#i'll put it on ao3 later in the week

[stellarspecter]

STWG daily prompt 2/11/24: date night

pairing: platonic stobin

wc: 1000

Robin felt like a cat, curled up on Steve’s chest, her cheek pressed to his ribs and his hand running through her hair. The wine was making her sleepy and silly, and with her favorite dingus she had no reason to act like anything other than herself. So she felt completely safe to hold him tighter and nuzzle her face into his shirt, chasing the sensation of the soft fabric on her skin. The surface beneath her rumbled with laughter.

“Birdie, what’re you doing?” 

She looked up at Steve’s smiling face, the crease at the corner of his eyes as familiar to her as her own skin. “You feel nice.”

“Do I?” He asked, bemused. He really shouldn’t be. It wasn’t like she hadn’t done stuff like this before.

Robin nodded against his chest, feeling the softness again. “You should wear this shirt every day.” It was just a worn out t-shirt, but right now it was the height of fashion in her tipsy brain.

Steve chuckled. “Don’t think it’d stay soft if I did that.”

Robin made an unhappy noise at that, but didn’t bother to respond with words. He’d get what she meant. 

Steve let her keep nuzzling against him for a minute or two before he spoke again with a soft pat to her sides. “C’mon, Rob, time to get up.”

She groaned again. “Comfyyyy.”

“We could be even comfier in bed,” Steve tried to reason with her. 

Robin opened her eyes and squinted across the room. That’s right, they were still on the couch. There was still an empty popcorn bowl and bottle of wine on the coffee table, debris leftover from their Platonic Soulmate Date Night, in which they watched whichever shitty romcoms got the worst reviews that week at work. This week’s movie had been so boring that Robin had started entertaining herself by throwing popcorn in Steve’s mouth — a normal Tuesday for them.

But being in bed… now that was tempting. It was much comfier than the couch, which Robin knew from the many times a week that she slept over. Steve had one of those rich people mattresses that felt perfect on her back, and so many blankets to bundle up in. 

“Okay,” she agreed. “Let’s go to bed.”

Steve waited a beat. “You have to get off of me for us to do that.”

“Oh, right.” Robin sat up and clambered off of him, the head rush making her see spots for a second. Steve steadied her with a hand in the small of her back as she wobbled, then led her upstairs. 

They flopped down in bed with a groan, Robin immediately cozying up to Steve again. Usually when they shared a bed, they ended up spooning, or with Robin using Steve’s broad chest as a pillow. Tonight, she pulled him to face her, pressing their foreheads together for a moment. They were too close together to make proper eye contact, but she tried anyway, his eyes blurring together into one. 

“Love you, Robbie,” Steve said, hushed in the quiet of the room. By now it was a familiar phrase, but Robin still felt pinpricks of tears at the reminder. She tucked her head into the crook of his neck.

“Love you, dingus.” The words were muffled against his skin, but he still heard them. She could feel him exhale contentedly, snuggled into him as she was.

His skin was soft against her face, even better than the t-shirt, because this was the real deal. She rubbed her cheek against him, slower than before, soft and gentle. His jaw knocked against her forehead, so she moved a little higher, the bridge of her nose at the hinge of his jaw, her eye socket level with his lips. 

She felt even more like a cat than she had on the couch. She was pretty sure she had seen her parent’s cat Rowan do this before. He would press his face into a soft surface over and over, paws kneading whatever it was until he was satisfied. The only difference here was that Robin wasn’t doing anything with her hands except hold on.

Steve didn’t seem to mind. She knew that he liked cuddling — they’d talked about it before and did it often enough that it was obvious. She didn’t usually get this touchy, though. Or at least, not in this way. At the moment, though, she couldn’t remember why when it felt so good. 

The rhythmic movement of her face gradually moved up and up until Steve and Robin were cheek to cheek. She moved up and down, enjoying the scratch of his stubble against her cheek. She didn’t notice until she slowed down, but Steve was moving with her, going the opposite direction for her to rub against. She stopped for a moment, and he kept going, fully in it, moving down so that now he was nuzzled against her neck and her cheek was pressed against his hair.

Robin smiled to herself, a little teary that her favorite person was turning out to be weird in all the same ways that she was. She moved back down, pressing their faces together against the other cheek this time, making the stimulation even across both sides. They picked up speed, enthusiastically rubbing their faces together in the most platonic way possible.

It was funny, Robin thought, that this was maybe the most intimate she had ever been with another person, and she wasn’t even a little tempted to kiss him. In a way, this felt closer than kissing. It wasn’t limited to just mouths and tongues and teeth, it was cheeks and necks and foreheads, skin against blissful skin. If she could purr, she would be.

They slowed down, mutually losing steam. It was late, the bed was soft, they were wrapped in each other’s arms. The tiredness didn’t have to fight hard.

Their eyes closed, their bodies entwined, and they slept, a perfect end to a perfect Platonic Soulmate Date Night.

#stwgdailyprompt #stobin #i may put this on ao3 later but i need to think of a title first lol #hopefully i'll be able to do the daily prompt every day this week? fingers crossed #so be on the lookout for that lol #no beta for this one so if there's any mistakes whoopsie! i was too enamored by the cuddles to care about grammar #*writes

[v5hadow]

WIP Wednesday (Again sorta... It's only 2 am this time and mostly still around normal sleep time for me)

I charted the freaking room out when I couldn't figure out where I wanted Yuuki and Akira. Bed and couch seemed like no go's for a multitude of reasons. I'm definitely still working on this so you get to see the strikethroughs. It is a WIP.

When I strikethrough vs delete: I strikethrough when it sat there long enough that I write the next page or so, to potentially need to refer to that verbiage. I delete when its only been a few minutes and I definitely haven't had time to write enough to have that influence.

Persona Royal Strikers Chapter 1 Scene 2(1/?):

After the last two joined back up, the group slowly moved and cleaned the room a little more, all laughing and catching up as they slowly set up their old planning table. Eventually they all settled with Haru and Makoto sharing the couch with enough space that Yusuke could join them if he tired of his spot leaning into the desk. Futaba sat on the ledge  by the windows with Morgana at her hip, getting some of the pets he missed while away with Akira. Ann and Ryuji sat in chairs across the table from them. Akira and Yuuki shared a series of crates, which while they faced away from the stairs, one or the other would glance back each time they heard the bell of the cafe’s front door.  Their plans on what to do over the summer was coming together much more clearly than they had through text earlier in the month.

Yuuki slumped into Akira’s side, before he grumbled out, “Even if I wanted to, I probably can only do the camping trip. Only have a few days I can call off for this job.” 

Everyone focused on Yuuki, a multitude of emotions crossing each face. Very quickly Ryuji yelled, “Dude, so you can only do a day or two for the entire summer?”

“If it's a summer job that isn’t too surprising,” Makoto reasoned.

“Ryuji, you may have to think on whether you can too. Niijima-senpai and Okumura-senpai are college students and Kitagawa lives alone in a dorm,” Yuuki sweeped his hand across the table at the three members in question.  Across the three of them, they having a singular guardian figure “Niijima-san might voice a want to know where Niijima-senpai is, but I don’t think those two would stop each other if everyone is doing alright, since she knows you all can take good care of yourselves and the world.” Yuuki added with a shrug.

