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wttcsms · 6 months

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angels like you can't fly down here with me (i'm everything they say i would be), megumi fushiguro ;

pairing megumi fushiguro x f!reader word count 11k synopsis people like him don't get happy endings but megumi fushiguro (foolishly) considers himself to be the exception — after all, he has you. content contains yakuza au, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, breeding kink, slight daddy kink, attempted sa, minor violence & depictions of blood author's note if ur on my ao3, you know this is from 2021!!! my writing has changed up since then, but i'm going to be releasing a revised version of this which will be rewritten and feature more scenes, more worldbuilding, more plot, relationship and character development, etc!! i figured releasing this on tumblr would help me gauge how worthwhile revision of this fic will be, so lmk if u like this au & want to see it become even better <3

Don’t do it.

He repeats the command inside his head again, and then one more time for good measure. (And then another time, just to drive the point across.)

He won’t — can’t; isn’t really allowed to — get into (another!) fight.

(Well, there’s a part of Megumi that knows that despite Gojo’s sing-songy warning of “now, now, Megumi, I don’t need a frequent visitor’s card for the principal’s office”, he doesn’t actually care. All he’s really concerned about — if the mild interest the reckless teenager turned legal guardian shows can even be called that — is whether or not Megumi wins.

And he does.

Every. Single. Time.)

For the most part, Megumi Fushiguro is fairly stoic in general, but to a concerning degree when one accounts for the fact that he’s only ten years old. For the odd three or so years he’s been under Gojo’s wing, Megumi’s mask of disinterest stopped becoming a mask and started becoming a part of him.

(Try as he might, Gojo’s not nearly as funny as he thinks he is. Maybe the connection between them might have been stronger if Gojo was a bit more responsible and if he was actually present, but he’s got his own shit to deal with. Besides, Gojo’s under the impression that what he’s doing isn’t cruel, but rather a means to an end. Megumi’s never going to be able to get stronger if he doesn’t learn how to survive on his own.

After all, being alone and having to fight to survive is the life people like them live.)

The older preteens in the area have a bad habit of picking on the younger students. Because the elementary and middle schools are so close together, the younger students who have the misfortune of walking alone tend to be targets for bullies in need of pocket change or a good laugh. Most of the time, they get both.

As of late, everyone’s favorite target happens to be Megumi Fushiguro, the boy with the messy black hair and indifferent attitude, even when confronted by boys two years his senior and almost a whole entire head taller than him.

Last week, Megumi gave the three older boys dumb enough to harass him for money bloody noses, bruised egos, and a thirst for revenge. That was the first (and supposed to be the last) time he got into a fight (for this school year, at least — something Gojo had told him, while winking). So, even when the trio is back together again, taunting him and trying to get him to take the first swing, Megumi keeps walking forward with his perpetual look of disinterest, those cold blue eyes of his staring straight at the path ahead of him, never paying any mind to the gangly bodies of the middle school boys who keep trying to block him from moving.

Don’t do it.

He tells himself this once more. You don’t want to have to inconvenience Gojo. Then, you’ll be stuck listening to him pretend to lecture you. You don’t like spending too much time with Gojo. He’ll make weird jokes.

The thought of having to deal with Gojo’s presence is enough to get Megumi to unclench his fists.

“Move.”

It’s the first thing he says to the group since they started following him after school. He tells the boy with the brown hair this. The brunet seems to be their ringleader of sorts, and even as nothing more than a ten year old child, Megumi knows that being twelve/thirteen and harassing little kids for sport is a sign of patheticness that will only grow and fester into something darker unless someone beats some sense into them. Obviously, they didn’t learn their lesson from last week.

“Huh? What the hell did ya just say, ya little brat?” The brown haired boy sneers, looking down at Megumi.

School has just let out, so there are dozens of kids of all ages walking down the sidewalk. They’re all aware of the situation happening, but everyone chooses to turn a blind eye to it. Partly because this is such a common occurrence that it just starts to become something that blends into the scenery, but also because there are some rumors surrounding the Fushiguro kid that’s enough to make anyone with a heart of gold reluctant to come to his rescue.

The main rumor circulating around the school is that Megumi Fushiguro has ties to the yakuza. Granted, most kids his age have no idea what the yakuza is, and even those who somewhat know only know through exaggerated definitions from their older siblings. Generally, everyone just accepts the fact that the yakuza is bad, and by default, Megumi Fushiguro must be bad too. Older siblings tell their younger siblings to avoid “that boy” at all costs, unless they want to end up with a finger cut off. Megumi’s classmates huddle together and conveniently choose to look everywhere else but at him when on the playground.

For anyone else, this might have been enough to cause some hurt feelings. Everyone thinks the boy must be some type of stupid to be so oblivious to the rumors centered around him, but the truth is this: Megumi is well aware of what people whisper about behind his back; he just doesn’t care enough to prove them wrong.

And they’re not wrong, anyway.

(For some parts of the rumors, at least.)

Because it’s true — Megumi does have ties to the yakuza. His father, who he can’t seem to attach neither a name nor a face to, must have done something bad. Something bad enough to have him cross paths with Satoru Gojo, the young head of the Gojo Clan, one of Tokyo’s most prominent crime families. It’s the same Gojo who decided to adopt both Megumi and his stepsister, Tsumiki, despite having nothing (so far) to gain from it. After all, why would a teenager willingly assign himself the responsibilities of caring for small children — one who resembles the man that tried to kill him and the other being an ill little girl confined to a hospital bed for who knows how long. All Gojo gets from this deal is a headache, bills, and more problems than necessary.

Megumi’s not really sure how the rumors started in the first place. He thinks it’s because kids his age are easily influenced and have a tendency to run wild with their imaginations. With the rising popularity of gangs from the high school students, this interest seems to have trickled all the way down to the elementary levels. Megumi certainly fits the description of their idea of someone from the yakuza: silent, secretive, scary.

(If they were a little bit older, maybe they would have just seen him as an introvert.)

No matter how ridiculous the rumors get, though, it doesn’t change the fact that the root of them is true: he is connected to the yakuza. After all, he’s being primed and prepped to be someone of value in the clan. Once you’re tied with the likes of them, you might as well just resign to the knot fate’s trapped you with. He’s learned quickly that the only thing harder than getting into the yakuza is getting out.

And because his sister’s and his life both depend on him doing as he’s told, getting out is a funny pipe dream at best and the Fushiguro siblings’ cause of death at worst.

“I told you to move. You’re blocking my way.” Megumi’s tone of voice betrays nothing. Annoyance, maybe, but he speaks flatly regardless of how he’s truly feeling. Gojo says it’s kinda creepy. Gojo also says that being a little creepy isn’t bad.

(Gojo should know; he’s a certified creep in Megumi’s eyes.)

“Oh — so the little boy can speak up.” The boy with blond hair laughs. It’s a nasally sound that grates Megumi’s ears.

He’s not an idiot. Megumi is well aware of the fact that no matter how much he feels like it isn’t true, he’s still just a little ten year old boy. He should be playing with the toy cars Gojo bought him, not worrying about the gritty future that lies ahead. But still, the phrase rubs him the wrong way.

Little boy.

He wasn’t so little when he kicked them down to his height before properly bashing their faces, now was he? Even now, he can feel the anger coming up. He clenches his fists, wondering if he’ll get suspended for fighting right next to school property.

“Leave him alone.”

Another voice appears, but not from any of the boys. No — this time, it’s coming from a little girl on the sidewalk across from theirs. Everyone involved turns to stare at the source of such a command and are greeted with the sight of you with a Hello Kitty backpack. You’ve got a frown on your face that doesn’t match the brightness of your pink outfit.

Megumi recognizes you instantly. You’re in the same class as him. You were in the same class as him last year, too. He tilts his head, trying to figure out what exactly it is you’re trying to accomplish here — and why.

He knows his social standing in the school. If he’s at the bottom, you’re right at the top. A beaming pillar of light, everyone flocks to you like moths after a flame. But you’re alone today, not surrounded by the usual crowd of boys and girls who are often vying for your attention. Seeing you alone enables him to see you more clearly, without all the distractions getting in his way.

You’re small. Shorter than him, and way shorter than the middle school boys. You’ve got a bow in your hair and brand new shoes on your feet. If anybody should be socially aware, it has to be you. Those at the top, Megumi knows, like to remind everyone of their placement. You shouldn’t be here. You should be ignoring him like he’s got the plague, just like everyone else.

All three of the boys start to laugh after sizing you up. The laughter only serves to make you even more irritated, but you can’t speak because one of them is already talking through his laughs.

“Don’t tell me. Is this your girlfriend?”

The group erupts into more laughter, and while Megumi’s expression remains the same as it’s been for the past few minutes, yours only shows your growing contempt.

“She’s no one.” Megumi throws you an odd look, one of neither annoyance nor gratitude for trying to help him out. He uses your presence as a distraction, and he manages to take a few more steps before one of the boys is yanking him back by his bookbag.

“Grab her.” One of the boys says, and the third boy, the one with the messy red hair, starts to cross the street.

Megumi watches as you stay right where you are. Are you stupid? Why won’t you run? The boy still has a solid grip on his bookbag, keeping him in place. He wonders if it’ll be a waste of his breath if he tells you to start running — you probably wouldn’t listen to him anyway.

But then Megumi figures out why you don’t look too frightened, because not even a second before the older boy manages to cross the street to your side of the sidewalk, a man in a suit is running towards you, a scowl on his face.

“You said you were going to the restroom, young lady!” The man scolds you while panting for breath. He surveys the scene, looking at you, and then the middle school boy by your side before turning his head and seeing Megumi in between the other two boys. “What’s going on? Is everything alright? Did they do anything to you?”

“No, Mr. Higashi. B-but—“ Your bottom lip starts to tremble, and even though Higashi is certain that the tears about to fall are fake, the situation itself looks serious enough to the point where he doesn’t call you out on it. “Th-these boys are being really mean.” You let out a high pitched wail that makes the boy let go of Megumi’s bookbag. “They just threatened to attack me and my friend out of nowhere.”

“Your father will be informed.” Higashi frowns, eyeing the guilty boys who look confused and a little shocked at this turn of events. “Mr. [Surname] certainly won’t be pleased to hear about this.”

The middle school boys pale when they hear the man name drop your family’s surname.

After all, it’s the same last name that’s engraved on plaques all over the school, thanking your family for the many donations they’ve received.

You enter into Megumi’s life that way: unexpectedly. He never thanked you for intervening, but it’s not like you did it for the thanks anyway. You did it, you tell him, because you figured he needed some help.

“I had it handled.” He tells you flatly. “Why are you even sitting here? Your friends keep staring at us.”

It’s true. Stories of what happened are already circulating around both schools, and while all your friends spent the whole entire day pestering you for the full story, you chose to keep quiet about the situation. And now, here you are, choosing to sit and eat lunch with Megumi, someone who also knows the true story of what went down but the only one people aren't brave enough to ask.

Your whole entire table of friends keep their heads huddled together as they go back and forth with each other, every one of them sparing glances at Megumi’s table. It makes the rice in his mouth taste stale. He should have just stayed in the classroom to eat, especially if he knew you would be bothering him.

“Gee, is that any way to treat a friend?” You huff, not at all actually annoyed with him.

“We’re not friends.”

“Too late. I told my dad we were.”

There has been one question on his mind ever since that incident. Just who exactly is your father? He’s not stupid; he knows that you must come from a wealthy family. If the buildings and auditorium named after your family isn’t enough proof, the fact that you always have the latest toys, the nicest shoes, the cutest stationery sets — that’s material proof of a spoiled princess.

You continue speaking, and as if you can read his mind, you’re already answering his question. “My daddy’s called a CEO. But the man you saw is Mr. Higashi. He takes care of me when dad’s away at work, and everything I do gets typed up in a report that dad sees every day. He wasn’t happy about what happened, so he says the boys will get in trouble. He told us not to worry, though.” You have a pleased smile on your face, waiting for Megumi to say something in reply.

“Okay.” He says, after a while. He only spoke because it seemed like you were waiting for him to. “It doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“What’s so wrong about being friends with me?” You tilt your head. Everyone wants to be friends with you. And that’s before they even figure out that you live in a real life mansion with actual servants, and that sometimes you’re allowed to eat dessert for dinner. Even without the wealth, you still draw people in, whether it be with your bright smile or cheery attitude.

“Don’t you already have enough friends?” He can’t figure out what you could possibly want with him. Even though Gojo’s got the backing of the clan and enough funds to run the Tokyo underground with cash to spare, it’s not like Megumi is in a position to take advantage of it. Gojo hands him a thick wad of cash every week with a tip to “spend wisely, hehehehe”, and Megumi takes the tip to heart. A majority of the money sits saved in his bedroom, underneath a floorboard he spent a week trying to figure out how to loosen without anyone catching on. (Which was actually easy whenever he realized that nobody seems to really watch him to begin with.) So, he doesn’t look like he has money, and isn’t that what all rich kids want? To surround themselves with equally rich kids?

“I guess.” Your bubbly mood seems to dampen a bit at the mention of the other kids. They like you, sure. But they like each other a lot more. The gap between you and the other kids isn’t noticeable at first, but the novelty of having an endless supply of company has lost its luster. Meanwhile, the glamor of your life only keeps the hoards of “friends” to grow as the days go by. It’s always “let’s have a sleepover at [Names]’s!” or “[Name], we have to go to your house because you have the best toys!”. You wonder if they like you, or the shiny things that they get when they’re with you. “But, it’s not like youhave any friends.”

“I don’t need any.” The response is quick — instinctual. Gojo, even if not the greatest guardian by any parental standards, still presses Megumi to have a proper (or, as proper as it can be) childhood.

(“You know, I don’t care if you bring any friends over. Just make sure no one ends up accidentally getting shot, okay, Megumi?”

Yeah, because that’s definitely gonna push him towards throwing as many parties as he wants.)

People in his position don’t have many friends. It’s hard to, he assumes, because of all the killings and betrayals and power plays.

(And, he’ll soon learn that it hurts a lot less to lose an enemy than it does a friend.)

“Hmm. Okay.”

But you don’t get up from your seat, and he doesn’t tell you to move.

The next day, you’re carrying two bento boxes. The lunches are prepared for you by world class chefs and everything is done in a rather cutesy manner to entice you into not wasting your food. The fruit is cut into pretty shapes, the food has picks with animals on them, and everything is colorful and to your own personal tastes.

You take a seat next to him once again. He looks up for a second, sees that it’s you, and returns back to his meal that looks pitiful in comparison. Leftover rice and some cold meat. You think it’s the same thing he had last time.

“For you.” You slide the second bento you had requested towards him before opening up your own.

“What’s this for?”

“For you to eat, silly.”

“...How much?”

“Huh? All of it, I guess? If you don’t like something, tell me, and I’ll request something different tomorrow.” You don’t quite understand what he’s asking you.

“No. How much does it cost? I'll bring you the money tomorrow.”

“Why would it cost you?” Now you’re really confused.

Didn’t anyone ever teach you that everything comes attached with a price? If it’s not money you want, it must be something else. At least, if Megumi’s judgments are right. (And they usually are.)

“Fushiguro, I brought you this because I want you to eat well and grow strong.”

He wonders what rice shaped like Hello Kitty has to do with his strength.

“Also, so the next time people give you or me trouble, you can fight them, okay?”

Oh. So it’s protection you want. He contemplates what he thinks your request is before popping a piece of food into his mouth. A meal made with care — he can taste the thought that’s been put into it. Shoving his old lunch to the side, he quickly starts eating at the one you brought him.

Okay. So maybe he does accept your offer.

“Meguuuumi.” You whine out his name, messing up the navy sheets of his bed while he sits at his desk, trying to finish his application for university. “I’m bored.”

“Good. Go to your own house then, and leave me alone.”

“You’re so mean to me.” You sigh, turning your head so that half of your face is pressed against his pillow. The scent of his shampoo still sticks to the fabric, and you subconsciously inhale the scent some more. It’s familiar and reminds you of him, your favorite person in the world.

No one believes you when you tell them that Megumi is your best friend. No one wants to believe that it’s true. After all, the two of you look more like a shoujo manga trope than an actual pair of best friends. The cold, inexpressive dark haired male lead with a secretive past he doesn’t want anyone to know about and the bright, bubbly, ball of energy that is constantly clinging to his side. It’s like looking at night and day with you two.

“And yet, you’re still always here.”

You’re still by his side, even when the two of you reached middle school and high school together, and he spent a majority of his time starting (and finishing) fights.

(“Get off of him!” You screamed, yanking on the collar of one of the boys who happened to be trying to grab Megumi from behind. You don’t have the same amount of strength as them, but everyone at this point knows who you are and who exactly your father is. No matter what the origin of the fight is won’t matter; all that matters is that the precious daughter of one of Tokyo’s richest CEOs got caught in it, and that’s enough to get everyone involved into some deep shit.

Immediately, the boy scampers off, and the other boy Megumi was punching into the squeaky clean floors of the hallway begins to thrash around wildly, eyes wide at the sudden sight of you. Seeing you coming from behind Megumi is like watching the sun peek through a dozen storm clouds.

Megumi gives him one last punch, not nearly as satisfied as he thought he would be. Honestly, getting into fights with low level delinquents is beneath him. It’s not just his knuckles and clothes that are getting dirty; by feeding into the school’s image that he’s this young, violent yakuza heir, he’s dirtying the prestige Gojo claims is oh so important.

“Megumi.” He straightens up at the sound of your voice, which usually sounds so sweet, especially when it’s directed towards him. Instead, you have an uncharacteristic frown on your face and you sound… mad. “Let’s go.”

You’ve got a hand wrapped around his wrist, and people part when they spot the two of you making a hasty exit. The teachers aren’t bold enough to cause a scene with you, and the students know both you and Megumi are practically untouchable — one being the spoiled brat daughter of a rich and powerful businessman, the other, a ticking time bomb with ties to the yakuza.

You don’t stop walking until the two of you are in a secluded courtyard at the school. No one goes here, mainly because it’s in such an inconvenient location and there’s nothing but trees and weeds over growing it. The two of you found it within your first week of being here, and ever since then, it’s become your designated spot to avoid prying eyes.

“I thought you were over stupid fights. You told me yourself that they weren’t the type of people worth beating up.” You scold him, forcing him to take a seat on the bench that creaks under his weight. You make a noise as you inspect the drying blood on his knuckles.

If an outsider were to look at the scene before them, they would gape at the unbecoming sight of you on your knees, in between his legs, too close for a duo who claims to be “just good friends”. But there’s nothing inherently dirty in your thoughts. Instead, you’re staring thoughtfully at his hands, inspecting the minor damage done to them.

Megumi swallows hard as he looks down on you. He shouldn’t be feeling like this — you’re his best friend, his only friend. The only person who’s by his side. If you could read in his mind, there’s no doubt that you would be recoiling away from him in disgust…)

You’re still by his side, even when he told you the truth about himself after waiting years to see if you were truly his friend or not.

(“The rumors—” He starts to say, but you shush him, rolling over on your side to face him. The two of you are lying on the grass in your massive backyard, trying to spot a shooting star that’s supposed to be passing by at any second now.

“I don’t care about that.” You tell him. Middle school was a bitch to deal with, mainly because as everyone was in the process of growing up and “maturing”, so did the rumors they spread. Now, the two of you are halfway through your first week of high school. A new school, a couple of new classmates, and new rumors surrounding the odd pair.

“If I told you the rumors about me being someone you should avoid were true, would you be mad?” He’s lying on his back, still staring up at the night sky. He’s not turning to face you, almost as if he’s scared to look at you.

“Yes.” You answer without any hesitation. “At the person who’s spreading that around.” You clarify, poking him on his side to lighten the somber mood he’s setting. “You’re the only real friend I’ve had in forever, Megumi. I don’t think what anyone says about you would change that.”

“What if I did something bad?” Like kill a person. What then? What would you think of him if he told you the full truth: that Gojo told him that he can’t shield Megumi from the dirtier aspects of this type of life. That he’s spent hours after school, hours after hanging out with you and pretending to be a normal teenager, learning how to assemble, disassemble, and then reassemble a gun. That his target practice isn’t glass bottles lined up in a row or sheets printed out with human bodies. What happens if he told you that his target practice was low level scum from rival yakuza clans that Gojo couldn’t be bothered to kill himself?

“Mmm. How bad are we talking? Like, lied to me when you said my Christmas outfit looked good but half my ass was practically exposed bad or committing a felony bad?”

