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tonycries · 2 days

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So Lonely In My Mansion!

Synopsis. When he’s sorry, what better way to show you than in bed?

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, apology séx, spítting, bodyworshíp, stuff with pantíes, bréeding, chokíng, cúmplay, Nanami and Geto are a bit mean, squírting, thígh séx, Gojo’s blindfold, overstím, oral (female receiving), pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.9k

A/N. Hope y’all are having a lovely day <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Too full!

Now, Toji knows he’ll more than make up for forgetting to join your lil’ shopping spree anyway. Ten times over, in fact, with the way he has you on all fours, tears rolling down your cheeks, pretty lil’ moans muffled into your pillow.

Stuffing your poor cunt full over and over and-

“Is my pretty baby still mad?” he’s dragging his lips down your neck, throbbing cock ramming into you from behind. Bruising - like he was the one angry here. “Still fuckin’ pouty?”

Too needy, too delirious. It’s all you can do to grit out a determined, “Y-yes…” Your breathless gasps only make his smirk widen, hips stuttering as they get sloppier.

“Aww, what a shame.” Toji coos, angling his head just right to catch the heavenly sight of your poor overfilled pussy, all dripping and painted white with his cum. Eyes lighting up at how you gush around him with each thrust. “Guess I jus’ have to give you another one then, hm?”

“A-another?”

And God, Toji doesn’t even know if he can cum again - vision spotty now, jolts of electricity running down his spine each time he plunges into your snug pussy.

But the way you’re immediately scrambling to hold onto the headboard - the sheets - just anything to hold onto some semblance of sanity has Toji wanting to more than ever. So painfully good as he desperately speeds up. He needs to - and fuck if he wasn’t going to try - because you’re only getting wetter at his words.

“Fuck- squeezin’ me s’fucking tight.” he groans, pushing your skirt up higher, not having the patience to even think of taking that damn thing off. “Ya like this, huh? Like me f-filling you up until m’sorry?”

You can only give him such a delirious little nod, one that Toji doesn’t even know if you realize you’re giving. One that has him needing to show you how sorry he is by filling you up so much you can’t even think about how he forgot to accompany you on your lil’ shopping spree. To fuck you so hard into the mattress that you can’t remember anything else but him-

“Toji!” you keen, as he snakes down his strong arms push your legs further apart to show off. Burning at the stretch of how he was handling you like his favorite ragdoll. “What-”

“Said m- ngh- sorry.” he interrupts abruptly, voice so ragged that it takes you a second to even recognize it as your boyfriend. “See.”

And how could you not?

You were awe-struck at that creamy ring around the base of his swollen cock. The way your gummy walls were sucking him up so easily, fucking back bruisingly into him.

“See how sorry I am?” One hand tightens on your hips, the other snaking up to press down on your lower stomach. Hard. “See?” Both your jaws fall open at the way your ravaged pussy just coats Toji’s cock in such an obscene white mess. “Sorry, doll, shoulda been there for you.”

“Oh- fuck, s’too much.” And maybe you’re stubborn, maybe you just don’t know what’s good for you - because despite it all you manage to choke out, “N’ you don’t ah- mean it.”

Eyes raising to meet his and oh- oh, you weren’t making it out alive.

“I do.” Toji drops his head into your neck, running his mouth. Rolling his thumb against your achingly clit as if to prove his point, “Next time m’gonna hah- watch you try on all those pretty outfits.” Hips rocking forward to slam into your sloppy pussy faster and faster. “Kiss you s-senseless in front of any fuckin’ scrubs that thought they had a ngh- chance.”

Movements only growing more erratic - more feral - with each broken little whine that’s fucked out of you. Like he knew he was so close to breaking you. Ruining you.

Just the thought of it has Toji slamming his dick into you further, mentally cursing himself for forgetting your little invitation today.

“And this lil’ thing?” he bunches up the flimsy fabric of your skirt. “And those-” nodding his head towards the stacks of shopping bags you barely got to look over before a sorry Toji had you shoved onto the bed. “I would’ve taken em’ all off as soon as I was in that changing stall.”

“I-I get it.” you finally break. Squealing at the hips hitting yours harder, his heavy balls squeezing so painfully. “I get it ngh- I get it-”

“Heh, nah- gotta show you how s-sorry I really am.”

You have an inkling of what he was implying - something that didn’t bode well for your abused cunt, if the way Toji’s cock was twitching wildly inside you was anything to go by. Not a moment wasted before Toji’s pushing your knees up all the way until they were at your tits. A sure sign that he was close. Looking like he was in such delicious agony as he taunted you into asking.

“H-how?”

“By fuckin’ you in all of that.” Head tilting at the bags upon bags from earlier today, “Then we’re goin’ shopping all over again.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Squirt if you’re sorry

“Keep your legs open f’me.”

But it was so hard when Nanami already had you spread so shamefully in front of that obscene mirror, placed oh-so conveniently right in front of the plush hotel bed. Sat so prettily on his lap, your back against his hard front, being split-apart on his throbbing cock.

Any more and you think you might just die.

“Is that so?” he whispers hotly in your ear and- “Think this is too much?”

Oh, shit, did you say that out loud?

But right now you were too delirious - to fucked-out - to even think of forming a coherent response to that, let alone be embarrassed about your little slip-up. Running solely on the aftershocks of your nth orgasm and the feeling of Nanami’s thumb drawing steady, slow little circles on your sensitive clit.

“Get it together now, my love.” your husband seems to decide that your broken whine speak for themselves. Placing such a mockingly gentle kiss on your forehead, “M’still not even halfway through my apology.”

Ah, yes, the apology - the sole thing that got you into this entire mess. That one off-hand joke that Nanami should apologize for being 7 minutes late for your date - the one that had you shoved into the nearest suite, while he ‘apologizes’ to you over and over and-

“Now now, darling.” Nanami squishes your cheeks together into a pathetic pout, forcing you to look up at the mirror. “Look at me when I apologize.”

Several things happen at once - your eyes just barely make contact with Nanami’s darkened, dangerous ones in the mirror, and then it’s like something snapped. Because he’s thrusting up deeper into your snug cunt, drinking in all your pretty gasps as he starts up at another relentless, sloppy pace.

Not even fucking easing you into it because you wanted an apology, right? And Nanami was sure going to give you one - fuck you like he’s sorry.

“M’sorry!” you keen, bucking wildly into Nanami’s touch. Cock so hot and heavy in-between your swollen folds - still not having came even once yet. “Was- was a joke- I can’t oh- my god.”

He knows - oh, how he knows. But it’s just so fun to tease you this way, and Nanami’s not sorry about that one bit.

So he only lets out a huffed laugh. “Why are you sorry, my love?” Shifting his hips to massage all the right spots that’ll have you breathless and seeing stars. Hitting that one magical spot over and over. “I was the one that’s late.”

And God, you could just cry. You are - big, fat tears streaming down your face, dripping down Nanami’s wrist where he was holding your lolling head steady - but, of course, you’re too far gone to even realize at this point.

“Shhhh, lemme take care of you,” Nanami rocks his hips impossibly harder into yours, eyes on the mirror just devouring you almost as much as he was ruining you with his dick. Watching all your adorable gasps, the way you twitch, how your mouth drops into a soft oh! as he licks a slow stripe up your tears. Dangerous. “Lemme show you how sorry I am.”

And he does, cooing at how your eyes widen when he angles your head to show you the fucking sinful view down below.

It was so hard to look too, how your snug cunt was trying to suck the soul out of him. Sloppy - making such a mess of the crisp sheets below. Quivering like you didn’t know whether you wanted to run away or to sink down for more more more-

You’re jolting in his bruising grasp, “Hngh- m’- fuck fuck fuck. Yes, oh my god- Ken-”

“Yeah? Ya like this?” He’s fucking you back rougher into him, merciless. Absolutely fucking merciless - and Nanami was only glad he thought to choose a sound-proof suite. “Think m’sorry yet?” Biting down on your neck, hard. “Because I’m sooo fucking sorry, my love.”

He lets out a cruel chuckle, one hand groping down your breasts - your hips - your thighs. Pulling them even further apart like he wanted to break you.

Because Nanami wasn’t fucking sorry, why would he be? But oh how he loved teasing you. Acting all pissed off while he threw you around like his favorite toy, giving you a bit of your own medicine. How sexy you were when he did.

“M’sorry.” he breathes against your ear, nibbling on your lobe. “M’sorry m’sorry m’sorry- Next time I’ll be hah- early-” Pooling the fresh wave of your salty tears on his tongue as he toys with your pretty clit. “N’ next time m’gonna make you squirt the first time-”

“Shit- Ken, m’cumming m’cumming-”

Almost like your body is listening to Nanami, you’re squirting all over his achingly hard cock. Absolutely drenching him in all your sweet sweet juices till he was glistening in the dim lighting. Some specks even landing on the mirror in front of you.

And shit you’re out of control now, limbs trembling, such sinful moans leaving your swollen lips. Loud. Uncontrollable. Nanami’s next words barely audible over them-

“Your turn now.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Nice (and sorry)

“S-so mean-” It’s the only thing you can gasp out, “Y-you’re still not forgiven-”

Oh, Geto knows. And he doesn’t really feel bad about using his apology to his advantage - not one bit, actually. You won’t hear a word of apology from his sly mouth, instead, he’s got you straddling his pretty lips, breathless and shaking above him.

“Even when m’being nicer than usual?~” he hums into your clothed pussy, nose-deep and breathing in your essence so fucking sinfully. “Ya sure about that?”

Disgruntled, “What- ngh- what do you mean?”

“Oh just that-” He licks a long, purposeful stripe up your drenched panties, adding to the mess of your juices beading through the fabric. And God it takes everything in Geto to not just rip off that flimsy underwear and tonguefuck you like he wanted to. “You’re being so loud. Sure you’re still mad?”

You hated it - how he was peeking up at you with those hooded eyes, pupils blown. Hated that predatory glint in them that sends shockwaves right down to your very core. Hated how he was right.

“Th-that doesn’t hah- mean anything.” you scoff, and the excuse sounds flimsy even to you. The way you were grinding down deeper onto his tongue certainly not helping your case either.

And oh of course Geto pulls away at that, obscene little slicks of string snapping from his tongue and your wet core, your disappointed whine going straight to his rock-hard cock. What was it you were saying earlier? Something about him being too much of a tease? Well, you were about to eat your words before Geto Suguru offered you an apology.

“Yeah,” he let his tongue dart out, letting your slick pool through your panties and onto his tongue. “N’ this doesn’t mean anything either, huh?”

No warning before he’s surging forward, tongue pushing through your panties to just barely tease your sloppy entrance.

You can only grip at Geto’s long, inky locks - trying your very best to not look like you’re absolutely on cloud nine as he alternates between toying with that first ring of resistance and sucking on your clit. All through your panties.

“Now now,” a hand on your hip stops you from all but ripping your panties off your hips - something that Geto would’ve already done by now, usually. “Keep ‘em on.”

It’s like he’s trying to drive you mad - wants to drive you mad. Torturing you slowly with that soft tongue and that smirk you can feel against your dripping cunt. As if to say - you really think he was a tease before? You haven’t seen the least of it.

“S’fuckin’ sloppy f’me even through these slutty panties.” he grunts, lips smacking against your swollen ones. “Don’ lie - you like this, huh? Like what a tease I am? Acting so tough when m’so sorry?”

Okay, maybe Geto lied - so what if he said he’s sorry? It was all worth it at how you get so wetter, slick just glistening all over his lips and chin. Walls clenching around nothing - because might’ve said sorry, but oh is he still as petty as ever.

“N-no-” you whimper, and both of you know it’s a lie. Close - you were so close.

Too close, if you asked Geto.

Smack!

A quick, sharp sting on your ass - just a little reminder that this is Geto. Your Geto. And it’s so torturous - so addictive - when he immediately shifts them ever-so-slightly. Wasting no time before lapping at your juices. Just loving the way your jaw drops open in disbelief as he throws his head back to let it slide down, down, down his throat.

“My girl is such a liar.” Grinning at the way you jolt on top of him with each teasing lick at your quivering hole, dragging your slopppy pussy all over his face. “S’fuckin’ wet and you still think you’re mad? And I’m being so-” Rolling his tongue against your clit. Hard. “-nice, too.”

He was not - he knew it. In fact, he was probably being meaner than usual. Mean with the way he thinks your fucked-out head shake speaks enough.

Of course, you still have to run your mouth when you’re being absolutely ruined by him. Whining out an unconvincing. “M’still- m-mad.” - even when you’re deliriously riding his pretty mouth.

Without a word, Geto snaps back your useless panties back in place. One hand on your hip, easily lifting you off his face - letting you fall back prettily onto his lap as he gets up. Weeping tip just nudging your dripping entrance as he reaches behind to tie back his long hair.

And you’re so disappointed at how you were so close, that you almost miss the words that spill from his mouth next.

“Then, will you still be mad if I fuck you just as nicely?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Ruined panties?!

“Please baby, let me put it in. Please?”

God, how badly you wanted to just break and give your needy boyfriend exactly what he wants - to let him fuck you how he wanted. But, no, he’d just ruined your favorite pair of underwear and you were not going to let him off so easily again.

“Fuck- Cho.” you huff, fighting to keep your voice steady. “If y’wanna get off to my panties so bad, then ngh- just use that.”

“But, baby. M’sorry.” Choso’s head drops to the crook of your neck, abs rubbing up against your back so sinfully from where he was all pressed up. “I’ll be good this time. So good.” Hands groping underneath your t-shirt, throbbing erection grinding against your absolutely drenched panties. From Choso’s precum or your own slick? You have no idea. “Please?”

And he’s so desperate that Choso probably doesn’t even realize the way he’s sliding his soaked cock between your swollen folds. Fucking his hips forwards languidly, hissing at how dripping wet you already were.

“T-this is being ‘good’?” you gasp at the feeling of his dick, so hot and heavy where you needed him the most. And it’s such a sinful little sound that he immediately snakes a hand down to toy with your throbbing clit - wanting, needing more of it.

“Yes.” nibbling down your neck. It’s like a dam has been broken with each cute little whine escaping your throat. “Yes yes yes yes- Wan’ this so bad. Please.”

Your angry facade is crumbling away bit by bit - and both of you know it. Especially when Choso cranes his head until it’s mere inches away from yours. Dark strands of hair tickle your face as he catches your lips in such a searing kiss.

“Oh god.” he groans into your lips, hips stuttering forward in-between your thighs. Precum smearing everywhere and adding to the mess already down below. “Yeah- kiss me properly, baby. I deserve at least that, hm?”

A resounding rip! of fabric sounds down from below. And you don’t know what you break the kiss to say - to tease him some more? Beg him to just fuck you the way you know he wants?

But it doesn’t matter, because as soon as Choso feels your lips leaving his, he’s chasing after them again with a pained grunt. Licking so sloppily at the seam of your lips, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you deeper onto his cock.

“No- no no no, kiss me.” You can feel his prominent veins rubbing up against you, throbbing in a lewd little thump! thump! thump! as his hips get more calculated. Purposeful. “M’sorry m’sorry, Kiss me ngh- kiss me- need it. Need you-”

And God you should’ve known that Choso wouldn’t be acting this good for so long.

No sooner are you grinding back down on him in shallow, mindless little motions - he’s pulling your panties to the side just enough for his weeping tip to drag lazily against your folds.

“Fuck- please, baby.” He sounds so wrecked already - and looks like it just as much. Skin flushed, eyes hazy and miles away, kiss-bitten lips letting out such sinful little moans that you just know he’ll be embarrassed about later. “M’sorry.”

Panties completely soiled with precum and slick, absolutely ruined in just the way you’d been telling off Choso for not too long ago. Nothing but a slightly tattered, dripping wet mess. What a shame.

What a shame you couldn’t care less.

Scoffing, “F-fine.” But it comes out a bit more breathless than you intended - because Choso’s desperation was contagious. Hands everywhere, chest heaving, fat head pulsing right below your sloppy entrance. “Only this time m’ngh- l-letting you off easy.”

You know it won’t be the last time - and your boyfriend does, too.

Because he doesn’t waste a second. The sentence barely leaving your mouth before Choso’s sinking into your heavenly pussy inch by fucking inch. Brows scrunching together at the way you were sucking the soul out of him, neat fingernails on your hips as he holds you still.

“G-god- so fucking- good. So tight-” he hisses lowly, thrusting in shallow, mindless little movements just to squeeze inside your walls. “Ah- feel so much better than any panties.”

“S-so needy, Cho-”

“I know, m’sorry, m’sorry. Hah-” So fucking massive that it feels like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs. The stretch too sinful, your panties too soaked, breath too hot against your ear as he whispers.“F-fuck- Now, be good f’me, hm?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - “No more tears.”

“Shut up.” you flinch as he spits on your cunt once. Twice. Feeling like such a fucking toy as he smears it with the mess of your sweet juices down below. “How dare you use those evil, evil tears.”

Why would the great Ryomen Sukuna ever apologize? Why would he ever have you sat on his throne, big arms spreading your legs so sinfully in front of him? Just ravaging your poor abused cunt with his swollen cock. The complete opposite of his image as the merciless king of curses.

Well, that’s exactly what was happening. And it turns out that only a few tears and a single huff of him “not spending enough time” with you today was all it took - to have him bowing down to you.

And all you can do is let out a broken, “I-I didn’t.”

And that only seems to spur Sukuna further, like he was angry more than anything. Angry at you for being so cute and pouty when you’re mad. Angry at himself for letting his pretty lil’ human get this way. Spoiled, so spoiled.

“Liar.” he grunts, spreading your swollen folds further apart with his index - just circling your sloppy hole. “The only time you’re s’pposed to be cryin’ is on my fingers. And-” he slides his angry, weeping tip down your cunt in a long, wet movement. Up and down. Up and down. Smirking at how you’re bucking and pleading under his touch. “-my cock.”

As if to prove his point, Sukuna’s dipping his cock past that first feeble ring of resistance - difficult, with how you’re clenching around him so sinfully as if you’re trying to milk him already.

“Yeah, jus’ like that.” he groans, thumb rubbing obscene little circles on your poor clit. “Suckin’ me up so good. Do y’get sluttier when you’re mad? When you’re makin’ me apologise?”

“Ngh- sh-shut up.”

And oh for how suave Sukuna’s acting, he can’t deny the way his heart squeezes so dangerously at the way you’re letting out delirious little moans. Fucking you so completely dumb.

And he was barely halfway in still.

Legs spreading obscenely wider, clawing onto the chair - his wrist - his shoulders, just anything to help drag your sloppy pussy all over his toned pelvis. To fuck him deeper.

“Heh, cryin’ like you want me to be like this.” He’s rocking his hips in jagged, shallow thrusts that have you letting out such teary moans. “Want me to fuckin’ apologise?” Hard enough that you know it’ll leave marks - his heavy balls on your ass, fingers on your clit, hands spreading your calves. “Well m’sorry, see? M’so so sorry, brat.”

You gasp, “S-so mean, Kuna- hngh-

Yet he sounds anything but. Tone way too fucking delighted at the prospect of having you crying on his thick cock than over some stupid little argument.

And fuck, Sukuna should tease you about how fucking wet you are, how you’re grinding your hips down on him like such a slut. So sloppy all over the expensive throne - gonna be a hell of a job for whoever cleans this.

But, ah, those pretty lil’ tears welling up in your eyes will surely be the death of him. Or maybe the death of you.

“Now now,” he can’t help but huff out a dark chuckle at your disappointed whine as he pulls his fingers away from your throbbing clit. Biting back a deep groan at how glossy they were, just drenched in all of you. “No more cryin’. Told ya I’m sorry, didn’t I?”

And Sukuna meant it.

Because, immediately, he’s shoving two fingers into your mouth. All the blood in his body just rushing to his cock at how filthily you were gagging at the intrusion.

At the same time, reeling his hips back to let himself fuck your tight pussy to the hilt. Rolling his hips forward, all the way until his fat head just kissed your cervix - nothing at all like the almost-gentle little grinds from before.

Eyes widening when he presses right at the back of your throat - exactly where he knew would draw out the prettiest noises from you. Like he was pushing all the way into your lungs. To the back of your throat. Too much.

You’re just as shocked as Sukuna when you cum from just this. Pathetic little moans muffled and slurring together. Jolts of white-hot pleasure going all the way from his fingers in your mouth to your sloppy cunt, fluttering so obscenely around his cock.

God, you were perfect.

“Oh?” he’s chuckling over your delirious little blubbers, “Well, whaddaya know. M’gonna have to get you to give me more of those tears, brat.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Show you!

When the bouquets and the expensive chocolates don’t work, what else is Gojo to do other than let you tie him up with his blindfold and ride him to insanity? Both a punishment to himself and an apology, of course.

“Sweetheart- fuck!” Gojo groans, hips bucking up to shove his swollen cock deeper into your sloppy pussy. “You’re killin’ me, shit shit shit-”

Nevermind that he doesn’t think he’s ever been harder at the sinful sight of you bouncing on his aching cock above him.

“Sh-shut up, ngh- Toru.” you gasp, hands trembling on his sculpted chest as you claw for some sense of stability. Cunt so wet and dripping all the way down his thick cock as you fuck yourself on him like some toy. “T-talkin’ too fuckin’ much.”

Oh. how he wanted to ruin you like he could.

And he’s letting out such a guttural whine, feet planting on the plush mattress to rock you harder - deeper - down his dick.“But, my girl~” Tugging on the blindfold, acting like it did anything to restrain him. “You’re being so hah- mean.”

“And why’s that?” you scoff, undeterred by those long lashes batting innocently up at you. “You’re still- fuck- still not forgiven f-for crashing my hngh- girls night out, Toru.”

“Still?”

“Still.”

Oh. Well, Gojo might as well just speed up this apology process before he loses his patience - and his sanity. Steadily dwindling away each time you slam your sloppy pussy down on him, with each trail of slick and precum smearing along his pelvis.

And it’s so easy, too.

RIP!

Feeling like he’ll fucking explode, half-lucid mind barely even registering the way he easily tears through that flimsy blindfold, the fabric absolutely nothing against the way Gojo is running on pure need and the thought of you you you-

You can only squeal as his fingers immediately find your waist, gripping so hard you wondered whether it would bruise. “Toru- didn’t you say m- ngh- t-takin’ control?”

“Change of plans.” Is all Gojo grunts out. Lifting your hips so effortlessly up, up, up - only to ram you down on his rock-hard cock with no warning. Filling you up completely - no more of those teasing little grinds and shallow thrusts you were torturing him with. No, Gojo Satoru was well and fully intent on fucking his apology into you. And he says so, of course. “F-fuck m’sorry. Gonna fuck it into this pretty ngh- cunt. M’sorry.”

“Oh- You’re so deep, Toru- hngh.” you whine, fully letting your boyfriend rock his hips up into yours like his favorite sextoy. “C-can feel you deep inside here-”

And oh Gojo thinks he could cum right then and there as you trail down a hand to press on your stomach, right where his weeping tip was massaging all your sweet spots. Stretching you out so sinfully.

“You little minx.” he huffs out a disbelieving laugh, eyes narrowing at your obscenely fucked-out state. “Now m’not sorry.”

“W-wha-” He shuts you up with a quick circle on your pulsing clit, toying with the sensitive nub as he runs his mouth instead.