#persona 5 #p5 #mishima yuuki #kurusu akira #sakamoto ryuji #niijima makoto #phantom thieves #I'm more or less making this take the place of the EMMA conversation based on later lines in the scene #sorry for serving it piecemeal but otherwise I'll just be posting the absolutely same scenes with small changes for weeks on end #this keeps me more honest of yes progress! #and reads at least more like an actual fic #royal strikers #2.1/? #shuyuu #likely the only relationship tag I'll be putting on until Hokkaido #then again since the other couple I have written are even less blatant? #5 more scenes before I likely will feel comfortable posting in a more readable form #aka ao3 #2 of which are mostly written I'm just not gonna post out of order

[thepatchycat]

Last Sentence Tag Game

Rules: Write the latest line from your wip (or post where you last left off in your art) and tag as many people as there are words in the line. Make a new post, don’t reblog.

Thanks to @existentialscientist for the tag! This is more than a line (felt odd not to have the previous paragraph for context) and not technically from the most recent thing I've poked at, but I need to motivate myself to work on this one again.

Padme steps carefully around the little speederbike parked just inside the entrance and then finds herself effectively in the middle of the apartment two seconds later.  Ahsoka’s apartment is… small.  Smaller than Padme’s closet.  The single main room is furnished with a bed, a tiny kitchenette, and a door that presumably leads to a refresher.

“Do you want any—well, uh, water?  I don’t have tea, sorry.”

– from Defiance, a Star Wars fix-it longfic that's been simmering in my WIPs for almost 2 years so far and is nowhere near finished

No pressure, of course, but I'll tag @squirrelwriter and @good-beans! And I know it's a cop-out, but if you're reading this and want to share something, consider yourself tagged as well :P

#Not a terribly exciting excerpt but it's the most recently added #And of all the WIPs I have this is the one I'm most determined to finish #...Eventually #A few chapters are complete but I want to get the whole thing at least fully drafted before posting #Maybe I'd be more motivated if I started putting them up but I KNOW my update schedule would be horrendously irregular #And I like being able to go back and edit early chapters at my leisure #...Perhaps if I'm really feeling it someday I'll put the first chapter up here and then start posting on AO3 when the thing is largely done #Also I'm slowly trying to post a bit more rather than simply dropping off finished art/fic and fading into the ether for weeks/months #I think this is the first time I've responded to being tagged in a tag game #Though I appreciate the previous couple times I have! #I'm just. Shy. I guess. Kind of? Maybe self-conscious is more accurate #And I'm also good at saying I'll do something later and then not doing that Cx #Patchy Writes #Patchy Babbles #Tag Games

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Show me where it hurts (part 1)

Miguel O'Hara x spiderwoman!reader

(AO3 Mirror), Part 2, Main Masterlist

summary: Miguel's acting weird, and you make it your mission to find out exactly what's going on.

warnings: no warnings for this chap, pg-13, swearing and canon level violence. smut next chapter xoxo

a/n: this is a combination of 2 asks and this post I saw on here a while ago: flirty/ snarky fem reader, Miguel during a ""rut"" (I don't know if it counts as a rut really, but its to do with his animal instincts/DNA) and Lyla playing matchmaker.  I had so much fun writing this, enjoy :D

(i wrote this pre seeing spiderverse 2, so i think characterisation is a little off, esp for Lyla, apologies! I'll fix it in my upcoming fics)

edit: I use the term "bichita" which I have been informed can be read not as I intended in Spanish. I'm not a native speaker so I want to apologise in advance. I'm doing more research for my future fics and leaving this up as a testament to my stupidity. Spanish speakers, feel free to correct me / clown my ass in the comments. My bad guys :(

wc: 3.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You think Miguel is avoiding you. 

One of your closest friends, giving you the runaround for months, it seems. Calling the two of you close friends is a little extreme, sure. You've only known O'Hara for two years, and been in love with him for slightly less than that, thank you very much. And yes, he refuses to call you by anything but your last name. And the last time you saw him he wouldn't so much as look at you, but that was besides the point. 

"..the point," You tell Lyla, in between exasperated bites of cereal, "... is that aren't elite forces of spiderpeople supposed to, you know, have some spiderpeople kick ass once in a while? And where exactly is our fearless leader? I haven't seen O'Hara's scary ass in weeks, and I'm starting to miss it."

She gives you a look, one that says this isn't what I'm programmed for , but you pointedly ignore it. 

"His ass, by the way." You clarify. "I very specifically miss his ass. Remind me to get his routine. I know girls that would kill for…"

"How the fuck did you get in here?" A voice croaks. You turn behind you and see Miguel, not in his suit, but wrapped up in a blanket like he's just woken up. And he looks rough, like a train ran him over on the way here: puffy eyes, splotchy skin, tension kneaded into his brow. 

"Wow." Your spoon drops into the milk. "You look like shit.." 

He furrows his brow even deeper, if that was possible. " Mierda. You shouldn't be here." 

"This isn't quite the welcome party I was expecting, man. I'm the only one to actually turn up to one of your meetings, and this is what I get?" 

"I thought I told Lyla to cancel," He mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Cancel? Since when do you miss a chance to talk about rules and protocol?" 

"I don't have time for this-" 

"-and I'm not leaving without a proper explanation. Is everything okay?" 

"It's actually way worse now you're here." He deadpans. 

"Haha ." You turn to Lyla. "You drop everything to travel halfway across the multiverse and this asshole won't even say thanks." 

"Thanks, but this asshole needs you to leave. Now." 

This is the most he's spoken to you in forever, and you hate that you like it. You just want his attention, however it comes. If that means dragging this out so maybe he acknowledges you, touches you, looks at you - then so be it. Squinting, you get closer to him. You scan his face for anything to latch onto. You put a hand on his shoulder, still searching. 

"You sure you're alright? You know you can tell me if-" 

"Si, si." He grits his teeth, looking away. "M'just fine. I'll explain…. later."

"...because I'm your right hand man?" You grin, poking at his brow. "Stop frowning so much Miguel, you're gonna ruin that pretty face of yours."

He flushes, nervous, and swats you away. "-what? N-No. You're not my right hand man and I like my face just the way it is. Now, leave. "

Making your way to the door, you tap your nose teasingly. "You know where to find me!" 

When the door closes with a click, you make your way down the corridor, and stop in your tracks when you hear it. It's muffled, but with the strain of your supersenses you can make out Miguel's voice just beyond the wall. 

"I just…. don't want her to see me like this… Lyla, it's not happening… I can't tell her…." Tell her what, exactly? 