“What if I told you… that I really was a yakuza heir.”

The silence is palpable and especially soul crushing to Megumi as he waits for your reply.

“It wouldn’t matter to me, Megumi.” You say. You know that this isn’t just some type of hypothetical question he’s asking for fun. From his odd living situation to the intense nature of him in general to the fact that he knows practically everything about you, but you barely know the full extent of his childhood traumas despite growing up alongside him, you know deep in your heart that there has to be something going on with him. Something dark enough to harbor stories about him.

“Are you sure about that?”

You reach for his hand in the dark, finding it without really needing to look. He’s not one that’s prone to initiating physical contact, but you found out that he doesn’t really mind when you reach for him first.

“You can’t get rid of me, no matter how crazy or fucked up you think your life is.” You squeeze his hand, still staring at him.

You don’t notice the shooting star flying past the night sky, but Megumi is looking right at it. He knows what he’s wishing for.

For your words to be true.)

You’re still by his side, even when he brought you to his sister’s bedside. She’s sick, afflicted with something no one knows, not even the private doctors that Gojo’s spent millions on. She was still conscious, albeit confined to her bed when the two of you first met, but she’s been in a coma ever since the last year of middle school. You were by his side as he broke down about the news. It was the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

So, no matter how much it may seem like he’s pushing you away, you don’t budge. For someone smaller than him and definitely weaker, you’re awfully resilient. And while people make the occasional joke, telling you to “blink twice if you need help”, you don’t pay any attention to them. If only they knew the truth: that you’ve got Megumi Fushiguro, heir to a massive yakuza clan, wrapped around your dainty finger.

He’s so whipped that he found himself asking Gojo for a rare favor.

(“College?” Gojo rubs the back of his neck, staring at Megumi. “I mean, I guess it’ll be good for you. Meet a wild party girl, take her to your dorm room, tame her—”

“An education is the whole point of attending, you know.” Megumi interrupts him before Gojo can jump into a story highlighting all of his sexual endeavors with college girls back in the day.

“Eh. I guess.” But then a grin lights up the feature of the man who [kind of/by definition] raised him. “But y’know what I know for a fact.” He wiggles his eyebrows, his glasses slipping down his nose as he tilts his head downwards. “You wanna follow [Name].”)

It doesn’t really matter if he’s not good enough to get into the university you’ve already received an early acceptance for. Because Gojo tries to make up for being an absent father figure, he fills in those empty spaces with cold, hard cash. All it takes is one nice donation, and Megumi’s wherever he wants to be.

Where he wants to be, he realizes, is to be by your side. Wherever you go, he’ll gladly follow. Funnily enough, despite the two vastly different backgrounds the both of you come from, you both have similar means of getting what you want.

Your father had already looked over the list of universities you had in mind, and all you could do was excitedly squeal and start rambling the moment the acceptance letters came in the mail. Despite the fact that your father’s physically absent from your life most of the time, he still tries to show he cares in the things he does for you. If paying off over half a dozen major universities in order to make you happy is something he has to do, he’ll do it without batting an eye.

It’s the same thing on Megumi’s end. Granted, Gojo’s means are more along the lines of using money as a lubricant and then death as an inevitable. Money talks, a gunshot to the head silences. Nobody can accuse anyone of taking bribes if said accused person is in a grave six feet under.

Sometimes, Megumi wonders how you’re just so oblivious to the fortunate circumstances in your life. You chalk up a lot of your father’s wishes as just “good luck”. In school, you’re placed on a pedestal, revered as some goddess-like, otherworldly being. People are practically tripping over themselves, running towards you for a crumb of your attention. Anyone sane would gladly wield this power and use it for all its worth. Not you, though. Not you, who’s kind and considerate and completely clean from the corruptness that plagues everyone else.

Megumi knows good and well that he’s not a hero — couldn’t be farther from it, if he’s being honest. He doesn’t feel a moral obligation to go out and rid the world of all evil. (It’d be hypocritical, he thinks, considering the fact that he’s most likely belonging under the evil category himself.) From a young age, he’s already known and come to terms with his fate. He’s going to train and learn from the best, and eventually, he will succeed as head of the clan. That is his purpose. That right there is the reason why he’s still alive today. That is why he can find himself sitting at his desk, submitting an application that’s already guaranteed to be followed up with an acceptance letter, ready to pretend for four more years that he’s normal.

“D’you think college will be fun?” You ask him, making yourself comfortable in his bed.

“No.”

You laugh at that. You like Megumi for a lot of reasons, and his honesty is one of them. Despite the fact that he likes to keep most of the darker details of his life to himself, you know that he would never lie to you. In a world full of people who are constantly lying, it gets tiring trying to figure out who’s real and who’s fake. It doesn’t help that you want to believe in everyone either. If you didn’t have Megumi loyally staying by your side all this time, you doubt you would have made it this far in your life without anyone taking advantage of you and your kindness.

“My dad said I can finally get a boyfriend when I go to college.” You say this fact so casually that Megumi almost — almost — gets fooled into believing that this is not a cause for concern. Almost.

“Oh.” He’s at a loss for words. He knows that it’s inevitable; that one day, you’ll find a guy you like and want to get closer to him. He knows that you’re not always going to be by his side, and he knows that it’s going to happen because he’ll have to push you away eventually. The older he gets, the deeper he’s burying himself into his grave. He doesn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.

It’s not like boys have never tried approaching you before. People have spent years thinking that you and Megumi were a couple, and then after finding out from you that the two of you are nothing more than “best friends”, boys were still hesitant to talk to you. The glare Megumi would give them from behind your shoulder acted as a strong enough deterrent.

“I know. Now the only problem is finding a guy who’ll actually wanna date me.”

“They all will.” The words leave his mouth faster than he can even think about them. He’s not wrong, though. Every time the two of you are out in public together, he sees people shooting quick glances at you, at your ass, at your bright smile. The looks they give are predatory, dangerous, even. If it’s not your looks, it’s your shining personality that draws them all in. And if that’s not good enough, there’s always the enormous wealth attached to your last name. That’s the key to getting them to stay.

“You can be so sweet sometimes, you know that?” You giggle, glad that he’s still typing away on his laptop. If he were to look at you right now, he would see that you’re reacting way too positively to such a lackluster compliment. It’s not like he listed reasons on why anyone would ever want to date you, so he probably could just be complimenting you to make you happy.

(That’s just the excuse you’re going with. You know your best friend — that means you know that he would never say something he doesn’t truly think or believe.)

There’s a secret you’ve been keeping from him. A secret so big that you think you might’ve been keeping it from yourself, too. Something so big that your body simply can’t contain it any longer.

You like Megumi.

Of course you do. You keep telling the whole world what great friends the two of you are. You talk to him about your dad all the time (which must mean he’s important, because you rarely get to speak to your dad, so you have to choose your topics of conversation wiseley). You trust him more than you trust yourself. Ever since middle school, you’ve been telling yourself that you liking Megumi isn’t anything to be ashamed or confused about. You like him because he’s your friend, and you’re supposed to like your friends.

And then you came to terms with the fact that you like Megumi beyond the borders of friendship.

It starts with you seeing him the way other girls must see him. You’re not blind, you know. It’s obvious that Megumi is far from ugly. If he wasn’t so intimidating, you’re sure he would have had his fair share of confessions, too. Megumi’s pretty, although calling him a pretty boy wouldn’t do his character justice. He’s got lashes people pay extensions for theirs to look like, and the prettiest dark blue eyes you’ve ever seen, and his hair, which he doesn’t put forth any type of effort in, always looks good whereas the same hairstyle would look messy on anyone else.

It’s not just his looks, though. Even if you look like the type of person who would judge others based on such shallow standards, you didn’t approach Megumi simply because he’s attractive. He’s… interesting. He’s got this reputation for being a delinquent, and maybe all the fights on his school record prove it, but he’s surprisingly respectful. He’s the type of guy who gets up from his seat to let an eldery woman have it. He loves animals. He’s honest and sweet despite his seemingly stoic nature, and he’s so oblivious to just how good he is.

Maybe it’s because he’s so blinded by the light that is you. You, with your cutesy bento boxes that used to be made by your team of personal chefs but are now made with your own manicured hands. You, with that bright smile of yours that he wants to always see because god — he thinks he would be willing to destroy the whole world if something were to ever make you so upset. You’re kind and beautiful and everything people write love songs about. You’re so good, and he’s nothing like you.

He’s nothing like you, because he highly doubts that you spend your time fantasizing about him like he does with you. It’s wrong, he thinks. And dirty, and disgusting, and vile. You’d hate him, he’s sure of it, if you knew what he thinks about late at night. That he sits on his bed with his cock pulled out from his shorts, leaking with precum as he strokes himself to the thought of you. Do you not see him as any other guy? Despite your lack of experience, surely you know just how dirty boys’ minds can be? You’ve got to be conscious of the fact that he’s any other guy, right? So, why — why — do you always roll around in his sheets, letting your sweet perfume stick to his sheets. Your tiny tops and skirts are always clinging tight to your body, and you never feel the need to readjust your clothing when it rides up. Do you not see him trying his hardest to look you in the eyes when the two of you are talking, despite the tantalizing sight of your skirt bunching up, exposing the smooth skin of your thighs?

Little does Megumi know (and if you have your way, he’ll never find out), you spend nights in your room, whining and trying to stuff your cunt with the same fingers that painstakingly made him his lunch. He’s your best friend since childhood. He looks at you like you’re an angel, and you don’t want to destroy that image by revealing just how dirty you really are. How every time he gets so close to you, you subconsciously bring your thighs together, trying to rub them together in a poor attempt to relieve some tension. He’d be disgusted with you, you’re sure of it. Maybe even betrayed.

Besides, it would never work out. Megumi doesn’t see you the way you see him. He might look at you with a soft look you’ve never seen him give anyone else, but that’s because you’re his only friend. It’s not like he’s harboring any hidden feelings for you, and just because you’re so convinced that there’s no one better than Megumi around, it doesn’t exactly mean that you won’t feel this way about anyone else.

Megumi’s got a rather monotone cadence with his voice, so you’re not too surprised by his seemingly unethusiatic response to you saying you’re now allowed to date. Still — there’s a slight pang of disappointment when you realize that he doesn’t sound jealous at the prospect of you dating someone else.

You decide right then and there that the healthiest thing to do now is to just bury your feelings for him deep inside your heart, to tightly pack in all those pesky feelings and store them away so you can make room to allow others to fill in his space.

gumi <3: where are you? gumi <3: i’m feeling tired and i have an assignment due tomorrow. i’m going home. gumi <3: you know i wouldn’t leave without you. cmon [name]. let’s leave now

Megumi frowns at his phone. He can clearly see that all his messages are being delivered, not to mention that he’s already called you twice and has been sent to voicemail twice. He can be patient when he wants to be, but right now, he’s getting a little pissed.

You know that he doesn’t like parties, and you know that he doesn’t hang out with the same people you do. He also knows that you don’t even really like most of the people you surround yourself with, so whyyou suddenly decided to do a 180 and reestablish your throne as the head of the social pyramid, he doesn’t know.

Lately, things between the two of you have been a little… weird. Sometimes he catches you staring at him with a sad smile on your face; one that you immediately replace with your usual one when you realize he’s looking right at you. Despite him asking you if everything’s okay, you vehemently deny that there’s anything wrong, and you’re quick to change the subject.

He thinks he’s losing his best friend, his only friend. And maybe it only hurts because he’s grown used to your presence in his life. Maybe it hurts because you’re his friend. But he knows the truth. It hurts because he’s losing you.

Did he do something wrong? Did he accidentally somehow reveal the extent of his feelings for you? Did you suddenly decide that maybe associating with someone like him isn’t something you’re meant for? Do you…

Do you hate him now?

It doesn’t matter. Maybe it does, but not right now. Right now, he’s more focused on getting the hell out of this stuffy ass living room, filled to the brim with drunken young adults and people he couldn’t care less about. The only person that matters right now is you, and he’s on a mission to find your location.

He’s got this ominous feeling in his gut, like something bad is about to happen. He’s Megumi Fushiguro, for fuck’s sake, so bad things have a habit of following him wherever he goes. But still, he’s made a personal promise to himself that no matter how bad things get, you’ll never get caught in the crossfire. He’s willing to die to keep that vow.

If you don’t reply to him, you most likely have a good reason. He doesn’t want to be clingy, is pretty damn certain he doesn’t even have a right to be, but he’s still worried about you. He’s pushing past the wall of sweaty bodies, trying to catch a glimpse of your hair color, the waft of your perfume, the familiarity of your laugh, but he can’t catch a single crumb of you anywhere.

You’re nowhere in sight, and he’s immediately filled with dread.

He yanks a guy who’s coming from upstairs.

“Ow, man, what the fuc—”

“Is anyone else up there?” Most of the time, the parties are restricted to just the first floor, with the unspoken rule being that only the upstairs should be used for people trying to fuck or to use the bathroom (or, people trying to use the bathroom to fuck). You’re not anywhere downstairs, and if you were simply using the restroom, you would have been back down here by now.

“Shit, I don’t fucking know.” The guy squints at Megumi, as if trying to see if he knows him or not. With the way his expression pales, Megumi comes to the conclusion that the guy might not really know him, but he knows ofhim. Gojo says that with the right reputation, the two concepts are practically synonymous. “But I heard a guy ‘n a girl, I think, walk past the bathroom. I don’t know who, though!”

Megumi lets go of the boy’s shirt, and he’s quick to run off before Megumi can give him any more wrinkles in his shirt — or do something much worse.

He’s thinking. Odds are, it’s probably not even you. With so many people roaming around this house, it’s likely that he just missed your presence. Your phone could have died, so that explains why he can’t reach you.

He finds himself heading up the stairs anyway.

It’s fine. He tells himself. You’re fine. You’re okay. Nobody would dare to touch a single hair on your head unless they want to suffer directly at the hands of Megumi. People around campus call him your guard dog, and it’s not necessarily a nickname he hates.

The atmosphere upstairs is vastly different from the one downstairs. There are no lights turned on, and all the doors to the rooms are closed. He hears a flush coming from one end, and out walks a tipsy girl who’s staggering a bit. There are only so many doors to choose from, and he doesn’t really want to accidentally walk in on two people trying to have sex, but the need to confirm your safety outweighs any possible embarrassment he may suffer from, so he continues on his mission.

The first two rooms are revealed to be empty, leaving just one more. Megumi takes a deep breath before trying to turn the handle.

It’s locked.

His gut is telling him something isn’t right, but he’s forcing himself to chalk it all up to paranoia. He curses under his breath, wondering why he even let you out of his sights for a single second.

Because he didn’t want to seem clingy. Because he didn’t want you to have any more reasons to keep on pushing him away.

He decides to call you one more time, and as he’s listening to the dial tone, he hears a faint sound coming from the other side of the locked door.

It’s a phone ringing.

He presses his ear against the door, trying to make out any more sounds he possibly can. Is it still a coincidence when the phone stops ringing right as Megumi is greeted with your voicemail message of “sorry, I can’t come to the phone right now, but you probably should’ve just texted me!”

Without the annoying dial tone distracting him, Megumi can listen a little more clearly to what’s going on. There’s… there’s someone crying.

The voices are muffled, but he can make out bits and pieces of what’s being said.

“—fuck up… crying like a damn bitch… want this.”

He’s heard enough before he’s banging his shoulder against the door.

“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” He’s screaming, hitting it again. There’s a chance, the voice of reason inside of him is saying, that it’s not you that’s crying behind that door. Even if it wasn’t, Megumi still wouldn’t have stood by idly. But instinct is telling him that it is you, and that’s enough cause for him to bang his shoulder against the door once again. He hears a scream, and a male voice cursing.

The force of his body banding against it is enough to have the door really test the strength of its lock. Megumi’s never been the bulkiest person in the world, but he’s still got some defined muscle to him. The door is creaking, almost bending to his will, but he fumbles in the dark for the gun safely tucked away by his side.

It’s a gift from Gojo. To speed up the process when something needs to be done quick is what Gojo said it was for. He’s never used it in such close proximity to you, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

No silencer. He forgot the fucking silencer. With the deep bass rumbling from the speakers, he doubts anyone would be able to hear the gun go off anyway. He aims for the handle, pulling back the safety, and fires once, then twice. With a foot aimed at the door, he kicks at it, pleased to see the way the abused door finally bends to his will.

The open door reveals a scene that makes Megumi see red: you, with tear stained cheeks and your clothes bunched up and strewn across the floor with a guy Megumi vaguely recognizes as someone sharing the same Econ class as the two of you — Mahito.

“You fucking bastard.” Megumi practically lunges forward, tossing his gun to the side. He doesn’t see reason, is numb to common sense at this moment. All he feels is the need to hurt this fucker. To make him bleed, to have him on the brink of death, to see the light of life leave his dark eyes.

Mahito is fast, but even he couldn’t imagine the speed that Megumi would possess when pushed to the edge. This is different from the fights you’ve witnessed during school. This is something entirelydifferent.

The first punch has Mahito wincing in pain. The second, third, and fourth ones are thrown back to back, and there’s no time given to recover, no chance to gain the upper hand. He’s falling down, and Megumi’s on top of him, drawing back his fist only to slam it against him again and againand again.

Megumi knows he’s got something fucked up inside of his head — what other explanation is there to reason with why he finds this bloody violence so satisfying? His knuckles are bloody, and he can’t tell where Mahito’s blood starts and where his own ends. There’s a wild grin on his face, one that you’ve never seen before. You’re not sure if it’s a trick of the shadows, but the feral expression on Megumi’s face transforms him from your loyal best friend to something monstrous.

“‘Gumi, st-stop.” The words stumble out of your mouth as hiccups, but you don’t miss the way Megumi’s raised arm freezes in its higher position before he slowly brings it back down to his side. He’s breathing deeply, and all is silent in the room.

As if the sound of your cries is enough to snap him out of his daze, it’s almost scary how fast his mood shifts. Just a second ago, he was hellbent on beating Mahito to a bloody pulp, and now the darkness drowning those blue eyes of his is practically gone. He makes his way to the bed, each step hurried but still hesitant. Do you even want to be near him right now?

You answer his question with some more small sobs. “‘Gumi, I—”

“Shh, it’s okay, [Name].” He’s picking up your clothes from the floor, ready to help you get dressed. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Megumi.” His name seems to be the only thing you’re capable of saying right now. After he helps you get dressed, he’s thrown off guard when you cling to him, with your arms wrapped around his neck and your wet cheeks pressed against his shoulder.

The moment the two of you are exiting the room, both of you far too wrapped up with the other to pay him any mind, Mahito lets out a laugh before groaning at the pain Megumi inflicted.

The two of you don’t know what you just started, but no worries — Mahito has the means of ending it.

It’s only a matter of time.

You’re too good to be true.

You won’t listen to him when he tells you this (you never do), but he swears you’re a fucking angel or something otherwordly. There’s no other possible explanation for just how breathtakingly beautiful you are, or how you’re the only thing consuming his every thought. Despite the fact that all the blood on his hands has reached an amount that he’s sure he’ll never truly be able to wash it all off, you don’t shy away from his touch. As a matter of fact, it seems like you’re keening for it.

“‘Gumi.” You mewl out, sticking out your tongue to lap at the precum on Megumi’s thumb.

You’re well aware of just how dangerous your boyfriend (the title makes you giddy every time you refer to him as that) is, but you know him. You know that the hands of a killer are the hands of your lover, and most of the time, you have a hard time believing the awful things he’s had to do with them. Because right now, those hands that are meant to be weapons are handling you with care, touching you so gently, you would have thought you were made of glass and ready to shatter.

“Look at you, all spread out for me. What happened to my precious, shy little girl, huh?” He removes the hand that was cradling your face back to his cock, stroking his length, the saliva from your tongue acting as a minor lubricant. The first time he fucked you was the first time you’ve ever had sex with anyone ever, and it had been the start of an addiction. You love Megumi. You love everything about him, from his character to his tenacity, all the way down to his cock, with its red tip that’s sticky with pre and leaking out more as he stares down at the obscene position you’re in.

Your face feels warm as he stares down at you, his eyes darkened with a mix of love and lust that you don’t think you’ll ever get used to being on the receiving end of.

“Need you, need you so bad, please, ‘Gumi—” You’re staring up at him, giving him your best doe eyes.