“M’not sorry I crashed that hah- lil’ hangout.” Hips so harsh against yours, forcing you to feel every dip and curve of Gojo’s muscled body. “Not sorry I ngh- fuck introduced myself to that fuckin’ loser of a waiter that was ah- eyeing you up. Not sorry that I get to fuck you like this afterward.”

And it’s true - Gojo didn’t sound the least bit remorseful about anything he did. Confidence only growing more and more with each pathetic little moan that leaves your swollen lips in agreement.

You’re shaking on top of him, the stimulation too much. “Shit- you’re such a smug- bastard, Toru.”

“Don’ act like y-you don’t like this, sweetheart.” he pulls your head down to catch your lips with his. Barely - just a mess of teeth and saliva and words he’s hissing out, “Jus like you’re -fuck fuck fuck s’too good- acting to be mad with me.” Each word punctuated with a harsh, sloppy jab of his hips that have the breath leaving your lungs. “Mad with how ngh- you’ve got the s-strongest groveling at your fuck- feet.” Movements getting faster. Deeper. “M’forgiven r-right?”

Your voice strained as you whisper against his lips, “Kiss me properly, Toru.”

And he is - kissing you like he’s so sorry as the both of you reach your highs. Stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Your gummy walls milking the fucking soul out of Gojo as he cums in thick, hot spurts. Painting your walls a lewd little white that trickles down you shaking thighs. Over and over and-

So, so sloppy. Arms looping around your waist to hold your hips still. Muffling his deep moans into your mouth as his hips slow down only ever-so-slightly, pumping you full of his seed. And it’s almost…sweet.

If only it hadn’t been for the words that leave him as soon as he parts, of course.

“Hey, now that we had apology sex, can we have regular sex, too?”

“...”

A/N. PSA don’t work out relationship stuff like this hehe.

Plagiarism not authorized.

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pucksandpower · 10 hours

Text

So Good to Her

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: the public reacts to the TikTok challenge you and Charles inadvertently participated in

Read So Good to Me (about the TikTok challenge) here

The TikTok that the British influencer posted of his encounter with you and your incredibly generous boyfriend quickly goes viral, racking up millions of views, likes, and comments within mere hours.

It spreads like wildfire across social media platforms, with people sharing it on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook — even LinkedIn of all places. Everyone marvels at this mystery woman with the boyfriend of all boyfriends who casually sent her €10,000 just to buy a pair of shoes.

In a cozy London flat, a group of university students and diehard Charles fans gather around a laptop, eyes wide as they watch the now-viral video for the umpteenth time.

“I can’t believe Charles has a secret girlfriend!” Megan, a petite blonde wearing a red Ferrari cap, exclaims. “How did we not know about this? We follow his every move!”

Her best friend Ethan nods in agreement, his brow furrowed. “Seriously, who is this girl? She’s drop dead gorgeous and apparently Charles is just casually sending her 10 grand for shopping sprees?”

“Okay but like, goals though,” Lexi chimes in dreamily, clutching a Charles Leclerc poster to her chest. “Imagine having a boyfriend who’s not only mega hot and talented but also spoils you rotten. She’s living the dream.”

Ethan scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Oh come on, he can’t just throw money around like that. I bet this whole thing was staged for clout.”

Megan shoots him a withering glare. “Don’t be ridiculous. What would be the point? Charles is already one of the most popular drivers on the grid, he doesn’t need to pull PR stunts for attention.”

“Plus did you see the way he talked to her on the phone?” Lexi points out, rewinding the video. “That was not acting, that was real love and affection in his voice. I’m so soft for them already, ugh.”

The trio falls silent as they watch the clip again, zeroing in on every little detail and facial expression from both Charles’ mystery girlfriend and the clearly shocked TikToker.

Ethan chuckles and shakes his head. “I still can’t get over her reaction though. Just a guy who loves driving fast cars — I mean, the cheek! She really knows how to keep a secret, gotta give her that.”

“An icon, honestly,” Megan declares. “The fact that she told him to donate the money to an animal shelter too ... okay, I can’t even be mad. She seems like a sweet person.”

Lexi sighs happily, starry-eyed. “They’re literally a power couple. The sheer confidence and BDE of it all. I’m so jealous but also like, rooting for them? We have to find out who this girl is!”

As if on cue, Megan’s phone pings with a Twitter notification. Her eyes widen as she swipes to view it. “Guys. GUYS. The TikToker just confirmed her first name is Y/N and posted another video with a few more details about her!”

“Well don’t just sit there, play it!” Ethan demands, practically launching himself across the couch to peer over Megan’s shoulder at her phone screen. Lexi scrambles to join them, bouncing with anticipation.

In the new clip, the TikToker is grinning excitedly at the camera, an extra bounce in his step as he walks along the same Monaco street where he first approached you.

“Right, so I’m sure by now you’ve all seen my video with Charles Leclerc’s girlfriend go absolutely mental viral,” he begins, running a hand through his artfully tousled hair. “Which, can I just say — thank you so much for the insane support and love, you lot are the best fans ever.”

“Get to the point,” Ethan mutters under his breath, earning a sharp “Shh!” from both girls.

“Anyway,” the TikToker continues. “After she left and I finally picked my jaw up off the floor, I did some digging. I headed to that little boutique she mentioned in the call with Charles, just to see if she actually went in and bought anything. Thought maybe if I asked the staff, they might be able to give me some more info, you know?”

Megan, Ethan, and Lexi all subconsciously lean closer to the small phone screen, hanging on to his every word.

“So get this — not only did she buy the shoes, she apparently also went next door and purchased, and I quote, a frankly alarming amount of lingerie. The cashier said she dropped over 5 grand like it was nothing!”

Lexi lets out a scandalized gasp as Ethan chokes on his sip of Red Bull. Megan just shakes her head in wonderment. “The actual legend,” she murmurs reverently.

The TikToker laughs and waggles his eyebrows suggestively at the camera. “I don’t know about you lot, but I’m definitely sensing some spicy thank you for the shopping money activities were planned for a certain Ferrari driver, if you know what I mean. Get in there, Charles!”

“Gross, I so did not need that visual,” Ethan grumbles, but there’s a slight smirk playing on his lips all the same.

“Oh shut up, as if you wouldn’t do the exact same if you were dating Charles,” Lexi retorts with a playful shove to his shoulder.

“ANYWAY,” the TikToker presses on, “I did manage to squeeze a few more details out of the lovely shop girl. Apparently Charles’ girlfriend is named Y/N, no last name given for privacy reasons. But she’s a regular customer and, I quote, an absolute sweetheart who only ever has glowing things to say about her man. So there you have it, folks — Y/N and Charles are the real deal and we’re all just peasants watching a fairytale unfold.”

Megan sighs dreamily as the video ends. “Y/N and Charles,” she repeats to herself, already typing the names into her social media search bars. “God, even their names sound good together. I have to find out everything about her.”

“Dibs on making their ship name hashtag go viral,” Lexi calls out, already furiously typing away on her own phone.

Ethan snorts and rolls his eyes affectionately at his friends, but there’s no denying the small, reluctantly impressed smile tugging at the corners of his mouth too. “I give it two days before they’re papped together on some glamorous date night now that the secret’s out. Hope she’s ready for the attention dating an F1 star brings.”

“With that level of confidence and the way Charles clearly adores her? I think our girl Y/N will handle the spotlight just fine,” Megan says confidently.

Lexi nods in firm agreement. “Yep, a true queen. Charles better lock that down and wife her up real quick before one of us tries to snatch her for ourselves!”

***

In a cozy apartment not far from the very street where you had your memorable encounter with the TikToker, three young women huddle around a laptop screen, eyes wide and jaws slack as they watch the now viral video for the umpteenth time.

“I can’t believe this,” mutters Isabelle, a pretty brunette with an impressively encyclopedic knowledge of Formula 1 stats. “Charles has a girlfriend? Since when?”

“And he just sent her €10,000 like it was nothing!” Exclaims Maia, nervously twirling a strand of her platinum blonde hair. “I mean, I know he’s loaded but holy shit, the way he spoils her ...”

The third girl, Claire, bites her lip, a pensive look on her delicate features. “Did you hear what she said at the end though? Just a guy who loves driving fast cars. She was obviously talking about Charles. But the way she said it, all mysterious and like it was some inside joke ... I don’t know, it just rubs me the wrong way.”

Isabelle scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Please, she was totally gloating. Didn’t even have the decency to act a little humble about the fact that THE Charles Leclerc is apparently head over heels for her.”

“Exactly!” Maia chimes in, nodding vigorously. “Like okay, congrats, you bagged a hot, rich, famous race car driver. No need to rub it in the rest of our faces.”

Claire wrinkles her nose. “I just don’t get the vibe that she actually cares about him, you know? I mean, who asks their boyfriend to send them money in the middle of the day for some stupid shoes? While he’s working? She seems like such a gold digger.”

“Ugh, you’re so right,” Isabelle agrees, her lips curling in distaste. “Poor Charles is probably blind to it because he’s so gone for her. He didn’t even hesitate to transfer that money!”

Maia sighs dramatically and falls back on the bed. “God, it’s so unfair. Why can’t I find a man who’s that generous and totally obsessed with me? I’d treat him so much better than she does, you can already tell.”

Claire hums and taps her chin thoughtfully. “You know what, I think this smells fishy. How do we even know she’s actually Charles’ girlfriend? For all we know, she could have paid some guy who sounds like him to play along for a TikTok clout.”

Isabelle’s eyes narrow as she considers this possibility. “That’s true ... I haven’t come across any photos of them together or anything. Why has no one ever seen her before if they’re supposedly so in love?”

“Exactly!” Claire exclaims, growing more animated. “I’ve been a Charles fan for years and I’ve never seen or heard anything about a girlfriend. If they’re really dating, there’s no way it wouldn’t have come out before now.”

Maia sits up, suddenly energized by this new conspiracy theory. “Oh my god, you’re right! She’s probably just some wannabe influencer trying to get famous by pretending to be with Charles. That’s so pathetic.”

Isabelle nods slowly, a determined glint in her eye. “You know what? We should do some digging. Try to find out who this girl really is and expose her for the fraud she clearly is. Charles and the world deserve to know the truth.”

“Yesss, I’m so down for an investigation!” Maia says gleefully. “Imagine if we’re the ones who reveal that this whole thing is fake. We’d be doing Charles a huge favor.”

Claire is already pulling up Instagram and Twitter on her phone. “Let’s start by going through the comments on that TikTok and seeing if anyone has identified her or posted any receipts. There have to be some clues somewhere.”

The girls spend the next few hours poring over social media, searching for any scrap of information they can find about the mystery woman who has supposedly captured Charles Leclerc’s heart. They work themselves into a frenzy, convincing each other more and more that you can’t possibly be Charles’ real girlfriend. In their minds, you’re clearly just an opportunistic clout chaser looking for your 15 minutes of fame.

“God, I hope Charles sees through her act soon,” Isabelle says for the hundredth time, shaking her head. “He’s too good for some two-bit gold digger who’s just using him.”

“We’ll make sure he finds out who she really is,” Claire assures her firmly. “And then he’ll have no choice but to dump her lying ass.”

Maia sighs wistfully, hugging a throw pillow to her chest. “Do you think once he’s single again, I might actually have a chance? Like, if I run into him at a race one day and strike up a conversation, maybe he’ll realize I’m the girl he’s meant to be with ...”

“Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Claire says with a laugh. “First step is taking down this fraud of a girlfriend. Then we can daydream about being Mrs. Leclerc.”

The girls giggle and go back to their social media sleuthing with renewed determination. They’ve decided you’re public enemy number one and they won’t rest until they’ve exposed you for the fake, money-hungry, clout-chasing liar they’re certain you must be. In their eyes, they’re crusaders for truth, fighting to save their beloved Charles from your clutches.

What they don’t realize, of course, is just how very real and very deep Charles’ feelings for you actually are ... and that you’re not going anywhere anytime soon, Internet conspiracy theories be damned.

***

In a dimly lit basement somewhere in Italy, a group of die-hard Charles Leclerc fans huddle around a computer screen, their jaws dropping as they watch the video for the umpteenth time.

“Guys, are you seeing this shit?” Enzo, the self-appointed leader of the group, asks incredulously. “Who the hell is this girl and how did she bag Charles freakin’ Leclerc?”

“Dude, we don’t even know for sure that it’s actually Charles,” Giovanni points out skeptically. “She never said his name. It could be some other rich dude with a fast car.”

Enzo scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Oh come on, who else could it be? €10,000 like it’s nothing, is it possible that Leclerc has a secret girlfriend we don’t know about all this time? A guy who likes driving fast cars? It’s obviously Charles! Our boy is LOADED and that’s exactly how he’d spoil his girl.”

Luca nods in agreement, a dreamy expression on his face. “God, can you imagine being with Charles though? Having him call you all those cute pet names and just showering you with love and gifts? I’d fucking die.”

“Yeah, she has to be the luckiest woman on the planet,” Enzo sighs wistfully. “I mean, I’m straight, but even I’d let Charles ruin me, you know what I’m saying?”

The other guys murmur and nod in emphatic agreement, all of them momentarily lost in a fantasy of being Charles Leclerc’s pampered significant other.

“Okay but like, how is this even fair?” Giovanni gripes, breaking the spell. “The rest of us mere mortals are out here busting our asses on Tinder and Hinge, praying a decent girl will swipe right, and Charles just gets to date a literal goddess who is probably a model?”

“Life isn’t fair, Gio,” Enzo says solemnly. “Charles is on a completely different level. He could have any woman he wants and they’d all say yes before he even finished asking. The rules don’t apply to a guy like that.”

Luca suddenly sits up straight, his eyes widening with realization. “Holy shit, guys. Do you know what this means? If Charles is taken, that’s one less F1 driver on the market for all those grid girl groupies to throw themselves at! Maybe the rest of us actually have a chance now!”

Giovanni snorts derisively. “Yeah, you wish. Those chicks are still gonna be busy trying to get with Sainz or Verstappen or Norris. They’re not gonna settle for some nobody Ferrari fan. Let’s be real.”

“Wow, way to kill the vibe, Debbie Downer,” Luca mutters. He turns back to the computer and hits replay on the video, watching enviously as the TikToker clearly shows the €10,000 bank transfer on your phone. “Seriously though, how is this chick not freaking the fuck out? If Charles Leclerc randomly sent me 10 grand I’d be screaming and probably pass out.”

“She’s probably used to it,” Enzo says with a shrug. “I bet this is like, a regular Tuesday for her. Just casually strolling around Monaco, stopping into designer stores whenever she feels like it, Charles’ black credit card weighing down her Hermès purse. The bougiest of WAG lives.”

“God, what I wouldn’t give to trade places with her for just one day,” Giovanni says longingly. “Can you imagine getting to wake up next to Charles every morning? Having him make you breakfast and give you forehead kisses and tell you how much he loves you in that sexy accent?”

“Okay, now you’re just torturing yourself, bro,” Luca laughs. “You’ll be lucky if you can get a Tinder match to agree to split the bill at McDonalds.”

“Why you gotta bring me back to my sad reality like that?” Giovanni groans, chucking a throw pillow at Luca’s head. “Let me live vicariously through Charles’ bougie mystery girlfriend for a little while longer, damn.”

Enzo sighs and leans back in his chair, hands behind his head. “You know what the craziest part of all this is? The fact that Charles managed to keep a whole ass girlfriend hidden from the world. Like, the media has been speculating about his love life forever and no one had a clue he was actually in a serious relationship. That man moves in silence like a ninja.”

“Yeah, and did you see how he just casually threw out that he loves her?” Luca gushes. “He was all I love spoiling you, you deserve the world. My dude is head over heels for this girl and I am LIVING for it.”

“Ugh, why can’t I find a man like that?” Giovanni whines dramatically. “All I want is a guy who will write me cute Instagram captions in three languages and buy out the Gucci store for me but I guess that’s too much to ask!”

“Maybe if you stanned Charles harder, the universe would reward you,” Enzo snarks. “Start leaving thirsty comments on his shirtless pics, see if that manifests your dream F1 boyfriend.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t already do that,” Giovanni retorts with a smirk. “How else do you think Oscar Piastri ended up in my DMs last night?”

“Wait, WHAT?” Luca and Enzo exclaim in unison, whipping their heads around to gape at their friend.

Giovanni bursts out laughing at their shocked faces. “I’m just kidding, jeez! You think I’d be sitting here listening to you losers if Oscar freaking Piastri actually messaged me? Puh-lease.”

“Man, don’t even joke about that,” Enzo grumbles, clutching at his heart. “You really had me going there for a sec.”

Luca huffs and slouches down in his seat. “Can we get back to being jealous of Charles’ sugar baby girlfriend now? I was enjoying that more than whatever the hell this conversation turned into.”

“She’s not his sugar baby!” Enzo argues. “They’re clearly in love! Did we watch the same video? The way he talked to her was mad cute. That’s his GIRL girl.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Luca concedes, holding his hands up in apology. “Charles might spoil her but he obviously adores her for more than just her looks. That’s the real relationship goals right there.”

“Imagine being so secure in your love that you can just ball out on your partner like that and know it’s only going to make them love you more,” Giovanni muses. “Cannot relate.”

Enzo nods sagely. “Charles is just built different, man. In more ways than one.”

“Truer words have never been spoken,” Luca agrees. “So, are we watching this video another 50 times or are we moving on to the Grill the Grid compilation I found of all of Charles’ most adorably flustered moments?”

Enzo grins maniacally and reaches for the mouse. “Oh, you know we’re watching the hell out of this absolute gift again. And then we’re gonna spend the next three hours cyberstalking Charles and seeing if we can find any other crumbs about who this legendary mystery woman is. For research purposes.”

“This is the most productive thing we’ve done in months and I’m not even ashamed,” Giovanni declares, cracking his knuckles in preparation for the intense social media deep dive they’re about to undertake.

***

In a crowded sports bar in Dublin, a group of die-hard Ferrari fans gather to watch the latest race. But today, there’s another bit of F1-related content that has their attention. They huddle around a phone, repeatedly watching the now-infamous TikTok video.

“Can you believe it? €10,000 just like that!” Exclaims James, a tall, lanky guy with a mop of curly hair. “I mean, I knew Charles was loaded but damn ...”

“Forget the money, did you see his girlfriend?” Tom, a stocky redhead, chimes in. “Absolutely stunning. Like, how does a race car driver land a girl like that?”

Mark, a quieter guy with glasses, rolls his eyes. “Uh, maybe because he’s Charles freaking Leclerc? The man’s a beast on the track and has the face of a Greek god. Girls probably throw themselves at him left and right.”

The guys all mutter in begrudging agreement, a note of envy coloring their voices. On screen, the video replays yet again, showing you confidently calling up your boyfriend and securing the small fortune without batting an eye.

“God, what I wouldn’t give to have a woman look at me the way she probably looks at Leclerc,” Tom sighs wistfully.

“In your dreams, mate,” James scoffs. “Girls like that are way out of our league. We can’t compete with a Ferrari paycheck and Monaco real estate.”

“Still doesn’t seem fair though,” grumbles Mark. “The dude’s already got it all — talent, fame, money. Leave some for the rest of us!”

On screen, the video reaches the part where you coolly inform the gobsmacked TikToker that you don’t need his measly €2,000 and he should donate it to an animal shelter instead. The guys let out low whistles, clearly impressed by your classy move.

“See, that right there, that’s what separates the Monegasque princess types from regular girls,” says James with an air of authority. “We would’ve taken the cash in a heartbeat.”

“Speak for yourself, I’m a man of principle,” Tom jokes, puffing out his chest exaggeratedly. The others snort and shove him playfully.

As the video ends, the guys sit back, each lost in their own wistful imaginings of what it must be like to be Charles Leclerc. To have the money, success, and effortless charm to win over a girl like you.

Mark is the first to break the contemplative silence. “Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong,” he muses thoughtfully. “I mean yeah, Charles is a lucky bastard, no doubt. But that girl, she seems like a real catch too. Like the kind of person who’d keep you humble and grounded, even when you’re a superstar athlete with the world at your feet.”

The others consider this, nodding slowly. “Fair point,” concedes Tom. “Behind every great man and all that jazz. Leclerc may have his millions but he still needs someone to call him out on his BS from time to time.”

“Exactly,” agrees Mark. “And did you hear the way he spoke to her on the phone? The dude’s completely smitten. He may have all the money and fame, but I bet she’s the real prize in his eyes.”

“Alright, alright, settle down Dr. Phil,” James interjects with a good-natured eye roll. “You gonna start writing romance novels in your spare time now? Maybe they’ll make a movie — The Tifosi Who Loved Me: A Charles Leclerc Story.”

The guys all crack up laughing at that, the tension broken. Their envy towards Leclerc’s charmed life remains, but it’s now tinged with a newfound respect and even a touch of empathy.

“Y’know, jokes aside, I do hope he realizes how lucky he is to have her and treats her right,” Mark says sincerely as their chuckles subside. “A love like that seems rare these days.”

Tom reaches over to clap Mark on the shoulder. “No worries, mate. Did you see the dopey grin on Charles’ face in those paparazzi pics of them together that came out earlier? That man is whipped with a capital W. He knows he’s got a keeper.”

“As he should,” nods James sagely. “Behind every great Ferrari champion is an even greater woman keeping his ego in check. Tale as old as time.”

On that note, the guys clink their pint glasses together, silently saluting the unnamed woman who stole the heart of Charles Leclerc and the envious admiration of Formula 1 fans worldwide. The mystery girlfriend with impeccable style and a heart of gold.

As the pre-race coverage starts up on the bar TV, the guys settle in to cheer on their favorite driver, their fleeting jealousy replaced by the camaraderie and excitement of race day. But in the back of their minds, a single wistful thought remains — what they wouldn’t give to find a love like Charles and his girl seem to share. Guess that’s just one more thing to add to the list of reasons to idolize Charles Leclerc.

***

Among the hordes of viewers obsessively replaying the clip are three best friends gathered for a girls night at a posh Parisian penthouse. Colette, the willowy blonde draped across a velvet chaise lounge, takes a sip of her champagne and shakes her head in wonder.

“God, can you imagine having a boyfriend who just casually drops 10k on you like it’s nothing? Talk about relationship goals,” she sighs dreamily.

Next to her, Nadia snorts derisively while scrolling through Instagram on her phone. “Oh please, like that’s hard to find. I bet loads of rich guys would do that for their girlfriends. It’s not that impressive.”

From her perch on a tufted ottoman, Stephanie raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Really? You think Liam would send you that kind of cash without batting an eye? Mr. I-Need-To-Check-With-My-Financial-Advisor-Before-I-Buy-A-New-Tie?”

Colette erupts into giggles at the scathing impression of Nadia’s banker boyfriend. Even Nadia cracks a reluctant smile before tossing her sleek dark hair.

“Whatever. I’m just saying, that TikTok chick’s boyfriend can’t be THAT special. I’m sure if we did the same challenge our boyfriends would come through too,” she declares with more than a hint of competitiveness in her voice.

“Oooh yes, let’s do it! Let’s recreate the video and see what happens!” Colette squeals, bouncing up and down on the chaise with excitement.

Stephanie, ever the voice of reason, looks uncertain. “I don’t know, guys ... isn’t it a bit tacky to demand money from them like that? What if they get mad?”