Resolutely, you make up your mind. Miguel O'Hara's got a secret. And before you leave for home, you're gonna do everything in your God given power to wear him down and find out. 

~~~

Despite his insistence otherwise, you liked to think of yourself as O'Hara's right hand man - and most of the other spiderpeople thought so too. You were one of the very first he recruited, after crash landing onto your earth like a spiderman-shaped meteor; the two of you were inseparable. Miguel was stubborn and headstrong and thought he was right all the time. Infuriatingly, he was, but that didn't stop you from telling him to get his head out of his own ass when his ego grew too big. 

He was different around you, you think. Softer, sometimes. Harsher, other times. He told you what you needed to hear whether you wanted to or not; the result of mutual respect and agonising persistence. Slowly, you had chipped away his hard exterior; the one he built because he thought he needed to push people away. In that regard, you were similar, but this need manifested in you like a weed - an awful, awful compulsion to joke and laugh at your own expense, to keep others at an arm's length. You had spent your whole life picking and pruning away at yourself, looking for perfection. Even after all this, multiverse-hopping and fighting alongside people who were the closest things you had to friends , it wasn't enough. There was still something missing. 

Ironically, Miguel had told you something similar the one of the last times you had spoken. You had fucked up a mission, well and truly. In the aftermath, all you can remember is coming back to base, limping on Jessica's arm. 

"She's hurt!" She cries out. Lyla materialises and leads you both to the med bay, inspecting any visible wounds. There's a deep laceration, sticky with blood, at the base of your stomach. You shift onto the bed and hiss with pain. 

Miguel is quick to follow, face twisted with confusion, pain, sadness. Even in your haze, you feel the tension radiating off of him as he drags over a cart of supplies. 

"What happened?" He strains. 

"I don't even… it happened so fast. We got ambushed, and all of a sudden I'm on the ground. I wasn't thinking straight and… " She sobs. "...she jumped in front of me. God, she saved my life-" 

"-wasn't your fault, Jess." You croak, trying to sit up. "And I'm fine. Just need to walk it off…"

"Sit, bichita," His nickname makes you frown, despite yourself, and you settle back down. "Lyla, what's the damage?"

Your vision goes spotty, and Lyla's voice barely registers. All you can feel is searing pain in your side, but Miguel is warm, oh so warm. You clutch his arms, and force him to look you in the eye. 

"M'ready, Miguel." He nods weakly, but you don't think he understands. "I mean it . I can lead, j-just need another chance and I won't let you down… Jess, tell him that I can-" 

"It's okay. I believe you. You just need to relax for me, hmm?" He clutches at your hand, tight, and it's like you're the only two people in the world. "You did good. I promise."

Faintly, you nod. You feel a pinch at your arm, and Jessica's there, with an empty vial of something in her hands. The pain washes over you, and you fight to keep your eyes open. In those last few moments of light, you swear you feel a shaky kiss pressed to your temple. 

"Sleep, mi bichito amoroso. Sleep."

When you come to, you're still in the medbay, moonlight streaming through. Well, artificial moonlight. Time worked a little differently here, something Miguel explained to you a while ago - God knows what about dilation and quantum interference. It makes you smile now, remembering his frustration as he tried to explain to no avail. You were the only spiderman this side of the multiverse without a degree in quantum tech, you had said with a lopsided smile. 

You move to sit, and pain shoots up your side. Groaning, you push through it, determined to get out of this bed and find the others. As if on cue, Miguel walks in, almost leaping towards you. 

"You should… mierda ! You should be resting in bed."

You pout as you stumble into his chest. He hooks an arm around you and leads you back. You clamber in, sighing. "M'fine, O'Hara."

"Your guts were halfway out of your body less than 24 hours ago. So stay put, or you might give me another heart attack."

You scoff, incredulous. "You were worried?" 

He shrugs. " 'Course I was."

"Why? You know I'm practically indestructible." You give him a shit eating grin, and poke the frown appearing at his brow. He doesn't bat you away like he usually does. 

"Famous last words, bichita." He sighs. You can't speak a lick of Spanish, but you know he only calls you that word when you've frustrated him to his limit. So you take it as a win, for now. 

He drops into the chair next to you. "How are you feeling?" 

"Just peachy, dollface." You wink, and he doesn't so much as groan. 

"I'm being serious. You went through something pretty traumatic…"

"You want me to tell you it hurts, so, so bad, daddy? " You pout and flutter your eyelashes mockingly. Miguel shifts in his seat, unable to make eye contact. 

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, O'Hara? I feel fine. And in a couple of days, I'll feel even better, and I'll be up and about. I can finish what we started and-" 

"-no, absolutely not." He frowns. "A couple of days? I'm sending you home-" 

"You can't do that! On whose fucking authority?"

"On the authority of you almost fucking died ! Keeping you safe is our priority right now-" 

"God, is this my punishment? This is a low blow, O'Hara. You know how hard I've worked for this: months of surveillance and intel a-and I did everything by the book, just like you told me to." You croak. "I fucked up . I know that, and I feel terrible. Give me a chance to make things right; that's all I'm asking. I can do it, I know it. "

He looks at you for a moment, something heavy in his expression. His face contorted, he strips you down to the bone with just his gaze. His voice is so quiet, you almost miss it. 

"....you're still trying to prove yourself, aren't you?"

Honestly, it catches you off guard. You don't even know what the fuck that means, let alone why he said it.

"I don't… I d-don't…?" 

"They all love you. Respect you. More than me I think, sometimes." He chuckles at that. "You're good at what you do. The best . What else are you trying to prove? What else do you need ?" 

Your throat goes dry. You couldn't speak if you wanted to. 

"I'm not punishing you. You made a mistake, but you don't need to be crucified for it. I just want to keep you safe. I can't… we can't lose you."

"Miguel-"

"-this isn't a discussion. And I'm not trying to argue, although I know how much you like to argue." He inches closer, cupping your face gently. You try to move away, blinking back tears. But his hands are steady and he strokes your jaw with so much tenderness you think you hear your heart break. He's pretty, so pretty. You don't deserve him, you think. "There'll be time to fight, bichita. Rest. That's your mission right now."

"C-can't sleep." You breathe. "It hurts." 

Miguel pauses, head tilted like he's thinking. He taps your shoulder. "Scoot over."

You do as he says, and he slips into the bed with you. It's a tight fit, but he manages, placing you on his chest with an arm gently around your shoulders. You bury your face in his hoodie, sniffling and hoping he doesn't notice you choking back sobs. Absentmindedly, he settles into a rhythm, gentle breathing and playing with your hair, soothing you softly. He pretends he can't hear the tears. 

"M'gonna stay here until you're asleep. For as long as you need."

You nod, unable to speak for fear of breaking down. 

~~~

The days after felt like a blur. You woke up to Miguel gone, and an ache in your heart. Jess visits as much as she can, and Ben calls you a couple times, to see if you're okay. Peter B brings Mayday, and she clambers all over your bed, bringing some life into the room. Miguel doesn't visit per se - you hear whispers of him, Lyla visiting in his stead for comprehensive status updates. Once, you wake up in the night to see him on the adjacent chair, head lolling in deep sleep. He looks peaceful, calm - one of the first times you haven't seen his brow furrowed with worry. Of course, he's gone by the morning. 

The very last time you saw him, he opened the portal home. It was weird, after everything, but if Miguel felt the same you wouldn't know. Talking at a thousand miles a minute, he alternates between assuring you they'll be fine without you and situation reports from spider people all across the multiverse. Things you'd missed whilst bedbound, asking for advice before you left. He trusted your judgement and the thought warmed your heart, almost making you forget that he completely brushed past the previous nights before. 

You still remember the last thing he had said to you, which would've been weeks ago, now. 

"...and if you need anything, and I mean anything, you call me directly. Not Jess, not Ben, and certainly not Peter B. Call me, and I'll answer, I promise. You need help, you need advice, you just need someone to talk to, then-"

"-I call you. I get it, O'Hara. Will do." He opens the portal, watching as you walk towards it. He can't take his eyes off of you, even though you can't see him. At the last moment you turn, and run towards him. You almost knock him over with a hug. Burying his head in the crook of your shoulder, he hugs you back, ever careful of your injury. Separating, your smile almost knocks him over again. Weakly, he smiles back as you head through the portal, back home. 

You're left with that feeling, of his arms around your body - warm, so warm - as you putter about by the switchboard. After careful deliberation (you were really, really bored ) you'd taken to manage the Multi Modal Multiversal Switchboard - as aptly named by Miguel. Everyone else called it the Big Red Phone of course, but he had insisted on calling it by its proper name . Every. Time. 

The thought makes you chuckle as you call up Peter B. His icon flashes on the screen in front of you. With a click, he picks up the call, his face materialising holographically in front you. A little hand reaches up and tugs at his ear. 

"Ow… ouch … Dad's on the phone, honey."