“Fuck.” Just the sight of you beneath him, completely bending to his will, whining out for him to pretty please fuck you has him ready to cum right on the fucking spot. He’s pressing the tip in, his breathing faltering just the slightest as the warmth you provide envelopes the most sensitive part of him, nearly causing him to lose all self control right then and there.

You let out a cry as he pushes himself deeper in you, making himself at home in your gummy walls, one hand gripping your hip and the other holding onto the headboard.

“You feel so good for me, baby, shit.” He hisses, waiting for you to adjust, impatient but willing to bear it if it means it’ll feel better for you in the long run. After all, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do, nothing he wouldn’t endure, just to ensure your happiness.

“Mm — ah — please.” There are still tears welling up in your eyes — precious girl, he hasn’t even began to properly fuck you, and you’re already tearing up? The sight of you completely and willingly at his mercy is enough to get him to start rutting his hips against yours, the satisfying sound of skin slapping against skin resounding and bouncing against the walls of his bedroom that is starting to feel more like the both of yours.

“Y’feel so fuckin’ good for me, baby.” He groans, his pace quickening, the thrusts getting sharper and rougher with every roll of his hips. You’re powerless against his strength, and this type of easy submission feels so natural, feels so good, when it’s him that’s taking advantage of it. “You’ve got the sweetest pussy, y’know that? I could fuck you forever.”

His praise goes through one ear and out the other with you, but your heart swells up to twice its size. Even if you can’t focus on the words all too clearly, you’re still aware that Megumi’s probably praising you. You can come to this conclusion because he’s always praising you. He’s always so sweet, so gentle, so loving — when it comes to you, that is.

“Hng — daddy!” You can’t help but let out a high pitched moan as he hits that sweet spot inside of you that makes you buck your hips up.

There’s no way you don’t know what you’re doing. Clenching around his cock like that, making those cute little noises that he can’t help but want to hear all the time, and then calling him that.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy.”

Forget igniting something within him; you whining for him, calling him something that’s the root cause of all his childhood traumas… That’s like dousing him with gasoline and tossing a lighter at him. He’s going to burn through all his energy, channel all this dark, feral energy, and use you as the one unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end.

He fucks into you so deeply that if your eyes weren’t shut tight, there’s no doubt that you wouldn’t see the unmistakable shape of his cock outlined against your tummy. The headboard is banging against the wall, and the squelching sounds of him roughly thrusting in and out of your sopping cunt is so lewd and so dirty that if you had any room to harbor a single ounce of shame, you would be downright embarrassed.

“How about you make me a daddy, huh? How about I fuck a baby in you?” He won’t lie and say it’s not something that’s never crossed his mind. The thought of your stomach round with a life the two of you created is enough to get him to continue with this near-brutal pace he’s set forth. “Doesn’t it sound nice, baby? My baby giving me a baby, what—” He grits his teeth as you tighten up. “—a fucking dream.”

“Baby. Wanna have your babies.” You cry out, tears spilling out and wetting your cheeks as your arms find their way to his neck and broad shoulders, trying to pull him in closer. The heat building up from within you feels like you’re about to fucking explode. “‘Gumi, I love you, Iloveyoupleasegimmeababy—'' Your words are practically unintelligible as you slur them out, the words sticking together as you cum all over his cock, all that pleasure that has been building up now physically tangible, if the white ring encasing his cock every time he pulls out is evidence.

“Fuck! You feel so fucking good. Always so fuckin’ tight.” He’s reaching his own end, and you’re just lying there, trying to recover from such an intense orgasm but unable to as your too sensitive walls clench around the constant intrusion of his cock. Spurred by your little love confession and his mind imagining his daydreams coming true — you, as his cute little housewife, taking care of the kids the two of you made together — he finally shoves himself as deep as he physically can, making sure that as he cums, nothing will spill out.

“‘Gumi.” You whisper, your head resting against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. “Did you mean it when you said you wanted to start a family?”

He’s silent for a minute.

“I wouldn’t mind starting a family with you.” And he means it. He knows this life isn’t one meant for children — look at how he turned out, for god’s sake — but he thinks that for you, he can do anything. Even make a family work out. As long as it’s what you want, he doesn’t mind how hard it may be.

You snuggle closer to him, burying your face in the warmth of his chest. “Good.” You mumble. “I wanna start a family with you, too.”

Megumi feels… at peace. Like he’s got the whole entire world in the palm of his hands. He wraps his arms around you, and realizes that no — right now, he’s got his world right in his arms.

Mahito likes to play with his food before he devours them whole.

Humans are just so… vulnerable. Even the coldest people have a heart; it’s only a matter of whether or not they find someone warm enough to defrost it. Megumi Fushiguro, for example, likes to walk around this world, acting indifferent and claiming to follow his own moral conduct, only to give himself the biggest weakness he could possibly harbor: you.

He still remembers that party. He still remembers the way you were dressed like a little slut, completely oblivious (or maybe you were just acting coy) to the wolfish stares all the guys were giving you. He had the same class as you. Seen the way you clung to Gojo’s charity case, as if the ground would swallow Megumi whole if you let go of him. You’re cute, and you scream naive virgin, and that’s precisely why Mahito wanted to take you to that bedroom and have his way with you.

And then, your infamous little guard dog bared his teeth and pummeled him into the hardwood of a stranger’s bedroom floor.

Grudges are cancerous. If you don’t deal with it right away, it develops into something worse. It takes over all your internal organs, ruining you ‘til the only thing you can focus on is getting revenge. And the longer you wait, the more vengeful you get. It doesn’t become a matter of ruined pride or reestablishing honor — it becomes about inflicting the most pain one possibly can. It becomes about suffering — about transferring your pain, your anguish, onto someone else.

Mahito isn’t the type to hold grudges, but for Megumi, he’ll make a special exception. He wants to see just how well trained the boy is; after all, he’s been taken under the wing and supervision of Satoru Gojo, the myth himself. Surely, his student must be nearly as skilled, right?

It’s been a long game of watching and waiting on Mahito’s end. A lot of lurking in the shadows and gathering intel. It’s a lot more boring than he anticipated, but today’s the day where all his hard work finally comes to fruition. Megumi Fushiguro is going to regret ever interfering with him that one fateful night. The burning humiliation he’s felt has long since fizzled out, but since he’s already been set on the path of orchestrating Megumi’s destruction, he figures it only makes sense to see it through. You only can let go of a grudge after you get your proper revenge.

He’s been leaving Megumi all sort of taunting, teasing threats any chance he gets. Mahito’s got nothing but disgraced yakuza members on his side; those who have committed acts vile enough to get them kicked out of what is essentially a group of criminals. He knows how to be twisted — hell, twisted might be the only thing he knows how to be.

Killing girls that resemble you and sending him the photos. Taking videos of you when you’re out in public alone. Leaving voicemails for Megumi, ones that leave him pale faced and unable to breathe as he listens to how Mahito wants to tortue you.

Megumi’s been on edge for the past few months, unable to explain to you why. It’s why you don’t understand why Megumi won’t let you go back to your car, even though you left your phone in there.

“I’ll go. Or, we can go together.”

“You have to wait for our coffee! And besides, I don’t even know where I left my phone. It might not even be in the car, but you’ll just waste your time searching for it if it’s not there.”

“So then why do you have to go look for it?”

“Because it’s my phone? Also, I reeeeeallly don’t wanna have to wait for our coffee, so I figured looking for my phone in the car would kill some time.” You give him that sweet smile of yours that he loves so much before waving him goodbye. “I’ll be back by the time our order is ready, pinky promise!”

At the end of the day, it’s all luck. Mahito realizes this as you happily skip out of the crowded cafe, headed towards your car to search for your phone. He doesn’t know why you’re returning back to your car, doesn’t even really care. All he knows and all he cares about is that you’re headed there alone. And while you’ve been alone plenty of times, he’s never had an opportunity quite like this one. A chance to finally detonate the bomb that’s been lying dormant underneath your car, ready to be activated at the press of a button. He could’ve killed you plenty of times already, but it’s not enough to merely murder you. He wants to make it a spectacle, sure, but he also only cares about one audience member watching: Megumi.

From where he’s hiding, blending in with the rest of the customers from the bakery across the street, he’s got a decent enough view of Megumi, who’s sitting by the glass windows, watching you with furrowed brows as you unlock the car door.

Mahito can’t help the cruel smile that spreads across his face as pushes the remote connected to the bomb.

Nobody expects to hear the loud, resounding boom of something exploding. The surrounding cars parked next to yours have their alarms going off like crazy; it’s nothing but high pitched, blaring noises blending together to create a disruptive harmony. People are screaming, someone is on the line with emergency services, and—

—your precious car is set aflame, reduced to a burning pile of scrap metal no salvage yard will take.

In this moment, Megumi Fushiguro’s world crumbles to ashes.

#megumi fushiguro x you #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi x reader #angst #fluff #one shot #drabble #smut #megumi smut #jjk smut #jjk imagines #yakuza au #THIS IS SO OLD IM CRYING #like rereading it... omg what was i ON???

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tleeaves · 10 months

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Having so many thoughts about how the casting of Tom Blyth as a conventionally attractive man and his changing looks throughout the film actually demonstrate how much the directors intended for him not to be thirsted over -- and what thirsting over him at this point says about the audience.

I mean, if you're given a pretty face, like Coryo is said to have also in the books, you can get away with a lot because not many people are quick to scorn you. It's the fault of Greek philosophy most likely, but it's been thought for so long that physical beauty equates moral and ethical soundness. He has beautiful, absolutely gorgeous curls in the first two parts of the movie (and book), he's explicitly described as lovely and pretty, and many of the women in his life trust him until he reveals his motivations at the end.

The removing of the curls, I think, was not just about the military. It was about removing some of that beautiful mask and costume Coryo moves through the world in, chipping away, so that people began to see just how corrupt he was when they weren't blinded by his charms and he got too caught up after thinking he had their unwavering trust.

Coryo is the games. He makes himself a mystery wrapped in pretty things, surrounded by pretty people, to lure others in and distract from the snake he is underneath. Literally from Shakespeare's Macbeth "serpent 'neath the flower" (paraphrasing, I can't remember the precise wording for underneath and what not). The presence of roses on his character is even more fitting then, not just to disguise the scent of blood, poison, and mouth sores later on, but to give people a false sense of security, to please them, to charm them so they don't notice the snake coiling around them and preparing to bite.

Just like the characters, when the audience thirsts over this younger Snow, they are falling right into a trap. He does not love, he wants the control over people. He enjoys the manipulation. He would sooner kill you to protect himself no matter if you're his lover. The directors, Collins herself too, they're laughing or perhaps just wearily sighing over an audience that does not understand when they are being targeted. Snow wants to be admired. When an audience admires him and overlooks all the bad, it's a commentary about them and the way our society favours beauty over goodness. The way some will roll over and offer their necks to the knife just because it wears a pretty face and it manipulated them into sympathising.

Snow is dangerous. The thirst traps and edits, good as they are for a handsome man like Tom Blyth, are exactly what the Capitol would do for Snow. What he would encourage in theory. He's the snake underneath the flowers. And the audience of both the games and The Hunger Games franchise, is once again ignorant to what their behaviour means. Successful manipulation of a group.

How scary would that be if it happened in real politics with slightly different methods?

#the hunger games #a ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow analysis #tbosas movie and book #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games

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fiendishfables · 8 months

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hii i just saw ur request page and thought i'd give it a try! soo, can i please have an nsfw oneshot w/dom! lucifer x reader ? i've just been thirsting after him sm...

anyways can it be about like him going down on reader, or just being talented with his fingers, cus we know what he can do with em 🫣

thanks so much!!

a/n: ahh, yes, thank you so much, my lovely, for sending in this request! This is my first attempt at responding to a request, so I hope its to your liking and doesn't disappoint. We love Luci!

warnings: nsfw, sex, cursing, use of pet names, first time as a couple, Luci being a complete dork

word count: 1.2k+

characters: 6646

notes: This is my first fic on here, as well as my first attempt at writing smut, so I apologize if its not any good. But nevertheless, enjoy!

Dom! Lucifer Morningstar x GN! Reader

Oneshot

Going down on you was something Lucifer had wanted to do the day he first laid eyes on you.

Don't get him wrong, he was a gentleman at heart and would continue to be until the day someone replaced him as King (which you both knew would never happen), but by the fiery skies of Hell- he wanted you. You. No other soul.

Lucifer had met you through Charlie, his own daughter and Princess of Hell. Your kindness had lead you to offer your services with helping his daughter with her whole idea of a rehabilitation hotel, meant for the sinners who wanted a second chance at life; wanting to fix their mistakes and be evolved into a better version of themselves. He had met you there when she had invited him to visit and see her progress. Its safe to say you two hit it off perfectly fine.

Now, exactly how you two hit it off doesn't really matter- all that mattered to you right now was the fact that his cock was buried so deep inside of you, that you could barley form a coherent sentence, let alone a singular word.

The room was dark, making the moonlight that filtered through the curtains the only source of light; the only thing that allowed for you to see the beautiful fallen angel hovering over you, both of your bodies sweaty and hearts pounding rapidly against your ribcages, as if trying to silently connect with one another through rapid pumps of blood. To express your emotions to one another through anything other than what he was doing now, which was stuffing you to the brim with his cock.

When you first saw it, staying quiet had become a big concern to you in your mind, what with the other residents of the hotel potentially being able to hear you both.

But that fear had quickly flown the coop as soon as he entered you for the first time.

Fuck, it was absolute heaven.

You were convinced that somehow, Lucifer had managed to descend the heavens down upon you in that exact moment; your most intimate moment. That any second, angels would be surrounding the pair of you and begin serenading you with a specific love song just for the two of you, or pointing angelic spears at your throats. Now, that thought did cause some momentary fear to shoot through your body, because the last thing you wanted was for some random angels (especially if they were exorcists, or Adam) to randomly appear in the room, just to be greeted with the sight of you, a moaning mess underneath Lucifer, drunk off of his length as it stretched you so wide you were afraid he might break you. But when you opened your eyes after the so slow, yet so delicious insertion of his cock...the room was still pitch black. No holy light. No angles. No song. Just you and him. You and Lucifer.

And that was the way it was supposed to be. No other soul, no matter angelic or demonic, could compete with what you two had. It was special; a connection that had to reach from the deepest pits of Hell, to the brightest place in all of Heaven.

For being one of the most powerful beings, Lucifer was being very careful with you; his fingers gripped your sides and hips, holding you in place securely as he rutted into you. Those fingers were sure to leave marks tomorrow. Neither of you minded.

"Oh...you're the best choice I've ever made, lovely- fuck..~"

Lucifers words only helped to fuel the fire that burned within your heart; the fire that represented your eternal, undying love for him. The tightening in your abdomen became much more noticeable too, coiling and constricting like a snake fighting to escape its confinements, or the talons of a predatory bird.

Except in this scenario, Lucifer was the bird, who held you oh so tightly in his sharp talons, and the last thing you wanted to do was escape. You'd allow him to devour you to his hearts content; until you passed out, fainted, or hell, till your heart stopped. He had you right where he wanted you and the smug little smirk on his lips whilst he turned you into this blabbering mess, was enough proof to show he knew it too. And he enjoyed it. Every. Single. Second.

His hands stayed perched seriously on your hips, as if you might just disappear if he so much as dared to loosen his hold. Not that you minded. You could hardly think straight.

"L-Luci..-"

Your attempt at saying his name fell flat, his next thrust replacing the messy words with a desperate moan from you, making your eyes roll back into your skull and a tremor of pleasure trailing its way through your body. He could reach places inside you that no one else had ever even dared to try. He was special in that way. Although he did lessen his movements after your butchered attempt at speaking. He looked genuinely worried and the sight did just enough to melt your heart.

"Are you alright, love? I didn't hurt you did I? Do you need anything? Do I need to stop? I can get you-"

He started to ramble, which he often did. His worst nightmare was hurting you; even just thinking about it made him shudder, as if he had just been doused with cold water.

But all it took was a weak smile from you and a kiss on his cheek to calm him and get him back in the movement again. You assured him that you were feeling the best you've ever felt in your entire life, both in living and in death, that all the pleasure you were feeling was making it hard for you to speak properly.

"I'm okay, Luci. You're just making me feel so many things-"

A finger then found its way onto your plush lips, slightly moisturized by your saliva having been produced by your fucked out state.

"Shhh, spare your breath, darling. I'm just glade you're holding up so well. Such a good beloved, you are."

Then: "You'll want it for when I make you scream."

Seeing you an absolute wreck because of him- because of his actions- his cock- it was almost better than the orgasm that ripped through him shortly after you came undone due to his words and continuation of his previous actions.

Ropes of his seed shot into you, stuffing you like you've never experienced before. His pale blonde hair stuck to his forehead, both your bodies damp with a light sheen of sweat. Your heavy breaths mixed together, as did the small chuckles that came from both of your lips. Thankfully, he kept his promise about making you scream.

Hell, meeting you had to have been the best thing to ever happen to him. To both of you.

No one would ever find themselves as to be so lucky, to know that the King of Hell found the taste of them the most enchanting out of all the souls both above and below.

Just try and doubt his love for you. He will be sure to give you a night that you won't ever forget, as many times as he needs to, until you're begging him to stop.

You are his, and he refuses to ever let you forget it.

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g1rld1ary · 12 days

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red carpets - actor!sirius black x actress!reader

wc: 942

cw: none! you catch sight of sirius on the red carpet

tag: @lovemenotts

The sheer amount of noise surrounding you was making you light-headed. Yet, you plastered on a smile, smoothed out your silky skirt and stepped onto the red carpet. Your smile didn’t budge as you inched down the carpet, performing for the hungry cameras and the sometimes scary men behind them. You grit your teeth as they yell commands, changing pose as they desire, waiting to get to the interview portion of the red carpet. At least the journalists had to be polite to you.

A woman from some gossip rag you purposefully avoid reading calls you over and you consciously boost your smile again, turning up the energy to 100. She’s nice, at least, and a good conversationalist. Too many interviewers left you to pick up their slack and carry the conversation as if it weren’t their job to be digging for the information they want.

“How does it feel to be nominated for an Emmy in your first foray into television?” She asks and you beam.

“It’s such an honour, really. I mean, this show is such a labour of love, Lily put her heart and soul into the writing, so I’m just so grateful I got to be the one to bring it to life. It’s so amazing that we’re both being nominated tonight,” You answer with a practised grace, giving a glance to the camera behind the interviewer.

The conversation continues and you find yourself enjoying it more than you anticipated. The interviewer connects with you well and matches your excited energy at being around celebrities. You figure it’s about time you move on, but give her one more question as a secret reward for her not being as invasive as the others usually are. She asks about your friendship with Lily and creating a project with someone you’d known forever and you grin again.

You start your answer, gushing over Lily’s talent for screenwriting and your friendship of ten years. You turn to look for her, meaning to gesture when your eyes get caught on something. Someone.

“Who is that?” You ask the interviewer, pointing out the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen in your life. Long dark hair, dressed in all black with silver jewellery glinting in the flash of cameras, you basically fall in love at first sight.

“That’s Sirius Black,” The interviewer answers with a laugh.

“God, what is he from?” He’s honestly supernaturally good-looking, you’re not convinced he’s real.

“He co-created and stars in The Marauders series, you haven’t seen it yet?”

“No, I’ve been meaning to but I haven’t had the time — Lils says it really has to be appreciated so I’m waiting to dedicate significant time to it. He did not look like that on the poster.” The series is set in high school and so all the actors look different, younger, Sirius no exception. The dark eyeliner around his grey eyes creates a magnetic contrast that makes him look much more mature than his character.

“Is it safe to say you’ll be finding him at the after-party?” The interviewer asks cheekily. The situation comes back to you in an instant; you’re on camera and who knows how many people are seeing you thirst over another actor in real-time.

“God no,” You laugh, frantically trying to brush over the incident, “I don’t chase after boys. He’d have to work for my attention.” You wink in an attempt to deliver the joke and it goes over smoothly enough, the interviewer graciously letting it go and thanking you for your time. You thank her profusely.

You chance another glance at Sirius as you move on, all grace and long limbs as he effortlessly poses for photos and messes around with his co-stars, spirit not yet beaten out of him by Hollywood. You envy the way his cast talk all the way through the process, clearly extremely fond of each other. You would go to the ends of the earth for Lily, your best friend and writer of the show you star in, but your male lead couldn’t be more opposite. Severus Snape was someone you would never get along with, and your interviews consisted of forced smiles and camaraderie on your side and zero effort from him. You would love a cast like The Marauders, not that you would dare complain to Lily, who had given you so much.