Nadia rolls her eyes. “Oh come on Steph, live a little! It’s just a silly experiment. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Okay, okay fine,” Stephanie relents, unable to resist her friends’ cajoling. “But I’m blaming you both if Omer breaks up with me over this!”

“Deal!” Colette grins impishly as she grabs her phone. “I’ll go first — let me call Henry and we’ll see if he’s as generous as Mystery Monaco Man.”

With a deep breath, she dials her property developer boyfriend and launches into her rehearsed plea as soon as he picks up. “Baby!” She whines. “You’ll never believe what happened. I’m out with the girls and my Louboutins broke! Like the heel just totally snapped off. I’m absolutely gutted, these were my faves. Is there any way you could send some money to my account so I can grab a new pair on the way home? Pleeeaaase, I’ll love you forever!”

There’s a heavy pause before Henry’s clipped voice comes through, tinged with annoyance. “Christ, again with the bloody shoes? What is it with you women and wasting my hard earned money on bits of leather you don’t need? Can’t you just take the broken ones to get fixed?”

Colette’s perfectly glossed pout trembles, her blue eyes shining with disappointed tears as Nadia and Stephanie look on in pity. “Never mind,” she mumbles. “Forget I asked. Chat later.” She hangs up and flings her phone down despondently.

“What an ass,” Nadia spits. “You deserve so much better.” Colette shrugs sadly but rallies as she turns to Stephanie expectantly.

“Okay Steph, your turn to give Omer a ring! Let’s hope he restores our faith in rich boyfriends everywhere.”

Stephanie grimaces but dutifully calls her Qatar-based hedge fund manager beau. In her most saccharine voice, she makes her case. “Habibi, you know that gorgeous YSL bag I showed you last week? It finally came back in stock but only for today! Could you maybe pop some cash in my account so I can treat myself? I’ve been working so hard lately and-”

“Wallahi Stephanie, how many handbags does one woman need?” Omer cuts her off irritably. “If I buy you this one, I don’t want to hear any more whining for designer things for at least 6 months, got it? I’ll send you 500 euros, that should more than cover it.”

“Oh. Right. Thanks, I guess ...” Stephanie replies glumly before ending the call. She shakes her head at her friends. “Well, it’s something at least?”

“Hardly,” Nadia scoffs. “These men, I swear. Okay, time for me to show you girls how it’s done. Watch and learn, ladies.”

With a confident smirk, she video calls Liam who answers distractedly, clearly still at the office despite the late hour. “This better be important Nadia, I’m right in the middle of-”

“Liam. Focus,” Nadia cuts him off crisply. “I need you to send €10,000 to my account right now. No questions asked.” She arches a commanding eyebrow, daring him to argue.

Liam just blinks at her for a moment before letting out an incredulous laugh. “I’m sorry, you need me to do what now? 10 grand, are you mad? For what possible reason?”

“To prove you love me,” Nadia retorts smugly. “I saw this thing on TikTok, some girl’s boyfriend sent her-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Liam interrupts. “I’m not one of your little social media playthings to manipulate for views, Nadia. My money is not a toy. I’ll buy you a thoughtful gift for your birthday next month, but I’m not in the business of flinging cash at you for no reason. Now if you’ll excuse me, some of us have real work to do. Goodnight.”

With that he abruptly ends the call, leaving Nadia staring at the blank screen, a red flush of embarrassment and anger creeping up her elegant neck. Stephanie and Colette exchange knowing looks.

“So … that went well,” Stephanie quips sarcastically.

Colette sighs morosely as she flops back onto the chaise, hugging a silk pillow. “Maybe that girl’s boyfriend really is one of a kind. God, I bet she feels like the luckiest woman alive. Can you even imagine being THAT loved and adored?”

Nadia seems to deflate, her bravado evaporating. “No,” she whispers. “I can’t. You’re right, Col. Mystery Monaco Man is clearly in a league of his own. I bet he makes her feel like an absolute queen every damn day.”

Stephanie nods thoughtfully, twirling a lock of hair. “You know what though? Good for her. She seems lovely and down-to-earth in the video. If anyone deserves that fairy tale romance, it’s a girl like that who doesn’t even realize how special it is.”

“Ugh, so true. god I’m depressed now,” Colette groans, reaching for the champagne bottle to refill her glass. “To Mystery Monaco Man — may he set the standard for rich boyfriends everywhere. And to the girl who’s lucky enough to love him — may she live happily ever after and never take a single moment for granted.”

“Hear, hear,” Nadia and Stephanie chorus, clinking their glasses against Colette’s.

As the bubbles fizz on their tongues, the wistful faraway looks in their eyes betray the same thought — what they wouldn’t give to trade places with you for just a day, to know what it feels like to be cherished so completely by a man like Charles. To them, you’re living the ultimate dream.

If only they knew the best part isn’t the extravagant gestures or lavish gifts.

It’s the little moments. The soft kisses pressed to your temple. The fingers intertwined with yours. The sleepy smiles over morning coffee. The shared laughter and inside jokes. The unwavering support and unconditional acceptance. The bone-deep feeling of safety and coming home.

That’s the real fairy tale. And no amount of money could ever buy it.

***

Back in Monaco, Lando Norris slouches comfortably in his gaming chair, eyes glued to the triple monitors in front of him. He’s meant to be reviewing telemetry data in preparation for the upcoming race weekend, but the notification chime from his phone proves far too tempting. Lando picks up the device, fully intending to only glance at it for a second before dutifully returning to his work.

But then he sees it — the TikTok that at least a dozen people have sent to him in the past hour alone. Curiosity piqued, Lando clicks on the video and watches intently, his brows steadily rising towards his hairline with each passing second.

“Wait, is that ...” he mutters to himself as the clip plays out. When your boyfriend’s voice comes through the speakers, Lando’s eyes bug out comically. “Holy shit, it is Charles! And Y/N!”

A knock on the door makes Lando jump slightly. Before he can respond, a familiar mop of tousled chestnut hair pokes into the room. “Hey mate, did you see-” Max Verstappen starts to say.

“The TikTok of Charles simping hard for Y/N? Yup, watching it right now,” Lando finishes for him, eyes still glued to his phone screen in fascination.

Max invites himself into the room fully and flops down on the couch. “Absolutely crazy, right? Who just casually sends their girlfriend 10k for a random pair of shoes?”

Lando snorts. “Certainly not you, you stingy Dutchman,” he ribs playfully. Max chucks a throw pillow at him in retaliation.

“Hey, even I splurge on my girlfriend sometimes!” Max protests. “I just bought her ... erm ...” He racks his brain trying to remember the last lavish gift he purchased unprompted.

“A six-pack of Sugar Free Red Bull last week?” Lando supplies dryly.

“... Shut up.”

The two dissolve into snickers before turning their attention back to the TikTok, which has now looped to the beginning again.

“Charles is so whipped for Y/N,” Max observes, shaking his head in amused disbelief. “He’s just asking to get taken advantage of, throwing money around like that.”

“I think it’s kinda sweet,” Lando admits with a shrug. “He just wants to make her happy. Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same if your girl asked!”

Max scoffs. “What, fall victim to a gold digger? No thanks mate.”

“Y/N’s hardly a gold digger and you know it,” Lando chides. “She works hard for her own money and buys plenty of expensive gifts for Charles too. They just like spoiling each other ‘cause they’re in luuurve.” He draws out the last word in a silly voice, making dramatic kissy faces.

“Yeah, yeah, true love and all that sappy bullshit,” Max says dismissively, though there’s no real heat behind it. “I’m just saying, no way in hell I’m sending 10k on command for a pair of fucking shoes!”

Lando hums thoughtfully. “I would.”

Max’s head whips around to stare at him incredulously. “You what.”

“If it was the right girl? Sure, I’d do it,” Lando says nonchalantly. “Maybe not for something frivolous like shoes, but if my girlfriend called me up and said she needed 10k transferred ASAP? I’d do it, no questions asked. You gotta have that level of trust.”

Clearly torn between wanting to take the piss out of his friend and feeling a reluctant sort of respect, Max just grunts noncommittally in response before turning back to rewatch the clip once more.

Debate rages online among the fans about the cute interaction. Most find the whole thing adorably romantic, cooing over what a doting and generous boyfriend Charles is. They swoon at the obvious love and care between you two, speculating excitedly in the comments about when Charles might pop the question.

Others are more cynical, rolling their eyes at Charles “simping” so hard and accusing you of only dating the Ferrari driver for his money. However, these naysayers are quickly drowned out and ratio’d by your legions of adoring supporters.

Through it all, you and Charles pay the speculation little mind, blissfully wrapped up in your fairytale romance.

Charles returns home that evening to the mouthwatering aroma of his favorite pesto pasta dish wafting from the kitchen. He grins when he spots you at the stove, swaying your hips to the sultry jazz music playing from the speaker as you stir the sauce. Quietly, he comes up behind you and slips his strong arms around your waist, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Mmm, smells amazing,” he murmurs appreciatively.

You turn in his embrace and loop your arms around his neck, smiling radiantly up at him. “Welcome home, Cha-Cha,” you greet him, using the silly pet name that never fails to make him chuckle and scrunch his nose adorably. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“And what’s for dessert?” Charles asks with a playful waggle of his eyebrows.

Biting your lip coyly, you untangle yourself from his arms and saunter off towards the bedroom. “Come find out after we eat. Oh, and I picked up a little something special to express my gratitude for earlier ...” you call over your shoulder with a wink.

Charles’ megawatt grin could power all of Monaco for a year. Viral TikTok or not, the Monegasque knows he’s already the luckiest man in the world to have you as his partner through this crazy ride called life.

No amount of money could ever compare to the joy of being loved by you.

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luveline · 2 days

Note

Could you do a drunk cuddly Steve if you're feeling up to it?

When Steve comes home to you that night, you evade his hug. “Steve, you smell awful.”

Steve flinches away from you. In any other moment, you’d notice how lovely he looks —there’s something special about the way he squints when he’s pissed off— but his smell is overpowering.

“Sorry?” he asks, offended and confused.

“You’ve got stuff all down you. What is that?” You try to be kinder. It’s not like he smells bad on purpose. “Do you need help?” you ask.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m gonna take your shirt off,” you say gently.

His scowl relaxes. “You are?”

“What is it, do you know? It doesn’t even smell like beer. It smells like death.”

Steve doesn’t laugh at your joke, he’s not as smiley as you’d like him, but you suppose that’s the perils of telling him he smells. You grab the ends of his shirt and you pull it over his head, careful not to get the wet part on his face, and then you snag a packet of makeup wipes off of your vanity and pull on out to wipe down the skin near his heart that’s still shiny.

“That’s nice,” he says, swaying at your touch.

“Yeah?” You fold the wipe and rub him down. “I’m gonna put that shirt in the laundry. Get in bed, sweetheart.” You touch his face quickly. “Make yourself comfy.”

You forbid his gross shirt to the laundry basket in the bathroom and take a moment to stretch. Steve, though drunk, isn’t doing his usual sweet brigade. You must’ve really offended him when you said he smells. You aim to put it right.

“Sorry,” you say, pushing open your door again. Steve’s done as you told him to do, sitting on his usual side of your bed. “That was mean. You didn’t smell awful, just the shirt.”

You climb onto the bed and kneel in front of him, stroking a perfect lock of hair back from his forehead. “Forgive me?”

Steve winds his arm behind your back. He presses his face to yours, before his head falls into the curve of your neck, where it stays.

“I’m sorry for being gross,” he says, heartily drunk.

“You’re not gross, the beer just surprised me,” you say.

It��s clear he drank more than he tipped, his movements wobbly, but his hand curling protectively behind you in a good effort.

“Oh, hello,” you murmur, “this feels like forgiveness.”

“Some asshole tipped beer on me, I’m sorry.”

“Steve, it’s okay! Don’t say sorry, you smell just fine now.” You take a performative sniff of his hair. “You smell amazing.”

He squeezes you and pushes you down into the bed. He has just enough wits about him to be careful about your head on the headboard, shifting over you, and pulling the blankets up to cover your shoulders. His naked torso presses against your arm, your chest and your stomach, his skin feverishly warm.

“Do you think you can call me sweetheart again?” he asks strangely.

“That depends, will it make you feel better?”

He scoffs, which is more like him. “I won’t beg.”

“No, you asked nicely enough the first time,” you say agreeably.

When he leans back and pulls you into his chest, you feel forgiven for certain. Slowly, you let your nose skirt along the curve of his neck before kissing the shadow of his Adam’s apple.

“Sweetheart,” you say, barely audible, “I love you.”

He’s like an octopus from that point onward. You’re dragged flush to his front with your hand on his collar, his nose and mouth pressed to your forehead. He’s soft underneath you but not without muscle, a strong bicep behind your shoulders squeezing you securely even as he mumbles drunkenly into your skin. “Love you…” And finally, finally, he seems to recuperate from your accusation, “It’s weird when you don’t wanna hug me.”

“I always do. It was purely olfactory related.”

“Ol-what-ery?”

“It wasn’t personal.”

Steve squeezes you until you sigh. “It felt personal.”

“It wasn’t. I just blurted it out. You smell really nice now,” you say, and he does, cologne and skin and sweat, too.

“So you still love me?” he asks.

“I just said I did, didn’t I?”

He wrestles you with both great care and great clumsiness to his face for a tipsy kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth. “Can you tell me again?”

You offer to say it a hundred times, but after twenty he’s snoozing into your shoulder, his thumb stuttering where it lays against your back.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things

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starkeysprincess · 3 days

Text

this randomly popped into my head & i need it out of my brain bc i'm just thinking abt you & frat!rafe going to the beach for spring break with his fraternity brothers.

warnings: unprotected sex, creampie, sex on the beach, small hint of exhibitionism

a/n: not proofread

you’re wearing a cute little skirt as a cover over your bikini & they can’t help but shamelessly check you out, which you don’t notice because you’re too focused on having fun and spending time with rafe but it’s definitely something that doesn’t go unnoticed by him and the way his fraternity brother look at you.

you may not notice the way his frat brothers are looking at you but you do notice the way his jaw would clench to the point his teeth may shatter.

before you can even ask him what’s wrong, he pulls you onto his lap, grabbing a spare towel and covering your lap. his hands are slipping under your skirt, untying the bottom of your bikini, pulling it off of you completely before he’s pulling his swim trunks down just enough to free his cock.

you’re already wet but how can you not be with how sexy your boyfriend looks in his swim trunks and shirtless. “Rafe…” you mutter, only for him to whisper in your ear, “Shh, baby. ‘S fine, no one will notice, we’re covered and it’s just us and the boys on the beach”.

you look over to see he was right, there was no one but you, rafe, and his frat brothers, who were too occupied throwing around a football, on the beach. "You can't wait till we get back to our hotel?" you whined, making Rafe chuckle, "No, need you to know you're mine. I need them to know you're mine".

you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion at what he meant but lost your train of thought as soon as he lifted your hips up just enough for him to slip his cock into you causing you to gasp. rafe is smirking to himself, his hands holding your hips as he moves you up and down his cock.

you're biting your lip, holding back your moans and whimpers while trying to keep an eye out in case anyone notices while hoping rafe doesn't notice how wet you are from the idea of possibly getting caught but he does. "fuck, you like the possibilty of gettin' caught, huh?" he groans in your ear.

you let out a small whimper and the more you held back your moans, the faster and harder he would rut up into you. a whine leaves your mouth as you feel yourself getting close, "fuck...".

he can feel your pussy tightening around him and he grabs your face, turning your head to face him, pressing his lips against yours to swallow your moans and cries of pleasure as you come. he gives a few more sloppy thrusts, his movements stilling as he groans and bites your lip harshly, filling you with his cum.

he pulls you off his cock, looking to see your face is flushed and you're panting lightly. he notices your hands moving to pull the bottom of your bikini back on but he stops you and instead, he tosses it aside and pulls your skirt down.

once you're covered, rafe stands up, pulling you up with him. "rafe, what was that for?" you point towards your discarded bikini bottom. rafe nods towards his frat brothers while maintaining eye contact with you, "you don't need them, not when you have my cum inside of you. i wanna see it drippin' down your legs. need them to see my cum drippin' down your thighs".

tagging: @oceandriveab / @babygorewhore / @xxbimbobunnyxx / @rafescurtainbangz / @rafesthroatbaby / @drudyslut / @drewstarkeyslut / @lilacheavenn / @hallecarey1 / @redhead1180 / @heartsforvin / @sturnioloshacker / @princesssuki21 / @eternalbuckley / @kisses4angel

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tetsvya · 2 days

Text

clueless, kuroo tetsuro

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ kuroo tetsuro has a thing for girls with long hair. so what if you're a girl with long hair? that doesn’t mean anything!

➼ pairing! kuroo tetsuro x fem!manager!reader

➼ warnings! none, just fluff and humor. maybe ooc because i haven't written in years??? unfortunately, because this is based on the scene of kuroo and yaku arguing about their preference, this is really for my long haired girlies 😣 i apologize to the short haired readers

➼ word count! about 1.4k

➼ author’s note! "haikyuu renassiance!" we all cheer in unison. anywho, this is my first time posting in two years. please be nice to me 🫡

"So, you prefer girls with short hair then, Yaku?" Kai asks, shedding off the white button-up of his school uniform and revealing his black practice t-shirt. The three third-year Nekoma players had found themselves in an empty classroom, deciding to use it as a makeshift changing room. Luckily for them, they had all worn their clean practice clothes under their school uniforms. Doing so allowed them to save time and cut back the number of minutes they were already going to be late to practice, thanks to Yaku getting distracted by a group of girls, which Kai noted all had short hair. Hence, his question.

Yaku paused his work of ridding himself of his tie to send Kai a proud grin, pointing towards him with both hands, “Yesss!

"And you, Kuroo?" Kai turns to him, now curious to know his captain's answer as well.

"Long." Kuroo's answer is firm, leaving no room for debate. Still, he glances at Yaku, as if daring him to try.

Yaku only snorts, shaking his head in amusement as he too turns to look at his captain, "Like that wasn't obvious."

"Ehh," Kuroo's eyes narrow, head craning down to peer at the libero, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Yaku starts, taking a step closer as he peers right back up at Kuroo, "Everyone knows you have a crush on our manager, who just so happens to have the longest hair I've ever seen!"

"Ehh?" Kuroo repeats, louder this time as he cranes his head down even more, "Who says I have a crush—"

"Hey!" The door to the classroom slides open with a shocking force, startling the boys and drawing the attention of all three of them to it. Kuroo and Yaku both grow rigid as they find you standing in its opening. Quiet pants slip past your lips, and you take a moment to catch your breath as you stare at the three of them before you begin speaking, "There you guys are! I've been looking for the three of you everywhere."

"Hello," Kai greets kindly, the only one not left in a stupor at your sudden appearance, smiling as you make your way into the classroom. "We apologize, we're running a bit late."

"Yeah," You huff, coming to a stop a few steps away from them as you cross your arms, "It was your guys' turn to set up the nets. So when you guys didn't show up in time to do so and none of you answered your phones, Coach sent me to find you guys. Didn't know I'd be going on a wild goose chase."

Your words leave you in a huff before your eyes land on Kuroo, raising an eyebrow at the captain. His shoulders tense even more at the sudden eye contact and he's quick to snap his head in the other direction. Kuroo suddenly feels warm, realizing how you could have easily heard the conversation transpiring between the three of them. Stupid Yaku, Kuroo curses the libero in his head, doesn't even know what he's talking about.

"Sorry, Y/N." And of course it’s Yaku who disrupts his thoughts, pulling Kuroo's eyes to him just as he sends you an innocent smile, "We got carried away, talking."

There's a teasing tone to Yaku's voice, and Kuroo knows it's directed at him. Why is he friends with him again?

"I don't even want to know," You speak, and Kuroo can envision you shaking your head at the three of them, "Just get dressed and get to the gym as quick as possible, please."

All three boys give some noise of recognition in response to your words, and Kuroo takes the chance to glance at you then. He's quick to regret it. Your hand rises just as he locks eyes with you, reaching up to tuck some of the more unruly pieces of your hair (which most likely came undone due to your seemingly frantic search of the three third years) behind your ear and out of your face. Kuroo's eyes follow the movement of your hand, trailing downwards and taking in the long strands of hair that fall well past your shoulders. Once again all too aware of the conversation he was just having with his teammates, the tips of his ears burn as he pulls his gaze away from you once more. He shakes his head, trying to get Yaku's words out of his mind. Just because he liked girls with long hair, and just because you so happened to be a girl with long hair, did not mean he liked you.

Right?

A snort of laughter suddenly leaves Yaku, having caught the interaction, and Kuroo turns to him with a heated glare. You don't miss the exchange between them either.

"Are you two having one of your petty arguments again?" You accuse, eyes glancing between Kuroo and Yaku who are suddenly staring back at you like two deers caught in headlights. "Seriously, you've been fighting like this since first year. What topic could you guys possibly still be discussing?"

Yaku's smirk returns as he glances at his captain with an all too knowing look before he turns back to you, "Well, if you really want to kn—"

"Nope!" Kuroo is quick to interject, speaking for the first time since you entered and drawing your attention away from Yaku and back to the captain himself. Your eyes widen as he begins to take long strides in your direction. "No arguing here!"

Your lips part, confusion taking over your features at the odd behavior your captain is displaying. You don't get the chance to say anything, however, as Kuroo makes a show of glancing at the clock on the wall before turning back to you with a dramatic gasp, "Oh, would you look at the time! We should really be heading to practice."

"You still have your school shirt on, Kuroo.” You point out when he stops in front of you, pointedly glancing down at Kuroo's attire, which consisted of his practice shorts and white button-up, with his red school tie hung loosely around his neck.

"I'll just change it once we're in the gym," Kuroo responds, waving away your interjections before he drops his hands onto your shoulders and forces you to turn around and back toward the door. You attempt to dig your heels down when he begins to push you in the direction of the door, but you're truly no match for his strength. Stupid volleyball training.

"Kuroo," You voice your protests, attempting to swat at his hands in order to get him to release you. Once again, your attempts remain futile, "Let go of me!"

"No can do! As captain and manager, it's our job to be on time to every practice. What would our team do without us?" Kuroo shakes his head, clicking his tongue as if he's scolding you. He turns back to Kai and Yaku, flashing them a warning smile, daring them to say another word. Yaku merely watches on with an unamused look, while Kai holds a placid smile. There's extra sweetness in his voice as he practically chirps out, "Bring my stuff to the club room, will you?"

"I was on time!" You retort, not giving Kai nor Yaku a chance to respond to their exasperating captain as you send them a pointed look, all the while succumbing to your fate and allowing Kuroo to push you out of the classroom. After all, he did have a point. It probably wouldn't be long before Lev managed to push somebody's buttons (most likely Yamamoto’s) one too many times and ended up in hot water. "The only reason I'm not there right now is because I came looking for you guys!"

"Ah, now is not the time to deal blame, Y/N. Our juniors are waiting on us." Kuroo argues back, shaking his head as he removes one hand from your shoulder to slide the door shut behind the two of you. Still, Yaku and Kai face the door as the sound of your guys' bickering persists. It grows quieter and quieter with each passing moment, and it isn’t until they can no longer hear your guys' voices does Yaku glance away with a shake of his head.

