldn’t possibly tie him back to Danny Fenton. He’s not distancing himself from ghosts, he’s distancing himself from humans. To do that, he acts inhuman. He wears his mask and wears baggy, shapeless clothes - his hoodie and his pants - and he learns how to act unsettling. His eyes glow green, unnatural and shining through his sunken-in, skull-like mask. But it’s not enough on its own. He must do more.

He wants to be the thing someone sees at night and turns the other way. See me and run, he says, crouched on all fours and crawling across a beam like a monster you see in a movie. Twisting his body in unnatural, fluid ways, like he’s not quite sure how having only four limbs work.

Run. He says, dead green eyes glowing through his mask, piercing through black night from the rooftop. I am wild thing. Come no closer, look no closer. I am not like you. I am not your friend. I bite. Run.

You cannot see my face. This is my face, I am not alive. I am not like you. I am an animal about to pounce.

He doesn’t want people to think he’s human, he doesn’t want them to think he’s anywhere close to it. Anything to prevent his parents from figuring out its him.

And the thing is, he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t have to appear ghost-like or inhuman to keep his identity safe, wearing a mask and wearing unidentifiable clothes is enough. But he’s choosing to act ghost-like; unsettling; scary.

And in doing so, he unintentionally participates in ghost culture. And while his clothes are not anything unique, or outstanding, his mask is. His clothes don’t tell anything about him, but that’s okay.

Imagine meeting this boy from a ghost perspective. This annoying, fleshy human boy who jumps into fights to stop you and catch you. You’ve heard stories of human ghost hunters, you know there are hunters on the other side. You have heard the horror stories, you have seen the scars.

And then this boy catches you. This human, fleshy boy who yells quips at you, who puns and insults you, who wears an unsettling mask and acts ghosty. He catches you, and you think you will be the next one on the chopping board.

And then you end up in the ghost zone, untouched. Unharmed. And you tell someone about it. You were caught and released by a human child who feels touched by death. And then you hear that the ones who’d been caught were freed by a fleshy human boy who was touched by death, and a boy who they call “Phantom”.

And, isn’t that the name of the child you fought?

And he talks to you, but then he’s in the daytime. There are living around. He doesn’t speak to them - he ignores them outright. He keeps his distance, he stays away. If he talks, it’s with his hands. They will not hear his voice.

I may be alive but I am no human.

And its just — ????? So good to think about. I’ll reblog later with more thoughts when I have my laptop, but god i just needed to get that out there.