You don’t end up meeting Sirius during the awards or the afterparty, unfortunately, though you do see him once more across the room and feel the flutter of intrigue in your stomach. The next awards ceremony you had a goal, and a series to watch in the meantime.

LOVE IS ON THE RED CARPET? EMMY WINNER ADMIRES NOMINEE SIRIUS BLACK

The clip from that interview goes viral, both your fans and Sirius’ dissecting every frame of the videos. Some focus on the subtle up-and-down you give him, slowing it down to a snail’s pace to catch every eye movement. Others focus on Sirius, swearing they could see his eyes flick over to you for a fraction of a second. The ultimate conclusion is that you two should be in love, or already are, and fan edits of both you and your characters are already surfacing on TikTok.

You sigh from your hotel bed, scrolling through an endless amount of photos of him and yourself. Your publicist would not be happy with you. Although, it could be a pretty good marketing strategy.

#giasfics˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀#the marauders #marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards #the marauders era #sirius black #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black x reader #marauders fanfiction #sirius black fic #sirius black fluff #sirius black oneshot #sirius orion black #fluff #love #harry potter #sirius black x you

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mechaknight-98 · 6 months

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First Time (NSFW) Ft Yerin

Authors note: Got inspired by @coldfanbou recent ask to make this so enjoy.

You and Yerin had been friends for ages when the topic of virginity was brought up. It was during a stay-in “date” at her place the two of you were enjoying pizza and fighting games together. you got Yerin into them after showing her Undernight. it was your friendship anniversary and your gift for her was a brand new fightstick. she broke her first cheap one during a clumsy button-mashing session which pushed you to finally have her go through the training and mission modes. Turns out Yerin was a natural.

She was in the process of stomping you into a paste with her “new main” Yuzuriha. You wanted to be fair and not bust out your main: Carmine or Londreika. So you landed on the mechanically complex Chaos a character you have wanted to try for a long time. They continued at a relentless pace. Leading you to go 0-21 with the character.

“Wow you suck at this game,” Yerin chuckled. You shrugged and she looked at you annoyed

“Wait are you going easy on me,” she questioned. You shrugged. Yerin jumps onto you.

“Excuse Me Mister but I believe I asked you to take this seriously,” she teases. You smile as you lock eyes with her.

“Well excuse me for wanting to let my best friend have fun before I smash her,”

“Please you wouldn’t know what to do with all of this,” Yerin says moving her arms around her body. Deciding to play her game you reply

“Yep, my virgin ass could never handle a slut like you,” you tease back

“Im not slut. I'm…wait you're a virgin,” Yerin says as she registers what you said. You nod and Yerin’s features soften.

“I can't believe it. All this time and I thought you were Mr. Poon slayer,” Yerin says goofily. You squint at her talk unsure of how to respond.

“Um no it's just never came up. Who knows maybe I'm waiting for my best friend to be my first,” you bluff.

The atmosphere in the room shifts dramatically and Yerin’s eyes narrow. She smiles at you hungrily.

“Are you sure,” she asks. Her voice is husky almost maliciously so. You nod hesitantly not understanding what you just agreed to. Yerin gets up grabs your arm forcibly and leads you to the bedroom. She smiles as she begins to make a show of stripping.

“I hope you're ready baby,” Yerin says. At that point, you realize you may have made a mistake. You see the switch in her flip and gone is your hyper-energetic best friend and in her place a vixen looking for whom she may devour. You watch in stunned awe as her sexy aura begins to pulse around as she continues her show.

Her top is the first thing to come off as you watch her desperately trying to entice you.

“You know baby it's been a while since I have slaked my thirst and I was hoping that I could get some action tonight,” Yerin said her silky voice creating a honey trap for her prey (you. You smile as your erection grows. Yerin watches with perverse glee as she imagines all of the things she would do to you.

You mirror her taking your pants off as she takes her top off and in this weird dance you two share it ends with both of you naked. Yerin smiles as she pushes you onto the bed. A hungry smile twists her lips maliciously. You feel her pussy drip, drip, over your crotch. You groan as She slowly grinds over the tip. Her folds entice you and fill your mind with nothing but her. You accidentally thrust into her and she she pushes you back down.

“Careful baby.” Yerin whimpers as her arousal rises due to your eagerness. She continues her slow grind as one last attempt to have you back out. After whipping you up into a feral frenzy she smiles. She gets up and moves to the edge of the bed where she wiggles her cute butt enticing you. You get up and race to place yourself behind her. You line yourself up with her entrance. You slowly push in and it's overwhelming how wet she is. You groan as you try to steady your breathing. Her body shivers at being filled. At last, the mantis has you trapped. Her legs wrap around your waist tightly as you bottom out. You watch as another switch flips and Yerin says to you,

“I'm not letting you go until you can't get it up, baby. Now, fuck me,” her encouragement is all you need to start a fervent pace. Her cunt gushes as you thrust. Yerin smiles knowingly as your eagerness gets the better of you, but that's part of the fun for her. You thrust into her with an erratic rhythm only focused on relieving an itch she has now ingrained in you. You pound her pussy relentlessly. Yerin smiles as she watches you lose yourself inside her.

“Take it. Come on give it to me.” she encourages, and so you go harder. You go harder. Yerin loves how eager to please you were as you rut into her. She smiles as she feels you begin to twitch.

“Gonna cum baby? Does it give me your first load? Let my pussy claim you,” Yerin moans as you thrust harder. She arches her back and tightens her pussy around you while giving you her best blissful smile to coax a heavy load from you.” she smiles when you violently explode into her avaricious pussy. Yerin cooes as you come down from your high. You feel lightheaded. Yerin smiles knowing she's got you. As you fall back she steadied you to the bed where she gets on top.

“Okay baby my turn,” she moans as she begins to ride you. Disoriented you watch her body bounce and sway in a lusted stupor.

“Do you like my body baby,” she asks. You nod weakly desperate to pass out but the friction and painful pleasure from your union keep you awake. She continues to ride and grind into you as chases her high.

“Come on baby give me another load, she moans as she continues to grind into you. You watch helplessly as she cums all over your cock. Yerin smiles watching your pained expression as her pussy milks another load out of you

“Don't worry baby it gets better after the fourth, and eighth rounds,” Yerin says as she continues to devour your essence. She continues her ride and she begins to kiss and caress your body.

“You know I was wondering when you'd get the courage to take me,” Yerin says with a smile. You are merely holding on trying not to drown in the ocean that she has brought you two. She brings a nipple to your mouth and commands you to suck

“Something to take your mind off things,” Yerin says as you happily begin to suck on her right breast. She tastes sweet with a hint of salt and it drives you wild to mount a seemingly herculean effort as you fuck her back. You quickly realize your mistake as she garners another explosion from you. The fatigue and pain begin to set in.

The next day you have a pounding headache but a satisfied Yerin next to you. She stirs as you do. She smiles at you

“I hope you're ready because we're going to end all of our date nights now this way. You know since we're together now,” Yerin teases.

You groan but smile as you kiss her forehead.

#kpop fanfic #fanfic #male reader #yerin #gfriend #gfriend smut #gfriend yerin #yerin smut

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spiderlily-w1tch-blog · 5 months

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𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝙷𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊 - 𝙽𝚊ï𝚟𝚎𝚝é|𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙸𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎

𝕎𝕀𝕊ℙ𝕊𝕀𝕄ℙ𝕊

— — —

ft Weed, vaginal fingering, Sero speaking Spanish, hints of Bi Mina and her thirsting over you, allusions to possible future gangbang

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: I do not own BNHA or its characters, all credit goes to its creators and actors

WC: 2,306

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: includes usage of weed/marijuana, Google Translate Spanish, use of Y/n, 3rd Person POV, obligatory exhibitionism/public sex warning (Series Warning)

𝔐𝔦𝔫𝔦 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: I’ll use this when the explicit mention is over(tho there will be small references after that point) ✯ ✯ ✯; The reader is described to have a cat(-like) quirk

【Ｍａｓｔｅｒｌｉｓｔ】

— — —

Hanta breathes out the smoke and drags his fingertips down her arm as she cuddles into his side. She flicks her tail in contentment.

“Here, baby,” He smiles lazily as he holds the pipe to her lips. Humming lowly, she happily breathes in and holds it in her lungs for a moment before breathing out, feeling all the tension leave her body.

“This is fun, Hanta.” She grins up at her boyfriend.

“Damn right, you’re one of the best smoking partners I’ve had in a while, gatita,” he chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Hey!” Denki cries indignantly, “I thought I was your favorite smoking partner!” He leans back against the couch and over-exaggeratedly pouts, even huffing loudly as he makes a big motion of crossing his arms.

“Denki!” Hanta laughs out, trying to calm his giggle fit before he speaks again, “You are an excellent smoking partner, I promise, hermano,” he says through the tail end of his giggles, “but I can’t exactly shotgun you, now can I? Nor can I have you up against me like this,” He emphasizes by curling his arm around Y/n’s waist and kissing her lips.

“I mean-” Denki throws his arms up like he’s stating the most obvious fact in the world “-you could!” His exclamation makes all parties present burst out laughing, even Denki himself.

“Denki, bro, if you wanna cuddle up to someone, I’m always free!” Eiji calls out to his “kind-of-boyfriend” and holds his arm open to beckon the blonde into his side.

“See?! Ei loves me!” The electric blonde calls out dramatically as he climbs into Eiji’s hold. Everyone chuckles again at his dramatics and mostly return to the conversation.

“Sure do, babe,” the redhead chuckles and takes a hit before shotgunning Denki. He earns a pleased giggle once the smaller boy exhales. Hitoshi leans his head away from Eiji’s shoulder to chuckle at the boy before plopping his head back down on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Ay Dios mío,” Hanta fondly rolls his eyes with a laugh at his mejor amigo. “A very dramatic gilipollas.” He jokes, fake whispering as if a secret to his pretty kitty, earning another indignant noise from the electric blonde and a giggle from his favorite girl. Denki didn’t understand what his friend just said but he can guess that it was something that garners his noise of offense.

Mina has Katsuki’s head in her lap as she combs her manicured nails through his hair, eliciting soft groans every now and then as he lets his Weed Haze take over his consciousness.

“You still awake, booboo?” She asks, lightly poking his cheek and not getting much more than a grunt and a nose wrinkle in terms of dissuasion.

“Yea, I’m still here, Pinky.” He grumbles, opening his red eyes, now no longer just his irises making her laugh.

“Alright, just wanted to make sure,” she leans down and presses a kiss to his forehead, getting another nose wrinkle when he feels her lipgloss stick to his skin. It was always a sight when Katsuki smoked, he would get 50x more affectionate and would even cuddle up to people and accept their affection in turn, like he is now. The self-proclaimed Bakusquad was always happy when they got him to smoke so that they could all their their ‘Katsu-Cuddles’ as Denki deemed them. He still blames the effects on still practically being a ‘Baby Stoner’, also a name by Denki, even though he’s been partaking for a good few months now.

Y/n purrs at the feeling of her boyfriend’s hand on her waist and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Hanta strokes her side and curls his hand further around her, now reaching further to the front of her hip. Her leg then stretches out a bit, unconsciously, to accommodate his hand, so it can slide over her more easily. Seeing how relaxed and buzzed Y/n is, Hanta finishes up the last little bit of his blunt and then shifts to hold her more comfortably.

✯ ✯ ✯

Now, he has his leg propped up against the back of the couch and the other extended onto the floor with her between his thighs, her own legs mostly aligned with his, her leg thrown over his as it hangs off the couch, her back comfortably resting against his chest with her head laying against his shoulder. His arm wraps around her middle and his fingertips lightly trace over her lower belly, not moving anywhere else.

Her hips squirm a bit at how close his fingers are to where she wanted him and he, thankfully, decided not to tease her. He reaches his other arm around her to the tops of her thighs and drags his fingers to inch her comfy skirt up to expose her pretty little black, white, and yellow panties that she had asked Momo to make. Mina gave a playful hum when she saw the Cellophane-themed panties and whistles at Y/n, making the girl blush.

“Damn, girlie, lovin’ the Cellophane merch you’re workin’! And does that say ‘Ay Papi’ on the waistband?!” She teases which makes her blush deeper but the embarrassment goes away nearly the instant that she feels fingers slide up and down her panty-clad slit. A pleasured breath leaves her as her boyfriend’s fingers dance along her dampening cunt.

“F-fuck..!” Y/n’s voice escapes in a high-pitched moan as Hanta’s fingers focus on her clit. She moans out in surprise when he pinches it lightly and grinds her panties into the pleasurable nub. Her panties feel rough against the sensitive skin of her throbbing cunny and it makes her whine. Her tail flicks at the feeling and wraps around her and Hanta’s side-by-side thighs making him chuckle.

Enjoying her little moans and whines, Hanta speeds up his ministrations against her clitty and makes sure to grind her panties into it. Y/n throws her head back against his shoulder as more whines escape her and her hands weakly grip onto whatever fabric she could reach with her still hazy mind. Her left clutches at the couch while her right flies back to grip the fabric of her boyfriend’s cutoff tank top. He smirks at the reactions she gives him and decides to take pity on his poor little Kitty.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’mma make you feel good, okay?” He speaks against her sensitive kitty ear on top of her head that twitches at his breath fanning over it and shifts the h/c fur and makes her shudder.

“Please…” She whines out, shifting her hips and clenching around nothing. He chuckles again, the husky sound in her ear sends a noticeable shiver down her spine.

“Ohh, poor baby, she looks cold~!” Mina cries faux sympathy lining her words, “You’d better warm her up, Papi.” He playfully rolls his eyes at her teasing but proceeds nonetheless. He runs his fingers to the bottom of her poor soaked little cunny and drags upwards until he reaches the hem of her pretty panties with a cutie little black bow adorning the band. From there, he dips his hand under the fabric and moves down to play with her puffy pussy lips directly.

Her hips arch up at the contact and her leg thrown over her lover’s flexes straighter. She’s not usually this sensitive but the plant, that she’s now donned her favorite, made her far more sensitive and acutely aware of all Hanta’s skillful touches. Cute little moans fill the air as the tape-quirked boy slides his middle finger through her slick folds up to her sensitive little bud, flicking it every time he meets it.

“P-please… Hanta…” Y/n mewls while he still only teases her when he just barely dips his fingertip into her entrance before moving on.

“Please what, pretty kitty? I can’t do anything if I don’t know what you want..” He punctuates his teasing sentence with a soft kiss to the base of her twitching ear.

“Want… Want you to touch me…” Her tail’s grip on their thighs tightens and twitches with her near-desperate whining.

“But I am touching you, princesa.” His noncooperation draws more whines from her throat while his touches feel so, so good but are just not enough.

“In.. Inside..! Please!” She practically sobs out the request before her desperation is cut off by a pleased keen when his third and fourth fingers finally, finally, breach her opening. Her moans are accentuated by her loud purrs. Her lover decided to not start out slow, though he doesn’t set a particularly fast pace at first.

He rocks his hand into her sex hard and fast enough to have her bucking her hips into his palm and letting out high-pitched moans. He smirks and speeds up his pace to get her whining and drunk on the sensations of him getting her off on just his fingers. Y/n’s chest rises and falls with her heavy breaths at the intense pleasure she’s getting just from being fingerfucked. Granted, her boyfriend has magical fingers, it’s never been this intense before. The herb has really affected her, so it seems.

“You feeling good, bebita?” Hanta asks in a teasing tone as he flexes his wrist and curls his fingers at the same moment and presses deliciously into the spongy spot inside her that has her seeing stars after the pleasure he’s already given her.

“Yes.. Yes!!” She moans out in a cry, her tail straightens out like an arrow and twitches about like crazy. He then moves his other hand from where he’s been palming himself at all her gorgeous little sounds and slides it around her body to her front. His hand slithers down her form, setting her nerves on fire from her sensitivity from both his fingerfucking and the weed in her system.

Her hips buck up and a shocked cry leaves her when his long fingers find her clitty and start setting loose, slow circles around her swollen little button. Hanta’s deep chuckle vibrates against Y/n’s back and into her whole being as she arches back against him. With a devious smirk, he dips down to nip and kiss and suck on her neck.

“H-Han.. Hanta..!” Y/n’s voice trembles with arousal and need and her ears fold flat against her head. Her cheeks are flushed and a desperate need shines in her glassy eyes with her unshed tears of too much pleasure.

“Cum for me, Mi Princesa. Go on and cum. Déjate sentir bien, gatita. Cum so fuckin hard, gatita. You wanna show our friends how pretty you look when you cum? Muéstrales tu cara bonita, Mi Linda Gatita.” Hanta groans against her skin as he trails his lips up to the juncture of her jaw, the place that makes her weak.

“Yes, Hanta..! Yesyesyes!!” Y/n practically screams as her hips buck up off the couch and soaks her pretty panties with her cum as she gushes around her boyfriend’s fingers. Her cross and roll to the back of her head as her mouth gapes in a perfect O and her claws come out and scratch line rips into the couch cushion and back and her whole body trembles from the intensity of her orgasm. Her ears twitch nonstop against her head and her tail shakes wildly as it coils around Hanta’s arm tightly and her hips shake as her pretty cunny drenches her favorite panties.

“Holy shit..” Mina chuckles in amazement at the sight before her. She doesn’t know who she’s more jealous of in this moment. On the one hand, Y/n clearly just had one of the most intense orgasms of her life, but on the other hand, Hanta gets to give that to her, not just now, but he gets to play with her pretty pussy whenever he wants.

Her look of wonderment is mirrored on Denki, Eijirou, and Hitoshi, as well. That show was stunning. Seeing Y/n make such a pretty face when she came was like a glimpse of heaven to them. No doubt, Katsuki would have had the same reaction had he not fallen asleep in Mina’s lap after a few minutes of Hanta teasing Y/n’s perfect slit over her panties, no matter how hard he tried to fight against it(he didn’t really, he didn’t even realize he was falling asleep until it was too late).

“You were absolutely right, I think that’s the prettiest cum face I’ve ever seen.” Mina breathed with her eyes still wide.

“Right? Mi Bebita Bonita has the prettiest faces when she feels good, isn’t that right, Mi Linda Gatita?” He purrs with a smug smirk at his friend as he presses a kiss to his baby’s cheek. His pretty kitty is too worn out to answer, only able to heave for breath limply against Hanta’s chest with a fucked out expression on her pretty pretty face. The only noises that leave her are pathetic little moans and whines of overstimulation as Hanta gently rubs his fingers over her little cunny as if it’s a soothing motion.

“Damn… And you’re really keeping such a pretty kitty all to yourself, huh? Can’t blame you, man…” Hitoshi lightly teases, even while he can’t tear his eyes away from where they can all see Hanta’s fingers still gliding over her poor little overstimmed pussy.

“Well, whether I keep her all to myself is ultimately up to this Bonita Gatita. Who knows? Maybe she’d be up for a little… group bonding. We can ask once she’s not so blissed out from my fingers in this pretty cunny, sí?” He smirks over at his friends and finally slides his hand out of her soaked panties that make a wet ‘plap’ against her sensitive pussy and makes her flinch and whine from the sudden sensation.

“In the meantime…” He deviously smirks again, holding up his glistening hand in a display, “Who wants a taste?”

— — —

𝕋𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥:

@frosch-thefrog

#tw exhibitionism #cw exhibitionism #tw public sex #cw public sex #sero hanta x reader #hanta sero x reader #sero x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #spiderlily spells

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pedritomosquito · 1 year

Text

All Choked Up (Ch 1)

MINORS DNI

Summary: You're shooting a fight scene with Pedro that involves choking--you know where this is going.

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Actress!Reader

Word count: ~4.1k

Content: SMUT, Minors DNI Blog, thigh riding, choking, handy, general steaminess

You had been called in for more shooting after working for a month on The Last of Us as various clickers. You were going to be doing another fight scene, but this time as your normal human self. Wardrobe had just finished with you and one of the PA’s was escorting you to set to be approved by Craig and Jeremy. It looked like they were in between takes of a scene with Joel and Ellie. Pedro and Bella were both sitting on set pieces, laughing and sipping at water.

Craig and Jeremy are crowded around a monitor with several other producers watching the latest take. The PA introduces you and suddenly all of them turn around, examining you. Craig greets you.

“Great to see you again! Thank you for joining us.”

You have to hold in a laugh, because ‘thank you for joining us’? As if you wouldn’t have thrown yourself into fucking LA traffic to be here?