"He's clueless." Yaku deadpans, glancing back down at his tie as he continues to work on untying it.

Kai nods, neatly folding his button-up before placing it in his bag. "Completely."

#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #kuroo fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu imagines #hq x reader

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writingroom21 · 3 days

Text

I Dare You

Pairing: Bestfriend!Rafe x fem!reader

Summary: A game of truth or dare shouldn't be an issue right? Definitely not when it's with you hot best friend. It's all fun and games right?

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up), p in v, cockwarming, cream pie, slight chocking and slapping, teasing, let me know if I miss any

Wc: 3.2K

“Let’s play a game or something?” Rafe suggests next to you. You’ve been hanging out for the past few hours. It’s kinda a tradition at this point. Every week the two of you will hang out at either Tanny Hill or your house. The two of you would spend the time watching movies and binge eating pizza or whatever food you decide.

Tonight was the same thing. You had ordered pizza and wings before Rafe got to your house. Giving him the perfect timed entrance with the food since he ran into the delivery boy. That was at least four hours ago and the food is long gone. The movies you watched are just rolled credits.

“I think I have Monopoly in the closet. We also have the switch that we can play on.” You rack your brain trying to think of what games that you have. “OOO! We can play just dance.” Rafe groans at the thought of the game. All throughout middle school you were obsessed.

Everyday you would go home from school, do your homework and play for hours. It was a great way of letting out energy while also giving you a workout. Your love for the game was then forced onto Rafe. You made him go home with you one day after school and play. Rafe has always been athletic, even as a child he loved sports. But that game took something out of him.

Every move was always red, never getting the motion correctly. Don’t get him started on the burn he would feel the day after. All the jumping around and the squating tore his muscles til they were strands. He hated that damn game but for some reason he would go back to your house the following day to do it over again. Now even thinking about the game hurts him.

“I would rather get back together with Christine then play that game.” He’s being over dramatic. The game isn’t even that bad. To say he would rather get back with the ex that stole from him, tried to sleep with his dad, and reported him to the cops is crazy. The stare you are giving him tells him you aren’t convinced. “Okay I wouldn’t but seriously I am not playing that death game.” Typical Rafe, drama queen. “Fine then what do you want to play? We can just put on another movie if you’re that bored.”

You took the bait without even thinking too much about it. “Why don’t we play truth or dare?” He suggests. His eyes are staring at the phone in his hands but he keeps an eye on you. Watching the perplexed look you give him. “Truth or dare? What are we twelve?” Teasing him will never get old. He just has a habit of saying the dumbest or weirdest things when he’s comfortable around people. Teasing him is a part of the friendship.

Rafe throws his phone on your bed as he moves around to look at you better. “Weren’t you watching that dumb kids tv show the other day? Gluey or something.” “Bluey.” You correct him. “That doesn’t matter. It’s good for your brain to help relax, you clearly need it.” Your foot nudges his thigh as you poke fun at him. He catches it and yanks you closer to him, your legs resting on his lap now.

You get a little more comfortable, fluffing the pillow behind you as you lay back. “It does matter. You watch something made for toddlers but you can’t play truth or dare. Come on indulge me.” He whines, his hand squeezing your calf. The feeling of his hands on you is not something new. You are one of the only people that he is comfortable enough to physically touch. The only thing is that sometimes the touch lingers, filling you with a fluttering feeling.

Clearing your throat to distract from your emotions, you answer. “Fine. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.” You giggle as you think of something. “I dare you to try on one of my dresses.” His face drops and your giggles become full laughs. “Fuck you. I’m not doing that shit, think of something else.” His nails graze along your skin, reaching your knee then going down. “Nope, gotta follow the rules.” You know he would never put on a dress in his life. You also know that he has a hard time saying no to you.

This is more of a test to see how far he would really go. “Too fucking bad. I’m not going to wear one of your dresses.” You pull your legs back to your body. Rafe tries to stop you from leaving but you had already turned away from him. “Baby come back.” There it is. That little moment he gives you butterflies. He’s been calling you that recently.

Baby

Like some freudian slip, a moment where he truly reveals how he feels. You ignore him as you open your closet grabbing a crop top instead. A dress was a long shot but you could pull this off. You walk back over to the bed, shirt in hand as you climb up. “What are you doing?” He’s watching as you crawl over to him. He can’t help but to have to adjust his pants. The action doesn’t go unnoticed.

“If you put the shirt on I’ll be happy. Then we can continue.” Rafe stares at the shirt then you. “Plus guys in crop tops are kinda hot.” You shrug your shoulders, looking down at the fabric and playing with it. Fanning innocence in your words to hide your true intentions. His eyes perk up hearing you say that. “You think guys look hot in that?”

His voice somehow got a little lower. You are itching to squeeze your thighs to sedate the ache you feel. But you won’t let him see that this is affecting you. It’s harder for him to hide and your eyes keep glancing down to get a peak. “Yeah. I like when you can see how tight the shirt is over their muscles.” Your eyes follow along his chest, imagine the shirt clinging to life on his chest. Your fingers are dying to touch him.

“Give me the damn shirt.” Rafe rips his shirt off, taking yours and puts it on. You mindlessly stare at him. You were right, the shirt is clinging to him. His muscles are stretching it out but his biceps are the main show. They are bulging out, the fabric barely holding together. He could choke you with his arms and you would be happy.

“Happy?” Your eyes flicker up to his. “Very.” Rafe shifts back to relax, his arm resting by your folded legs. His fingers extend out to brush against your exposed skin. “Truth or dare?” You think about it and take a long pause. “Truth.” His eyes squint at you, expressing his irritation that you took the easy way out. “Why did you and Evan break up?”

He knows why you two broke up, it was him. Evan made it known he never liked rafe and your friendship with him. It definitely didn’t help when Rafe and him got into a fight. Rafe may have implied that you would leave him in an instant if he asked you to. That really set him off and escalated from there. The next day you told Rafe that you and Evan had broken up. He was relieved to know he had once again chased off another guy.

“We had a huge fight after the party. He accused me of sleeping with you and wouldn’t stop yelling. In the end he told me I had to choose, you or him. I chose you.” His hand sandwich between your calf and thigh. Tightening as his mind processes what you said. “Why?” “That’s not the game. My turn.” He tries to protest and you won’t let him. You can’t admit that a part of you does want him. Evan was right to be concerned, not that you would cheat but that you have feelings for Rafe.

“Dare.” You wish you had fought harder to not play this game. You suck at coming out with things to say. “Are you always going to say dare?” “Yes.” You huf a bit. “I dare you to take a thirst trap photo and send it to the group chat.” He groans, already picturing the texts he’s about to get. Reluctantly he gets up positioning himself in front of your full length mirror. He takes the picture and sends it to the chat.

Automatically Top and Kelce start blowing up the group chat. He ignores them and walks back over. “Truth or dare.” You don’t even think. “Dare.” He crawls on the bed like you did earlier, forcing you to lay back. His body is hovering above you, hand playing with the hair that frames your face. “I dare you to show me what you got earlier at Victoria Secret.” He saw the package when he got through the door. His curiosity was eating at him. Smirking, you run your hand around his chest, teasing where the shirt ends only to push him off you.

You grab the box that was sitting on your dresser and open it up. Slowly you take off your sleep shorts and shirt. Your fingers wrap around the thin piece of fabric you call underwear. Pulling them down inch by inch teasing him further by throwing them at him. You don’t know where your confidence came from. Before today you would never strip naked in front of Rafe, you just can’t help yourself.

You take out a red lace teddy, the lace only covers part of your sides and your breasts. It was held together by thin straps, leaving your front fully exposed. Rafe’s hand starts to palm himself over his sweatpants, the pain in his dick becoming unbearable. “Fuck you look good.” You giggle and give him a twirl shaking your ass in the process. “Yeah? You like it, pretty boy.” Your hands are roaming your body, pausing to play with your breast.

Rafe can’t help but stare. “Come here.” You do without question, not wanting to let go of the game you ask him again. “Truth or dare.” Rafe reaches for your sides as soon as you get close. Playing with the lace between his fingers. “Can we both just stick to dare? It’s more fun that way.” Smiling you lean in, closing the gap slightly. “I dare you to take off your pants.” Like a good boy he does.

His boxer does nothing to hide the impressive dick he has. Your mouth water just thinking about it. Without really thinking your hand lands on his thigh, making its way up and retracting as soon as you get close to his dick. “Don’t be shy, baby. You can touch me.” Your eyes look at him through your eyelashes. He could probably cum just from watching you. Bingo

“I dare you to touch yourself.” A gasp leaves your lips at his dare. You know what he means, he wants you to pleasure yourself in front of him. But instead of listening you start to touch your thighs, then arms, and chest. “You know what I meant. Don’t you go start being a brat right now.” Giggling you move his thighs, slotting yourself in between them. Leaning back you expose yourself to him. The open crotch leaves you fully bare to him.

“Fuck.” He grunts as your fingers play with your clit, collecting the wetness by your entrance to help your movements. You almost get lost in the feeling, forgetting about the game, almost. “I dare you to take those boxers off and show me how you take care of yourself.” Rafe’s dick twitches when the cool air of your room hits him. His hand rapidly wrapping around himself and tugging.

The two of you kinda stay there in a lull. Both of you watch the other as they play with themselves, waiting the other out till they crack. Rafe had envisioned this differently, he thought he would be the one having you begging for him. Now he doesn’t even know if he can go another minute without touching you. Without feeling you stretch out on him. He knows this is only going to torture himself more but he can’t help it. “I dare you to come sit on my lap.”

You may have been confident before but this is going further then you thought. Before you can psych yourself out you do it. Throwing your legs over his, your folds parting as you sit down on him, his dick laying perfectly on your pussy. His hands find your hips as your arms wrap his neck. Holding each other and staring into each other’s eyes. “Like this?” Your voice convey’s innocence, so do your eyes. Melting him even further into your spell. “Just like that baby.”

His hands start to rock you back and forth, his dick sliding between your folds. The tip brushing against your clit. You let out a moan from the feeling, grinding harder to please him too. Your efforts were rewarded with a chocked moan leaving his perfect lips. Wanting to test how far he’s willing to go, your head leans forward. He's moving in trying to taste your lips, only stopping when he sees that you did. “I dare you to kiss me.” The words whispered on his lips.

Rafe brings a hand up to the back of your neck, dragging you in for a kiss. His lips devour yours as if you were his last meal. With the way that your soaking cunt is drenching him, it might actually be. He feels like he’s in heaven right now, he never wants this feeling to stop. But he knows it could be better. “I dare you to put it in.” Your hips stop, lips following along. There’s saliva connecting your lips as you detach yourself. You look apprehensive, not really sure if you want to ruin the friendship. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

Your fingers graze his scalp, missing when he had hair. The feeling of it weaving through your fingers can be felt lightly. “I miss your hair.” Rafe grins at you, pecking your lips. “I’ll grow it out again if you sit on my dick.” You clench around nothing, itching to feel him inside you. “Plus we’re best friends. We should be able to do everything together.” He brushes a piece of hair behind your ear, his hand resting on your check, thumb grazing your bottom lip. Blue eyes following the movement, flickering up to catch yours.

In your mind you know he’s trying to manipulate you with the best friend card. The truth is you don’t care, you would have pulled the same trick. Rafe isn’t the only one desperate to have him in me. “Okay. Promise this won’t change anything.” you lift your pinky up to him, he latches his to yours. “Promise, Just…just sit on it. That’s all you have to do.” He needs you now, he’ll say or do anything to get it. You lift yourself a little, getting a hold of him to line him up to your entrance.

Slowly you tease your hole with his tip. Slightly putting it in and then going up to then swirl his head around. Rafe is getting frustrated, groans of displeasure leaving his mouth. “Please.” He whines out, hands death gripping your hips. You lightly tap his cheek so he can open his eyes. With a smile you sink down, moaning at the feeling of his big dick stretching you. When you bottom out you lean your forehead on his. Hips flushed to one another.

Your eyes are locked in, watching as you both stew in the pleasure of feeling each other. Your walls are fluttering around him so nicely. He doesn’t know how much of this he could handle. Honestly he’s glad he suggested you cockwarm him. If he was fucking you right now he would have already finished. You are so tight and warm he wouldn’t have lasted a minute. Plus it gives you a chance to get used to him, he doesn’t plan on being gentle next him. His hands explore your back, nails raking down and slapping your ass. You let out a loud moan, your walls contract making him let one out as well.

The minutes pass by as you two explore each other. Sharing kisses on lips or exposed skin, hands touching every inch they can reach. You can feel him throbbing inside you, pulsating every few seconds. Pulling away, your hands lay flat on his chest to keep him still. “I dare you to touch me.” Tilting your head you mock him. “Let’s see if you can make me cum.” A hand flies to your clit rubbing calculated circles, the other gripping your neck. “Dangerous game you’re playing there, baby.”

Rafe’s back to attacking your lips, moving his assault to your jaw nipping at the skin. His fingers move faster on your clit, hurdling you closer to your orgasim. “Tighter.” You plead, your own hand laying over his to get what you want. He tightens his hold, chuckling at your open mouth expression. “Fucking dirty girl. Here I thought you were my little angel, turns out you're a little devil.” Words don't seem to be forming in your brain.

Everything is blank, the only thing in your head is forcing you to focus on how good his fingers feel. How every twitch of his dick brushes your g-spot only adding to your pleasure. He can feel how close you are, your walls are strangling him. Ironic since it's the same thing he’s doing to you. The fuzziness of your mind snaps the band in your stomach, all the stimulation too much for you to handle. “Rafe please.” Your moans mix with his, they echo in your room bouncing off the walls.

Rafe continues his motions to help you ride out your orgasim. His hands give up once you relax again. He’s on the verge of cumming, mustering up all his strength he holds back. You sense his hands on your hips ready to pull you up. You slap his hands away, cementing yourself to his lap. He gives you a panic look, knowing he won’t be able to hold off for long. “I dare you to cum in me. We should be able to do everything together right?” The moan he let out was pornographic at best. His body is shaking from how intense his orgasim is.

You moan as you watch him enjoying the view of his face and the feeling of him filling you up. He pulls you to his chest, keeping you close as he comes down. This is better than any drug he has ever taken. Slowly and carefully he moves you around, laying you on your back and pulling out. He stares at his dripping cum slides out of you. “God baby you’re amazing.” He kisses your stomach, chest, chin, then lips.

He holds you there, lips molding with yours. He gets up after a minute, getting a wet rag to clean you up. You lay in bed motionless when Rafe comes back after disposing of the dirty rag. “That was fucking amazing.” You say to your ceiling. Laughing, he lays down next to you. You look at him with a smile. “If you think that was good just wait till I actually fuck you.”

#rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe obx #obx #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #drew starkey smut #outer banks smut #rafe x you #rafe imagine #outerbanks rafe #best friend rafe #rafe cameron x reader

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dumbification · 3 days

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my aeon ft. boothill

summary: when he wants to cherish the moment to hold you in his arms.. boothill's devotion and adoration for you is endless, you'll never hear the end of it... (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) !!

cw: boothill x fem!reader, body worship, reader has scars (interpret it any way), you're both touch starved, u just wanna get to the point.. iykwim ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) softcore smut?? or highly suggestive.

“so pretty, baby.” boothill’s voice hummed through your skin, sending shivers down your spine. he went on and suckled at the sensitive skin of your neck—he made sure it would leave marks. he was always an expert at making you squirm, he knew just how to make you long for his touch.

he started to trail kisses down your body, pausing to give your breasts a gentle squeeze. an erotic moan escaped from your lips. he smirked. “the aeons must’ve blessed me, sugar.” he raised his head for a moment to cherish you in all your beauty. “heck. you might as well be an aeon. look at yerself..”

he laid down to rest on your chest for a while. his mechanical heart’s beating adjusted to yours, syncing in patterns. “boothill..” he knew you longed for something more, but he insisted on relishing in your warmth—at least for now. he enjoyed tracing circles on your abdomen, hearing your breath hitch.

he went back to work and trailed kisses down your lower body, purposely avoiding your intimate area. he stopped at your inner thighs, his face shifting into a frown. “ya got new ones?” his cold thumb gently brushed over your scars—old and new. your eyes averted his in fear of being lectured.

“ya know i ain’t gonna be mad, darlin’.” he pressed loving kisses against your scars. you felt something pulse and throb. your hunger for him grew. you spread your legs, trying to send him a message. he ignored this, and trailed kisses back up—all the way to your lips.

he looked you up and down, his lips ghosting your own. his hands had a firm grip on your waist, ready to devour you. you made the first move, he soon followed—crashing against your plump, soft lips. you hesitated at first, but introduced your tongue to his. you loved making the first move, whenever you had the chance.

boothill always wanted to enjoy the moment, taking things slow to truly indulge in you. on the other hand, you were quite impatient, you wanted to get to the point. he usually attempted to convince you that the reward would be even greater if you were patient.

his tongue traced over your face, leading to your ear. he left a clean stripe of saliva—it wasn’t hot nor cold. “tell me what ya want, pretty lady.” he was teasing you. a soft moan crept through your mouth when he gently nipped at your ear lobe. his teeth were awfully sharp.

“please..” you were this close to crying. you don’t take teasing lightly, boothill usually gave you what you wanted. he never, ever said no to you. that doesn’t mean he can’t play games another way. “please, what?” a string of curses slowly slipped out of you. his husky voice only turned you on. he could hear you sniffle.

“‘m sorry, baby. no more games.” you heard his pant unbuckle, you audibly sighed. His belt collapsed to the floor as he tossed it carelessly. you could tell he was hungry for you, too.

“what does my aeon want from her devotee tonight?”

#⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ -- dumbification #boothill #boothill hsr #boothill x reader #honkai star rail #boothill smut #honkai star rail smut #hsr boothill #hsr smut #hsr x you #boothill x you #boothill x fem!reader

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writingsbychlo · 2 days

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SPIDER | tom riddle

summary; tom riddle has a peculiar way of showing his affection, but he's nothing if not protective.

word count; 1625

notes; I woke up this morning with inspiration and I grabbed my laptop and banged this out before even getting up. if you hate it, I literally don't care <3

The flames of the fireplace flickered soothingly, the last warmth spilling out towards you in a subtle glow, hiding the reflections of the lake that danced around the room. Several other students were also still milling around, the Slytherin common room was never truly empty, not unless it was the summer break. Pulling the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders, you snuggled down a bit further, only stilling when the cold sense of someone else crept down your neck.

This was a familiar chill, though. You were aware of someone else’s presence, and yet no part of that was threatening. A familiar cologne reached your nose, and before you’d even turned, you were greeting the man who stood behind you, “Hello, Tom.”

“Why are you down here?” He cut right to the point, never one for formalities, and your lips flickered up at the edges as he walked around the edge of the sofa and into your view. “You’re never up at this time.”

Always so observant. Your smile formed a little more every time he revealed something extra he’d noticed about you. That you liked a particular table in the library, that your favourite biscuits were chocolate hobnobs, that you didn’t usually stay up this late. Tom Riddle had a peculiar way of showing affection. Most people assumed he was cold, unfeeling, harsh. They couldn't be more wrong.

Tom Riddle was a walking, talking, bleeding heart. He was an open wound, snapping like an injured animal when anyone came close. Tom Riddle was full of emotion, it just happened to be hidden behind a thick stone wall. But if you were allowed close enough to look through the cracks, the true Tom Riddle shone like golden light within.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You teased, and he rolled his eyes, taking half a step closer to you and perching on the arm of the couch elegantly.

“You know I go for walks at night.”

“And where do you go for these walks? What do you do on your oh-so-mysterious nightly walks?” You turned your body further towards him, the blanket slipping down from its place around your chin, and those calculating brown eyes tracked its fall along your arm.

“That’s none of your business, and you’re avoiding the question.”

“You’re avoiding mine.” You retorted, and he simply gave you a dry look. Reaching out, Tom lifted the edge of the blanket back up and over your shoulder, securing it back into place.

“Answer me.”

“Fine,” You sighed, head rolling across your shoulders and back towards the fireplace, watching the growing flames once again, “I saw a spider in my room. It crawled down the edge of my bed right before I could get in, and now I don’t want to go to sleep.”

You could feel Tom’s stare on you, the silence stretching between you both as he let the confession settle. There was half a chance he’d scoff, and half a chance he’d simply walk away now that he got his answer. He seemed to be debating between which one to go for. “Why didn’t Pansy get it out for you?”

Another question, not an option you’d considered, but not a surprise from him. “She’s not here, she’s at Luna’s tonight.”

More silence, and you took the chance to observe him instead. Tom Riddle was not one to cower away from a stare, and so as you watched him, he watched you too. Finally, he broke the silence, “I’ll get it for you.”

Now, that was a surprise. “You will?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Does it matter?” He shot back, standing once again, making it clear to you that you were to do the same, or he’d leave without you. Dropping the blanket down to the couch, the enchanted item folded itself back up and into the storage trunk you’d taken it from, as you smoothed out your jumper and followed Tom’s already retreating steps.

“It doesn’t matter, but I’m curious. Humour me.” You caught up with him, and he cut you a glance from the side of his eye. “You should also know that I’m very grateful, whether you choose to tell me or not. Thank you.”

The rigid lines of his shoulders softened a little at that. Should you know how to, Tom Riddle could be played like a fiddle. You smothered a snicker at the rhyme in your head as he let slip a small sigh. “I don’t want you to sit in the common room all night when I can perfectly easily take care of the problem.”

Your smile was full now, following him silently through the halls as he guided the way to your dorm. Opening the door, he was respectful enough to ignore the piles of mess on your roommate’s side of the dorm, looking straight towards your untouched bed, and the mug of now cold tea sitting on your bedside table.

“Which side?”

“The far one.” You mumbled, tension creeping back into your body. What if it wasn’t there anymore? What if it had crawled elsewhere, and was now hidden somewhere in the room, ready to strike, or—

The screech of your bed frame moving snapped you from your thoughts as Tom pulled it away from the wall. It moved again, jarring along the wooden floor. Tom remained still, eyes moving for a second, two, before he suddenly strode forwards, ducking down and his hand shot out. He straightened a second later, with his hands cupped, and turned to you.

He nodded his head towards the window, and you scurried across the room ahead of him, flinging open the window and backing far away as he neared. That made him scoff, rolling his eyes at your behaviour once again. He held his hands out of the window, shaking them off and letting the spider fall through the air, before pulling back, and clicking the catch back into place. He double-checked it, before casting his eye over the rest of the room.

“Let me check for any more.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” Your words fell on deaf ears, as Tom shifted your bed back into place, before peering behind both desks, your dressers and the wardrobe, and finally, the bathroom. He methodically checked each and every space within your dorm for you, leaving you to sit in the centre of your once again safe bed, watching him with a soft smile. Before leaving the bathroom, he washed his hands clean of the creature that had been crawling within them, before returning to you.

“No more.”

“Thank you, Tom.” You whispered, his chin tucking in a single nod, but a frown on his face.

“You already thanked me.”

“There’s no law saying I can’t thank you twice, or as many times as I please, for that matter.” Your smirk made him press his lips into a line, but he had no comeback and hated not having the final word. He was calculating, something else to say, something to spin this back onto you—

“Your tea is cold. You should reheat that, so you don’t waste it.”