"Aww! How's my favourite Parker doing?" 

"Not bad, actually! MJ just made us probably the best burger this side of New York-"

"-sorry, Peter? Me and May are trying to have a conversation." You hear her giggle in the background. Her gap toothed grin pops into frame and she babbles excitedly. "...yeah, exactly May. That's literally what I said."

"Okay, okay, that's enough." He puts the toddler down and watches her scurry away. "You're feeling better, I see."

"Yeah, back in action. Thought I'd check in."

"All good here." He squints, trying to take in your surroundings. "You're at HQ?" 

You hum.

"Could've sworn Lyla cancelled…"

"Yeah, didn't get the memo. But I think something's wrong with O'Hara."

He gives you a weird look. "Uhhh, what makes you think that?" 

"He won't even look at me. Was it something I said? Something I did?" Your eyes narrow. "...what do you know, Peter?"

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" He scoffs, a little too quickly, clutching his chest like you've offended him. He's stared down some of the scariest villains around, but the look you give him is truly chilling. "Just… uhhh. You didn't hear this from me." 

"Naturally…"

"We tracked 'em down, the guys that ambushed you and Jessica."

"The Sinister Six? From Earth-215?"

"Yeah, but by the time we got there, it was just Kraven and some of his goons. Miguel got there first, and…." He gulps. "He was pissed. Trashed the whole place looking for the rest of 'em. Beat Kraven half to death and we had to pull him off."

"Shit."

"Yeah, it was pretty rough. Never seen him like that before. And just generally? He'd been weirdly quiet, a little grumpy, more aggressive on missions. I don't know what's gotten into him."

"Hmmm. Thanks, Pete."

"No problem, sweetheart. And if the big guy asks… "

"...this didn't come from you, I know." Weakly, you smile. "Say hi to my favourite Parkers, for me." 

" 'Course I will. We should celebrate, if you're back officially. Mine and MJ's is always open."

"Good to know. I'll see you around."

He waves goodbye, and the hologram clicks off. Sighing, you try to piece together what you've just heard. 

Miguel: acting weird. Well, you knew that already. Aggressive was new. And Lyla? She had canceled, but not for you, for some reason. An honest mistake, perhaps. But Lyla doesn't make mistakes… 

You stew for a couple of hours, puttering about the switchboard, twiddling your thumbs. Something's wrong, and for some reason you're afraid to see him. To have him look straight through you, again, when you ask to do the same. Show me where it hurts. Tell me how to make it better.  

On the way there, you chew your lip in anticipation. In the corridor, you're outside the door to his place, hand hovering above the door. To knock, to call. In the harsh fluorescent light, you hesitate. 

"Lyla?" Nervously, you sink down onto the floor. It's hard to explain, but you don't expect her to actually come; to materialise in front of you. 

"How can I assist you?" She says with a ding. 

"Uhh… hi. Just wanted to talk." You pause, clicking your tongue. "Can you be honest with me?" 

"I can only be honest with you. It is not in my programming to lie, unless specified by my owner."

"Sure. Cool. It's about him, actually. Is Miguel okay?" 

She tilts her head, as if processing your request. "Okay is a subjective term. Is Mr O'Hara alive? Yes. Is Mr O'Hara physically well? Yes. By those terms, he is okay ."

Too vague for your own liking. "I guess I meant more… his emotional state. To the best of your knowledge… in your opinion , Lyla: is Miguel okay?" 

"...I believe Mr O'Hara is experiencing some emotional turmoil."

You frown. "Oh. Do you know why?" 

"Mr O'Hara has instructed me not to disclose that information with you."

"Fair enough. But you don't have to tell me… I could just ask questions?" 

She nods. "There is nothing in my programming that prevents me from answering some questions within certain parameters." 

"Did I do something? Not just today but… last time I was here. Did I say something to hurt or upset him? Is that why he's acting weird?"

"No." She says blankly. "And yes. I suppose it is… complicated." She gestures around that word. 

"I'm a little confused, Lyla."

She sits next to you, on the cool tile. Not that she could feel it, but it feels more intimate - like two friends talking. The extent of Lyla's consciousness, you weren't sure of. Was she alive? To you, she might as well be. Could she think, feel, emote? Maybe, maybe not. You weren't smart enough to understand the nuances of her programming. But you were human enough to see it in her - something glittering beyond the surface. 

It could be projection, but you swear her voice is softer. "He has a name for you. When he speaks about you, and to you. I have it logged in my memory database. Do you know what that is?" You shake your head. 

Lyla opens up her palm and projects videos and images - little Miguel's popping up in her palm, tinny and gruff voices ringing through the hallway. They say your name, shout your name, whisper it. Some say other things in Spanish. Curse words had always been your assumption, and he had given you no reason to think otherwise. Now, having it played back to you, you hear a tenderness in his voice you would've missed. Words and phrases that come up again and again…

"Bichita." She repeats. "Bichito del amor. Mi bichito amoroso. "

You shake your head, still confounded. "...I don't speak Spanish, Lyla." 

"Little bug. Sweetheart. Lovebug. My little lovebug." She clears her throat. "I believe they are terms of endearment."

Steadfast, she directs you towards her palm. Another small Miguel appears, and you think it's him from this morning. 

"I thought I told you not to let anyone in, Lyla?" 

"I did not let her in. She let herself in using the code you previously gave her, Mr O'Hara."

"Yeah, for emergencies. Fuck. Mi bichita, too smart for her own good."

"...If you are in distress, I believe she would understand, Mr O'Hara."

"I just think it's too much. I don't want her to see me like this." 

"According to Alchemax files, previous subjects showing this kind of aggression benefitted from-"

"Lyla, it's not happening, no chance. I can't tell her."

The figure blinks out of her palm. "Mr O'Hara has forbid me from telling you about certain things."

"...but not from showing me." Your eyes meet hers. You give her a watery smile. "Thank you." 

With a hint of a smile, she nods and is gone from the corridor. You are left alone, with nothing but your thoughts of little lovebugs rattling around in your brain.

_

_

_

#miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #across the spiderverse #kat_writes😼 #this gif is fucking crazy btw

[cc-kote]

Nine people I'd like to get to know better

WOOPS I did not have time to do this for the past like, week but I've been wanting to bc I love silly little memes like this. Tytyty @ithillia for the tag :3

Last song: All Our Bruised Bodies And The Whole Heart Shrinks by La Dispute (It makes me think about Fives and it hurts so fucking much) 

Favorite colour: GREEN!! and also blue 

Last movie/TV Show: TCW of course, I had a Bad Autism Time™️ and my gf put on the fucking Umbara Arc to calm me down. It worked like a charm what the fuck is wrong w me lmfaooo. 

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: All of the above but spice hurts me. I do it anyway tho, mama raised a little bitch but she didn't raise a quitter lmfaoo. 

Relationship status: So fuckin down bad for my girlfriend hhh 

Last thing you googled: fuckjgn AO3 LMAOOO 

Current obsession: clonesclonesclonesclones forever. I haven't had a special interest/hyperfixation this deep since I was like 12-14 so like this is one of the most important things in my life tbh. Specifically like thinking about how their culture would work, and their solidarity, internal conflicts, shared trauma and how that would relate to those things. Their ideas about personal and cultural identity and how that would vary individually. Things like how their upbringing must have felt, how that affected them and who they became later in life, the things they're taught vs what they truly come to believe once they're out on the field, the psychological effects of O66 on the clones who survived and the devastating impact it must have had- Bro stop me or I'll keep going forever like. I'm in deep and tbh? I wouldn't change it for the world. 