“Thank you for having me,” you smile instead.

At the sound of your voice, you see Pedro perk up out of the corner of your eye. You pretend not to notice his gaze.

“This looks great,” Craig approves. “Can I see it without the scarf?”

The PA unties your neck gaiter.

“Yes, perfect,” He nods. “Thank you Jennifer,” He dismisses the PA and sends you on your way, “See you on set!”

Interesting costuming detail for Craig to be so particular about, but whatever. The PA starts to usher you back towards the wardrobe department.

You hear Bella call your name and you turn, giving them a happy wave. Pedro gives you a wave too.

“Tomorrow–You, me?”” You playfully point between him and yourself, “we’re squarin’ up!”

“No way!” Pedro replies, looking dare you say excited to hear the news that you’d be working together.

“See you at rehearsal!” You call as you slip out the door.

—--

The next day you have stunt choreography for the fight scene in the evening. You dress in a cute matching Lululemon knock off set and report to the rehearsal studio on the lot. The three stunt coordinators are there to greet you and you stretch out until Pedro arrives.

He’s in a tight workout t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Not the gray sweatpants dear LORD.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” one of the coordinators teases, “And ten minutes late, no less!”

“Fuck off, Phillip,” Pedro laughs as he approached, “I’m old and I’m tired.”

“That’s your excuse every day,” You prod.

“Well it’s true every day,” Pedro complains.

“Ready to beat the shit out of each other?” You smirk.

His laugh makes your stomach flip flop.

“Absolutely.”

The stunt coordinators demonstrate the choreography first and you have to make sure your jaw doesn’t hit the floor.

Your character stands yielding a prop knife and his character rushes at you, grabbing your arms. You struggle like that for a beat before the knife gets knocked out of your hands. He keeps his grip on one of your arms as he punches you across the face, then shoves you back up against the wall. Both of his hands come up to your neck and you fight against him until you pass out and he drops you on the floor.

You have always been on your best behavior around Pedro. The poor guy has women thirsting after him at every turn and you don’t want to add to his suffering. You have your own private thoughts about him–many of them not PG rated. But you are there to do a job, to be a professional. You never really allow yourself to entertain any of those thoughts beyond simple fantasy.

But he is about to choke you against a wall.

That alone has you entertaining several new thoughts.

“Alright, how do you guys feel about that?” Phillip asks.

Pedro just nods with a small “great.” He does this stuff pretty much every day so you’re sure none of it phases him.

Phillip looks to you and you must be a bit too wide eyed.

“You look a little uncomfortable,” Phillip notes kindly, inviting you to speak.

Pedro’s concerned expression knocks the wind out of you.

“No, no,” You assure them, “It just looks amazing and I’m hoping I wasn’t padding my resume when I said I had stage combat experience.” You give a little giggle to sell it and god bless being an actor because they all buy it.

“No worries, you definitely got this,” Phillip assures you.

Phillip had not been lying–you pick up the sequence just fine. When it comes time to run the fight with Pedro, you are feeling confident about the choreography but not much else. You mark through it, slowly going through each motion to practice.

You’re pretty sure you black out when he slides his hands under your chin. He is slow and careful and he barely even makes contact with your throat but just the idea, the notion that he could so easily, makes your insides scream.

He eyes you closely making sure you are okay. You feel safe. Somehow that makes it even worse.

You go through some notes and run it one more time slowly before kicking it up to full speed.

The intensity of doing it in real time causes an adrenaline storm. Pedro’s hands are all over you, all power and tight gripped. You desperately hold it together so you won't forget what you’re doing.

The way your back hits the padded wall forces the air from your lungs. Before you can even get a breath in, Pedro’s inches away from your face, hands around your neck. Heat spreads across your cheeks all the way down to your chest. You are sure the shock is written all over your face and you swear Pedro’s eyebrows furrow just a fraction. You take the moment of embarrassment as a good cue to drop to the floor out of his grip.

“That looked great!” Phillip approves, “How did that feel?”

You nearly choke on your spit at the question.

“Good,” you manage to squeak.

You catch Pedro side eyeing you and force yourself to look anywhere else. You bend over and fiddle with your shoelace out of sheer desperation to hide your face.

“Yeah,” Pedro echoes, “Good.”

You can hear the smile in his voice and want to leap out the window.

“Alright, let’s go full out this time,” Phillip says, “Add the acting, the drama, I want it all. Let’s take it from the line before so we can get the timing down.”

You and Pedro square up, getting into position.

“I’m not going down easy,” You play with a quirked eyebrow.

“Bring it,” He challenges.

You both slip into character and you raise your knife.

—-

“Great work, guys!” Phillip chimes, “See you on set tomorrow.”

“You drive here?” Pedro’s voice appears next to you.

“Yep,” You reply, adjusting your bag on your shoulder and pushing open the door. The cool night air glides a chill down your arms.

“Let me walk you to your car,” He offers, “ I just need to grab my stuff.”

“Oh, okay, yeah, that’d be—that’d be great,” You stumble over the words with a smile.

It’s a short walk to his trailer

“What’s been your favorite project you’ve worked on?” He asks.

“I always thought it couldn’t get any better than Mandalorian but honestly I think this show might be my new favorite.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, everything on this show feels so… real. Mando was all soundstages and green screens. Last of Us really feels like we’ve been dropped into an apocalypse,” You explain before cautiously adding, “And I’ve gotten to work with you a lot more.”

“You like working with me, huh?” Pedro asks as he playfully bumps his shoulder into yours, the shadow of a teasing tone in his voice.

You can’t find words for a moment, pausing with your mouth parted. You might as well put all your cards on the table. “Yes,” you finally reply with a small laugh, “I do.”

You can safely toe the boundary of friendship here. You figure he wouldn’t read into it if he wasn’t interested.

Wait. Are you interested? Oh fuck. Of course you’re interested.

Pedro pauses for a fraction of a moment as you arrive at the trailer, looking at you. Before you can say anything, he pulls open the door and holds it for you. You climb inside and he brushes past you as he enters.

“When you showed up here on set,” He says, “I was really happy to see you again.” He sits down on the cream colored loveseat.

So he isn’t just ‘grabbing his stuff’ after all, you guess.

You join him, trying to remember how to sit like a normal human being.

“I thought you were lying when you said you remembered me,” you reply honestly.

“God no,” Pedro chuckles. His gaze on you intensifies, flitting down your body for a moment, his voice dropping a bit lower. “Couldn’t forget you if I tried, sweetheart.”

You suck in a quiet breath. Your mind begins to swim in the suddenly thickening air. How has he managed to make himself so clear in just a single uttered sentence?

He seems to search your face. You realize he’s looking for reciprocation . This isn’t the time to toe the limit at all–it’s the time to cross the line entirely.

The line between colleagues is drawn for good reason, you try to remind yourself. But all logic dissolves in the simmering heat of how he watches you from the other end of the couch.

Fuck the line. What line? Never heard of one.

You switch on a new part of yourself, cocking your head.

“You aren’t too forgettable yourself,” You reply with a soft smirk, making sure to regard every inch of him.

That is all it takes from him to start closing the gap between you, stopping just inches away. He reaches out and slides your bag off your shoulder in slow motion. You stay frozen as it thuds to the floor. The way his eyes never leave you makes your breathing pick up.

“You can leave right now, I won’t hold it against you,” He says quietly, “We can go back to before and I will never try this again.”

You can’t imagine a worse fate. You shake your head desperately.

“Tell me you want this,” he says, eyes glued to yours.

“I want you ,” You whisper.

His lips easily find yours as you feel a hand lace into your hair and another around your waist. The softness of his lips makes you forget to set yourself into motion, too busy melting into it. You finally remember to reach for him, placing a hand on his chest and the other on the side of his neck. You splay your fingers over his bare skin, brushing a thumb against the stubble on his jaw.

His fingers graze over your scalp as he gently grips a handful of your hair. It makes your jaw fall open and he takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth. You grab a fistful of his shirt to pull him closer.

His hand travels up the center of your chest, curving over your collarbone and back down your side.

He is either being a tease or far too respectful.

You take his wrist and guide him to the bottom hem of your tank top, sliding his hand underneath until his fingers come to the elastic of your sports bra. You pull the spandex up out of the way.

His fingertips skate lightly over the bare skin before he cups you, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

You whine against his mouth, arching into his touch. Your head tips back and he kisses down your neck before returning to your mouth. His lips become more insistent, the pressure of his hands roaming your body more firm. You shift to pull your leg up under you on the couch, needing to get closer to him. He untangles his hand from your hair and does you one better, reaching down, grabbing your ass and pulling you into his lap until he has you hovering over him, his knee between yours.

You pull off your tank top and your sports bra.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Pedro murmurs breathlessly as he attaches his mouth to your nipple.

“Fuck,” The word punches out of you and your hands fly into his hair. His mouth is all heat, tongue working in circles and flicks. You imagine his face between your legs doing the same and you shudder at the mere thought.

He grabs your hips and speaks against the skin of your chest.

“Sit.”

He pulls you down firmly onto his thigh.

“Good girl.”

A gasp helplessly escapes your lips and he has you all figured out. He fails to suppress a smirk and you have half the mind to admonish him, but any attempt is interrupted by his mouth returning to your tit.

He guides your hips to grind against him. The feeling of your wet leggings sliding over his sweatpants drags against your clit just right. You whimper against his temple. He tugs your hips forward again as he flexes his thigh into you and your whimper becomes open mouthed, a moan buried in his hair.

Your hips start to roll on their own accord, chasing down the friction.

“That’s it,” He says softly, licking up your chest, “Make yourself feel good, pretty girl.”

You let out a stilted sigh, dropping your head and sucking the skin beneath his jaw. You reach your hand down and press over the crotch of his sweats. You inhale sharply when you feel him already hard underneath your palm.

“You know how hard it was to control myself, hm?” He questions, voice strained as he pushes himself up against your hand, “Keeping everyone from seeing how much I loved having you pinned up against that wall?”

“ God , that was good acting,” you moan.

“Yours needs some work,” he taunts, “‘Could see it all over your face, querida. Bet you were wet for me, weren’t you?”

“Whole time,” you nod desperately.

He drags his fingers up your chest and wraps his hand around your throat.

“Oh fuck,” tumbles from your mouth.

“This what you wanted, sweetheart? My hand wrapped around your throat like this?”

“Yes,” you whimper. “Fuck, keep talking,” you beg, moving faster in his lap.

“You like the sound of my voice, huh?” He prods, “Like it when I tell you how good you are while you fuck yourself on my thigh?”

You only nod with a whine, reaching under his waistband and taking his cock in your hand. You nearly whine again when you feel how thick he is.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hand tightening just a bit around your throat.

The squeak he receives from you in response is equal parts innocent and filthy.

He uses his free hand to shove his pants and boxers down his hips, exposing his cock in your fist.

You pump him slowly, watching the precum leak from his slit. You release him, pausing your own movement to dip your hand into your panties. You slide two fingers into yourself, gathering your wetness, and return to his length.

“Jesus Christ,” he swears, his words trapped in the back of his throat as you wrap your slick hand around him. His hand tightens on your neck and he thrusts up into your hand, jolting you back into your own rhythm.

Your free hand is slipped under the neckline of his shirt, placed on his chest to steady yourself. The skin there is firm and radiating heat. You can feel his heart beating as fast as yours against your palm.

“You gonna cum like this?” He asks, “Such a needy girl, making a mess on my thigh?”

“Yes, fuck, yes, god yes,” you babble. You’d say yes to practically anything he could ask of you right now, anything to stay in this moment.

Every word he speaks, every shift in his touch drives your fist around him faster.

“ Fuck you feel so good,” He says through gritted teeth, hand now trailing down your throat, curling his fingers to skim his nails over your delicate skin, “Doing so good for me.”

“Please, please, Pedro–” you blindly plead.

He squeezes his hand, tightening the grip on your neck. It’s hardly enough to affect your breathing, but it fuels the tension growing in your hips all the same. Your motions begin to stutter.

“That’s it, querida,” He hums, “That’s it.”

“I’m gonna–” your stutter, “I’m gonna cum.”

He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and every bit of air deserts your lungs.

“I’ve got you. Cum for me.”

Pure heat sparks and sets you ablaze, flames rolling down your body as you cum, cries forced from you.

“ Good girl , there it is. That’s a good girl,” He grinds out the words, pushing himself harder up into your fist. “Fuck, that’s it, fuck ,” A strangled noise catches in his throat, stripes of white painting your hand and his shirt as you ride out your high.

You lean forward to collapse against him, pressing your head to his shoulder, and you both try to catch your breath. He wraps his arms around you, fingers absently tracing over you back.

“Thank you,” you sigh.

“ Thank you ?” He nearly giggles, “Jesus Christ, all I did was sit here!”

“Then you’re welcome,” you breathe, “Like, very, incredibly, definitely welcome literally any time.”

His laughter bounces against your chest.

“Don’t go making offers that are too good to be true, now,” he warns, and you can feel his grin against the side of your neck, “I can’t take the heartbreak.”

So you’re not the only one who wants this to be more than a one time thing. Fuck yeah.

“Any. Time.” You repeat, whispering in his ear.

——-

Coco is setting up her station next to Stephanie and Jess for the afternoon. The hair and make up department is an integral part of The Last of Us because of the extensive clicker-fication process. Coco always jokes with Pedro that she has the easiest job out of everyone–make a man, who is already gorgeous, gorgeous. Not much to do there, just upkeep on Pedro’s gray hair and ensuring he’s grimy enough for an apocalypse.

You walk into the room bundled in a scarf and find Jess’s chair, greeting her. You had never met before and you were a little nervous. Coco, on the other hand, you’d talked to a few times.

“Okay, so, I might have screwed up a little ,” You admit to Jess, immediately piquing the curiosity of the women around you. You were about to make Jess’s job a bit harder.

“Oh?” Jess says.

“So, um, I get uh–strangled, in the scene we’re shooting today so there’s going to be a lot of focus on… my neck…” You preface hesitantly.

Coco whirls around.

“You didn’t,” She gasps, scandalized.

You grimace apologetically as you unwrap your scarf.

“I did.”

There’s no way they could possibly know that Pedro put the hickey blooming dark purple on your throat unless they’re mind readers, but still. You’re paranoid that somehow everyone will know what you did last night with Pedro.

Could see it all over your face, querida.

“You have girl bossed too close to the sun,” Coco shakes her head while Jess and Stephanie giggle.

You cover your face with your hands.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jess laughs, “You’re hardly the first actor to need some hickey cover up. Happens all the time–we’ll get you fixed up.”

Jess does an excellent job as promised and your neck looks pristine.

You thank her endlessly and slip out the door to go to wardrobe.

Just a moment later, Pedro speeds into hair and make-up, greeting Coco and plopping down in her chair.

“I need a bruise covered up,” he says simply.

“How’d you hurt yourself this time, old man?” Coco asks.

“Uh, it’s not exactly that kind of bruise,” he replies sheepishly. He pulls down the turtle neck he’s wearing, revealing the hickeys he’s sporting up his neck.

Coco, Stephanie and Jess all exchange a look. Stephanie is desperately trying to suppress a smirk and Jess has to turn away to contain herself.

You and Pedro are none the wiser that you’re totally busted.

“ Pedro ,” Coco scolds him playfully.

“I know, I know,” he sighs.

“Pass me that concealer, Jess?” Coco asks, “We’d better get started. This might take a while since someone decided to sell his body last night.”

“Oh shut up,” Pedro waved her off with a bashful chuckle, “Vete a la chingada.”

“Pedge, I’m immune to your spanish insults. I don’t speak Spanish.”

“Allow me to translate: fuck. off.”

“Never.”

—————-

You're sitting on the sidelines of the set, absently going over your script and blocking.

“Hello you,” a low voice rings next to you.

A smile climbs onto your lips and you keep your attention on the pages.

“Fancy meeting you here,” you chime.

“Come here often?”

You giggle, finally looking up at him, but your breath is stolen. God , he looked so good as Joel.

“Querida, your face,” he chuckles, “we talked about this.”

You pause for a moment and realize what he’s implying. You must be blushing. Or drooling.

“I have no idea how I have an acting career,” you murmur.

He’s laughing and you can’t help but be reminded of a ray of light. He’s like a bright beam, reflected and refracted into a spectrum of color, streaking boldly across a sunlit room. Maybe you didn’t understand how someone could be ‘beaming’ until now.

He looks like he almost starts to reach out to touch you, maybe tuck a stray hair behind your ear or place a hand on your waist, but he aborts the movement.

Phillip approaches you and you break from your trance.

“Hey guys!” He greets, “how about a quick dry run fight before shooting?”

“Sounds good,” Pedro nods as you agree.

Someone from the props department appears with your fake knife and you thank them.

You do a slow motion run through, making sure the spacing and blocking is perfected for the set pieces around you.

The full speed run is just as intense as the first time you had tried it the night before. You’re panting on the floor by the end, and Pedro extends a hand to help you to your feet. You look up at him from underneath the fan of your lashes and he stares down at you all the same.

“Alright you definitely have the choreography down!” Phillip sings his praises and declares you both ready for filming.

“We’re going to start shooting in just a minute here,” Craig informs the room.

Jess is there, coming over to touch up your make up one last time and the guy from props reappears, returning the discarded knife back to you.

“You and Pedro have us sharing the good setting powder,” Jess laughs to herself, taking some onto her brush before Coco steals the container with a smile as she passes by.

It hits you all at once.

You left hickeys all over Pedro last night, didn’t you? You look over and see Coco brushing the powder over the side of his throat.

“ Jess, ” Your eyes are blown wide.

She pauses, regarding you with confusion for a moment until the realization appears on her face.

“Oh! Don’t worry, we’ll never tell. Makeup artists take an oath of secrecy,” She explains. “ However ,” She adds, “I am living vicariously through you. Just full transparency.”

“Fair,” you reply a bit distantly, still watching Pedro.

—-

Coco goes over to Pedro and starts on her final touch ups.

“You know,” she says quietly after a moment, “The weirdest thing happened earlier.”

“Yeah?” Pedro asks, suspicious of her playful tone.

“Yeah,” she replies, “A minute before you came in asking us to cover up your hickeys, your scene partner came in needing the same thing.”

“That is… quite a coincidence…” He agreed slowly.

“I’m glad one of us had sexcapades last night,” she assured him, “all I did was watch tv.”

“Please never say ‘sexcapade’ ever again,” Pedro muttered.

“Look, if you’re going for subtlety–tone it down,” She advises, “You look like you’re about to jump each other’s bones, not kill each other.”

“Fuck, it’s that obvious?” He asks.

She just replies with raised eyebrows and a smirk. “But–hey,” she says sincerely, “Good for you, Pedge. You deserve it.”

“Stop–” He swats her away with an embarrassed smile, “Making me blush. Joel doesn’t blush.”

“Go get ‘em tiger,” She pats him on the back before leaving.

A/N: Tell me what you liked most! I wanna know what my beloved slutty lil readers enjoy!

Chapter 2

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #hbo the last of us #pedro pascal smut #fanfiction #tlou

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lucrezianoin · 1 year

Text

Dark Urge and Astarion romance (spoilers for both quests)

So I have a lot of feelings about the Astarion romance route while playing Dark Urge. A LOT. I feel like the two (and in general Shadowheart's personal quest too actually) feel very complementary.

TW for everything involving Astarion's past, and general violence.

Keep in mind that this is going to be a long post and it is going to have SPOILERS for the whole game, till the very end. In general this is a long happy rant about how happy I am about Dark Urge path and Astarion romance together. Also keep in mind that this is about my feelings of the two, not about "which one is objectively the best romance for Dark Urge". This is more of a "please if you liked astarion romance as tav romance him as dark urge too" than a "if you play as dark urge you need to romance astarion".

Also keep in mind this is ONLY about redeeming Dark Urge and their good path! In the post I will only talk a little bit about the bad ending.

General points

In general, I just wanted to talk about the theme of the urges/hunger, the theme of family and escaping from your family, a little bit about the evil choice and the whole theme of rebirth that both characters have quite explicitly. In this order!

Urges

The first point of connection between the two characters is the fact that they are (sometimes) both driven by a certain hunger for blood or violence. As Durge you will be able to see how your companions react to these black outs, and you will worry about it, and Astarion seems to be among the most accepting. Maybe it is just his need to keep on Durge's good side, or maybe it is just the fact that he has experience on it.