Your gaze flickered to the mug, and back to him, shrugging. “I don’t feel like having it now.”

His sigh sounded frustrated, and he took a few more steps into the room, towards you, instead of the door. His voice had softened once again as he took you in, looking down at you with a gentler gaze than most ever saw. “Will you go to sleep now?”

“Soon, I think I’ll just read for a while, I’m not too tired yet.”

He nodded. His jaw clenched as he glanced towards the door, but made no move to leave. The clock in the corner ticked, seconds passing by loudly in the space, and then, “Would you like to join me on my walk?”

His words were fragile, a rare show of vulnerability from him. Uttered quietly into the air that hung between you both, and your gasp almost startled him. “Really?”

He glared, answering your question with a fitting answer. Tom never said things he didn’t mean, and you knew that. Everyone knew that. But he’d never let anyone go on his walks before, it was a hotly debated topic and a running joke within the group about what exactly took place on these walks, and what nefarious things he likely got up to.

“I’d like that.”

“Then put on some proper shoes, and quickly.” You did as he had, rather gruffly, commanded, swapping out the comfy slippers for some boots, and throwing on another jumper for extra warmth. Tom waited for you at the door, holding it open for you to step through. “Do you like the lake at night?”

“I’ve never been out to the lake at night.”

He made a quiet sound of acknowledgement, a hum under his breath. “Then that’s where we’ll go. You’ll like it. It’s… peaceful.”

His hand flexed at his side as you walked together, and after clearing the common room and entering the silent corridors, you slipped your hand into his own.

He stiffened, for only a second, before his fingers wrapped back around yours, and a smile pulled on his lips as he ducked his head. You and Tom had been dancing this line for years now, something more but not quite enough.

Not yet.

But you’d get there, someday. His actions told you enough. Enough to know that he felt what you did too, that you were certainly headed somewhere, on a collision course together. You belonged to Tom Riddle as much as he belonged to you.

So, for now, holding his hand as you walked the lake, and letting him chase spiders out of your room was enough.

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle/reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle/you #slytherin boys #harry potter #christian coulson/reader #christian coulson x reader #christian coulson/you #christian coulson x you

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bombuni · 3 days

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contains: cowboy!sanhwa x fem!bratty!reader, city girl? reader, teasing, mean seonghwa & mean san, riding, threesome

“Is that as deep as you can go?”

You can’t really reply to Seonghwa with San’s cock halfway inside you. Your mind is numbed by him, your entire body on fire as you stretch to fit him in. Seonghwa’s words do get to you, but they only spur you on to take San’s cock whole.

Your eyes focus on San’s rapidly rising chest, but you can hear Seonghwa’s panting breath as he watches you, “Didn’t peg you for a dirty pervert, Hwa,”

Your voice is breathless and weak, barely there as your instinct to bite back overtakes the pleasure from San. Seonghwa only chuckles in response, squeezing his cock to hold back from cumming in his jeans at the sight of San bottoming out inside you. Your body relaxes against San’s below you, who’s hips you have to forcefully still.

Seonghwa stares back at your challenging eyes when you look up at him, “What? You think you’ve already tamed him?”

You grind your hips and San’s hands fly to dig into your hips, his guttural groan floating straight to your core. Your smile is venomous as it stares down at San, who’s worried he’s entered a dangerous territory, “He’s putty in my hands.”

Seonghwa leans against the hay bales behind him, legs spread as he smirks down at you like you’ve said a ridiculous thing. You don’t say anything about the bulge that stares back at you.

His buckle shines in the sun as he fiddles with it, “San’s a bucking stud, sweetheart. Can’t be tamed, right, Sannie?”

San nods, but his fingers are squeezing you so hard you’re sure they’ll bruise. He lets out a breath as if he’s trying to steady himself.

Seonghwa continues, even though he already knows how weak San really is. He just likes to watch the way his blushing cheeks glow underneath you, “‘Specially by a city girl,”

Seonghwa knows how to get under your skin. He pretends to be nice and sweet, but underneath that first layer of him is another layer of pure, unbridled sadism. Ever since you had first come to their ranch, Seonghwa’s comments about your origin were always there. A background noise to whatever endeavors you were up to. San, unfortunately, just found himself to be caught in the middle of whatever kind of battle this was.

Seriously, what were you actually trying to prove here? You’d sort of forgotten whatever it was that started this. You just knew that riding lessons with Seonghwa were a bad idea, because now you were riding something completely different.

While you were adrift in your thoughts, you hadn’t realized you’d been squeezing down on San so tightly. Once he finally reached his breaking point, he easily broke out of the flimsy hold you had on him and pulled you down to hold you against his chest. You felt his sweaty, warm pecs under your hands as you tried to brace yourself against him. The force of his hips as he thrust up against you had you grasping for any hold, his wet cock filling you like it was made to.

You tried to hold back your moans, tried to get San to stop, but to no avail. His big, glistening arms held you tight in your place. He abuses your pussy like it belongs to him, ramming into you over and over as your juices flow between your bodies and down his abdomen.

From where he sits, Seonghwa can see San’s balls slapping against your wet pussy so clearly. The wet spot on his working pants just grows bigger and bigger, cock straining to be free and inside you too.

Your point is moot now, but San’s big cock slamming inside you makes up for Seonghwa’s teasing to come. San growls in your ear, arms tightening around you when you tighten around him.

Seonghwa can’t stop shaking now, hands working himself against the fabric of his jeans, “See, sweetheart? So fucking bratty for no reason, but I know better. You just needed a cock inside you to shut you up,”

You moan pathetically against San’s neck and he can’t help but coo at you. He slows his thrusts down, but he doesn’t show mercy. He slowly fills you to the hilt, letting your pussy memorize every inch of his before pulling out completely and repeating the process. He aims to break you completely.

You’re still whining and San tsk’s, “She still won’t shut up, Hwa.”

Seonghwa finally stands from where he watches over you, the sound of his buckle ringing through your ears as he takes off his pants, “Well, the lesson ain’t over.”

bom note: i got a little carried away 🕴️as the worlds number one (1) american western history nerd and general cowboy thirster i just have to write every time they do anything cowboy .. if u haven’t played the red dead series and u like cowboys go play it!

#hello!!! im not normal im insane about this!!!#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez oneshot #ateez scenarios #park seonghwa #choi san #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #seonghwa x you #san x reader #san smut #san x you

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moonstruckme · 10 hours

Note

I love your roomate!james. I was wondering if you could do one where shy!reader is sick and she doesn’t tell james bc she’s used to taking care of herself but he’s adamant about taking care of her. 🥺🖤

Thank you lovely!

cw: implied nausea and vomiting

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1.6k words

James worries he’s scared you off.

He thought you’d been having a good time the other night, hanging out with his friends and then teasing each other while he battled you for cleanup duties after. He’d certainly had a good time. Watching you smile more readily as you got comfortable, feeling your soft form tucked up against his on the couch, it had made his whole body feel light and fizzy, but now James wonders if the easy, familiar energy of the night had made him too bold. There had been a moment, just before you’d gone to bed, where you’d seemed to stumble, defaulting back to the awkward, self-conscious way of speaking you’d had before you got to know each other.

James might not have thought anything of it—you still get shy sometimes, he can never figure out what causes it—except you’ve been very obviously avoiding him ever since. That next day, you went to work and then disappeared into your room straight after you got home. He told himself he was being paranoid. But yesterday, you seemingly had the day off, and every time you needed to emerge from your room James heard you dash down the stairs and back up as if your bedroom was the only safe zone in the apartment.

He hears you doing it again now, the soft click of your door unlatching before quiet footsteps start down the stairs. If Sirius were here, they’d probably make a game out of timing you, but James estimates it’s less than a minute before you start back up again. He wishes he could tell you not to hurry yourself; he has no intent of cornering you in your own home, even if he does want to patch things up.

Then something falls on the stairs with a loud thud, followed by a sharp gasp just outside James’ room, and all thoughts of giving you your space are quickly abandoned. It was a valiant effort.

“Shit,” he says as soon as he opens the door. He crouches beside you, taking your elbow in his hand, cushioning it from the cruel edge of the step, “Did you hurt yourself?”

You must have had a mean fall. You’re completely crumpled on the stairs, one of your legs curled under you and one outstretched behind you as though it’s slipped back. Both of your elbows are braced underneath your body, keeping your face from smacking into the corner of the stair. James is willing to bet that big sound he’d heard was your knee hitting the step below you as you tripped.

“Fuck,” you whine, pulling an entire loaf of bread from beneath your other elbow. The middle has been completely crushed, smashed between your forearm and the edge of a step. You look genuinely distraught about it.

“Did you hurt your knee?” James frets, fighting the urge to haul you up off the stairs so he can look you over properly. He does take your other elbow in hand, using a firm grip to encourage rather than haul. You get more or less upright.

“I’m okay.” You sound a bit odd, though he supposes you could be winded by the fall. “Thanks, sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” James can’t help it if a bit of teasing makes its way into his voice. This is something the two of you always do, you overapologizing and him making fun of you for it. “It seems like if anyone ought to be apologizing, it should be the stairs.”

Your mouth tips up slightly. “Solid point,” you concede.

The load in James’ chest lightens at your willingness to fall back into a casual repartee. He rubs the point of your elbow distractedly. “Wanna tell me why you’re taking an entire loaf of bread to your room?” he asks, grinning. “Do you have a secret stash of sandwich-making supplies in there?”

He feels goosebumps erupt on the side of your arm, and he does his best to soothe those, too. It must be too cold in here for you. “No,” you say quietly.

“Mm. I thought we were past this, angel. Come downstairs, I’ve still got leftover pasta in the fridge.”

He starts to lead you down, but before he’s made it two steps you say, “No, thank you.”

“Oh, come off it.” James shoots you another easy grin, hoping to loosen you up. “Don’t be a martyr. I’m all for carbs, but bread by itself will hardly sustain you.”

“I don’t have much choice.” You shrug, and your shoulders stay up higher than they had been. You seem embarrassed. He waits, intrigued. “It’s sort of the only thing I can keep down at the moment.”

It takes a blink for James to understand. “Are you not feeling well?”

“Not very.” Your voice is softer than soft, swallowed up by the nerves James thought he’d earned an exemption from but nonetheless can’t hold against you in this state.

He can see it, now. The way you’re holding yourself, like you could curl up on the floor at any given moment. Your complexion is flushed and your eyes slightly unfocused, glazed.

He presses the back of his hand to your forehead.

“Oh, sweetheart.” It comes out more caring than he’d ever meant for it to, but James is too worried about you to dwell much upon that. You bat his hand away weakly, but he just moves them both to your cheeks, feeling himself frown. “You’re burning up, love. Why didn’t you say?”

“Not much to say.” You move away from his touch, backing towards your room. James pursues you, hand hovering near your elbow because you really do look like you could pass out. "It's a stomach bug. It'll pass."

“I could have been helping you if I knew. I just thought you were avoiding me,” he admits. You look so sorry he’s quick to smooth things over with a smile. “Do you need me to get you anything from the store?”

“I already went.” You slump onto your bed before seeming to realize he’s still behind you, your brows coming down. “I’ve got everything I need, but thanks.”

“You went to the store like this?” James is aghast. “You should be resting! How high is your fever?”

“Dunno.” You seem to give up uncharacteristically quickly on getting him to leave, sighing and sinking back against a propped-up pillow. “I don’t have a thermometer.”

“You don’t?” He’s more frazzled by the second, every way in which you’re not being properly taken care of piling onto the last. It seems a miracle you’re still alive.

You look suspicious. “Do you?”

Shit. He grins sheepishly. “No...”

But that doesn’t change the fact that you should, for some reason. People like James are allowed to coast through the world unprepared because responsible ones like you always have the things they need.

He feels your face again. This time, you let him. Your breath fans warm over his wrist, those fever-glazed eyes drooping slightly.

“Your hand is cold,” you say through a sigh.

“I think you’re just hot,” James mutters, but that doesn’t stop him from stroking his thumb over your cheek, just once. Your lashes flutter closed, and his heart does an impressive flip in his chest.

“Have you had paracetamol?” he asks you.

You hum. James sweeps his thumb over your cheek again, hoping to rouse you, but it only seems to worsen your drowsiness. Your head actually lolls into his touch.

“Is that a yes?”

“Mhm, yeah,” you say without opening your eyes. “You need to stop doing that, m’gonna fall asleep.”

“You should be sleeping,” he says softly. It’s impossible to keep the fondness from his voice. “I’m gonna get you a cold flannel, okay?”

Your eyelids crack open. “I don’t need you to take care of me,” you say, voice nearly slurring with sleepiness. “I’ve always done fine, by myself.”

“You never neglect to remind me.” James slips his hand from beneath your face, going to the bathroom between your bedrooms. “I don’t mind helping, though. You don’t always have to do everything on your own, what are roommates for?”

You make a quiet, breathy sound he suspects might be a laugh. “None of my other roommates were ever as nice to me as you are. I think you’re taking things beyond the requirements of the job.”

James thinks so, too. But still. Regardless of the complicated feelings he’s starting to have for you, you’ve always deserved to be treated with care.

“You mean to tell me,” he says, wringing out the flannel and going back to your room, “that if you were this poorly, none of your previous roommates would have offered to help?”

Your eyes are open more fully now. You watch him as he lays the flannel on your forehead, smoothing away a couple of baby hairs before they can get trapped underneath, with an odd expression on your face.

“I handle my own problems,” you say softly.

James’ thumb is still stroking the baby hairs at your temple. He can’t get it to stop.

“Maybe your problems could be my problems, too,” he says. The lightness of his tone is automatic, but it serves as no representation of the great and weighty feeling in his chest. He realizes his breathing has synced to yours. Quiet inhales and exhales in your quiet apartment.

Your eyes slip closed again. “Why?” you murmur.

James doesn’t have an answer for that. Not one he’s ready to think about. The lines of your face smooth out as you relax. More evidence of frowns than smiles, but he likes to think he’s made progress on the little creases fanning out from the corners of your eyes since he’s moved in. He feels a pang of triumph any time they make an appearance, little rays of sunshine on a wholly lovely face.

Because he’s your roommate. Because whether you’re ready to admit it or not, he’s your friend. Because he cares about you.

In the end, James doesn’t have to come up with an answer. You’re already asleep.

384 notes · View notes

formulawolff · 2 days

Text

xii. the final verdict - t.w.

pairing: female!driver x toto wolff

word count: 3.3k

warnings: smutttttt, two idiots in love, YEARNING, LOTS OF YEARNING, lewis being a little shit, george is lowkey dumb sometimes, slightttttt use of daddy dom!kink, cursing, angst, poorly translated german, yadayadayada

prev. | next.

night falls over the track, swathing it with a blanket of darkness. yet, three shadows make their way towards a crisp white building, a comfortable silence settling in. one of the figures carries a woman in his arms, her head nestled in his shoulder.

“how are you able to carry her like that?”

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“it’s not like she’s very heavy, george,” toto shrugs, motioning his head towards the door, “lewis, get the door for me, will you? it should be unlocked.”

“she leaves it unlocked?” lewis raises a brow, “that’s not very safe.”

“she usually leaves it unlocked this time of night,” toto huffs, “she probably did it out of habit.”

“is this the time you usually come over?” george inquires, propping the door open.

“so many questions,” toto shakes his head, “and quiet down, will you?”

“yeah george,” lewis sticks a tongue out at his teammate, “the wittle baby is sweeping!”

“she’s not a baby,” toto growls, strolling down that familiar hallway, “stay here for a minute. i’m going to get her in bed.”

“aye, aye, captain,” lewis salutes the team principal, “we’ll stay right here.”

as the team principal disappears behind her bedroom door, lewis shifts, turning to george, “george. he’s not falling in love. he loves that girl.”

“as if that wasn’t already obvious the second he scooped her up into his arms,” folding his arms across his chest, george surveyed the space, taking in the minimal decor and plain furniture, “no wonder she wants him over all the time. if i was basically living in a space like this, i would lose my mind.”

“should we help her decorate it?” lewis pauses, crossing over to the kitchenette. opening a few of the cupboards, a frown forms, “she doesn’t even have very many snacks. so much for making this a comfortable space. it’s not very homey.”

“that’s what i was saying,” george mutters, “we should mention something to toto. maybe he’ll take her shopping.”

“maybe it’s a racing strategy? like she needs a blank space to clear her mind?” lewis inspects the fridge, lip curling in disgust, “to make things worse, she likes red bull!”

“oh god,” george shudders, “throw it out! throw it–”

“what the fuck do you think you two are doing?”

the drivers freeze as toto stands before them, eyes narrowed into mere slits, the toe of his foot tapping against the floor. lewis glances over at george, the drivers sharing a panicked look as he clears his throat.

“umm nothing!”

“right,” toto clicks his tongue, strolling towards the couch. he sits, letting out a shaky sigh as his head rolls back, fingers massaging his temples, “don’t worry. she has a shipment coming in soon with some decor. i ordered some things for the place. like you both said, i think she needs to make this a little more cozy.”

“you heard all of that?” lewis shifts uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck.

“i heard everything,” toto tsks, “i think she’s okay. thank you both, for your help tonight. however, you do realize that she is a grown woman, right? you don’t have to play babysitter for me.”

“i was just a bit worried about you know?” lewis fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt, “i know she’s a grown adult, but i was just a bit nervous of what could have happened if she got too fucked up and said something she shouldn’t have.”

hmmm. lewis did have a point there.

“i just wanted to make sure she got home safely,” george’s voice is low, “if she’s going to be my future teammate, i want to make sure she’s taking care of herself.”

at george’s statement, toto feels a smile form on his lips, “how kind of you, george. i appreciate that.”

“do you think she’ll sign with mercedes?”

the inquiry is one that had been on toto’s mind frequently, more and more apparent as they got closer and closer to miami. now, it was all over. the lights on the track were shut off, the cleanup crew was well past finished, and the stands were completely empty.

and toto needed an answer.

well, not now. not in her current state.

he would have to wait until morning, when her mind was clear and senses alert.

as of now, toto was only about seventy-five percent sure she would say yes. that she would depart from williams, take his hand, and follow him to mercedes.

that twenty-five percent is what worried him.

with the current momentum of williams, and the relationships she had established with the team, he knew it would be hard to leave. it would be hard to say goodbye to james, the one who believed in her, bringing her in when the other teams said no. it would be even more difficult to leave alex, as he was well aware of their sibling-like friendship.

but the heart wants what it wants. right?

surely she would pick him.

surely.

“i’m not sure,” toto murmurs, running a hand through his hair, “she has a lot of emotional attachment to williams.”

“but she loves you.”

she loves you.

at those words, a warm, cozy sensation rippled in his heart, sending waves of bliss crashing all over. yet, there was a twinge of disbelief.

there was no way a woman like her loved a man like him.

a recently divorced father, who happened to be one of the busiest men on earth. he was constantly on the go. he was emotionally available at times, his exterior cold and brittle, like ice. he was too cruel. too matter-of-fact. the travel would be too much for her. she hated traveling, anyway. the jet lag, the sleepless flights, the perpetual feeling of not having a place to call home.

yet, toto ached to know. to know when she said it. how she said it. the expression she bore as those words tumbled from those perfect lips. the way her voice sounded. he wanted to know every miniscule detail.

he needed to know.

“when did she say that?”

“while we were waiting for the uber,” lewis’ eyes shine, glimmering with joy, “it was quite cute, actually. we were making fun of you, not really making fun, more like teasing. she got so defensive, telling us to quit it because she loved you. she said to not make fun of the man she loved.”

“she was very adamant about it too,” george adds, his chuckle ringing through the space, “we asked her if she loved you, and she said ‘well of course i do. i love him. don’t tell him i said that, though.’”

“and you guys told me?”

“i didn’t mean to,” lewis admits, “you just seem really distraught about the whole thing so i figured i would try to help ease your stress.”

well, that did the trick.

fighting a yawn, the team principal covers his mouth, “we can talk about it more tomorrow, after i come back. i’ll keep you two in the loop. don’t expect every detail, though.”

“i don’t think i want every detail,” george teases, yawning, “okay lew, i think it’s time for us to go. carmen is waiting on me.”

“have fun! don’t break your hips from–”

“lewis.” george hisses, “let’s go.”

“okay,” lewis rolls his eyes, “see you, toto.”

as the two drivers exit the motorhome, the door clicking shut, the team principal clambers to his feet. fuck, today was completely and utterly exhausting. yet, he could finally hold you in his arms. he could finally just be with you.

that alone was worth the trouble brought by the series of events that transpired this evening.

pushing open the door, toto melts at the sight of you.

you were lying on your hip, one pillow underneath your head while you held onto the other. your knee was bent, the other leg sticking straight out. in the dim light he can make out the glisten of drool, strands of hair tousled, messy and unkempt.

yet, you were as breathtaking as ever.

luckily, toto was able to get your clothes off of you with ease. it wasn’t the method he preferred, but he was grateful to be able to do those little things. he was more than willing to do anything you needed. all you had to do was bat those pretty little lashes and pout.

that was his weakness.

and you knew it too.

well, you were his weakness.

as he settles on the edge of the bed, pulling his joggers off, he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

did you know much he adored you? did he make that clear enough? were you aware of how completely and utterly weak you made him?

“hi baby,” you mumble, your eyes still shut, “i missed you.”

baby.

oh god.

what were you doing to him?

“hallo, miene liebe,” toto whispers, “wie fühlst du dich?”

“schlecht.”

his heart swells at your response, a chuckle rumbling in his chest, “so you have picked up on a thing or two.”

“come here,” you whine, shifting your body towards the middle of the bed, “you’ve been yapping with lewis and george all nighttttt.”

“did you hear any of that conversation?” momentarily, panic sets in, yet dissolves as you shake your head.

“i just woke up. i figured you were talking to them. i heard the front door shut.”

“ah,” toto climbs into the bed, wrapping his arms around your frame, bringing you close, “were they being loud?”

“no,” your voice is thick with sleep as you nestle into his collarbone, “thank you for coming and getting me, toto.”

“of course,” his mouth connects with your temple, placing tender kisses all over, “i’ll always come get you. call me, and i’ll be there.”

“promise?”

“i promise,” taking your hand, he locks your pinkies together, “i pinky promise.”

“i didn’t know old people made pinky promises.”

“it’s your fault,” toto tuts, yet you can feel him smile against your skin, “you make a mess out of me, you know that? every time you’re near me, i’m just a mess. i can’t think straight. i can’t focus on anything other than you.”

“well, you’re gonna be a complete and total mess all the time then.”

“and why’s that?” he squeezes your hand gently, resting his chin on the crown of your head.

“because i’m accepting your offer. i’m going to sign with mercedes.”

in that moment, toto wolff nearly crumbles completely.

although there’s a fiery sureness in your tone, brimmed with authenticity, he knows in his heart that he shouldn’t be so sure.

yet, as you doze off in his embrace, he can’t shake the complete and utter bliss.

after one last kiss, his mouth hovers by your ear, the words so gentle, bursting with an emotion that could only be described as one thing.

“ich liebe dich, mein goldenes mädchen."

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a fiery pain sears through your skull as you stir, groaning.

“fuck.”