NPT: LMFAO bold of this title to assume that I know 9 people on this site, or am brave enough to tag ppl I haven't talked to often fhsjdmksmf SO if you see this consider yourself tagged. Yes, You. idc if we've never talked It's probably bc I'm too baby, so (unless u don't feel like it) do it 👀 also @mamuzzy and @whatislifewithoutangst if y'all haven't already and wanna do this here u go! 

#silly tag memes #i love these sm omggg #im still high as fuck on painkillers from surgery time yesterday so if this doesnt make sense stfu yes it doe s jdkskdkf

[httpsserene]

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝟑: 𝐨𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: your boyfriend has to make an appearance at some sponsor event. he's gone ahead and bought you an alluring outfit, but he failed to mention how seductive he looks in the new fitted suit his team got him. you two won't be staying long, but you increase the pace by riling him up, mostly unintentionally. so it's your fault that he makes you ruin his loaned mclaren. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. squirting. car sex. semi-public sex. ooc (out-of-character) oscar. overstimulation. mild possessive behavior. mild jealousy. vaginal fingering. vaginal sex. condom usage. the audacity of men. lando norris’ savior complex /jk. author’s overuse of italics and run-on sentences. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: oscar piastri x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: water • tyla

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: what can i say, y'all. back at it with the unhinged thirst. every time i do one of these, they've been getting shorter and shorter. don't be afraid, for #4 (dr/mv) i'll be back on my game, they deserve it. yes gremlin lando appearance. also, i cannot imagine oscar ever acting this way, that's why i put the ooc tag? it's definitely a fun read tho (i think), along with the smut! thank you, loves, for the support on this event!

want to be added to my general taglist? or my f1 kinktober taglist? send me an ask!

thank you to my betas! @biancathecool for helping with my grammer and @barnestatic for her wonderful spoiled brat idea :))))

cross-posted on my ao3, httpsss

if you want to look at what i'm planning for ktober, or catch up on previous uploads here's my f1 kinktober masterlist and my general masterlist for all of my works!

oscar is known for his unfazed, composed and collected demeanor. he’s aware that some people say he has no personality–but, he’s just an introvert at the end of the day. oscar’s a man of few words: that’s what people who aren’t well acquainted with him would say. if you’ve had the pleasure of sticking around oscar long enough for him to become comfortable with you, you’ll learn that oscar has an incredibly complex personality. he’s overly sarcastic, has a niche sense of humor, and can ramble endlessly at you. but, he’s still a fairly calm and quiet individual. which is why the way oscar is about to scream at the top of his lungs in the middle of this mclaren event, would be considered uncharacteristic of him.

he originally invited you to join him tonight thinking that having you by his side would eliminate the social exhaustion he experiences at these types of sponsor events. however, the aussie failed to realize that you may introduce a…different problem, to tonight’s business party. when oscar asked you to join him two weeks ago, he was prepared for all of your objections–you’re both chronic homebodies, and you both hate partaking in small talk with balding, later-aged, cologne-drenched, white men who don’t know when to let a conversation die. he chose the perfect time to ask you (after you emerged from the bathroom post-self-care bath), and addressed all of your grievances. 

oh, you don’t have anything to wear? he already bought you an outfit, had it altered to perfectly fit your measurements, and bought you a pair of heels and a purse to match. oh, you won’t be able to get your hair done in time? he already scheduled an appointment with your usual hairstylist the day before the event, paid all of her fees, and tipped her very nicely. oh, your nails aren’t done?  he booked you a spot at your preferred nail salon for a premium mani-pedi, and has a few nail inspiration photos picked out if you can’t decide. if you need your lashes done or need to get waxed, he can make the call right now; he has them on standby to fit you in.

knowing the amount of phone calls oscar had to partake in to arrange all of this causes you to fold and agree to join him. there’s nothing more the two of you hate than making phone calls–well, besides the pr events.

oscar had chosen an alluring burnt-orange mesh corset and matching ruched ankle-length skirt that looks beautiful against your warm, soft and shining brown skin. your hair is silk-pressed, length reaching your mid-back and your edges are laid in a minimal manner, matching the simplicity of your makeup look. simple gold rings are spread across a few fingers, ears accessorized with a pair of small good hoops oscar gifted you, and his initials rest in the dip between your clavicles attached to a thin gold chain. objectively, you're considerably modestly dressed, the only skin you're showing is on your arms, shoulders, a smidge of your decolletage, and the tops of your feet in the low-heeled strappy sandals. 

this is the start of what oscar failed to account for. he didn’t expect the outfit to hug your curves like plastic wrap. the whole night he’s had to forcefully deny himself the opportunity to stare at your ass, but that doesn’t mean the other men at the event have the same courtesy. he’s taken to burning holes with his eyes into anybody who lets their gaze linger over your form for a second too long. on a regular day, oscar is generally unaffected by anyone who appreciates your body (they can look, but the second they try to touch–you let them know exactly how they had you fucked up), but if he catches one more mclaren engineer undressing you with their eyes–he will make zac fire all of them; he’ll plan his own race strategy and do his goddamn pitstop by himself.

oscar also didn’t account for how your timid and sweet attitude would have everyone enamored with you; at first, watching everyone eagerly attune to your shy words was amusing to him, but it quickly became a nuisance. he was originally leading you around the room, doing his rounds at any important figures’ tables, and everything was fine. and then, oscar had made the obvious mistake of making you laugh–a pleasant stream of giggles spilling from your lips, dimples deepening, and smile widening at whatever small joke he made. he’s always thrilled to see how you throw your head back in amusement, how your hands clap together gleefully, and how your eyes squint in from the force of your laughter. as he shakes himself out of your dazzling trance, he attempts to rejoin the conversation–but every single person at the table remains entranced and wide-eyed at you. 

this would be completely fine, of course, if it was a one-off occasion; but it’s not. 

suddenly, every person oscar tries to thank for supporting mclaren, starts ignoring him and paying more attention to you. he’s literally the pilot of the car that these people are spending an absurd amount of money on, but they can’t even bother to try and pretend to listen to him. men and women alike are finding any excuse to prolong conversations with you, and even lean within your personal space with the excuse that ‘they can’t hear you very well because you’re so soft spoken.’ nobody can invade your personal space, but oscar. he has no choice but to do the very thing he hates–pda. you continue to circle around the room, his hand constantly resting on the small of your back or the dip of your waist. when you’re in the middle of listening to some completely unnecessary story a man is telling you, oscar constantly adjusts your hair, plays with your rings, and smooths down your skirt if he feels like they’re trying too hard. you banish oscar to getting you a glass of water when he begins to interject in conversations in a passive-aggressive manner.

his third strike off the night, might actually be an overall win in his books. when you saw oscar in his new fitted suit, you stared him dead in the eye and told him to ‘get naked and rail you’. it’s this beautiful deep cream color that pairs perfectly with the dark orange tone of your outfit, but the vest underneath the suit jacket highlights his tiny waist so clearly that it makes you want to scream. in between socializing, you overwhelm oscar with compliments, unable to stop telling him how handsome he looks. you surgically attach yourself to his side and hug his arm; taking an occasional squeeze of his bicep, playing with his cufflinks, and tracing the veins on the back of his hand. oscar practically runs to get you a refill of water because he’d be unable to stop himself from getting fully hard if you touched him any longer–the trousers hide nothing.

he can feel your burning gaze from across the room, and turns back to watch you after asking a waiter for water, and catches your eyes roaming the length of his body. in high-definition, he sees your tongue wetting your lips before you bite at your bottom lip–and then, your attention is stolen away from some random man who’s introducing himself to you and the group of ladies you found yourself accosted by as soon as oscar left your side.

and, that’s it for oscar. he thinks he may have heard his last-fucking-button being pressed inside his head, and seethes. he goes to push off from his leaned stance against the counter and makes to start his warpath, but a hand grasps at his shoulder. oscar turns around snappily, biting out an irritated and sarcastic, “can i help you?”