In later scenes, Astarion will draw parallels between Durge's experience and his own. If Durge is cursed to succumb to his own urges, then Astarion will directly connect that to the times Cazador's has driven him feral and mad with hunger.

During the extra Durge specific romance scene, Astarion makes another direct connection to the violence in Durge and what he previously did. He does not have a completely clean conscience (that is clear, and not just because of Cazador), and he is not as "good" at making the good nice choice as other companions.

He understands the hunger and losing control over his body more than others, so he can empathize with Durge and what they are going through. He jokes about it, sure, but he is genuinelly worried.

Another option in the dialogue has him saying "If anyone understands an internal voice forcing your hand, I do. But that's not who we are now. We make our own choices, and you made the right one last night." He is the only companion who uses the "we".

Other points of overlapping are, of course, the fact that both characters have gaps in their memories. Astarion because of trauma and Durge because of physical trauma (torture and well, violence). Their past is one of violence, for both of them, and while Durge operated it a little more voluntarily than Astarion, this NEW Durge, the blank state we get at the start of the game... well, in a good playthrough they try to resist their need for violence just like Astarion is resisting his hunger and his thirst for power.

Reciprocal saving

Astarion is literally introduced as a damsel in distress. He is the only companion whose quest NEEDS to be completed before the tadpole is removed or he will become a slave again (other companions might have other consequences, but nothing that cannot be solved after the tadpole removal, and in case of Karlach there is no limit, she is destined to die or return to Avernus). He does need help, he cannot face Cazador alone, so we all know his plan for protection.

The first scene he appears him is literally him asking for help to try and lure the player and get some answers out of them.

As a player with companions characters, we are all used to helping them in their quests. But as I said, Astarion's help is kinda on a ticking clock based on the end of the game... and well, he is the one who is clearly less involved with abilities and fighting. In story, he is the only one who is out of place. Gale is a great wizard and Mystra ordered him to take care of the brain, Wyll is a legendary hero, Karlach is a legendary warrior, Shadowheart is on a mission for Shar, Lae'zel is also a warrior and she will be on her mission for Orpheus soon, Halsin is a powerful druid who wants to break a curse directly connected to the brain etc. etc.

Astarion is... a guy. Who was a slave. By accident he has been chosen by the mindflayers and freed. His only connection with the group is the tadpole, he could not care less about, well, the "mission". His own mission is remaining free and getting rid of Cazador. And he needs the player character for that (we know he is recaptured if he leaves the group).

I could go on a rant about the angst of it all and the power imbalance this create and the fear that surely drives him through act 1, but for now I wanted to talk about this "be saved by the player character" and how with Durge it finally becomes reciprocal.

This is more than "let's help each other on a quest". This is two characters who are on a path of possible evilness and destruction, promising to save each other.

I think some of the imbalance in a Tav's playthrough, where Tav is good and helps Astarion out of their good heart, disappears in a Durge one.

Durge NEEDS Astarion as much as Astarion needs him. Astarion directly promises Durge to save them from becoming a slave to their urges. One of my favourite options as Durge is replying "I will be the person you want to see in me". Because for ALL the complaining, all the times Astarion says he wants power... the person he wants to see in Durge is still someone sweet and kind, a good heart.

You have two possible bad people who end up being each other moral compass and saviors, equally. And I think it makes the story so much richer. Of course, in the case of Astarion it is a direct persuasion check from the player (as long as you make him face the consequences), in the case of Durge is more metagaming, given it is the idea of wanting to be the person Astarion sees in you (and your friends and companions).

Both Astarion and Durge need to be seen for the good parts they have in them.

After the Durge questline, when they refuse Bhaal, Astarion will say "But somehow by your side I still only ever saw you", which echos what he says to Durge (in his romance scene) that he feels seen by them.

Family

For all the violence and the horror, the quests of Durge and Cazador are presented as family. Durge's family was what led them to violence, their father basically cursing them to a life of hate, then they were betrayed by their "sister" and made into a blank state.

Cazador constantly swings between considering his spawns as children or pets/dogs, putting himself in the role of the almost father. The spawns call each other siblings.

While the two families are quite different, they both end up with Astarion and Durge having to make a choice about choosing or refusing the "father"'s power, one to be stolen and the other offered.

You were also both made by them. Cazador often remarks on Astarion being his and being made/his creation. Bhaal directly considers Durge a puppet he made, and if Durge does not agree with his plan then he will make another.

The evil choice

I found it pretty interesting that there is only one quest among companions that have a full on evil choice, and that is Astarion's. Shadowheart's two choices are both painful and very hard to decide upon, Gale's choice of giving back the crown is seen generally as a good choice but it also involves giving back to Mystra who abused her power on him. Karlach, Minsc and Jaheira don'r really have choices. Lae'zel's choice of queen vs Orpheus is a clear path to Orpheus (as in, I think she decides that on her own if she sees him) but the real choice happens at the end, where she has to choose between Orpheus and living for herself - what is the good choice there? Helping free her people or live her own life? Wyll's choice is also hard and almost equal in pain/gain, one is saving his father and being stuck in the pact, and the other is freeing him but knowing Mizora will come for his father again (even if you save him in game). I think it is telling that the choice is hard because Wyll never says he regrets making the pact in the first place, it was a hard choice he had to make.

Astarion and Durge are the only personal quests that have a clear and defined evil ending, and interestingly enough it is similar...

Both glowing in red light while accepting the cursed power given by their "fathers". Both will come out of it with glowing eyes and evil smiles. The bad choice makes them the worst version of each other, as they both failed to be anchor for their good selves.

I really dislike ascended Astarion, and he clearly has a bigger impact on his personality, given Durge is a player character, but I still found it a good parallel, just the fact that these are the two in the party who can be REALLY evil, who can truly go towards the worst possible path. And not a path of "evil together", but a path of domination and reciprocal destruction.

Astarion becomes everything Cazador's was and wants to take control of Durge, and Durge has to follow Bhaal's plan and take control of the brain... which ends up with Astarion just where he started, as a puppet controlled by that person who (as the Butler once said) he should have feared the most.

Rebirth (the good choice)

NOW TO TALK ABOUT MY FAVORITE POINT. Both stories, both quests, end in an explicit rebirth symbolism.

We have Durge literally dying, and being resurrected by another god of death, coming back to life to find out that he has been given a second chance. The urges have gone, they are free, they are a new person forged by the experience they went through during the path to Baldur's Gate.

In the same way, Astarion is also forged by his experiences with the group and Durge, by what they all went through. So much that if the player does not allow him to confront Sebastian and show him that he is driven by fear, that he, deep down, feels compassion for the spawns... then the player will lose the ability to persuade him to stop the ritual.

Astarion is also reborn, so much that we have a whole scene where he writes a new date on his tomb, it cannot be more explicit than this.

In both cases not only the theme of rebirth but of responsibility is stressed. Astarion talks about freedom as a place where he (and his siblings) are responsible for their choices, good or bad. And the same can be said about Durge.

So yes, I think playing as Durge puts so much more into Astarion's romance, because creates an almost parallel path of these two people who could easily become the worst version of themselves, and if Durge pushes to stop their urges, in a good playthrough, they do become each other's anchor and key to break the cycle.

#astarion #meta #dark urge #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #astarion romance #durge #spoilers #durge spoilers #bg3 spoilers

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kingofbodyrolls · 1 year

Text

Jungkook fic recs 2023

In honor of Jungkook’s birthday, I want to share my ultimate favorite Jungkook fanfictions, that I’ve read this year 💜I want to thank each and every writer on this list for creating such wonderful stories and art - you are truly amazing ✨ All the fics on this list hold a dear place in my heart 🥹

❗Most of these fics are smutty as hell, so minors dni.❗

If you read anything on this list and you like it, please leave a comment to the writer or reblog the original fic’s post 💜And if you want more fic recs you can follow me to stay updated 🙂

BTS fic rec index → May | Jun | Jul | Aug | Sep (💜)(knj) | Oct (pjm) | Nov (*) | Dec (ksj)(kth) |

Emoji meaning → angst = 🌩️, smut = 🥵, fluff = 🥰, comedy = 😂.

⭐Two point Five: pt1, pt2, pt3 [series] by @bratkook // jjk x f.reader // handyman!jk, s2f2l // 🥵🥰

📝 Who would have thought booking a handyman from an app would lead to this. sure, you wish he’d mount you instead of just your television, but you could totally be friends. Right?

🗨️ This is also one of my all time favorites! 💎There is just something incredibly hot about handyman JK 🥵 It is so good, juicy, smutty and there’s comedy in it too! Please don’t be sleeping on this one.

⭐Caught Me by @jeongi // jjk x f.reader // roommate!au, e2l // 🥵😂

📝 You hate your temporary roommate, jungkook and it doesn’t help that he’s been catching you at the most inconvenient of times.

🗨️ This is a fucking MASTERPIECE 💖 I love the banter and comedy, how JK gets on readers nerves 😂 I love absolutely every fucking thing about this and don’t get me started on the smut 🔥🔥 🔥

⭐The Forgotten Spaces [completed series] by @oddinary4bts // jjk x reader // college!au, dancer!au + e2l // 🌩️🥵🥰

📝 You’ve been dancing on the same dance crew since your teenage years, and you finally have an important role in it. It feels like life is taunting you when your rival comes back after disappearing for a year, ready to tease you every chance he gets. Will the teasing turn into more, or are you going to take him down with you?

🗨️ This is truly a masterpiece! The writing is perfection and the characters have so much soul, dimension, hurt and love. It is exceptional 👏🏾♥️ you just have to read this gem 💎

⭐McD*ckin by @jinned // jjk x f.reader // slice of life, fast food worker!jk, customer!reader, s2l // 🥵😂

📝 “So, if I’m so predictable,” you tease, running your finger along his clothed chest, “what am I going to do next?”

🗨️ I’d like to order a McChicken please 🙋🏾‍♀️🥵💦 this was funny, and actually made me laugh like a freak at some points 🤣 also the second hand embarrassment 😳🙈 It really cheered me up. I really liked the ordering menu when reader arrived 🙈🤭 also the ending, which was unexpected for me, but I quite liked it because it wasn’t “super happy and lovey dovey” like most of the stories I read, but still open 😊

⭐The Wedding Planners by @gukyi // jjk x f.reader // e2l, wedding!au // 🥰🥵🌩️

📝 Jeon Jungkook is three things: cocky, terrible, and your worst enemy. Then your best friend Hoseok gets engaged to the love of his life, and suddenly Jeon Jungkook is four things: cocky, terrible, your worst enemy, and the man you will be spending the next seven months with in order to plan your best friend’s wedding. And then, as if your life couldn’t get any shittier, you make the poor decision of sleeping with him on the first day of the job.

⭐In the Dark by @jksangelic // jjk x pjm x f.reader // threesome, f2l, mxm // 🥵😂

📝 “I can’t get a signal on my phone, the car is dead, and I’m fairly certain we are out of matches.”

⭐Oh My God, They Were (Quarantined) Roommates 💯 by @ot7always // jjk x f.reader // college!au, roommates!au // 🥰🥵

📝 What do you do when you’re quarantined for months on end with Jeon Jungkook - S tier cuddler, workout robot, and thirst trap extraordinaire? Fuck him, you guess.

⭐Anpanman by @honeymoonjin // jjk x f.reader // bf2l // 🥵😂🥰

📝 Your best friend jungkook finally convinces you to seek therapy for your failing mental health. the only catch? the one therapist that’s within your price range is an alternative marriage counsellor, jung hoseok, and the only way jungkook managed to get you an appointment was by saying the two of you were married. will couples counselling actually be useful for your wellbeing, or will something that runs much deeper rise to the surface instead?

⭐The Boy with Galaxies in His Eyes by @oddinary4bts // jjk x reader // idol!au + fwb2l // 🌩️🥵🥰

📝 You had never thought the night sky could be found in someone’s eyes. That is, until you met Jeon Jungkook and his gravity pulled you in. Will he crush you with the galaxies in his eyes, or will you learn to explore his worlds and make them yours?

🗨️ It is a long one, but damn is it worth it! It will take you for the very best rollercoaster ride of your life. So if you haven’t read this yet, what are you honestly doing with your life?

Borahae and happy birthday Kookie 💜 🥳 🎂

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tarrynightss · 2 years

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Kinky things with the Recoms

Characters: Miles Quaritch, Lyle Wainfleet, Mansk, Z-dog, Lopez, Prager, Sean Fike & Ja

Yea I excluded Brown, Warren, Walker and Zhang because… I just couldn’t characterize them rn

Warnings: SMUT, breeding kink, spanking, scenting, jerking off into panties, daddy kink, spit, choking, pain kink

A/N: just a bit of Recom thirsting while I work on the fics

Miles Quaritch ~ breeding kink

Everybody saw this one coming. This man loves making babies and just the thrill of the possibility of getting you pregnant.

He’ll have his dog tags hitting your back while he fucks you from behind, one hand tightly wrapped around your hair as he grunts about how he’s going to fill you up and make you a mommy. One of his big hands will find your lower stomach, stroking over it longingly as he imagines your curves filling out. God, you’ll be a real sight.

Will have you ride him in the cowgirl position so he can watch as his seed slips back out of you after he cums, continuing fucking your tight cunt. He’ll make you lean back slightly so he can see every little drag of your lips along his length. “Look so good, sweetheart,” he praises you. “Nice and bred.”

Miles loves pushing his cum back in with his fingers or having you cockwarm him after sex. He wants to assure his cum stays in you as much as possible, whispering to you how he won’t take any chances.

Lyle Wainfleet ~ Spanking

Any excuse to call you a naughty girl, he will happily take. He’ll lick his lips as he imagines what he’ll do to you later to punish you for whatever you did wrong, though he already knows exactly what he’ll be doing.

You’ll be laid over Lyle’s lap completely naked, his hand slowly massaging from your soft ass up to your neck. When he reaches your head, he tugs it back roughly by your hair, bringing his mouth to your ear. “Couldn’t help yourself before, could you, baby? Don’t worry, daddy Lyle will teach you some manners.”

He’ll bring his hand down onto your ass repeatedly, making you count every single hit in between your moans and yelps. If you lose count, he’ll tsk and tell you you’ll pay for that later.

When he’s done your ass is marked with welts in the shape of his fingers. After a slow massage and some soothing cooing of how well you’d done, you would normally be done, unless you lost count.

In that case he’ll lay you out on the bed, making you spread your legs and having your hands grab tightly onto the sheets. He’ll slap his hand against your wet, sensitive cunt. He’s far gentler than when he spanks your ass, but he still keeps on going till tears stream down your cheeks, begging and pleading with him that you won’t forget next time, that you’ll be good. The way he eats you out aftwards is divine though.

Mansk ~ Scenting

He loves to make you smell like him till the point that other Avatars regularly comment on it. He’s not really with the whole mating through Tsaheylu thing yet, but he still wants everyone to be aware that you’re his even when he isn’t by your side.

Will scent you through having you wear his clothes, sleep in his bed and just plain out rubbing against you. He loves smelling the nape of you’re neck when you’re naked and instantly recognizing his own scent.

Cumming both inside you and all over your body is a big thing for him. He wants every spot on your body to be marked by him and his release is the perfect way to do that. Plus it paints a pretty picture, his cock instantly getting hard again when he sees your face or tits covered in his seed.

Eagerly smear his cock past your lips or face and he’ll be seeing heaven. Messy blowjobs are his favorite.

Loves your scent as well. Will ask you to grind your wet cunt onto his shirt so he can smell it later. Is also a bit of panty thief for this reason but isn’t secretive about it, returning them unwashed after he’s jacked off in them.

Zdinarsk aka Z-dog ~ Spit

This is one mean gal and she tends to stay that way in the bedroom.

Will force your mouth open with one hand as the other is busy hammering her fingers into your cunt. “Needy bitch.” She’ll groan as she watches you. “Stick your tongue out.” As soon as you do so she forces your face lower till she can hover hers above it, letting her spit dribble slowly into your mouth. She’ll force your jaw shut, smirking evilly as she gives you no choice but to swallow her spit. And when you do, she’ll laugh and give you a nice slap across your cheek in reward. “You actually did it! God, you’re such a fucking slut.”

The type to spit on her hand to lube your cunt up with it before she fingers you or grinds her own wetness against yours. Something about hearing the lewd, wet squelches after your privates are nice and covered in spit sends a shiver down her spine.

Will be sloppy during both kissing and eating you out, making sure that your arousal and her spit gets everywhere. When she goes down on you she won’t stop till your thighs are coated and your wetness has stained even the bridge of her nose.

Lopez ~ Pain

Did you see all his tattoos? He loves a physical challenge. He’ll want to go all out with his partner, lots of the fucking resulting in bruises and tiny cuts.

Lopez wants your nails to scratch at his skin till he bleeds, wants your teeth to sink into his shoulders and your hips to buck into his till he feels they might break. He wants you to fuck him hard.

He’ll be bit rough himself as well, throwing you around to change positions and having no issue with tightly holding your hands behind your back or slamming you against a wall to take you like he might die tomorrow. He just wants you to be the one who’s giving the real pain.

Ride his face without reservation while sinking your teeth into the skin surrounding his lower abdomen and pelvic area and he’ll fall in love instantly.

Prager ~ Praise kink

Just wants you to praise him while you stroke his cock. Wants to hear how handsome he looks as he moans and how big he is in your hand.

Prager loves it when you kiss along his body, looking up at him through your lashes and blessing him with little smiles.

Will fuck into you with all he has while nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. His groans and pants sound so good in your ear, and you hold onto the back of his head lovingly. Will love it if you tell him explicitly how good he’s making you feel and how deep his cock is going inside you.

Might like being a called a good boy way too much. His hips will instantly start stuttering when you do so, his orgasm never far behind.

Sean Fike ~ Choking

He just loves to wrap his hands around your throat while he fucks in missionary, grinning madly at the sight of your pretty eyes rolling back.

Over the years he’s become somewhat of an expert at how to choke someone till they’re just at the edge, and if you allow him he’ll gladly take you there in bed. There’s nothing more mind reeling than cumming as soon as air flows back into your lungs.

Will want you to beg him to choke you. He’ll ignore it the first couple of times before his hand will snap to your neck, his grip tight. “Don’t forget that you asked for this, doll.” Is all you hear him groan before he squeezes.

Choking on his cock is also a sight he loves seeing. He’ll grab you by the hair and slam his cock down your throat suddenly while you’re sucking it, enjoying the way you gag and push at him as you choke. Doing it while he orgasms is even better, allowing him to watch you cough up his cum, your pretty mouth quickly becoming stained and thick strings of his spend hanging from them.

Ja ~ Outdoor sex

He loves to get down and dirty in, well, the actual dirt. He’ll chase you outside like an animal before throwing you down to the ground and grinding against your ass. He won’t mind mud or grass getting on him or you, pushing your face down with no regard of what’s below you.

Ja will drill you into the ground or fuck you up against a tree with a haste that he never usually has. It’s not that he minds getting caught, the thought actually quite thrilling to him, but something about being surrounded by all this nature gives him the need to fuck you hard and fast.

Doesn’t mind staying outside for days, taking you to a creek to wash off whenever you get too dirty. And then instantly taints you again by thrusting his cock into you till both your cunt and ass are filled with his cum.

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deanbrainrotwritings · 11 months

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— SCREAM (YOU MAKE ME FEEL LIKE IT’S HALLOWEEN)

SUMMARY : it’s Halloween and it’s also your birthday, and Dean’s made a lot of promises about how it was gonna be the best night ever.

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS : nsfw (18+), smut, fluff, tiny bit of choking, nipple orgasm

WORD COUNT : 3.4k

A/N : happy Halloween (if you celebrate) !!! title from avenged sevenfold and muse song. my sister convinced me to write this LOL. this is pretty much a Drabble, lol, leaving it open ended basically, you’ll see why… (also, when I write I pretty much assume everyone’s watch Supernatural at least once.. I never put any spoiler disclaimers bc I forget… lol but, yeah. pretty much everything I write will mention something from any and all seasons) XX

The Bunker was chilly this Halloween night, and for the first time in years, Y/n and the Winchesters weren’t tangled up in a hunt. The monsters, for once, didn’t take advantage of the holiday to get away with their usual tricks and modes of preying.

To be fair, their numbers had dwindled significantly since Jack became ‘God’ or whatever the hell happened. Hunting wasn’t nearly as hard as it was before, as if even monsters had free-will bestowed upon them. As if they’d chosen a better life rather than one in which they are hunted and killed.

Good for them. Everyone wins.