“good morning, my little lightweight,” a voice, his voice, an octave lower than normal, rumbles from behind, “do you need some water and tylenol?”

rolling over, you bury your head into his chest, grateful for the traces of cologne clinging to his shirt, “yes.”

“how many? i can order breakfast too.”

“i wouldn’t go that far yet,” the idea of food has you nauseous for a moment, “i think snuggles would be just fine.”

throwing your leg over his waist, your arm hangs loosely around his rib-cage as he lets out a laugh, “i can’t help you feel better if you’re on top of me, schatzi. you have to let me get up.”

“five more minutes.”

“as you wish, my golden girl,” a hand wraps around the base of your neck, his fingers kneading into your skin, “it’s only six thirty-four. you only slept for about three hours.”

“not like i can sleep in,” you exhale, grateful for the soothing gesture, “i have to meet with my parents in a couple of hours.”

“oh yeah? fun day ahead?”

“i guess,” you shrug, “as much as i love spending time with them, i just get so fucking sad thinking about the inevitable goodbyes. we probably won’t be able to see each other till our summer break.”

if you signed with mercedes, i would have your parents moved to brackley in an instant. you would never have to worry about those goodbyes for the rest of your life.

yet, toto bites his tongue, “then how about you start getting ready, hmm?”

“because there’s a very attractive man in my bed with me and i don’t want him to leave me quite yet.”

you would never have to worry about that. ever. i could never leave your side.

“is that so?” fingers grasp your chin, tilting it upward, “do i know him?”

“mhmm,” you hum, “his name is toto. toto wolff. you may know him, i’m not sure though.”

“i think so too,” he leans in, mouth ghosting over yours, “come here, baby.”

as your lips collide, your hands roam, tangling in his brunette locks. the kiss is passionate, laced with desperation, as if you were reuniting after months spent apart. it sucks the air out of your lungs, leaving you breathless as his tongue finds yours, teeth nearly gnashing together as the tension builds, the kisses growing more and more needy by the second.

every move is electric, sending a shiver down your spine as his mouth detaches from yours, down your jawline and on to your neck. he nips the heated skin, sucking lightly as your head rolls back, hips bucking forward.

between your thighs, you feel his cock twitch, throbbing as you grind against it.

“fuck.” he moans, jaw clenching as your hand glides along the waistband of his boxers, “you just can’t wait, can you?”

“no daddy,” the innocence notes, so pure, so sweet, drip in his ears, “i can’t wait. i need you to fuck me.”

oh fuck.

he was going to ruin you.

absolutely ruin you.

“take these off,” fingers hook the band of your panties, “the shirt too. and bend over.”

your cheeks burn at the authority in his tone. fuck, you couldn’t get enough of this. of him. since brackley, you were craving a moment like this. a moment where the two of you could just lose all inhibitions, completely enamored with one another.

sliding his boxers down his legs, toto kicks them to the floor. raising his arms, he peels off his shirt, tossing it. yet, as his attention shifts back to the bed, he nearly unravels right there.

your back is arched, your ass jiggling as you situate yourself on the bed, getting more comfortable. as he can’t help but stare, his heart flutters as he takes in the way your body flows. how your shoulders, toned and defined, ripple as his fingertips roam. how the curve of your ass sits perfectly below your waist. how your pussy looks from this angle, dripping as you anticipate his next move.

fuck, this must be a dream.

it had to be a dream.

“you’re perfect,” toto murmurs, dropping to his knees, “absolutely perfect, my love.”

“my lo–” you begin, yet the words never leave your mouth.

his tongue finds your swollen clit, savoring the way the juices seep onto his tongue. hands spread your cheeks, granting him access to your weeping pussy. pleasure washes over you, your moans flooding the space, reverberating off the walls.

however, that pleasure quickly fades as he pulls away, a whine rising in your throat.

“toto.”

“what?” his voice is low as he taunts you, “what do you want, schatzi? tell me, what do you need?”

“i need you,” you whimper, wiggling your hips, “please, i need you.”

“and what do you need me to do?” his hands grip your ass, squeezing, “i won’t give it to you till i hear you say it.”

“i need you to fuck me.”

“braves mädchen,” the praise rolls off of his tongue, and for a moment, he’s guilty at how easy it is giving it to you, “good girl.”

licking his lips, toto relishes the lingering taste as spit accumulates in his mouth, falling onto his fingers. his hand glides along his cock, wetting it.

the moment his tip pushes inside of you, your walls expanding, back arching instinctively, he loses it.

as he pounds into your drenched pussy, you grip the sheets, knuckles turning white as a hand weaves into your hair, tugging on the roots, “do you have any idea how much i’ve missed you baby?”

“i-i’ve missed you too,” you grit your teeth as his tip brushes against your g-spot, the pleasure absolutely overwhelming, clouding your senses, “i’ve missed this so much, toto.”

“what is it that you called me last night?”

oh fuck.

he remembered.

“i called you daddy.”

“that’s right,” he coos, the noises filling the room downright sinful as he plowed into you, hips slapping against your ass, “good girl. lewis and george heard your entire conversation with me, you know that?”

oh god. oh fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck.

“but you know what? i don’t give a fuck what they heard. you’re mine, schatzi. all mine.”

with every thrust, stars burst in your field of vision, the pressure growing in your abdomen. the fabric of the sheet balled up in your hands as you held on, desperate for your climax.

toto could sense that you were close with the ways your walls were squeezing his cock. the way your muscles strain, tensing up. the way your voice was practically crying out his name as he fucked you senseless.

fuck, was he crumbling now, the control slipping away by the second.

“i-i’m going to cum,” fuck, were you so pretty like this, exactly where he wanted you, teetering on the edge of your orgasm, “toto, you’re going to make me cum.”

“let go baby,” maintaining his pace, toto leans down, lips planting sloppy kisses all over your shoulders, down your back, “cum for me. you can let go. be a good girl and cum for me.”

the feeling that overcomes you is nothing like you had ever felt before.

it’s euphoria, pure euphoria.

seconds later, you feel him pull out, coating your back with his cum. collapsing into the bed, your chest heaves, inner thighs spasming.

toto disappears momentarily, slipping into your bathroom. moments later, warmth envelops your back as he cleans you up, murmuring praises under his breath. they were in german, your heart swelling as he’s beside you once again, hands gliding along your body, savoring the way you feel against him.

“what?”

“nothing,” you melt as his gaze meets yours, “just you.”

in that moment, you swear you see stars shining in those mocha depths. you notice another emotion glinting, but you are unsure of what it could be.

well, you have an idea.

but you're far too nervous to ask.

“what about me?”

“you’re just beautiful,” he murmurs, “my beautiful girl.”

“about that,” you scoot closer, your head resting in the crook of his neck, “what are we?”

his chest vibrates as he speaks, “what do you want us to be?”

“i want to be yours,” you whisper, so quiet that you were unsure if he even heard you, “as in i want to be your girlfriend. i want to wake up next to you every day. i want to come home to you every night. more than anything, your face is the first one i want to see after a race. i want to hold your hand as we walk to the podium. i want to be able to love you. i can’t do this anymore. i can’t just lie and act nonchalant. i want you, toto. i want you every day. every hour. every minute. every second.”

toto finds himself at a loss for words, blood roaring in his ears as she sucks in a breath, her voice trembling, laced with the threat of tears.

yet, they weren’t tears of sadness. it was more like a cathartic release, like she was finally confessing her deepest, well-kept secret. like she was finally allowing the walls guarding her heart to come crumbling down.

“i’m accepting your offer. i want to drive for mercedes. however, i can’t wait any longer. i can’t be away from you any longer than i have to. i want to start driving for mercedes as soon as possible.”

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as always, if i forgot to add you, or if you would like to be added to the taglist, let me know! thank you all for the endless support and love for this series! y'all are the sweetest! <3

#toto wolff #toto wolff x reader #formula 1 #f1 #formula one #alkaline series #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #alkaline #alkaline: female driver! x toto wolff #toto wolff smut #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff x you #mercedes amg petronas #williams racing #george russell #lewis hamilton #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 fanfic

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incognit0slut · 1 day

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Much Ado About Nothing (Act 1, Scene 1: The Silent Agreement)

Ever since that night, you and Spencer had always been at odds, but there was one thing you both agreed on.

Part warning: just two idiots bickering nonstop Words: 1,6k A/n: so nervous about starting this but welcome to the first part! It's a short introduction though I'm trying to make longer chapters in the future

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Hate was too strong of a word, too intense and dramatic for the subtler, more nuanced disdain you felt toward him. It was more like a persistent itch you couldn’t scratch, a pebble in your shoe, or a fly that wouldn’t leave you alone.

You didn’t hate him. You didn’t even dislike him all the time. But there were moments when you wanted to shake him, or yank his tie hard enough to shut his smart mouth. Because every time he started throwing around statistics and facts, he made it sound like you couldn’t possibly understand, as if you weren’t on the same intellectual level as him.

And right now was one of those times you wanted to wipe that smug look off his face.

“You’re wrong,” you argued, not breaking eye contact as you leaned across the cluttered map with pins and photos of various crime scenes. “The Unsub doesn’t fit the profile of someone who strikes randomly. Look at the pattern, the meticulous planning in each location—it’s obvious they selected victims based on specific criteria, not opportunity.”

Spencer scoffed, his eyes narrowing slightly. “The victims have nothing in common. Different ages, different backgrounds, different cities. How do you explain the randomness of the victims if it was planned?”

“It’s the chaos that’s planned, the seeming randomness, each victim is at a pivotal point. The Unsub is not just killing; they’re sending a message through the timing.”

“A message? Or is that just what you want to see?”

You frowned, not liking the condescending tone in his voice. “Reid, not everything has to fit into your neat little boxes of logic. Sometimes, you have to look beyond the obvious.”

“You mean baseless assumptions?”

“How about intuition?” you snapped back. “How about pattern recognition that isn’t immediately visible but becomes clear when you consider the psychological aspects?”

“You mean your hunches?

You gritted your teeth. “It’s not about my hunches. It’s about understanding the Unsub’s mind. They’re choosing victims who are at turning points in their lives for a reason. Maybe it’s symbolic, maybe it’s personal."

“Or maybe you’re just reading too much into this.”

Your frustration bubbled over. You knew if he weren’t talking to you, he might actually agree—No, he would definitely agree. You had enough experience working with him to understand his analytical style and to know that he valued well-reasoned arguments. Yet now it felt like he was purposely dismissing your perspective.

He wasn’t being fair.

“You know what? Sometimes I think you’d argue with a freaking wall if it meant you could prove a point.” To me at least. "Not everything is a textbook case, and not every answer is in your precious statistics.”

You saw him raise an eyebrow. “And you’d dismiss all logical analysis if it meant you could rely solely on intuition. How is that any more valid?”

“It’s not about relying solely on intuition,” you defended. “It’s about seeing the connections, the human behavior that your statistics can’t always explain.”

“But you’re assigning meaning where there might be none.” He gave you a pointed look. “Not only is that dangerous, you’re being reckless.”

Red. You were seeing red. Your retort was on the tip of your tongue when a sharp clearing of a throat suddenly interrupted. You both turned to see Hotch standing at the corner of the room.

"Let's redirect this energy towards something productive," Hotch interrupted, you could almost feel the weight of his stare. "Both of your insights are pointless if you keep arguing like this.”

“I wasn’t arguing.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, you weren’t.”

Your boss sighed, the kind of deep, exasperated sigh that seemed to pull the oxygen out of the room. “Just... work together. Please.”

The plea was simple, filled with the tiredness of having had this conversation more times than anyone cared to count. He then turned to leave and the room suddenly felt too big, the silence too loud.

You glanced over at Spencer the same time his eyes fell on you. But before either of you could say anthing, the door jerked open, and you watched as Derek sauntered into the room.

“Did you two fight again? Because Hotch asked me to babysit you.”

You scoffed. “Really? Those were his exact words?”

“Of course not, he asked me you needed supervision because you can’t stop sniping at each other.”

“Supervision,” you muttered under your breath, the word sounding ridiculous because it was the last thing you needed. “We don’t need supervision.”

“Exactly. What you both need is a babysitter.”

“We’re also not kids.”

Derek chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. “Could’ve fooled me. Given how loud you were, I half-expected someone to start throwing toys.”

Spencer was quick to defend himself. “We were having a professional disagreement.”

“A professional disagreement?” Derek mocked, pretending to be deep in thought. “That’s what they’re calling it these days?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Yes, Morgan, some of us prefer to call it that instead of ‘arguing like toddlers’.”

The grin spreading across his face was so annoying that you wondered whether you should’ve put your frustration on him instead. Derek pushed himself off the doorframe and walkes over to Spencer, casually draping an arm around his shoulders.

“Alright, Pretty Boy, let’s hear your side of this professional disagreement.”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably under his arm but managed to maintain his composure. “We were discussing the Unsub’s choice of victims. I believe the randomness is genuine, while someone,” he glanced pointedly at you, “Thinks there’s a pattern.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “What pattern?”

You stepped forward, determined to explain. “Look at the victims’ timelines. They were all at critical junctures—new jobs, big moves, major life changes. The Unsub isn’t picking them randomly; they’re choosing people going through something significant.”

Derek nodded thoughtfully, removing his arm from Spencer’s shoulders. “Alright, I see where you’re coming from. And you, Reid, think it’s just a coincidence?”

“I think the Unsub might be targeting randomly to avoid detection. Patterns can be dangerous for them.”

You sighed. “Can we at least agree to look at both possibilities? If we cross-reference the victims’ life changes with significant dates in the Unsub’s background, we might find a connection.”

You held his gaze as he studied you. You were right, you both knew you were, but you could tell admitting he was wrong was the last thing he wanted to do. There was a tense silence as he considered your suggestion, his eyes flicking between the evidence board and you.

Finally, he nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Fine. We can analyze both angles and see if there’s any overlap.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Derek chimed in with a smirk, clearly enjoying the moment. “You know, you could’ve gotten more work done if you two still got along.”

Derek’s words hit harder than you expected, a bittersweet reminder of a time when things were simpler. He was right, of course. There was a time when you and Spencer were more than just colleagues locked in constant debate. You were friends—good friends, even. You could almost hear the echoes of shared laughter that had once come so easily.

You remembered late nights at the office, the two of you working over case files and tossing ideas back and forth. Back then, your debates had been lively, yes, but never tinged with the frustration and competition that seemed to color your interactions now.

And to make matters worse, Derek suddenly voiced out the question neither of you dared to ask out loud.

“You guys used to be inseparable,” he mused, glancing at the two of you with an amused smile. “Wonder where it went wrong.”

You knew he was joking, but his words carried an uncomfortable truth that you couldn’t ignore. You could also tell it affected Spencer because his eyes met yours silently.

You both were thinking the same thing. You were sure of it, because everything had changed after that night, that one night you wished to forget. That one night when you thought your friendship would change for the better, but instead, it turned into a moment of clarity, a freaking slap to the face.

The change was immediate, like the abrupt silence that follows a sudden, jarring noise. What had once been effortless and natural now felt forced and awkward. The distance between you grew. The ease with which you once communicated had been replaced by a strained formality, as if both of you were trying too hard to pretend that nothing had changed.

It was as if you had made a silent pact to never speak of that night, an unspoken agreement to bury it deep and carry on as best you could. Both of you were too proud, too scared to address the elephant in the room.

You looked away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. The weight of the unspoken words pressed heavily on your chest, and sure, it seemed childish to harbor such disdain at your big age, but you couldn’t help it. It wasn't just the loss of a friendship that stung; it was the betrayal of knowing someone so close could cause you such pain.

Because Spencer Reid had hurt you deeply that night, so much so that a small, spiteful part of you wanted to hurt him too.

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liyahin4k · 2 days

Text

𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐥𝐢𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲

(𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐆𝐄 𝐗 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐑)

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Paige and reader spend the day with her family but in the process her family stills you away, she doesn’t like that very much.

You stood in the kitchen with Paige’s mom Amy sipping on a little wine while looking through Paige’s baby pictures laughing and giggling as drew and Paige played her game. Paige eyes move to you hearing you two laughing “what so funny” she asked pausing the game making drew shout sense he was about to win.

“Oh nothing” you giggled as she walked up behind you wrapping her arms around you looking over your shoulder she saw the baby pictures “mommm,nooo” she cried taking and closing the picture book “why not” Amy laughed, you along with her.

“Because there embarrassing” Paige mumbled sitting back down “well I think there cute” you smiled. She just rolled her eyes.

“I think there ugly” drew cut in laughing you and Amy looked at him before bursting out into tears “I hate all of you” Paige mumbled stomping to her room “I love youuu” you shouted after her still giggling.

It was almost 8 when you were in their backyard with drew watching him play basketball “see that” he giggled pointing to the ball that made it into the basket you nodded smiling at him.

“You know I could be the next Paige” he smirked bouncing the ball “oh yeah,prove it” you smirked. “Prove what” Paige asked walking out “that I’m better then you in basketball” drew laughs.

“In your dreams little man” she smirked sitting next to you and laying her head down on your lap in you continued to watch and talk to drew as Paige just watched you too with a frown.

“Let’s go to bed” she asked trying to get your attention you didn’t hear her due to you taking to drew. “Babyyyyy,let’s go to bed” she said louder gaining your attention.

“Uhm” you looked down at her “I said let’s go to bed,you’ve been with him and mom alllll day” she said sitting up, you looked at her with a small smile “you sound jealous”. “What no I’m not” Paige mumbled looking down “can we just go to bed” she asked “yeah in five minutes” you said looking back at drew, she got up and walked away mumbling to herself.

Five minutes turned into 30 minutes by then Paige was over it. She watched you walk in and began changing with a glare “Paige you can’t be that mad” you softly smiled getting in the bed “well I am” she mumbled crossing her arms.

“You know I love you right” you asked she nodded side eyeing you “it not my fault they love me,and besides I don’t get to see them like that, I’m always with you” you reminded her “I know” she uncrossed her arms looking at you.

“I’m sorry” you mumbled pulling her for a kiss,you went to pull away but she pulled you closer not letting you go making you laugh into the kiss “you’re mine now” she mumbled in the kiss pulling you even closer.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #viral #tumblr fyp #black reader

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httpsserene · 2 days

Note

Speaking of Mr. Daniel, we all know that he injured himself a while ago. How about the reader faking an orgasm because she doesn’t want to tire or injure him? Daniel frowns immediately upon noticing, but the nurse kicks you out because it’s past hours, and he's longing for the reader. He tries to grab the reader to come back but winces in pain, proving the reader's point. Your pleasure is extremely important to him so he’ll stop functioning if you said otherwise.

𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊'𝖘 2𝕶 𝕾𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 | 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖊𝖑 𝕽𝖎𝖈𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖔 𝕰𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐆𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐆𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩, 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐬

Summary: When Daniel isn’t feeling well, it’s no hardship for her to take of him. Except this time, he broke his hand and is proceeding to be an absolute nightmare to take care of. They haven’t had sex since before the accident in Zandvoort because she’s afraid that somehow she’ll end up aggravating his injury. Daniel, however, has convinced himself that he only exists to bring her pleasure. So, she comes up with a plan to soothe his service dom tendencies. Enter, Operation Fake Orgasm. How hard can it be? Spoiler alert: she’s a terrible actress. Pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!black-coded!reader(her skintone isn't referenced but she has braids.) Content Warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. orgasm/delay denial. hurt/comfort. caretaking. servicedom!daniel. discussion of pain medication, injuries, and hospitals. dom/sub undertones. sub/shy!reader. praise kink mentioned. sensual beard shaving (it's hot). wet dreams. somnophilia. safe, sane, and consensual. oral sex (m and f receiving). vaginal sex. fake orgasm. mentioned multiple orgasms. Word Count: 3.6k words

Author's Notes: if the tags scare you, i promise it's not that bad!

secondly, thank you for the patience concerning the delay. my sister is doing a lot better now! she had an allergic reaction to pollen; she inhaled so much that her lungs freaked the fuck out on her, and i was in the hospital from 9am-9pm all day. finally got back home so i'm posting it, way late, but at least it's on the same day.

to make up for it, even though my lil sis was nearly taken out by the environment (i'm joking i love her i'm just being a big sister rn), i am releasing episode four on friday! and episode five on either tuesday or wednesday next week!

i hope you all like this episode xxx

prev 2k special join taglist feedback & requests table of contents next ↻

The sound of bedsheets ruffling contrasts with the monotonous beeps of the heart monitor filling the sterile hospital room; the noise is more than enough to have you snapping your head away from your phone to look at your boyfriend. Daniel’s awake and he meets your eyes with a soft groan. You coo at him softly, squeezing his hand gently as he reorients himself.

“What time ‘st?” Daniel croaks out. You cringe at the sound of his dry speech and quickly hand him the glass of water resting at his bedside.

“It’s getting late, baby,” you hum, not failing to notice the slight wince he does when his cast knocks against the bed rail, “I sent Michael back to the hotel not too long ago, around 7. Charles, Lando, Max, and Oscar came and kept me company while you were in surgery. Oscar, I think, was pretty shaken up still—to me, I could tell he felt a little guilty that you’re here with a broken hand and he’s as right rain—so, maybe when you’re more clear-headed you can reach out to him. Yuki and Michael were here the first time you woke up. Still, you were so high on your pain medication cocktail, that I think you were hearing colors and seeing sounds,” you break from your ramble, suddenly standing and reaching over the bed to press the call button, remembering the nurse told you to alert her as soon as he woke again.

“Yes?” Daniel offers, unsure of how to respond to the edge in your tone, “I’m feeling better by the way—.”

A hysterical giggle slips from your lips, and you can see the regret wash over his face when you meet his eyes with a crazed look, “Forgive me, for not asking how you were feeling right away Daniel. It’s almost like, my brain isn’t working properly because I’m fucking worried about you. Yeah? I watched you crash into the barriers, and I heard you in pain—I called everyone on your team to get updates and nobody answered! So, I got on the next flight to Zandvoort after Michael finally texted me with updates, with no luggage, just my phone and a change of clothes—so forgive me, for not checking in on you right away, after you didn’t call me once,” you blink rapidly and Daniel softens, clearly it was a terrible time to deflect with humor, he just hates to see you worry about him, that’s why he avoided calling. He’s usually the one taking care of you.

“A-are you feeling better, though?” you ask shakily, deflating quickly at the sight of his warm brown eyes, “You’re going to set off every metal detector for the foreseeable future.”

“It’s like a 6 out 10 on the pain scale—”

“That’s what I’m here for,” the nurse interrupts in accented English, smiling at the two of you briefly before she moves to Daniel’s side and catching him up on the outcome of the surgery and discussing pain medication.

“Visiting hours ended an hour ago,” the nurse speaks to you directly, “Did nobody come to escort you out?”

You shake your head in surprise, the time on your phone reads 9 PM—you have no recollection of time passing that quickly since Michael left. Gathering your few belongings, you lean down to kiss Daniel gently, “Be good for the doctors and nurses, Danny. I’ll be back in the morning, okay?”

“No, what—she can’t stay?” Daniel begs the nurse, and she frowns at him apologetically.

Ruffling his hair, you continue, “It’s not her fault—she’s just doing her job. And, we’re besties now,” Daniel stares at you confused, “She’s been coming to check up on me the entire time you decided to cosplay Sleeping Beauty so if you decide to be difficult overnight, she will not hesitate to snitch on you to me. Understand?”