“woah! calm down now, mate. thought you were going to bite my head off for a second,” it’s lando, “if i were anybody else i’m sure there would be an unfortunate tabloid of ‘how oscar piastri is the most rude f1 driver on the grid’” lando jokes teasingly, yet a hint of seriousness leaks into his tone. 

oscar nods, understanding the underlying warning within the brit’s teasing. he apologizes softly to lando, before glancing back over at you, and can infer that you charmingly informed the man that you have a boyfriend—based on the way you point in his direction. oscar watches the polite smile fade from your face as the man continues to bother you, and the murderous look rises to his face again.

“OKAY”, lando claps abruptly, startling not only oscar, but everyone in a 10 foot radius. lando waves everyone else’s eyes away, smiling like he didn’t do anything, and speaks underneath his breath, “go. i’ll cover for you.”

oscar’s mouth drops open, baffled, “what?”

“leave—get your girlfriend and go,” lando says matter-of-factly, his smile becoming genuine, “zac probably won’t like to hear that you looked particularly murderous, and he definitely won’t like hearing that you slaughtered our sponsors, and that i let it happen.”

oscar snorts before he thanks lando sincerely, and the brit dismisses him, “i’m just looking out for my rookie teammate as the senior driver for our team. i can’t let your horny teenage mindset become common knowledge to our esteemed guests.”

“first of all,” oscar says dryly, his grateful mood dissipating at the mocking, “i didn’t even know you knew the word ‘esteemed' existed,” lando scoffs, “and secondly, you are literally only two years older than me.”

lando looks at oscar with a blank stare and deadpans, “do you want to leave or not?”

oscar daps up his teammate in farewell, and makes his way over to you as quickly as he can without seeming desperate, your glass of water left behind on the counter. your back is facing him as he approaches and you're still unwillingly participating in conversation with the man who can’t take no for an answer. as he gets closer, he can piece together the conversation; the dude doesn’t believe you have a boyfriend and you must be lying to him, and you’re adamant that your boyfriend is very real.

“look, bro. even if i was lying about having a boyfriend, why would i give you my number now? like, i’m just supposed to forget how you’ve been harassing me—“

oscar rests his hand on your side, and when you turn your head to see who’s touching you, he leans down and kisses you. it’s a kiss deep enough to let everyone know who you’re leaving with tonight, but not deep enough to be salacious (he can hear lando’s cackle from the other side of the room).

you melt into his kiss before he pulls away, leaving you dazed and disoriented, stumbling into him. oscar drapes his left arm around your shoulder, guiding you to tuck into his side, while he offers his right hand to the offending man for a handshake. “it seems i haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you yet. i’m oscar, i drive for mclaren,” he introduces himself, sounding overly pleased.

the man angers, ignoring oscar’s extended hand and cockily states, “you should already know who i am. my family nicely lent you the mclaren you drove here tonight!”

“ah,” oscar smiles viciously, “if ‘your family’ kindly lent me the car, that would explain why i only remember your father’s name–and not his arrogant, disrespectful, and narcissistic trust-fund son’s name.”

the man stomps his foot in rage, like a spoiled brat, and questions, “who do you think you’re talking too?!”

oscar smirks, “nobody important, apparently,” (one of the ladies listening whispers a quiet ‘damn, that’s crazy’), oscar continues, “don’t worry, mate–i’ll make sure your father’s car returns home to him safely. should i bill you for any cleaning, in case i make a mess of it?”

the guy stumbles over a response before he scoffs and stomps away. oscar shrugs uncaring, before addressing the group of ladies who were cliqued to the side watching the whole interaction, “well. if you all don’t mind, i’m just going to steal her away from you ladies, if that’s okay?” (like there’s an option). the ladies fawn over oscar’s protectiveness before they let the two of you go, and then he starts herding you towards the exit.

it’s torture. in every five steps the two of you take, you're interrupted by various guests trying to catch you one last time. oscar feels like they’re all intentionally aggravating him; patting you on the arm, commenting on how eye-catching you look, and using the fact that the two of you are leaving to press a kiss to your hand in goodbye. you two burst out of the main doors and sigh in relief, for different reasons–for you, it’s because oscar didn’t give one of his sponsors brain damage, and for oscar, it’s because he’s one step closer to getting you in his bed.

you grasp at oscar’s hand, and he starts to lead you down the steps towards the valet, and as you fall into step at his side, you speak softly under your breath, “i can understand why you kissed me like that inside because the dude was being an asshole–even though you were marking your territory like some kind of dog–but, please; don’t tear this poor man’s throat out for helping me into the car.”

the australian remains quiet, properly chastised and works on releasing the pent up effect of the annoyances from inside the venue. everything is going well; the valet asks oscar for his parking ticket, and he goes to grab the keys, but stops just before he makes to start heading to the car, and turns back to you two and says, “i don’t know if i told you when you walked in but–you look incredibly beautiful tonight, miss. you could be a model, seriously. like, you should feel so lucky to have a woman like her–”

all attempts of oscar finding his peace are thrown out of the window. he interrupts the dude’s rambling, and bites out, “hey man, y’know what. i can just take the keys to the car. we can walk to it.”

the valet stutters, confused, “a-are you sure, i mean it’s like pretty far in the back. i can run and get it no pro–”

“it’s FINE! i mean, it’s cool, we can use the extra steps, y’know. enjoy the breeze and everything,” oscar says, slightly maniacal. there’s no breeze, it’s warm. the valet’s and your eyes meet for a second and a shared thought of “he’s trippin” is passed telepathically.

the valet concedes, not wanting to upset the f1 driver any farther and tosses him the keys. as the two of you are passing by, oscar hands the man a bill that’s probably too big based on the man’s astonished gasp. you call out to the man, continuing to walk further in the lot, “sorry about him! he just gets a little touchy about strangers driving his car, y’know?” oscar grumbles lowly next to you, and you smack him on the arm, “what did you want me to say? ‘oh sorry, my boyfriend just wants to fuck me really badly to soothe his needless jealousy?’”

“as long as he knows who’s the one who gets to take you home and fuck you.”

“oscar!” you squeak, “we both know we’d die of embarrassment if you said that. i can’t even imagine those words coming out of your mouth, in that order.”

you guys eventually puzzle out where the car is after several remote beeps of the car’s horn, and find that it’s literally tucked away in the last row, far corner with no surrounding cars for two rows.

oscar doesn’t open your door like he usually does, and leads you around to the driver's side. he opens the door, pushes the seat back as far as it goes, and sits down. without saying anything, he loosens his tie and goes to unbuckle his belt before you reach down and grab at his hand, bewildered, “oscar jack! what the fuck are you doing?”

he blinks, “i’m fucking you, right now. it’s too long of a drive back—i’m going to crash the car if you keep sitting next to me in that goddamn outfit. i was going to take you to the bathroom inside, but i figured you’d at least prefer the car. you can be a little louder here.”

your mouth dries, “you said they loaned you an incredibly rare, vintage mclaren, babe. i’m not gonna-“

oscar wrestles his way out of his suit jacket, spreads it underneath him on the leather seat, and pats his lap. “problem solved.”

shifting your weight, you glance around nervously. oscar is right, you would prefer the car over the bathroom. all those people inside who could overhear, gossip, and spread the news of how rookie mclaren, f1 driver, oscar piastri, had you yelling his name in the middle of an event. you’d pass.