The only prey tonight is Y/n, but as far as she’s concerned the running is only part of the fun, and getting caught wasn’t something she’d hate.

As she breathed erratically and ran as fast as her platform heels could carry her across the concrete floor of the Bunker, her heart raced as if she were on any other hunt. But what made this hunt different was the spark of excitement that tingled up her spine and the flush of her bare skin.

She stopped at the kitchen and caught her breath momentarily, looking around the place as everything flashed red. To add to the thrill, mostly. She walked on shaky legs to the refrigerator and took out some water to drink it quickly. As she swallowed down a fair amount, she could feel the cold water travel down to her stomach and she sighed as her thirst and the dryness in her throat disappeared.

After about twenty minutes of hiding and running away, she was on high alert, her senses were heightened, and she could easily hear his footsteps—even over the alarm Dean had set off in the Bunker to scare her even more.

She quickly made her way out of the kitchen after setting the half-empty water bottle on the metal counter, checked both ways and began making her way into the dungeon, wondering if maybe Dean was there. If he could just catch her already, the dampness of her lace panties wouldn’t be too uncomfortable. Especially since she could easily feel it with the cool air inside the concrete walls of her temporary home.

Much to her disappointment, Dean wasn’t anywhere to be found in the dungeon or anywhere around there. Even if he’s the one that’s supposed to be looking for her, she just wanted to know what would happen once she was caught by him.

Besides, her feet were starting to ache, her legs were practically turning to jelly at this point, and her sweat was starting to feel uncomfortable. It didn’t sound very sexy to her, but she knew Dean would still jump her bones despite that. It was a nice feeling, to be loved… by him specifically.

She had to wonder if he was even trying.

Just forty minutes ago, he had texted her to take her clothes off and to wear the lingerie set he’d placed in Sam’s room for safekeeping. It had been in Cas’ room before that, but once Sam left to be with Eileen, Dean placed the white box on Sam’s bed. A huge, royal blue bow glittered in the middle of the boring room, perfectly positioned on the box with her name and a sexy note from Dean promising to make it the best birthday ever.

She’d waited in Dean’s room excitedly in the light blue lingerie and when he’d made his way to her, she couldn’t believe what he had in mind, what his plan was. He had some heels in his hands and she gaped up at the Ghostface mask that covered her boyfriend’s handsome face. He was covered from head to toe in a thick black robe, laughed at the look on her face, and got down to put her heels on her.

“How’s that, sweetheart?” He asked, his deep and hot voice muffled behind the mask.

“Uh,” she tried, then just decided to stand up and moved her legs around a bit to test the comfort. She nodded and he tugged her towards him, the smooth and cool material of his robe brushing against her soft and warm skin. She could feel every inch of him, and wondered momentarily if he was completely naked underneath, but instead of asking him flirtatiously, she just gasped.

She stumbled backwards for a few steps when he began to walk forward with her still in his arms. She chewed on her bottom lip when he had her pressed against the wall. She could see his green eyes through the thick black cloth that covered his eyes, the way they were looking down at her with so much amusement. If she had to go by those crinkles by his eyes, she had to guess he had the hottest, smuggest look on his face.

And he’d be right to.

He lifted her leg up slowly, held her knee by his hip, and squeezed her closer to him by her waist. Her heart raced at the sight of him and she felt wetness grow between her legs when he slotted his hips between hers.

All the while, she just clung to his arms, staring up at him in surprise and completely aroused by his calculated movements. Even her breaths had gotten irregular and he hadn’t said or done much of anything, but that was the effect of Dean Winchester.

“Run,” he murmured deeply, releasing her before stepping away.

She blinked up at him, “uh, what?”

He looked away, laughed softly, and grabbed her wrist. She chewed on her lip and let him spin her around gracefully. With a nice slap on her ass, he repeated the word ‘run’ much more sternly than before. She looked at the hallway in front of her in surprise, then looked down at herself in lingerie, then back over her shoulder at him in his costume.

He jerked his head to the left, quietly telling her to go.

And that’s why she was running now. They were half-assed attempts most of the time, but when she spotted him behind her, she felt her stomach flutter, and started to break out in a thrilled sprint across whatever room she was in to get away from him. When he chased her, the small hairs on her body raised above her skin, a shudder of excitement ghosting up her spine. It was way too fun to end the game, but getting caught piqued her interest, too.

Dean wouldn’t just start this whole game only for it to end at the capture. No, he was far too creative and way too frisky for that. He had something in mind, something mind blowing, some big treat at the end regardless of the outcome of this chase. That much she knew.

She made her way out of the dungeon, speed walking through the halls, checking her surroundings. At this point, she was considering the removal of her heels. They were very sexy, but definitely not ideal for running. Also, they practically announced her location with each click on the concrete floor, despite her efforts to walk awkwardly in attempts to muffle the sounds.

She had already checked the infirmary, the library, kitchen, bathroom, shooting range. She basically paid a visit to every room in the Bunker and had no luck in bumping into Dean in any of those places.

She thought about what to do about the heels as she went to the one place she hadn’t checked—the garage, where Dean’s favourite sexy, old cars remained. They were perfect for hiding in. Of course, Dean could be waiting to pounce on her from within any one of them, if he was looking through each room. She hoped for the latter, it would give her feet some rest from the painful running. She simply couldn’t walk in heels this tall for very long.

She quietly made her way up the stairs to stand at the entrance of the garage when the alarms stopped and the lights flickered off. She cursed softly under her breath, but Dean already gave his location away by shutting off the loud noises and distracting lights.

Once she slowly set foot deeper into the garage, she quickly scanned around the room, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. She walked to the end of the garage where the black Bentley S2 was and looked around one last time with her hand on the door handle before sneaking inside the backseat of the vehicle.

The leather squeaked beneath her bare skin as she slid across and shut the door once she was inside. She wiggled around to lay down over the beige seat and relaxed at last. Bending her knee, she lifted her leg up to finally remove the heels. Mentally, she apologised to Dean when she took them off.

She lowered her legs and groaned when she looked at the tiny space between the backseat and the front seat. It wasn’t nearly as big as the Impala’s, really rather small, way too small for her to slip between comfortably on her back. If she were on her side… but no, that was out of the question.

She rolled her ankles, stretched her legs, bent them… She did everything until the aches in her legs mostly disappeared. And, wow, she could fall asleep right about now. Except there was a loud bang from something in the garage that made her jump, one of her hands immediately flying to her mouth to contain her hysterical laugh and a yelp.

“I know you’re in here,” Dean taunted nearby. She removed her hand to smile curiously and raised a brow. She wished she could sink into the car seat right about now, but also wanted to lift herself up to see him, but decided against it. Instead, she waited as he looked through every car, every second feeling like a lifetime and yet when he gently pushed against the car she was in with a loud bang, she shouted.

His chest was heaving, his gloved hands were placed on either side of the door where her feet were and she started to laugh instead.

“Hi, baby,” he greeted in a raspy tone, his voice slightly muffled behind the mask. He proceeded to open the door of the car and she sat up, her heart thumping excitedly when he peeked inside and saw her feet covered only in the white thigh highs. “Your feet okay?” He asked, then grasped her ankle, she barely nodded when he tugged her roughly towards him by her foot.

She quickly gripped the seat as the leather squeaked against her ass, heating up her sensitive skin. “Ow,” she chuckled, echoing his own apologetic laugh. He grabbed the seat and leaned inside, his other hand slid up her calf to grab behind her knee. She licked her lips and her face flushed as he parted her legs. Wetness pooled between her thighs, her clit pulsed at the ideas running through her head, instantly becoming aroused as he climbed inside the car, settling into the spot between her legs.

She reached out for his robe and tugged him forward. He reached up and brushed her soft strands of hair away from her shoulder, then let his hand slide to the nape of her neck to grip on it. She pushed out her chest, silently begging for his eyes to drop down and admire her. “You caught me…” she trailed off, feeling a tingle run down her spine when his gloved fingers brushed against her scalp.

“I did…” he teased, tugging her hair. She gasped softly, her thighs twitching to shut when she felt the pressure in her skull run dully to her clit.

The darkness made everything better. She could hear his breathing, her own just as quick as his.

“Are you ready for your first birthday gift?” He asked, disappointingly untangling his fingers from her hair to slide his gloved fingers teasingly down her neck, to the strap of her bra.

She shivered and bit her lip, felt her nipples tightening against the lace of her bra as her fingers slid down the front of her strap. “I thought this morning… with the crepes and with the way that you—”

“Well, this is gonna be your first gift of the night,” he interrupted her, sounding smug. Slowly, Dean slid his hand beneath the strap to drag it off her shoulder, and kept his hand there to push her down onto her back.

“How many gifts do you have for me?” She asked, watching him tilt his head thoughtfully.

“How old are you?” He asked rhetorically as he lifted her thighs above his.

She stared at the mask covering Dean’s face with confusion, then it twisted into incredulity. The soft material of his gloves slid up her sides teasingly, then right back down to playfully snap the garter she was wearing against her soft skin.

“You look so fucking hot, baby,” he groaned, hands sliding slowly over her belly, up her ribs, then coming together over her lace-covered breasts. He squeezed them playfully, felt her thighs become tense against his, and heard her breath hitch softly. “Was that fun?” He asked quietly, pulling the cup of her bra down, she inhaled shakily and whispered a ‘yes’.

Gently, he brushed his thumbs around her nipples, one uncovered and the other still safe inside the lace cup. Still, she felt a tingly sensation spark up on her breasts and between her legs. She murmured his name and arched her back slightly, reaching between her legs to grab his waist.

“I haven’t made you cum like this enough times, have I, sweetheart?” He gently rolled her nipples between his fingers and pinched them, slowly teasing, building up the arousal. She looked at him, face covered in a mask, but there was something so arousing about the darkness, the car, his hands on her chest, the material of his gloves creating a perfect sensation… about wearing the lingerie he bought for her, hearing his ragged breaths moggling with hers, occasional gasps and quiets moans filled up the backseat.

“We never have time…” she agreed, dazed with the yearning. She squirmed, wanting to feel more, but instead of removing his gloves he lowered the other cup and played with them both, used the same techniques to erect them and make her feel desperate, kindling her orgasm.

“Please,” she moaned, fingers wrapping around his wrist and tugging up.

“What?” He asked softly, playfully exasperated by her grip. He knew what she wanted as she searched for the edge of the cuff and began tugging downwards.

“I want to feel you,” she murmured, thumbs gently brushing over his pulse point where she could feel his heartbeat thrumming swiftly against the pads of her fingers.

“I thought you liked the feeling like this…” he murmured, removing one hand from her chest and sliding the other upwards to teasingly squeeze her neck. He teased her clit over the lace of her underwear with gloved fingers, her breath catching and barely moving past his gentle grip on her neck.

The teasing didn’t last and neither did the fuzzy breathlessness of his grip on her neck. He removed his gloves quickly and ghosted his fingers sensually up her body again, showing her the feel of his warm, calloused hands on her flushed skin.

She hummed softly, almost a pur, and placed her smaller hands above his, squirming as she attempted to hurry his hands. He only laughed at her attempts, ignored her little whine, and slid his hand under the baby blue bra. He lifted the lacey bra up her chest slowly, so the lace would teasingly brush against her sensitive nipples, and then made an arch over her cleavage.

Her gently used his thumbs to rub the underside of her breasts first, building up the feeling of his warm palm before cupping her breasts. With a gentle squeeze of her breasts, he murmured little praises to her, and tapped around her nipples.

She wiggled impatiently, her excitement growing by the second, heat rising from head to toe like conduction from the warmth of his teasing fingers. The little taps slowly moved inwards, it was gentle, and felt so good, but she wanted more. No amount of squirming from her made Dean accelerate his touch, minute by minute, he kept with the same technique, and finally switched to rubbing her nipple, pinching, twisting..

“More, Dean…” she whined, feeling irritated at being on the edge of her orgasm, like a wave that never came.

“Like what?” He asked playfully, tweaking her nipples to shut her up half way through her ‘fuck you’. Her knees pressed into his sides needily, her back was arched again and he rolled his eyes in amusement when she reached up to his face to pull off the mask. “Tell me first,” he murmured, leaning backwards, getting away from her hands.

“I need…” she laughed softly, “your mouth.”

“Good girl,” he praised tenderly, moving one hand away from her breast.

He moved the mask out of the way with one hand and leaned down over her body to flick his tongue against her nipple a few times. Her knees pressed harder into his sides and she moaned loudly, hands sliding into the hood of his cloak to grip his hair tightly. He wrapped his lips around her nipple, teeth pressing roughly around her flesh, tongue lapping at the hardened bud, and made his cheeks hollow as he sucked harshly, pinching her other nipple roughly with his hand.

Finally, she orgasmed, groaning out a long fuck as she shivered and pulled his face closer to her chest. It wasn’t nearly as intense as if he’d stimulated her clit or any of the spots inside her vagina, but it felt amazing nonetheless.

He smirked against her chest and waited for her body to relax before he pulled away from her chest with an obscenely wet sound and lowered the mask again. He rubbed her hips comfortingly and squeezed her flesh.

“You’ve got some real talent with that tongue of yours and those fingers,” she told him breathlessly, sitting up to wrap her arms around his neck.

“That was more than clear to me this morning,” he agreed with a laugh, gently running his hand up and down her back. “Hold onto me, sweetheart,” he ordered suddenly and wrapped an arm around her waist. She clung to him a little tighter and wrapped her arms around his waist as he made his way out of the backseat of the car.

When he stood straight, rather than setting her down, he kicked the door close—abandoning her heels inside, and began to walk toward the exit of the garage. He turned after a few metres and set her down onto the cold hood of the pale green car. She hissed softly at the coldness of the metal against her skin and let go of him to stare so the confusions into the darkness where Dean was standing.

“Can’t carry me anymore?” She teased, biting her lip.

“You’re really gonna be mean to me?” He snorted, dropping his hands to her thighs to play with the little, light blue bow on her long socks.

“No…” she pouted, reaching out for his hips to bring him closer. “I need you..” she whispered needily, feeling uncomfortably wet. He quietly unclipped the garter from her socks, gently trailed his fingers above the soft hem of them to get to the other side and do the same. Excitement began creeping up in her again and she bit her lip.

Languidly, he slid his hands up her thighs, snapped the waistband of her underwear and trailed his fingers over her pelvis. He hooked his finger under her underwear, felt wetness as he brushed past her folds, with a little moan, he pulled her underwear to the side and thumbed between her folds to gently brush against her clit.

She gasped quietly, her arms shook the longer he teased her. Torturously, he lowered her underwear and let them stay around her parted knees. She slowly lowered herself onto her back with his hand on her ribs pushing her backwards gently.

He lifted her feet to lay fat on top of the car, staring down at her silhouette, clearly making out her lingerie. She parted her legs as far as she could with the underwear around her knees. His fingers ghosted along the inside of thighs, as he kneaded her thighs, he murmured, “one down…”

➥ standing next to you

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thef1diary · 1 year

Text

All The Love We Lost | P. Gasly

Summary: After a brutal crash took the life of your lover, and leaving your best friend with multiple injuries, you have to figure out how to cope without him.

Warnings: character death, angst, like heavy angst, detailed description of the crash, lots of emotions, dealing with loss, emotional breakdowns, brief mention of unhealthy eating habits, hopeful ending but still sad, christian horner.

Pairings: pierre x fem!reader (established relationship), charles x fem!reader (platonic), daniel x fem!reader (platonic), lando x fem!reader (platonic), carlos x fem!reader (platonic)

word count: 6.1k

Note: this is not a happy fic. Please take the warnings seriously. I apologize in advance if the way I wrote the characters dealing with grief is not accurate. This is just how I think it would be realistic. And a reminder, this is a work of fiction, please do not take it to heart.

The moment the crash happened, it felt like all the air was sucked out of your lungs. Your heartbeat paced to the point where it rung in your ears, blocking out all the sounds of those around you reacting to the same thing.

Pierre had a brutal crash during the race. You've seen him walk out of crashes before, laughing at your pale face caused by your reaction to the scene. Then he would kiss your cheek and give you a big hug to show you that he was truly alright, teasing you for being so worried for no reason.

However, you waited and waited until he walked out of the car, but that moment never came. You stood still, eyes stuck on the screen showing you everything that was happening in live timing, while everyone around you was gathering more information, finding out what went wrong.

You watched the screen until the cameras panned towards something else, not wanting to broadcast the aftermath of the crash on live television.

What made it worse was that Pierre wasn't alone in this crash, Daniel was the other driver who was involved as well. There were only a few laps left to the race before the crash happened, instantly red flagging it.

While Daniel had attempted to overtake Pierre, they touched, creating a loud sound. The cars slid off the track due to a puncture on both the rear end wheels of Daniel's car. This led to his car going out of control, unfortunately taking Pierre's car as well.

Both cars hit the barrier, but after that you couldn't keep your eyes open to see the rest of it, the sound of it was too much, and you knew it would haunt your dreams for the next following weeks.

When you opened your eyes again, there was a lot of debris on the track caused by both cars. You couldn't even make out the shape of one of them anymore. It was bad, very bad. Due to the wheel spin, one car ended up on top of the other, not completely but enough to cover the driver underneath.

Now, it was like you've forgotten how to blink, because you felt like if you did then you'd miss out on something huge.

It had been two hours to the crash, and there wasn't any update on either driver. They had both been taken straight to the hospital rather than the medical centre due to the impact of the crash. No one told you whether Pierre or Daniel had gained consciousness but based on the atmosphere, you didn't think so.

You stood in the hallway of the hospital, outside the emergency rooms. You rested your head against the wall, having to close your eyes due to the bright white lights on the ceiling. Your fist tightened as the need to cry overwhelmed you. In your hand, you held the ring that Pierre always takes off before the race and giving it to you.

You opened your eyes when you felt a light tap on your shoulders. It was Charles, holding a cup of water towards you. You weakly smiled and took it, quenching the thirst you ignored for a while now. He stood beside you, shoulder to shoulder.

You chose to lean your head against his shoulder, and his arm came up to bring you in a side hug. "He'll be okay, they both will." He muttered, and you couldn't reply because you'd start asking questions that you knew he didn't have the answers to.

Instead, you decided to keep quiet and hope that Charles was correct. You don't know how long the two of you stayed like that, finding comfort in each other's presence. There were quite a few others around you including Carlos, Lando, Christian, but your thoughts didn't wander on them at all.

Just Pierre and Daniel.

The only time you moved was when the doctor stood in front of the small crowd, passing the news of what happened behind the doors of the emergency rooms.

"Daniel Ricciardo is in a stable condition, although unconscious now, he should be waking up in a little while." The doctor who you don't even remember the name of said. There were a few audible signs of relief yours included when you heard the news.

However, your heart was still longing for the other half. The news of your other half.

"However, I'm afraid I have some bad news, we were unable to save Pierre Gasly. I am sorry for your loss." Contrary to the sighs of relief just seconds before, those were now replaced with gasps.

A single tear slid down your cheek and your lips quivered. Not even seconds later, your face was wet with your tears as you fell down to your knees. The tight grasp on his ring slipped away, making a small clattering sound. But that was nothing compared to the sound of your heart breaking. You gasped, tried to breathe in air but you struggled.

It felt like someone had taken your heart in their grasp and squeezed the life out of it.

The people around you were saying something but you couldn't hear anything clearly. It all sounded mumbled. Holding your hands close to your chest, you broke down and no matter how strong you might've looked for the past couple of hours, you were the complete opposite right now.

——

"Thank you for putting up with me for five years. Happy anniversary, ma chérie" Pierre whispered in your ear as he uncovered your eyes.

It had been an hour long drive to your destination, and the entire hour you tried prying out the information of your surprise from your lover. But he didn't budge.

Pierre had set up a candlelit dinner under the stars. One table, two chairs, and a whole bunch of decoration with gifts. He truly knew how to spoil you.

You turned around, immediately bringing him close for a kiss. "Happy anniversary, my love." You smiled once you pulled away.

To Pierre, your smile was the brighter than any star in the sky.

——

Your anniversary marking five years of dating was one week ago, and you couldn't possibly comprehend the vast difference from one of the best days of your life to the worst.

You were standing in the parking lot of the hospital. Not able to stay inside because you felt the need to scream. Nor could you go home, because it would look exactly how you left it this morning. With Pierre.

"This is not real, no. Please no" you muttered to yourself. You heard your name spoken from a familiar Monégasque accent. You couldn't face him, no. You shook your head, but he didn't listen. Pulling you in a hug, you could hear his cries as well.