Daniel swallows before nodding jerkily, “Can I have another kiss?”

It’s an easy ask for you to fulfill; but as your lips barely brush his, Daniel hisses out in pain. He tried to use his left hand to pull you closer to him, obviously aggravating the injury. You exclaim worriedly and he tries to pretend that the flare of pain wasn’t that severe. But, as the nurse reassures you that the pain meds will kick in and he’ll go right to sleep, you’ve already decided: that hand will never be in a situation that causes Daniel unnecessary pain again.

You tell Daniel that same sentence on the flight back to Monaco. He assumed that meant you’d force him to wear a sling or have it constantly cushioned and elevated (which you did anyway). However, he should’ve asked you to elaborate because he was completely blindsided to learn that you really meant all situations.

You may have gone overboard the first week. You’re well aware that his hand is the only broken thing on his body, but you pamper him as if he’s bedridden with the most severe flu seen in the last century. You cook and order him hearty meals, you have alarms set for when he needs to take his medication, you shower with him to make sure he doesn’t wet his cast—where nothing sexual happens, you killed the vibe the first time he insinuated shower sex in conversation, mentioning the statistics of shower-related deaths—you quickly fulfill all of his requests, even if it’s sitting through a movie you find tasteless; yet, you refuse to fulfill one: sex.

The doctor pulled you aside while Daniel was getting dressed to be discharged and told you to make sure he’s very careful with his arm, slow and controlled movements only, nothing abrupt.

And, if there’s one word to describe Daniel during sex, it would probably be abrupt.

He can’t keep his hands off of you when he’s uninjured. From your first time with Daniel, he showed and proved just how much your pleasure is important to him—he made sure that you understood that he lives and breathes to make you satisfied. But, you also know that he’d ignore his pain if it meant he was making you feel good; and, that’s not something you can risk, not with an injury that could affect his career if it doesn’t heal properly.

You’ve reiterated that to him multiple times when Daniel tries to deepen kisses, hoping you’ll forget about your stupid sex ban and let him make you feel good. He’s not used to going this long without making sure you’re sexually satisfied. You don’t even allow him to guide you through masturbation, because you know you won’t be satisfied with it even if you get off—it’ll only lead to you falling into his lap begging for more.

On the eighth day, you’re sitting in Daniel’s lap on the couch, rubbing ointment into the bruises left by the seatbelts of the car. You thought he was focused on watching the entire Dutch Grand Prix he missed out on, not thinking much of how he’s toying with the length of your braids with his uninjured hand.

You think nothing of the soft sighs, moans, and groans he’s letting out of his mouth as you lightly massage him. All of these noises are common reactions to a sensation that feels good. It sucks that they happen to sound very similar to the moans Daniel makes when he initially fucks into you. You’re just a girl with needs that Daniel never fails to take care of; you’re not used to this, for the same reason Daniel can’t understand why you won’t let him get you off.

Then, Daniel gasps out a soft ‘fuck’ that has no reason to be sounding that lustful and you start to squirm in his lap. You mindlessly continue to massage him, not exactly proud of the way you continue to strain your ears to hear his noises—and on one particular shift of your hips, you brush across his hard-on that wasn’t there a few minutes ago, and automatically fly off his lap.

In the frantic movement, Daniel tried to use both of his hands to keep you in his lap, irritating his broken hand. You flutter around him worriedly, your words a mix of chastising and displeasure. You don’t hesitate to say that this is exactly why the sex ban is in place (Daniel pleaded that it was a fluke, but you’re not eager to put that to the test).

Three days pass before Daniel deems you relaxed enough to have another attempt at seducing you into an orgasm or two. He approached you in the evening after you had watched him like a hawk as he took his pain medication. He wants you to shave his beard. It’s grown out some since he hasn’t shaved in a week or so. You’re not a professional beard shaver or anything, but you can imagine it’s difficult to shave your face with one hand. And of course, you’d jump at any opportunity to help out your boyfriend and allow him to relax and look pretty. After an unnecessarily long tutorial, Daniel pretends to have 100% faith in your skills and lets you take the first swipe across his cheek. You painstakingly use slow movements and light pressure, not forgetting to pull his skin tight with your other hand and clean the razor off with every stroke. You feel him tense underneath you as you ready to attempt shaving along his jawline.

Pulling back at the last second, you make to smack his shoulder before hesitating and pinching him instead (it’s his left arm, you don’t want to jostle his cast resting on the bathroom vanity), ignoring his yelp you nag him, “Well, don’t act like I’m about to gouge your throat out or anything! I can feel you freeze up underneath me—it’s not like I want to cut you. I already have to stare at your ugly face every day, I don’t want to make it worse.”

Daniel pretends to be offended at your attack and the two of you bicker back and forth before settling down. The fake roast session calmed Daniel enough that when you brought the razor to his jaw, he remained relaxed.

You smoothly shave the small area of skin and turn to clean the razor when Daniel speaks softly, “You’re so good,” a slight pause follows, “at this.”

The praise tingles down your spine and you think nothing of it. Except, it continues. With nearly every swipe along his jaw, he continues to murmur praise with lidded eyes and an alluring tone. Whispers along the lines of ‘good girl,’ ‘just like that,’ ‘you’re so sweet to me,’ and paired with his stare dancing across your face, you dread the moment you finish shaving him. As your razor ventures down his throat, the air grows thick with intimacy. It’s the result of your boyfriend trusting you to repeatedly brush a blade along his throat and your unfortunate kink for praise and acts of service. With the last brush of the razor, you gently set it down on the vanity, exchanging it for cloth you wet with hot water. Ringing it out thoroughly, you gently begin to wipe Daniel’s face avoiding eye contact. When you swipe around his lips, you get distracted by their flushed color, a result of when Daniel bit his lip to make the skin underneath taut for you to shave. His tongue slips out to wet them and you can’t help but smash your lips to his.

It feels euphoric. You’re kissing him frantically, moaning into his mouth without inhibition, and you can feel him laugh as he struggles to match your desperate pace. His hand squeezes at your waist, anchoring you yet furthering your desperation at the strong grip as you try to climb him like a tree, tugging at his hair, shirt, pants, anything you can reach. At this point, Daniel would’ve had a hand in your hair, tugging at your scalp sharply a couple of times to rein you in and move you to his rhythm. You’re a little lost at the missing sensation and you pull away to pout at Daniel like you always do when he spends too much time teasing you.

It takes one look at his blown pupils, smug smile, and heaving chest before it jogs your memory. You step backward quickly to put space between you guys, raising a hand when you see him open his mouth, knowing he’s only going to convince you to get naked for him.

“I’m going to bed,” you state with a pointed finger, “You, are going to get in the shower, with cold water, and think about what you did wrong. And! You will not wake me up for sex.”

Daniel’s face falls, and you can tell he expected you to break, “Wait—you don’t let me shower by myself, what if I fall?”

You turn and leave the room, “It would be divine intervention. Karma, for trying to get me to break my rule.”

Daniel doesn’t wake you when he slips into bed, but you lose the benefit of going to sleep early when you jolt awake before sunrise. Your mouth is dry and your panties are embarrassingly wet. You can’t recall a single detail of your dream. Still, your legs are trembling at whatever scenario your brain decided to torment you with.

Fuck it. Or fuck him, literally.

That makes sense. You’re going to ride Daniel, it’s the perfect position to make sure he doesn’t move his arm. You work him up beforehand so hopefully he won’t last as long; Daniel has unparalleled stamina usually, but with you constantly denying him for a while…he may wind up quicker. As soon as he cums, you’ll fake yours as well—because he’s only pleased if you're satisfied, otherwise he’ll attempt a round two. It’s that easy, right? You turn on your side and stare at Daniel, his face relaxed as he sleeps. Your synapses start firing as the plan comes to life. The two of you have discussed somnophilia, more on you as the receiving party. Daniel, of course, offered himself to you on a silver platter—any taste of you using him to get off? That’s always going to be a yes from him. So, yes. It is that easy.

You pull the duvet down to the edge of the bed and quietly shift to hover over Daniel’s thighs, never more thankful that he decided to wear only briefs to bed. And that he’s already half-hard; you’re extremely happy that the two of you don’t have a hand on how creative your dreams can get. He doesn’t shift when you pull his cock from underneath his briefs, carefully dragging them

down just enough to not be a bother. He stays under as you get him hard, it only takes a few strokes and some teasing along a vein on the underside. You rise slightly, sucking on two of your fingers before bringing them to rest along your entrance. It’s an annoying experience, you can’t remember the last time you had to stretch yourself out—Daniel’s spoiled you. The feeling of your fingers inside of you is underwhelming, the slight tinge of pleasure would be multiplied if it were him instead but; this is not for you. You are simply performing tonight.

You slide your fingers out and decide on getting Daniel as close to the edge as you can before he wakes up. You lean down to mouth at the head of his cock, knowing it’s incredibly sensitive and the sensation pushes him to the edge quicker than anything else. It can’t be more than a couple of strained minutes—your eyes and ears peeled to make sure you don’t miss any signs of Daniel starting to awaken. Thankfully, you feel him start to pulse along your tongue, a sure sign that he’s getting there.

You pull off, taking a second to breathe as you rest your head on his hip. With one last reassuring exhale, you move to straddle him, one hand underneath you to guide his length to your pussy. The second his head pops into you, you let out a pitiful whimper, eyelids fluttering shut, and your legs begin trembling again. Another realization hits you as you struggle to silently take all of Daniel.

You can’t recall a single time Daniel had forced you to be quiet. He’s always trying to make you scream his name. If he needs to hide your noises he muffles them with a hand over your mouth or his fingers in your mouth. Naturally, you use his tricks and do the same. With two of your fingers shoved in your mouth, you quiet your sounds as your ass meets your (somehow still) sleeping boyfriend's thighs. It feels like he’s in your throat; you know that no matter how long it takes you to make him cum, you’re going to be aching tomorrow. You begin to grind against him, whimpering softened around your digits. You slowly increase your rhythm up to a bounce, doing your best to squeeze around him—Daniel has mentioned before that he can’t resist cumming when you feel like you're trying to keep him inside of you and never let him pull out.

It must work because suddenly Daniel’s hips rock up into yours, and he’s awake with a singular breathy moan of, “Yes—oh, I thought I was still dreaming.”

You laugh airily, letting your spit-slicken fingers fall from your mouth and drop to press against your clit (you’re not actually, you’ve missed it by a mile but it’s all about convincing Daniel), avoiding meeting his eyes knowing Danny will assume it’s under the pretense of you being shy (once again, yes you are incredibly mortified, but you know he’ll be able to tell that you're faking this in a split second).

“H-how long,” Daniel moans out crackly, his abdomen contracting underneath you, “Have you been at this? ‘Gonna make me cum already.”

You nod frantically, moaning out loudly as if you’re on the edge as well. Daniel gets his feet planted and thrusts up into you forcefully enough that your moans turn real. Throwing your head back so he doesn’t see your face in case it gives you away, you continue to moan out exaggeratedly as you feel him cum inside you, pitching your voice and shuddering as if you released as well.

“What the fuck was that?” Daniel commands quietly.

You slump forward, sliding off his softening length and nuzzling into his neck to pretend like you didn’t hear him and to hide. He lets you avoid answering the first time he asks. He takes his good hand and fists his hand in the braids along the nape of your neck and tightens his grasp enough to get you to gasp.

“Mhm. When you cum, baby,” he starts softly, “That’s the quietest you ever get during sex. Usually, it’s because you choke on your breath, even though I remind you to breathe through it every time. You do this cute little thing where you try to slam your thighs shut around me, it doesn’t matter if it’s my hand, my head, or my hips, you try to crush me. It’s also one of the only times during sex when you make eye contact with me on your own, well depending on what position I have you in. I won’t repeat myself.”

You mumble into his chest fitfully before sitting up, “I didn’t want you to hurt your hand, okay? That’s all. During sex, you can never stop touching me and I was afraid that somehow you’d treat your hand a little too roughly and then, boom, you’ll never drive a Formula One car again—”

“Calm down, babe,” Daniel soothes you, bringing his right hand to massage your hip, “I think you’ve overdramatized my injury in your head a little bit. Firstly, I don’t even care if my hand suddenly fell off—genuinely, never deprive me of making you feel good. That hurts me more than my hand aches. Secondly, this entire time I didn’t even move my left hand off the bed. See?”

You look down at his hand and nod once. This entire time you enforced a needless sex ban when you could’ve been riding a high every day.

“Now, if you could be kind enough to let me restore my ego,” Daniel taps you on the ass so you rise to kneel over him, “C’mere and sit on my face.”

You hesitate, the thought of pretending to deny him crosses your mind, but you already shorted yourself of one orgasm tonight. That’s how you find yourself riding Daniel’s face, embarrassingly almost losing control of your legs at the first knock of his nose against your clit. Your boyfriend has mastered the skill of eating pussy and that’s why you feel no shame in just how quickly a few targeted thrusts of his tongue and the pressure of his nose have you shattering apart above him. And as Daniel said, you do choke on your breath as you climax, your legs tighten around his head as well—and you don’t have the strength to be humiliated at how he knows your body better than yourself.

Daniel guides you off his mouth and lays you down by his side only using the uninjured arm, and the care and strength behind that movement sends you shaking again through the aftershock and come down.

Daniel coaxes you onto your back and nudges your legs open to slide in between them. He trails the fingers of his right hand across your fluttering folds, before spreading you open with two fingers, enamored at the way your relaxed entrance winks at him.

“You can give me one or two more right? I think you need a reminder of how much I thrive off of making you feel good, pretty girl. Let’s see how many more I can get out of you before the sunrise.”

taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems @lorrari @inloveallthetime @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz @vetteltea @tallrock35 @iloveyou3000morgan @smartstupyd @spideybv28 @lh383 @loomiscorpse @hiireadstuff @namgification @gg-trini @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @multi-fandom-rando @sweatrevenge5436-blog @bokutos-babyowl @oliviah-25 @landoslutmeout @love-simon

#serene’s chapters.#httpss :// 2k special #f1 x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #f1 smut #daniel ricciardo smut #f1 x black!reader #f1 x female reader #daniel ricciardo x black!reader #daniel ricciardo fic #daniel ricciardo imagine #f1 x you #formula 1 x black!reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #♡ ༘*.ﾟ love interest: dr.

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hitlikehammers · 1 day

Text

Steddie Missed Connection AU

feat. Craigslist-trawling-wingwoman!Robin + earnest-LA-transplant!Steve + rockstar!Eddie ✨ inspired by this actual Craigslist love story

It’s always about a 50/50 shot when Robin starts making her little back-of-the-throat squealing noises. Up to a certain pitch, Steve could pretend he had his AirPods on noise cancellation mode.

Once she reached fire-alarm-screeching levels, it overrode the settings and boom: he lost his fall guy.

Thanks, Apple.

But that’s where they are, and the squealing plus the screen in her hands, plus the way her leg’s bouncing against the table they’re both sitting at—which would have overrrode Steve’s AirPod excuse in about a minute because she’s gonna start splashing his glass of orange juice in a hot second—but all of it lumped together?

He’s lucky he’s retained his athletic reflexes post-high school—maybe only because of being joined-at-the-hip with this particular platonic soulmate, really—because by the time she’s swinging her iPad from its case to plop right down in front of him?

At least he’s quick enough to save his overnight oats from becoming aluminum-flavored when she drops the goddamn thing down without warning—caseless, the heathen—and makes indecipherable noises Steve thinks he’s maybe only heard at the zoo as she taps her nail with an migraine-inducing click on the screen.

Steve…supposes this means he’s obligated to look.

He sighs, fully expecting a dumb meme or a ‘cute TikTok’ because he knows who he fucking lives with; he reaches across the table and unfolds his glasses—really, assaulting him with this before he can even get his contacts in…

And it’s a…webpage. Like: just a webpage. A boring webpage, even. Definitely not matching up with the…squealing and table-sized earthquake of bouncing knees. He squints, tries to make it make sense.

Oh. Wow. He didn’t…

Steve did not actually know Craigslist still existed, let alone that people still used it. He was pretty sure the things for sale were always just kidnapping plots with extra steps, and then also that finding a person you walked past that one time was an FYP problem to solve. But.

Here, in front of him, in black and white and honestly like no other color:

Steve squints; it was posted this morning, but only just. Like 4am. So the last afternoon for there to be a one o’clock hour was—

Yesterday.

His yesterday was uneventful. Went shopping with Robs. Filled up the freezer and overbought shit again so they had a kind of massive and wholly mismatched dinner with the leftovers nearly popping open the fridge door. Can’t take the Midwesterner out of the man or woman, apparently.

Definitely nothing like the day this poor soul on a maybe-less-dead-than-presumed website had had. But Steve won’t pretend his heart doesn’t clench a little when he finishes reading because…it’s cheesy.

But Steve’s always been into that romantic…stuff.

“That’s very sweet,” he lands on commenting before passing the tablet back to Robin, who’s staring at him with frankly terrifying eyes. Like: lost-your-fucking-mind eyes.

“Steven.”

“What?”

“Steven.”

“Robin.”

He won’t even pretend he doesn’t jump with the metal slams on the wood where Robin narrowly misses flipping his bowl of sadly-abandoned oats with her iPad again when she slaps it down in from of him and points frantically yet again.

“Look at the location.”

Steve tilts his head.

Oh. He’d just looked at the time. And it’s not like the location in the title was…unique on its own.

“Huh,” he huffs with a shrug when he sees their part of the city listed in the main link up top. “Coinkydink.”

Robin’s growl starts deep, like a diaphragmatic thrum and Steve would be terrified of her if she were anyone else.

As it is: he’s only mildly unsettled. Specifically because the growl rumbles so…long.

Like at least a minute before she screams bloody fucking murder:

“My hair was in the buns!”

And the way she screeches it, and the maniacal twitch of those eyes…she’s saying more than those words, with those words.

Which means Steve has to put in effort to follow her coded message style of communicating, fucking hell. He hasn’t even eaten his breakfast.

He tries to think it through, at least manages to down his glass of OJ so it can’t be a sacrifice to flying iPads when he thinks he…

“Wait.”

Steve frowns. Robin just blinks.

“You don’t,” he shakes his head, or starts to, it’s a slow motion thing; “you don’t like honestly think,” but even as he’s saying it, the look in her eyes starts to make sense, and answers for him:

“This is not about me.”

Because: seriously.

“We were laughing!” Robin is immediate with her rebuttal, still in her screeching era. “No one else was there!”

“Because we specifically time our shopping for when people are at lunch on a weekday,” Steve counters quick, tries to cut her off at the pass; “a statistically slow window of opportunity for us to debate the list!”

“We write the list to avoid debating,” Robin answers in a more sedate, be reasonable now, dingus tone before she shakes her head and scowls and:

“Stop distracting me!”

Yep, back to the screeching.

“Why were you even on that fucking site?” Steve sighs as he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair.

“Steven,” Robin says again in that fucking tone that always means he’s missing the biggest, far-more-important point but does jack shit to help him find it.

“Robina.”

“Not my name, eww.”

“Well, now you know how I feel when you make up a middle name for me,” Steve sticks his tongue out very maturely to her scrunched up face: “they’re never even nice ones,” he adds, because they’re really not; “and I do know that was your next move so,” he smacks his hands opposite the screen on the table in front of him in victory as he crows:

“Denied.”

“This isn’t basketball,” Robin’s working her tongue around her lips inside her mouth, which is always deadly foreshadowing; “you didn’t block my shot or whatever—“

“Didn’t I?” Steve pushes because, well, one, he did, and two, the original conversation was absurd even for them.

“Maybe it was so empty because his security was there.”

Steve frowns. The tone’s too…even. No. No: too haughty.

“The fuck does that mean?”

“I said he looked like a rockstar,” she leans to grab back her tablet and poke near the top, obviously switching browser tabs: “so I did some digging.”

“Robin, what city do we live in?” Steve asks as she works, because yes, Steve remembers seeing a very hot fucking dude staring less in their direction than looking dumbstruck-lost as hell, and he’d considered walking over to ask if he needed help—Midwestern transplant to the bone—which was accompanied by the stray I’d fuck that gorgeous toothpick silly, but in the paper product aisle, like on the 48-count pack of Charmin, he looks soft under all that leather—then both thoughts were swiftly abandoned when the toothpick’s eyes met Steve’s and Steve maybe had to force himself to finish laughing at a joke he can’t remember now, that Robin told, because his skin felt like it was burning a little except the sun had poked behind a cloud, and his throat, it had like, it had just, it—

It just felt…weird.

He does remember that.

“But we don’t see rockstars every day,” which is fair, their neighborhood in particular is less music biz than others.

“Plus, look at this!”

Then she’s shoving the iPad back in front of Steve: it’s a TMZ shot or some other pap photo that’s more than half blur. It is indeed the parking lot at their Costco. And it does…feature a toothpick-esque figure looking similar to the one Steve remembers, but it’s more from the back than the side. And like, anyone can wear that much black in the summer. It’s a free country.

“And look at him!”

She split-screens to a Wikipedia article about a band even Steve’s heard of, if not for listening to them himself. It…he glances at the paparazzi shot.

Lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin Sighted Getting Groceries Just Like Normal People in Mar—

And then he looks back to the wiki: okay. Same band name. The guy with the guitar in the photo looks…

He has the same hair.

“Don’t tell me it’s just coincidence.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“It is just coincidence.”

“Steve.”

Steve feels his face sour.

“I know that tone,” because he does. It never leads to things he enjoys.

“You’ve thought about him.”

“He was gorgeous,” Steve thinks he surprises her with his honesty but like, what does he have to gain by lying? Plus:

“LA’s is like the plastic surgery capital of the fucking world, it’d be kinda sad if a lot of people generally weren’t pretty.”

“He wasn’t that kind of pretty.”

And fuck if they don’t share a brain cell; fuck if she doesn’t see right through him.

“And that’s not why you’ve been thinking about him.”

And fuck if she doesn’t know Steve, far too well.

“I never once said I’d been thinking about,” he hears the words and knows they’re weak, goddamnit.

“You never had to,” Robin smiles a little and taps an annoying finger at the screen again, that’a somehow flipped right back to the Craigslist ad thingy.

And she’s actually not entirely right, because he hadn’t thought much about the gorgeous toothpick man with curls Steve wanted to be smothered by, suffocate in like a pillow. But when he did?

He’d thought most about how he looked soft, on the inside. Thought wild and idiotic things like maybe his soft could match Steve’s soft when no one else’s ever had and he was always left bruised for it, more than once near-unhealable, and maybe they could, like, if their softnesses matched, then like—

Something.

But Steve always comes on too strong, wants too much, hopes to hard and way too fast, though this shit might take the cake, there: so it was idiotic and he’d left that train of thought to derail on its own and—

Did that come on too strong?

His gaze snags on the words, those exact words up on the screen and he’s very tempted to start growling deep in the pit of his stomach, take a cue from Robin’s absurdity.

“Don’t you have a class to get to?” Steve asks, looking pointedly at the clock on the microwave: he knows she does. Pottery making. For self-edification.

She scowls but looks—swears colorfully because it’s later than she thought as she jumps up and goes to presumably…do whatever she does in the bathroom to get ready to leave and look her lesbian-luring best before she gets smattered in wet clay.