“oh, c’mon now, babe. you didn’t think i saw the way you were eating me alive with your eyes inside,” your boyfriend teases, “i know you‘ve at least gotten a little wet for me already, haven’t you?”

that’s all it takes; the australian acting possessive and feening to get inside you is more than enough to have you straddling his lap and pulling the car door shut with a slam.

oscar tugs you into dirty make out, and you get lost in his pink lips, tugging teeth, and explorative tongue. the last of your breath tapers out in a reedy moan, and you break the kiss to pant against his lips, and oscar laughs. his laughter spreads through your chest, and it has your hips rolling against the bulge you feel underneath you. his amusement is cut off, and his hands fly to grip at your hips. he starts tugging you against him in a filthy grind, and choked off moans from the two of you start to fill the car.

you press kisses to oscar’s jaw line, paving a path down to his wide strong neck with your tongue. you suck on small patches of skin, not using enough suction to leave a mark, but enough for oscar to become aware of the fantasization that you could. the aussie gasps at every random suckle of your lips as he scrambles to pull the skirt up your legs. you shift your hips up to make it easier for him, as your hands feel down his torso to his belt. it unbuckles fairly easily, and you shove it out of the way, to unzip the slacks and pull his cock out.

oscar moans, throwing his head back at the feel of your hand on his length, and you get entranced in the trap that his pale thick neck is, again. you hum against his neck, introducing teeth alongside the ache of the suction of your mouth, and bully the collar of his shirt out of the way to find a space to leave a few marks. oscar’s breath freezes at the first hickey he feels you leave, but the rapid inhale he takes next clears his mind enough to have his right hand pull your panties to the side, and move to caress your heat.

you shudder on top of him, your breathy sigh amplified within the car. oscar sinks two fingers inside of you, and a much louder moan is tugged out. your hands fly up to grasp onto his shoulder, and your head tilts backward away from his neck in pleasure. his fingers thrust into you gently for a few beats slowly working to open you up for him and once he feels your cunt starting to relax, his thumb reaches to press at your clit. whines fill the air, as you lean all the way back, resting your back on the steering wheel allowing oscar all the space he needs to stretch you out. his fingers start curling as they drag out of you, and you can feel the pads of his fingers rubbing over a soft spot on the front of your walls. 

oscar’s eyes were stuck marveling over the overwhelmed expression on your face, but once he starts feeling wetness dripping down his arm he glances down, and curses out a rough, “fuck, baby—you’re dripping all over me.” your cheeks burn hot, and you can’t tell if that’s out of humiliation or the effect of his awe-filled voice. your right hand releases his shoulder, and bats at his arm, before tugging at his wrist to pull his fingers out, “that’s enough, mmm, just get in me already.”

oscar eagerly draws away; he uses his clean hand to tug his wallet out of his back pocket, and tugs a condom out with a smidge of struggle before handing it to you. you snatch it out of his hand, biting it open and rolling it over his cock, and once it’s on, you tease, “jeez, osc. you really were planning on jumping me in the middle of the event tonight—grabbing a condom and everything; you think i’m that easy?”

he chuckles, satisfied, his hand drenched in your wetness rubbing over his cock to get him slick, and teases back, “you’re about to ride my cock in the parking lot of said event, pretending to be worried about ruining the seats of this vintage car. i’m not calling you easy, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared, does it?”

your cheeks are definitely burning from humiliation this time around, but you huff, ignoring him checking you. you tug his hand away, raising your hips, and guide him to your entrance with your own hand, before slowly sinking down. 

twin sets of moans fill the air as he bottoms out; one of his hands reaches to palm at your ass (it’s sticky, so it must be the one he fingered you with), and the other grips at your waist tightly. you squirm on top of him, knees barely managing to find enough room to prop on the seat to give you a stable base. once you feel stable in your cramped position, you give a testing grind of your hips, and from there, it’s lights out.

oscar lets you set the pace for a few thrusts, suffering in the languid rock of your hips; you’re torturously tight around him, and he can only groan at the feeling of you wrapped around him. his chest heaves, before he brings both hands to halt your hips, and starts fucking up into you rough and quick. a scream jostles out of your throat at the unexpected change of speed, but you just take it with no complaints, allowing yourself to go limp against the wheel of the car to hold your body upright. he moves your body for you, pulling you downwards to meet his upward thrusts; and you feel him constantly applying pressure against that one tender spot right under your navel.

your boyfriend revels in the sound of the moans he’s punching out of your throat, admiring the way your head is thrown back—mouth open wide, eyes scrunched tight, lips bruised and bitten to hell. it’s a lewd picture, painted by himself. the car rocks along to his frantic rhythm, windows fogging, and sweat begins to form on both of your skin. the aussie’s core tightens; he won’t last much longer, you’ve had him half-hard the whole night.

a frustrated grunt escapes oscar, and you hum questionably about to ask what’s wrong–but his right hand leaves your waist to furiously start circling your clit, and an ear piercing shriek leaves you. “c’mon now, babe. ah-be good and come f’me yeah? im so close, baby–please,” he babbles, the last shred of sanity leaving him. his hips don’t falter once–to you it feels like they’re moving quicker, every sensitive spot receiving attention from the sharp snaps of them.

you cry out, it’s all too much; your hand reaches down to press against his navel in a feeble attempt to stop him from stroking so deep and roughly, and incoherent pleads try and tumble out of your mouth, “mm! osc–no! ah–too much, baby! it’s too much–hngh–feels weird–s-slow down!” it’s like his ears are filled with cotton; he can hear you begging down at him but can’t make out what your saying over the blood rushing in his ears. he’s trapped staring at your pretty cunt, watching the obscene amount of wetness coming out of you–the suit jacket underneath him is completely ruined, and he off-handedly thinks it won’t be saving the leather upholstery.

your legs start quivering and trembling–it damn near looks like you're freezing to death, even though the car has become as humid as a sauna. your own orgasm shocks you, and your eyes roll back erotically–unable to give oscar any warning. and in your last moment of awareness, you realize that something feels different, but it’s too late.

you choke on your scream of, “oscar, fuck!” as fluid gushes out of your cunt, and the first wave is enough to completely drench oscar’s pants, and oscar finally returns to the moment in amazement. he eagerly brushes his hand against your clit, and shortens his strokes to quick little jabs to force more of your juices out, and you can only ride along. you try to slam your legs shut, to jostle oscar’s hand away, but it’s futile with his torso propping you open for him. you’re sobbing messily, as he forces more liquid to spray from your cunt–and he moans out his own orgasm, ripped from him in surprise. the australian halts his stimulation this time around when you frantically tug his wrist away when the pleasure melds to pain, and allows himself to get a few more jerks of his hips in.

you fall forward, collapsing into his chest–the squelch of your thighs meeting his pant-covered ones has him humming and grinding his hips into you as gently as he can. the two of you shake against each other, hearts rabbiting as you catch your breath. oscar’s hands rise to rub at your back, bringing you down from the aftershocks still trembling over your body. 

“i-i’ve never squirted before,” you whisper into his neck.

your boyfriend hums softly, “did you like it?”

he feels you nod against him shyly.

“then, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he comforts, knowing if he seems approving of it, you’ll be quicker to accept it as something good, “how i’m going to explain the ruined suit and car seat to mclaren on the other hand…”

a shaky laugh from you causes oscar to smile, “i told you you shouldn’t fuck me in the car.”