It wasn't only you who needed this support, Charles did too. After all, he was Pierre's best friend. "Char, I can't believe this. I don't want to." You stuttered out in between your sniffles. You weren't sure if he heard you since your face was still in the crook of his neck.

He pulled away, looking as worse as you felt. "He was okay. This happened to fast. I-" he choked on his own words, "-I didn't even get to say goodbye." He said as he was fidgeting with a ring on his pinky.

"They're telling me everything will be okay. How? He was like a brother to me." Charles continued, his arm stretched out to point, referring to the rest of the people inside.

You couldn't console him, how could you when you didn't even have a control on your own emotions and thoughts. So you listened to him, while wiping away the tears staining his cheeks. Charles was one of the few people who was as close to Pierre as you were, if not more. He was the one who could understand the length of your emotions.

Your eyes dried up but the need to cry didn't falter. Both yours and Charles' eyes were rimmed red.

Once Charles had nothing more to say, you two stood in the silence. For once, the silence was louder than your heartbeat.

It was silent until Carlos came outside, calling your names. "Daniel's awake." He stated, and while you were happy for him you didn't have the energy to smile.

He was mainly talking to Charles, or so you thought until Carlos said your name. "Are you coming?" You nodded. After all, Daniel was still a close friend of yours.

Daniel had been moved to a different room, where visitors were allowed to see him. You saw Lando leaving his room, knowing the duo had gotten closer over the past few years. He stopped when he saw you, trying to bring a smile on his face but his eyes were full of concern.

You didn't mutter a word to him, and walked in Daniel's room. If you didn't acknowledge your own emotions, you won't need to find a solution to deal with them. And quite frankly, you've dealt with a lot more emotions today than you thought.

Mustering up a smile or at least the best smile you could stick on your face, you greeted him, "hey danny”

He was missing his signature smile, and he didn't look too good either. One of his arms was in a plaster cast, and you could see the bruises on the area that the cast didn't cover. Trailing your eyes upwards, you noticed the marks of stitches on his forehead. You couldn't even imagine the amount of injuries he had below the thin blanket currently covering him.

His face had lost some of its colour, and the darkness under his eyes appeared deeper. The glint in his eyes disappeared, which was a very odd look because you were so used to seeing him all happy. He was far from happy at the moment.

"I'm sorry." He spoke, softly as if speaking any louder would physically hurt him. You didn't expect the first words out his mouth would be an apology to you.

Lando and Carlos were the ones to break the news to him about Pierre. They didn't want to, telling Daniel to rest but he really wanted to know.

You inhaled sharply, because you knew exactly what he was apologizing for. You didn't know whether to accept it or not. You still weren't stable with the news, so you figured instead of saying something you might regret, you didn't say anything at all.

As much as you didn't want to ignore his words, that's exactly what you did. Taking a step closer to him, you brought your hand up to lightly graze his face.

His lips trembled but he bit them to hide that, but you had already noticed it. You didn't want to make this any harder on him. You couldn't imagine the pain of dealing with the loss of someone close at the same time as recovering from the brutal accident.

You accidentally grazed over his stitches which caused a pained sound to leave his lips. You instantly moved your hand away, "sorry."

You stood there, watching him. There was probably a lot that needed to be said between you two, but this was not the place nor time.

You took note of the time, visiting hours would be over soon. He saw you looking at the clock on the wall, "stay?" He voiced his thoughts, hopefully not sounding too desperate.

You nodded, pulling a chair closer to his bed and sitting down. You saw his fingers twitching on the hand that didn't have a cast. He didn't say a word, but you understood him well enough. You grasped his hand, stopping his fingers from twitching.

A thought crossed your mind, of yours and Daniel's friendship. How it has changed from now on. You never saw him think twice before hugging you or merely making any sort of contact with you. But now, you saw how he avoided your eyes, how he didn't want to touch you because he was afraid.

In Daniel's mind, he felt ashamed and disgusted to even be in the same room as you. He couldn't even think about his own pain, oh how he wished his physical pain would take his mind off what he did, even if it was unintentional. But he felt numb because of all the painkillers in his system.

You slowly rubbed your thumb across the back of his hand while holding it. Hoping the sensation was at least somewhat soothing.

It was silent in the room, the only sound was the whirring of the air conditioning. You saw goosebumps forming on Daniel's arm and wondered if it was because he was cold or due to your touch.

The silence allowed your thoughts to wander, and they weren't pretty. You could feel your eyes welling up with tears again, so you rested your forehead on your hand that was holding Daniel's, not letting him see you break. If he did, he would feel a lot worse, and you wanted him to have a speedy recovery not the opposite.

You closed your eyes, preventing any tears from falling and although you couldn't see, Daniel was doing the same. He finally found a resting position where his head didn't throb from the pain, then closed his eyes. The only contact between you two was your entwined hands, but for some reason that was enough to ground both of you.

Your peace was interrupted when Christian came in the room, "visiting hours are over." He told you quietly, making you lift up your head to look at him. "I'm staying." You told him, which made Daniel open his eyes as well.

"Only one person is allowed to stay, and I think it's best if I do." Christian spoke in a stern voice, then he felt like he made a mistake, softening his voice for the next words, "I don't think it's a good idea if you stay, since..." he didn't finish his sentence, but you knew exactly what he wanted to say. Since Pierre died.

You stood up, "Christian, with all due respect, Daniel is my friend and I want to stay here. Don't try to convince me otherwise." Your throat ached while you spoke.

He knew that he wouldn't win in this little argument, so he nodded. "Please take care of yourself, both of you." He said before leaving the room.

You looked at Daniel before making yourself comfortable on the chair again. "You really didn't have to stay, I would've been fine on my own." Daniel told you but you sighed, "Is it selfish of me to stay here mainly because I don't want to go home?"

You truly didn't have the energy to face everything at home. And as much as you wanted to stay because of Daniel, you also used him as an excuse so you don't have to go home.

He didn't respond, so you changed the topic of conversation, "now it's time for you to rest properly."

He smiled a bit and nodded before closing his eyes. You moved from the chair to the couch in the corner of the room that would be your bed for tonight.

You made the mistake of looking at your phone, a photo of Pierre set as the background. You ignored that and glanced at the messages you received from the other drivers, all knowing the news about Pierre. However, it wasn't announced to the public yet.

——

You were woken up by the sound of a glass breaking. Immediately getting up, you saw the cause of the sound. "Daniel!" You gasped, and he paused mid action, feeling like a little child who got caught.

You rushed over to his side, avoiding the broken glass on the floor. This happened because he tried to pick up a glass of water from the side table.

You picked up another glass and filled up the water from the jug. Then, instead of giving it to him, you held it for him as he slowly sipped.

Once he pulled away, you placed it down on the table again. "You could've woken me up" you told him. "I underestimated my uselessness." He shrugged.

"You're not useless. You're hurt, and if you keep this up then I might just have you move in with me so I can properly take care of you." You rushed out the first words that came to mind.

Daniel watched as the realization came across your face, already shaking his head. "Actually that's exactly what we're going to do." You told him.

"I am perfectly fine, you don't have to take care of me like I'm a child." He huffed, and you had to stop yourself from smiling because he did in fact look like a child right now. "Oh really? Then show me you can get up all on your own."

You observed him as he attempted to do as you told, key word being attempt. But, when he removed the blanket to prevent any restriction, you stopped him from actually trying to get up.

Finally seeing the extent of his injuries, your heart hurt. His left leg had a long line of stitches below his knee. His right ankle had a cast, restricting any movement. Other than those injuries, his legs were littered with bruises.

"I was joking, don't actually move. Please." The tone of your voice instantly changed into worry. Placing the blanket back over him, you sat on the couch again, ignoring the glass for now. It was past midnight anyways so you didn't want to bother the staff.

"You're not actually going to have me move in with you, are you?" He asked. "I'd prefer if you did because I don't want you to live alone, but if you don't want to then I can't force you." You didn't expect him to give a response to that right away.

——

Two days after that, you were told to go home to rest, and you definitely knew that was just a nicer way to tell you that you needed a shower.

Lando had taken your spot of taking care of Daniel in the hospital while Charles chose to drive you home. He chose to come if you needed him for anything, not wanting to leave you alone.

He looked horrible though, messy hair, red eyes, clothes mismatched. Yet he showed up for you.

Maybe you were glad that he came with because what you were faced with, you couldn't have done it alone. Once you entered the building, the doorman gave you a package, saying that it had been two days since it was here.

You had no idea what it was, but it was wrapped very nicely. Entering your apartment, you inhaled sharply looking around at everything with a new perspective.

Your home had lost its homey feeling.

Deciding to open the package, you saw the contents inside. Maybe you shouldn't have opened it but you also didn't know that it was from Pierre.

"It's been a week, can you believe that? I just spent another seven days with my lover. But I'm sure most of those days were probably spent away from you because of work. Think of this as a little apology gift."

- Your one and only

You read the note, and a tear stained the paper. Unwrapping it fully, you saw that there was a little couples spa package and plane tickets to Santorini.

Pierre had preordered this gift because he knew that he would forget about it during the race week. That's what he was doing when he was acting a little suspicious on his laptop.

"Charles" you cried, handing him the note before hugging him tightly. "I miss him, I miss him so much."

"Me too." He folded the notes after reading it. Pierre had told him about this idea, and he was fully on board with it even though he was slightly annoyed at your public affection of love. Both Pierre and Charles knew you'd be so happy receiving this gift, but now Charles witnessed it himself that while the sentiment was there, it was a really bad time.

"I'm sorry, he told me about this and I completely forgot. I shouldn't have brought you here." He told you, but you shook your head. "I'm gonna have to live here anyways."

"You can always move in with me." He suggested. "It's okay, thank you though."

You moved further inside, going to the bedroom. Bracing yourself as you entered. Charles chose to wait outside, he felt like the moment was too personal.

He didn't hear any sound coming from the room, and a while had passed. Checking the time, it had been an hour since you were in your room. He wandered by the door, looking around for you.

And when he did, he entered the room. You are cuddled up on the bed clutching one of Pierre's hoodies, that no doubt smelt like him. There were tear stains on your cheeks, and your eyes were tightly shut.

Instead of waking you up, he spread a blanket over your body and left the room. Before leaving the apartment, he took one of the spare keys if there was an emergency.

Then, he fired off a text to tell you that he left, and to call him if you need anything.

——

Today was the day that Daniel would be discharged from the hospital and move in with you for however long he needed. Again, it was a little selfish decision on your end because you didn't want to be alone. However, you couldn't say that out loud anymore, after all it had been a week since Pierre died.

While your friends still comforted you, you felt like a burden to them. Always needing them to take care of you, so you thought that at least with Daniel around, he wouldn't judge and you actually looked forward to spending time with him.

You still cried, every day. While making breakfast, while taking a shower, while doing any normal day-to-day activities. You were still a mess. To the point where you avoided looking at yourself in the mirror unless it was absolutely necessary.

Kind of like this moment, where you needed to look presentable before the guys came over. Lando and Charles were bringing Daniel over and even texted you that they'd bring food.

Talking about food, that was another thing you were close to giving up on. You surely lost some weight in the past week, your appetite disappearing every time you sat down to eat.

Glancing at yourself in the mirror one last time, you stuck a smile on your face—something you did very often nowadays—and opened the door to greet the boys. You had heard them, specifically Lando's laugh which informed you they had arrived.

Daniel was in a wheelchair, due to the injuries from his torso down. He could walk, but barely. Although there were no serious fractures in his leg other than in his ankle.

Lando wheeled him inside, muttering something about him being too heavy which earned him a smack on his chest by the same man who he was making fun of. "Ow, mate you're supposed to be hurt, not hurting others."

"You don't count." He retorted which made Charles chuckle. He looked better now, or at least was better than before.

You and Charles had conversed over text, talking about all the things that you two were afraid to tell anyone else. Like the fact that you both had trouble sleeping, and when you did, you had nightmares. Charles had experienced loss before, but no matter how many times one could go through that, it doesn't make the next one any easier.

You were grateful for your friends, they had unknowingly made the days a little better. While they were over, time passed easily. For the first time, a conversation didn't mention Pierre. It wasn't because you had already forgotten about him, far from it, but it felt okay not needing to mention him. It was a weird feeling, one that would take time getting used to, but that's what you needed. Time.

Soon, Lando and Charles were leaving. Now it was only you and Daniel in the apartment. You stood to clean up but Daniel grasped your wrist to stop you.

"Can we talk please?" And just like that, the mood switched and it was like you were taken back to reality. You nodded and sat back down, eye level with him.

"I want to apologize, and it's okay if you don't believe me but I need to get this off my chest. It was not intentional at all. I didn't think that was going to happen. I am so sorry for everything." He managed to say without tears spilling down his cheeks.

If he told you this a week ago, you might've lashed out on him. But now, you had thought it through and as easy it would've been to blame someone or something, you knew it wasn't right. "Daniel, why wouldn't I believe you?" You held his hand. "Pierre was everything to you, heck, you were everything to him. And I took that away. I still don't understand why you care about me, or even talk to me."

"Listen, I was there. I saw it all. And even though I desperately wish that he was here right now, I would never blame you for it. It is not your fault. And I still care about you because you're my friend, okay? We're still friends right?" You asked him.

He nodded, still hanging his head low, not meeting your eyes. "Daniel, look at me." You placed your fingers underneath his chin and lifted his head. "This is not your fault." He nodded, trying to convince himself. He let out a sigh of relief when you hugged him, not remembering the last time you did.

Weeks went by, and it was safe to say that with Daniel around, it was a little bit easier to live with the constant ache in your heart. Things were better between you two. Although he still thought twice before saying anything to you, he tried his best to be himself.

While things were beginning to look better, there were still many days that weren't good at all. Daniel had witnessed a few outbursts of cries when you found something around the house that reminded you of a specific memory of Pierre. But instead of backing away because he thought he would make it worse, he comforted you.

There were many nights spent with you crying your heart out to him. Some days, he even joined you.

In terms of his own journey towards healing, he didn't need the wheelchair at all. Though he still limped while walking due to the cast on his foot.

You thought that getting a concussion would set his mind straight, but he was still the stubborn Danny you knew very well.

His bruises lightened, almost fading away. You took him to his mandatory doctor's appointments even though he tried convincing you that he didn't need to go. On those days, you quite literally pulled him out of bed. From those mandatory appointments, you learned that he could get rid of the plaster on his arm and replace it with a brace instead, making it slightly easier to move with less weight on his injured arm.

Daniel insisted on helping you make dinner one day. Although he wasn't a chef, he was still a good helper. Until he wasn't. You had given him the simple task of cutting up vegetables.

Making a pained sound, he moved away from the kitchen counter, clutching his hand. You stopped what you were doing immediately, "what happened?"

He showed you his hand, a cut across two fingers. Though it looked small so you chuckled. "Are you laughing at me?" He glared at you.

"Well it's pretty small compared to how you're reacting." You shrugged.

"It hurts." He retorted. "Alright you big baby, let me make it all better." You said in a joking tone which made Daniel huff.

You seated him down then brought the first aid kit. He was looking at you while you were focusing on his little injury. Disinfecting it then putting a bandage on it, you looked at him, surprised when you noticed that he was already looking at you.

About to walk away, he called out your name. "If you're going to treat me like a child, you forgot to do one thing." He brought his injured fingers up. You shook your head with a smile on your face. Holding his hand, you kissed his bandage covered wound. "There, all better now." You teased.

You went back to making dinner, this time without Daniel as you instructed him to rest for a little while.

The next day, you woke up with a lot of energy despite the few hours of sleep you had gotten. This energy led you to properly clean up your apartment.

You had tried to keep it clean at most times, especially since Daniel was staying over and you didn't want him to see how much of a mess you truly were. He also helped by cleaning up after himself and you if need be.

But he was surprised when you told him that you'll sort through Pierre's stuff today. This was a big step forward for you.

You started with the trophies on the shelf, cleaning them before putting it in a box. You were definitely keeping them, not having the guts to get rid of the proof of his achievements, but you didn't want them collecting dust.

Pierre used to look at them before he left for the race weekend. He told you that it was motivating, knowing that he's achieved this level of success before which meant that he was capable of it again.

After that, you moved to the bedroom. Ever since that day you fell asleep with Pierre's hoodie in your grasp, you had kept that habit. While it may not be the best coping strategy especially for moving on, it was comforting. It was like you could feel Pierre's presence right next to you.

Sorting through his clothes, you were hit by memories of the days he wore those clothes. Some days he chose to wear his merch, while other days you'd pick an outfit for him. You remembered how he used to love it when you wore his clothes, even if they looked bigger on you.

And you loved wearing them, because it smelt just like him. A scent you grew to love over the past years. Making a quick decision without thinking twice, you took off your shirt and put one of his hoodies on, inhaling deeply.

One by one, you removed all his clothes from the closet placing them in boxes. Honestly, you had no idea what you'd do with it but you knew you can't keep them hanging up for so long either. Maybe you could ask Charles if he comes by.

Then you moved on to his jewelry. The day he died, he was wearing the crucifix chain. It was removed and given to you a few days later. You didn't know what to do with it. Same with his rings. The ring you were holding in the hospital was in your hand at the moment.

It was too big for you or else you could've worn it.

You checked the drawers just in case you missed anything, and you did. You gasped as soon as you saw it. A velvet box.

"No, no, no, please no." You muttered, as your hands shook while you reached out to grab it. It could've been something else. It didn't have to be what you were thinking it was. That's why you opened to check it.

There it was, a shiny engagement ring with a nice big diamond in the middle. You choked on your breath and tears started spilling out of your eyes.

You fell to your knees, accidentally knocking something else over but you could care less about that.

"I'm going to make you my wife one day" Pierre told you while he was completely drunk. You laughed, his French accent more prominent now. You were helping him get ready for bed after a fun night out. "Is that right? Did you buy a ring yet?" You asked, but he shook his head. "No."

"Are you ready to be stuck with me for the rest of your life?" You teased, not expecting to get a serious answer since he struggled to get his shirt off. You slapped his hands away and started undoing the buttons. "I've been ready, ma chérie. Mrs. Gasly, how does that sound?"

You pushed him on the bed, and he easily went. Straddling him, you kissed his cheek. "That sounds amazing, darling. Ask me when you're sober."

Daniel heard the commotion coming from your room and immediately rushed to find you. Well as best as he could which was a funny look since he was speed limping. You would've laughed if you saw him like that.

He saw you sat on the floor with something in your hand which he couldn't see until he came closer. "Oh my god." He muttered. He couldn't imagine the amount of pain you felt. Everything was going so well until it wasn't. Another reminder of what he took away from you.

He crouched down, touching your shoulder which seemed to bring you out of your thoughts. "He was- he was going to propose, Daniel." You hiccuped in between your cries.

"He told me that he couldn't wait to marry me but he didn't have the ring then." You told him while he held you against him. The warmth of his body slightly comforting.

You and Pierre were planning your life out, of what it would look like after his racing career. But now, that dream will never come true. It would just stay a dream. That realization hurt a lot more than it should've.

Moving away from Daniel, you picked up the phone. Calling the one other person who you assumed knew about this. "Char, did you know?" You asked as soon as he picked up.

"Know what? Are you okay, do you need me to come over?" He asked, worried. You shook your head not realizing he couldn't see you, "no Charles, did you know he was going to propose?"

There was a silence on the other end which made you sob. "I'm coming over." He stated and hung up.

You made eye contact with Daniel after tossing the phone somewhere. He didn't know what to do, awkwardly sitting there. It took you two seconds before you were back in his arms, crying on his shoulder.

Charles found you two like that, joining in on the hug. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, I didn't think you'd see it." He confessed after seeing the ring in your hand.

You pulled away, a smile on your face despite the tears. You laughed a bit, scaring the two men looking at you. "He really loved me that much huh?" You said out loud.

"He loved me so much that even after he left, it would be enough to last me a lifetime." You continued your thought while returning to sobs.

"I miss you baby, I miss you so much." You muttered to yourself as you covered your face with you hands.

From that day onward, you had finally processed the fact that he wasn't returning. Yes you missed him, his voice, his laugh, his everything but you accepted it, even though the hole in your heart was irreplaceable.

Instead of pushing away the grief because you didn't want to deal with it, didn't know how, you acknowledged your feelings. You were working on it, day by day.

You didn't wear the ring, nor did you get rid of it. It was a bittersweet proof of the fact that you could've had it all.

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