Steve remains unclear on whether that look’s more or less attractive to the specific ladies she’s trying to bait.

Either way: it prompts Robin to drop her one-woman campaign insisting Steve’s soulmate of the romantic flavor is calling our desperately into the void of the internet. But it also, however, has the…side-effect of making the time itself an obvious thing. 11:09.

Rob’s gonna take the car, she’s got…supplies and stuff.

Why that’s important is…lost on him.

He could debase himself and brave the bus, if he got off at Washington and—

What the fuck.

What. The. Fuck.

Steve very forcefully shoves Robin’s iPad back across the table and doesn’t think about anything, especially not the numbers, like the number 214, like two hours and fourteen minutes until—

Steve nearly chokes himself on his fucking spoon with how violently he shoves it, full of oats, between his lips. As if he can shut his brain up as easy as he can his mouth.

It…actually kinda works. He might have chipped a tooth.

——————

In the end, Steve is proud of himself for being reasonable and having standards. He doesn’t take a fucking bus to meet a stranger in a Costco parking lot, Jesus Christ. Come on.

He books an Uber.

(And yes, he and Robin agreed no solo Ubers for a month to save up to have the air conditioner looked at before it copped out on them because their landlord only gave a shit if it was dead-dead and yes, maybe she’d gone so far as to put their account on a hold you had to call and remove to avoid temptation—though of the two of them, she definitely had the bigger problem—but little did she think on the fact that while you had to link a phone number, you could just use Google Voice and make a new account and no, Steve’s not insane, or a hopeless romantic, or almost-asking-for-heartbreak-on-the-regular, thank you very much.

He is resourceful. And it’s only like $15 with tip. It’s a quick ride.)

He asks to be dropped near the back of the lot, and takes the walk up slow. Almost goes the long way, straight into the store. Almost turns back entirely.

But then he sees those curls.

And his throat does the…the weird tight thing for no fucking reason, and his feet don’t ask permission to walk in the direction of the man standing…less dumbstruck, now. Even from the back it’s clear.

Now: he’s waiting.

Steve can barely breathe, can’t fucking swallow for the state of his throat, but his feet still aren’t waiting for permission, so it’s only fucking seconds before he’s close enough to catch a whiff of cologne and then—

“Sorry,” Steve ducks around the man from behind and reaches out automatically to steady him when he startles. “Hey, sorry, you just looked like maybe you were looking for something?” Steve smiles as open, as reassuring as he knows. “Just wanted to check if you needed any help.”

Keep it casual, Steve, keep it fucking friendly and extra polite and—

“Oh my god.”

The guy barely breathes it out, his eyes so wide, and Steve doesn’t know why he hasn’t moved his hand from the guy’s arm but Steve can feel the electric current that runs through him, like the finest grade of trembling. And electricity, right, it travels. Conducts.

In case you felt your heart skip just one beat, didn’t even have to full-on stop—

And even that proximity to this man is nothing compared to hearing his voice, low and a little syrupy even as he stares in shock, in disbelief—and oh. Oh, but what was it the guy had written in his post? About feeling the earth move a little, or like, rewiring your cells just for meeting eyes?

Steve, he’s…

Yeah. Yeah.

Okay.

“You’re here.”

Steve blinks, rocked back to the moment to deal with the new tilt of the globe and the spontaneous realignment of his insides later. This guy’s looking at Steve like he’s unbelievable, like he’s miraculous, like he’s…

Sunshine.

“I’m here?” Steve asks, a little breathy, a little curious.

“I,” the guy swallows, lips shiny as he bites at them, fucking adorable; “I saw you, umm, yesterday and I maybe, well, possibly I wrote some,” he fumbles and sounds like he’s building up to eventual hysterics, so Steve acts wholly on instinct and reaches further now to catch at both his hands.

“Relax,” Steve breathes out with a smile, and doesn’t overthink smoothing his thumbs over the guy’s knuckles, just in case it soothes him.

“My friend,” Steve lets go with one hand and grabs his phone to show the page he’d loaded on the ride here; “she was convinced it was you, about me. I wasn’t, so,” he shakes his head quick when something falls in the guy’s face, something dims: oh, umm, no.

He cannot have that.

“Not trying to catch you out or something,” Steve exhales it warm, as reassuring as he can, with his whole chest as he grabs the guy’s hands in both his own again—since he seemed to not mind; “just,” and Steve shrugs even as he smiles a little, less self-deprecating with it than he’d probably have landed on if the guy hadn’t reacted to Steve’s hands on his by clinging back so tight:

“Just a little hard to believe, is all.”

The man barely lets the words settle before his jaw drops almost comically and he demands, high-pitched and somehow still rumbling, something commanding in it nonetheless:

“How?”

Like it’s unimaginable. Like Steve reading that post and walking into this lot and striding up to a perfect stranger—who may or may not be very famous but that’s actually not even a little bit of the point—but a stranger who would want to see him—

But then Steve’s meeting the guy’s eyes again; hadn’t wholly realized he’d been staring at their hands more than anything. Those eyes are like the night sky, swirling and endless and sparking in the right slant of light, and Steve feels them like a welcome, like a cushion of the stars, like a safe landing in a chaotic universe.

He doesn’t even know this man.

But he thinks…yesterday. Yesterday, his heart didn’t stop, not like this guy had written, but Steve understands now what it did do instead, the thing he did remember, the tightness in his throat: his heart didn’t stop.

It just surged upward and took up residence to pound at his trachea where it tripped instead. Which is kinda where he’s back to right now.

“Could I,” the guy’s voice is rough, shaky, and so is he, Steve feels it where he’s still got his hand gripped firm; “would it be too much to ask if I could hug you?”

And he huffs a breath, and it sounds too….too small, like he’s afraid or ashamed and it pings something hateful, but so much more protective in Steve’s blood just to hear it as he confesses on a end of an exhale:

“I just want to know if you’re real.”

And Steve didn’t grow up a hugger, but he sure as shit’s grown into one; he’d be one of those people standing in the city with a ‘Free Hugs’ sign without much convincing. But this guy.

This man in front of him who may or may not be famous, is definitely a stranger either way save that he poured out some lines on the internet that maybe exceeded the term ‘heartfelt’ by a mile, who may or may not be standing in here, inside this moment, for something like fate because…Steve did feel it.

Maybe he didn’t think twice about the immensity it could have, not in the moment, because he’d been shopping, and Robin’s story was funny and maybe he was just struck by his luck in living a life with his platonic soulmate and knowing joy; surely your heart can trip for that and just because it never had before, just because it did this one first time when he crossed eyes with a genuinely beautiful man who left Steve with half-a-second’s certainty that looking any longer would flay wide this unknown person’s soul for Steve to sift through: but Steve felt things like that easy, always had. Romanticized nothings like it was a profession.

But it never hit like this had, has—is—before, if indeed this is actually anything—

And Steve’s heart is still tripping but it’s back in his chest, and he knows it because where he’s pressed against this guy’s kinda-gasping chest, now, close and tight? Maybe Steve’s never paid attention before, or maybe Steve’s just never…touched like this before, even if all they’re doing is hugging in a fucking parking lot.

But.

He’s pressed there and his heart’s tripping in his chest and he knows it wholly and fully because he can feel this man’s heartbeat next to his own—and where it should be a battle, because it’s pounding, both of them are, one side literally against the other?

It feels like a caress. It feels like, like…

Steve closes his eyes tight because they start to sting with the single word it feels like: impossible, absurd, but…

Here he is. He’s never felt someone’s heartbeat pressed up against his own before. Definitely never felt—never dreamt—that it could feel like it fits.

He leans back when he thinks he’s got a hold on the hopelessness of his tender-hearted absurdity, but the guy is staring at him already when he does and suddenly Steve’s got a handle on absolutely nothing except his pulse jackrabbiting some more but then also feeling…like it lost something. Like it’s not complete.

And the man, he’s staring with those eyes so wide again but now it’s like he’s…it’s kinda like he knows. He knows his eyes are going to let Steve flay him wide open.

It’s like he’s begging Steve to…look. To look and less to take, and more to…have.

Maybe, maybe to keep?

And…how?

“Do you feel it?” the guy whispers, those deep dark eyes so big: just these vulnerable, bleeding hearts on main. “Even just—“ he tries to walk back, to open it all up wider, desperate and hopeful and Steve hears all of it because it’s all written in the same key as all that Steve knows, all that Steve is. Somehow.

Somehow.

So Steve blinks, too many times before he grabs the man harder and drags him in again to hold, hold, hold until the heartbeat on either side of Steve’s ribs is reaching for the other, touching. Until they’re holding on, too, and once they do, then he can whisper, warm and maybe wet in the crook of this man’s neck, this stranger who’s holding onto his heart now, unfathomable, as he speaks words he doesn’t have to think about first to know they’re going to shift the world again, this time so they both can know it in the souls of them together, all at once:

“I feel it.”

For @hbyrde36, who requested 'Missed Connection AU' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @lawrencebshoggoth

divider credits here and here

💫 ao3 link here

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pit-and-the-pen · 2 days

Text

But I Have You...

Just a treat for all the angst I've been posting lately! Thank you @daycourtofficial for such a cute idea!

Summary: Date night with Azriel. What could go wrong? Apparently everything...

Warnings: Making out, mentions of food/cooking, allusions to smut, modern-ish AU

Wc: 3.3k

Date night with Azriel was one of your favorite days of the entire week. Calling it date “night” was an understatement. You and Azriel were normally both so busy with your duties that you tried to make a whole day out of it, or as close as it could be.

“Go bathe.” You pointed towards the door of the bathroom, brush still in your outstretched hand.

“Are you trying to tell me I stink?” He quirked an eyebrow at you, stalking closer to you. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you against his chest.

“Yes. Now go. We’re going to be late for dinner.” You squeal when he begins to tickle your side, holding you against him as you try to squirm out of his hold.

“I yield. Please…Az” You manage to get out between your fit of laughter. He plants a wet kiss on your cheek before turning around and dramatically stomps to the bathroom, making a show of the small action. You laugh as he rolls his eyes as he closes the door, a large smile plastered to his face letting you know he wasn’t really mad or annoyed with you.

Taking the opportunity to finally get dressed, you all but run to the closet. Edgar to pull out the new dress that you had picked out with MOr last week. It was the exact color of his siphons. You greedily ran your hand over the velvet fabric, already loving the way it felt under your hands. The fabric being one of the very few that didn’t irritate Azriel’s hands over a prolonged time.

You quickly pull your lounge clothes over your head, kicking them off into some random corner of the room to deal with later. The bag holding the dress is discarded in a similar fashion after being torn open. It was just as beautiful as you remember it being and you can’t wait to get it on your body. Even more excited to see Azriel’s reaction.

.You are practically skipping over to your underwear drawer, picking out a small lacy set that you bought to go with the dress. It slides over your skin like butter, clinging to your body like a second skin. It stops about mid-thigh. Just short enough to be sexy but not too short that you were scared to bend over, which you would definitely be doing if for nothing more than giving the shadowsinger a peak of what exactly was waiting for him underneath the dress.

Pulling the straps over your shoulders, you only need to zip the dress up. YOu managed to tug it up halfway before the zipper got stuck on the seam at your waist. A couple more tugs and the stupid thing still won’t budge. You know you could just ask Azriel. He would never object to zipping you up but you knew there would be no way you would make it to your reservation if you did so. So you tugged once more, twice more, and then. Riiiipppp. Your jaw goes slack as the zipper finally tugs the rest of the way up, taking the other half of the zipper with it. The thin fabric stuck under the teeth and tore a large hole in the brand-new dress.

“Fuck!” You shout out once you survey the damage in the mirror. You would not have time to fix this before your reservations.

“Darling, what’s-” You hear your mate's voice filter into the room before he cuts himself off. You turn to face him and he’s gawking at you, towel slung low around his hips.

“It ripped. I just got this dress.” You whine. A chuckle leaves him and the sound has you pouting. “I just got this. It was going to be perfect for tonight.”

“You know that you could always…not wear anything.” His eyes are still trailing up and down your figure.

“Az! I’m serious.” You softly shout at him

“So am I.” He doesn’t hesitate to respond. You blush at his words. “Can we just skip dinner?”

“No sir. It took us months to get this reservation.”

“Rhys could get us in with a snap of his fingers.”

“But I want to go tonight. I already looked at the menu and picked out what I wanted.”

“Of course you did, lovely.” You stuck your tongue out at him, making him throw his head back in laughter. “Just go pick any of the other hundred dresses you have.” He teases and it’s your turn to stomp out of the room. Rolling your eyes at him, a smile so wide it makes your cheeks hurt. Your finger runs over dress after dress and none of them seem to be right. Already having your mind set on the perfect dress, it’s hard to find one to replace it. Your hands finally brush over one that you had forgotten about. A lighter shade than your previous dress, but it would do.

You pull it off the hanger with more force than necessary and peel the other one off, throwing it across the room with a huff. You pad over to Azriel when you have it pulled onto your shoulders, not willing to risk another zipper fiasco. You don’t even have to ask him before he takes the delicate zipper in his hands and pulls it up smoothly in one motion. He presses a kiss to the dip between your shoulder blades as he slides the zipper up into place. You notice his eyes dipping down in the mirror. You’re about to tease him for his wandering gaze when he clears his throat.

“I think there might be…I don’t even know what that is. Wine?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” YOu shout, turning around trying to see your backside in the mirror and sure enough. There is a random stain right at the small of your back. And then you remember. You wore this dress the last time you went to Rita’s with Mor and you had bumped into someone, someone that was holding a nearly full drink that splashed onto your back.

“Whatever. What-fucking-ever. We’re going to be late and this was the only dress I liked.” YOu take a deep breath through your nose. “Just stand behind me so no one sees it.” He nods before his eyes drift lower once again, this time pausing when you know he isn’t looking at the stain anymore.

“Twist my arm, why don’t you?” He grumbled to himself which has you spinning around to wrap your arms around his waist.

“What would I ever do without you, Azzy.”

“Walk around with a stain on your butt.”

“Prick. I was trying to be cute.” You feign insult. He only leans down and gives you a small peck on the lips.

“Let's go then.” He gives your ass a soft slap for emphasis. You scramble to grab your purse from the edge of the bed and catch up with him.

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

The walk to the restaurant wasn’t bad at all. It was only a few blocks away from the apartment the two of you shared. A pleasant walk with even sidewalks that made it easy for your heeled feet to walk.

The dull noise of the restaurant filled your ears the moment the door closed behind you. The decoration was very modern but still seemed very homey. Like it had been pulled directly from a cooking show set. Blue and white gingham tablecloths mixed with gold brushed metals. It was one of the newest, and if the wait you had for the reservation was any sign, most popular restaurants in the area. The hostess asks for your name and you give it to her. She scrolls through the tablet in front of her, eyebrows furrowing slightly. She turns to a large book by her side and flips to a page, finger scanning down the lines of names.

“Would it be under a different name?” She looks up and asks you.

“It could be under Azriel.” You were one hundred percent you had made the reservation under your name but found yourself giving his name either way. The line in her eyebrow deepens and your heart sinks as she turns back to you.

“It looks like we don;t have anything under that name. And we’re fully booked tonight so we aren’t talking walk-ins.”

“No, I called last month. I know I made a reservation. It wouldn’t be anywhere else?” You keep your voice low, not wanting to let your disappointment make you yell at the poor girl at the host stand.

“I’m sorry, it’s not in our system and like I said, we’re completely full tonight. Do you want me to make you a reservation for another night?” You shook your head. Too distraught to think about another night.

“It’s fine. Thank you.” Azriel said, noticing the way tears were starting to swim in your eyes. He took your hand lightly and pulled you out of the restaurant. He wrapped his arms around you and you buried your head into his chest.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s silly to be getting upset over this but I’m just really…I don’t even know.”

“You’re allowed to be disappointed baby. You’ve been talking all week about this.” He pulled your face up with one of his fingers. “How about we go to that pizza place you really like?” You perked up a little at the thought making Azriel smile at your mood change. “There she is.” He kissed your cheek. “Lets go.” He started walking you in the direction of the small pizza shop. As upset as you might be, you did love this spot. One of the few places that didn’t make their sauce too acidic or too sweet. Perfect crust to pizza ratio. It was always your fall back place and it was a great suggestion from your boyfriend.

You walked the few blocks to the shop and stood outside the door. One look at the sign made your heart sink all over again. Closed for repairs. Azriel gave your hand a squeeze.

“Azzzzzz.” You whined, fighting the urge to stomp your foot like a toddler.

“It’s okay baby. We can do something else.” He pulled you into his arms again, once again calming you down.

“Can we make pizza at home?”

“Of course we can.” He smiled down at you. Then you remembered.

“Shit. Elain used the rest of our flour for some cookies last week.”

“Then we’ll go to the store.”

“Az we can’t go to the store dressed like this.” You gestured to your dress and his crisp black dress shirt and matching pants.

“Why not?”

“Because we’ll look crazy.”

“Do you want pizza?”

“Yes.”

“Then we need to go to the store. Come on.” He started pulling you in the direction of a small corner store at the other end of the square.

You felt so silly, small shopping basket in hand, you in your tight dress and heels and Azriel in his dress clothes. But luckily, no one paid you any attention. Too focused on their own shopping to even notice you. Picking up the bag of flour, you also grabbed some cheese, and some fresh basil to put on top. Azriel led you over to the check out but not before grabbing a bottle of wine as you passed by the section. The cashier rang you out quickly and smiled at the two of you as you walked out of the store. Not once commenting or even raising an eyebrow at your attire, much to your pleasure.

Your feet were screaming at you by the time you got to the door of your apartment. Not expecting to walk as much as you did. Azriel, seeing the discomfort in your face, leaned down to undo the straps off your heels. He gave a small tap to your ankle to let you know that you could step out of them before he repeated the motion to your other foot. A sigh left your lips as your feet touched the ground, screaming in relief. Azriel gave you a small kiss on your knee before standing back up.

“Thank you.” You told him as he grabbed the bag from your arms and walked into the kitchen.

“I should change if we’re going to be making dough.” You said as you followed him into the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Or you could keep it on and let me peel you out of it later?” He suggested, furthering his words by kissing along your jaw. You fought the urge to melt against his hold.

“You’ve convinced me. I’ll keep it on.”

“Good girl.” He spoke before giving your ass a light slap as he released you. You heated up from head to toe at his words. You shook your head as he started to unpack the groceries, trying to clear your head of the less than innocent thoughts rushing through you. So you started to pull out the other necessary ingredients and placed them on the counter next to Azriel. He opened the flour and started to pour it into the bowl you pulled out from the cabinet. He gives you a quick kiss on the forehead as he takes the olive oil from your hands and starts working on the dough. It was soe recipe he knew that made quick, non-proofing, dough. Something he learned from Rhys’ mother he had told you one time. In no time the dough was made and he started rolling it out. You peeked over his shoulder and had to bite back a laugh when you saw the speckling of flour on his cheek. He looked over at you with a raised eyebrow.

“You’ve got something…” You reached out your hand to swipe the streak away. “Right there.” You giggled at his annoyed expression.

“You mean right,” He dipped his hand into some of the flour that had spilled onto the counter and flicked it towards your hair. “There?” You squealed as you realized what he was doing, moving just too late to avoid the flour from getting into your hair.

“Az!” You said in between your laughing. “You got my hair dirty.” You gave him a dramatic pout, looking up at him which in turn made him start laughing.

“Oh no, guess I’ll just have to wash it out later.” He nudged you with his shoulder which only made you roll your eyes, a smile plastered onto your face.

“I guess….”

“What do you want on your pizza?” He quickly changed the topic.

“Just cheese please.” You smiled up at him and he nodded. He quickly spread some of the jarred sauce on with the back of a spoon and sprinkled on a handful, or three, of the shredded cheese you bought at the store. You smiled at the heap of cheese on your pizza, just the way you liked it. None of the sauce was visible under the coating and he smiled at you as you helped him slide in onto the pan. He quickly did the same to his own, adding a few slices of the tomato and a handful of basil on top.

With the pizza’s in the oven it would only be a few minutes until they were ready, just enough to let the cheese melt.

Azriel leaned against the counter, already holding two wine glasses in his hand. YOu walked over and grabbed them from his hand, placing a quick kiss to his lips and putting them down on the counter. He leaned down and grabbed your face between his hands, pulling your lips back to his. You let yourself sink into the kiss. The first real kiss you two shared all night. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip and you whined against him. He chuckled deeply, the sound reverberating through you and heating your blood instantly. You whined again and you felt Azriel backing you up into the counter across the kitchen. His hands snaked down to your waist and tapped, silently asking you to jump onto the countertop. You obliged and he helped hoist you up so your lips didn't leave his. Your hands snaked into his dark locks, pulling his face even closer to yours. His hands started wandering down your hips, grabbing at the fat of your hips, pulling you somehow closer to him. Your mouth parted in a moan at the tight grip and you used that as an opportunity to slide his tongue against yours. You bit down lightly, pulling away from the kiss. Both of your were panting but he just trailed kisses down your neck, down to the neckline of your dress. He had just snuck a hand up to pull down the fabric when you noticed a burning smell in the air. Shit. You pushed him away, already hoping off the counter. He looked at you, confused at your sudden shift. Then his eyes widened as he remembered the pizza you had both seemingly forgotten about. You quickly grabbed one of the over mitts sitting on the counter and pulled the pizza’s out. If you could even call the nearly black circles on the pan you were pathetically holding out in front of you.

You really couldn’t find it in yourself to be disappointed. Not when you could still feel Azriel’s lips ghosting along your skin. You pushed the contents of the pan into the garbage can and looked up at Azriel. Both of you immediately bursted out laughing. He walked over to you and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m sorry baby.”

“I’m not.” You winked at him.

“Well what are we going to do for dinner now.”

“There's ice cream in the freezer?” You shrugged. Suddenly not in the mood for cooking at all. You bit your lip as you looked at him and he laughed in response.

“Okay. Ice cream for dinner it is.”

So the two of you, still in your clothes from the failed dinner reservations, curled up on the couch. Each holding a pint of ice cream and the now full wine glasses on the table in front of you. Azriel had thrown a blanket over the two of you and put on some cheesy movie that neither of you were paying attention to.

“I’m sorry tonight was such a disaster” You said to him, mouth still half full of ice cream. He shook his head, leaning his face closer to yours until your foreheads were touching.

“I got to be with you, what more can I ask for?”

The two of you nearly finished the bottle of wine, Azriel had already placed the nearly empty ice cream containers back into the freezer. When he returned to the couch he pulled you against his chest, hand swirling random patterns onto your back. You felt your eyes getting very heavy as you tried your best to focus on the movie in front of you but the wine was lulling you to sleep. It felt like your eyes had closed for only a second before Azriel was shaking you awake.

“Hi sleepyhead.” He mumbled into your hair.

“I was not asleep for that long.”

“Long enough to drool on me.” You quickly shot up, hand going to wipe away any wetness that might have split from your mouth. Your hand was dry. You stuck your tongue out at him as he gave you a wicked smile. He pulled you back down to his chest, twisting you so you were now straddling him.

“I think I can find a perfect way to wake you darling.” And that was all you needed to hear before you pressed your lips against his. Very much awake.

#acotar #acosf #acomaf #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #acowar #azriel acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x you #azriel fluff

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