“how was i supposed to know that tonight would be the night i’d made you gush all over me?! i was hoping that when the time came we’d at least be on a couch,” he whines.

“shut the fuck up,” you joke, “i want a live play by play when you explain the cleaning bill to zac.”

the aussie pauses, faking thoughtfulness, “maybe i should send the bill to the trust-fund baby. zac would back me up–he’s american, he’d probably find it hilarious.”

oscar gently shifts you over to the passenger seat, and you tug your skirt all the way down, and he fights his way out of his slacks that stuck to his thighs with your wetness. he manages to wrangle them off and kicks them to the side of the car floor along with the soiled suit jacket, after fishing the keys out of them, sitting out in his boxers, and glances over to see you adjusting your appearance as best as you possibly can.

“you want a mcflurry?” the aussie offers.

“as long as we can get a fry with it,” you smile at the random shift in conversation, allowing him to hide his embarrassment.

oscar turns the keys in the ignition, and the engine rolls into life with a deep, vibrating hum. he catches your legs pressing together tightly, and you squirm at the purr of the engine under your seat.

“well,” oscar starts nonchalantly as he reverses out of the spot, “you have the time that it takes to get from the drive-through to the flat to finish eating–because as soon as we get home, i’m taking you to bed and learning how to make you squirt, consistently. i don’t care how long it takes, or how many orgasms you have–i’ll keep going ‘til you come dry, babe.”

taglist: @lorarri @soph1644 @jaydensluv @fanboyluvr @nissaimmortal @redgonerogue @hollie911 @saintwrld @buendiabebeta @butterfly-lover @lana-d3l-rey @dylan1721 @spicybagel14 @dhhdhsiavdhajj @miahgonzalez16 @jjaekin @dkbj14 @f1lover55 @f1lov3r @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @sweetpiccolo-blog @my-ylenia @zaynzierulez @reblog-princess

© httpsserene 2023

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x black!reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri fic #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x black!reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris smut #f1 x reader #f1 x black!reader #f1 x female reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x black!reader #formula 1 x female reader #f1 imagine #f1 smut #formula 1 smut #f1 fic #f1 scenario #mclaren formula 1 #serene’s chapters. #⋆⭒˚｡⋆. series special: formula 1 #♡ ༘*.ﾟ love interest: op. #httpss :// kinktober 23

[slut4thebroken]

Needs

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary | Tommy’s been so busy with work that he’s been neglecting your needs… So you come up with a plan to finally get some attention.

Warnings | Smut, semi public sex, rough sex, spanking, creampie, degradation, humiliation, praise, brat taming, gunplay, established relationship.

Words | 2.3 k

Notes | I feel like I still don’t really have his characterization down tbh :/ oh well😭

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Smut prompts 4. "what would they think if they saw you right now?" 36. “You know I’m holding back from fucking you over this kitchen counter, don’t push your luck.” 48. “no panties. you need me that bad?” 50. “i bet you think you’re real cute letting them put their hands all over you. we’ll see how cute you look later when i get you home” 52. “you keep acting like a brat and i’ll take you over my knee right here. i don’t care how many people are watching” 75. "You wanted this. You can take it."

This definitely was not your proudest moment… but you’re pent up and Tommy has been too busy to take care of you for almost two weeks now. You’re desperately craving some rough, hard fucking. And you know exactly how to get it.  

Placing your hand on the man’s bicep, you laughed along with his “joke” and glanced at Tommy from across the room. He still hadn’t noticed you yet and you prayed he would soon because you’ve never met a man more bland and boring than the one in front of you. He’s also either completely stupid, or just doesn’t know that you’re with Tommy since he’s openly flirting with you. 

“You know, you truly are very beautiful.” He said, the joking tone now completely gone. 

“Oh- thank you..” You smiled, trying not to cringe. 

“May I dance with you?” You glanced at Tommy again— still nothing. 

“Sure.” He led you over to the center of the room and grabbed your hand, placing his other hand on your back, far too low. He started up another conversation and all you could do was nod or hum in agreement, too focused on looking at Tommy every chance you had. 

When you finally, finally met his gaze.. you immediately recognized his expression. You forced your eyes back on the man in front of you and smiled, trusting that Tommy would be over here any second now. 

“Hello, darling.” You stopped and tried not to smirk as you turned around. Tommy was looking between you and the man who quickly let go of you and stepped back. 

“Mr. Shelby.” He greeted, giving an awkward smile. He looked between the two of you and seemed to suddenly understand the situation. His smile slowly dropped as he took another step back. “I- I’m going to..” 

“Yeah, you do that.” Tommy sneered, waiting until the man scurried away before turning to you. He didn’t bother asking before grabbing your hand and pulling you into him by your lower back. 

“I bet you think you’re real cute letting him put his hands all over you…” He murmured, making you smile a little. “We’ll see how cute you look later when we’re home.”

“We were just dancing.” You said, in a tone that implied that you weren’t just dancing. 

“Right.” He scoffed. 

“There’s no need to get insecure, Tommy.” You said innocently, watching as his cheeks tensed when he clenched his jaw. His piercing blue eyes practically stared through you and if it were anyone else, they would’ve backed down immediately. 

“You keep acting like a brat and I'll take you over my knee right here. I don’t care how many people are watching.” He spoke in a low, menacing voice, making your stomach flutter. 

“Really? You’re not too busy for that?” You snarked and his expression shifted into one of realization, then amusement.

“Is that what this is about? My girl is a bit needy so she turns into a whore?” As soon as he started teasing, you knew you had to do more for this plan to actually work. 

“Screw you.” You spat, pushing him back by his chest. His eyes darkened and without paying any attention to the people who were now watching this encounter, he grabbed your wrist and started dragging you somewhere. “Let go!” You tried yanking yourself free, but his grip wouldn’t budge. He pulled you through a few hallways until you reached the kitchen, then shoved you into the room and slammed the door shut. 

“Quit it. I won’t tell you again.” He warned. 

“I didn’t even do anything! You’re the one who made a scene and dragged me away from the party.” 

“Oh, I made a scene?” He chuckled and you clenched your jaw, letting out a heavy breath through your nose. “Does no cock for less than two weeks really turn you into a complete brat?” He was still so fucking amused, so you shoved his chest again. He suddenly gripped your neck and pushed you back a few steps until you hit the counter. “I said quit it.” He growled, tightening his grip on your neck. 

“Fucking make me, Thomas.” You spat, purposefully using his full name. 

“You know I’m holding back from fucking you over this kitchen counter right now… Don’t push your luck.” 

“Oh, are you? Do you even have time for that?” You don’t think you’ve ever sounded more bratty before in your life. 

“Fine. You want to be fucked?” He quickly spun you around and pushed your chest down onto the counter, then bunched your dress up, letting it rest on your back. “Really, no panties? You need it that bad?” He snickered, making your cheeks flush in embarrassment. You don’t regret your decision to go without them though. 

The sound of clothes rustling as he opened his pants had you squeezing your thighs together, eager for what was to come. Without any warning he fully sheathed himself inside you, making you cry out and scramble for purchase on the counter. 

“Fuck! Tommy— what the hell?” He didn’t even give you a second to adjust before starting a brutal pace. Grabbing your hips tight enough to bruise, he bucked into you wildly with little care for your own pleasure. But for some pathetic reason that only made all of this hotter. “God- Tommy, slow down.” You whined, trying to squirm away. 

“You wanted this. You can take it." He gruffed, letting out quiet grunts now. Honestly, you’ve been a little horny since the moment you decided not to wear any underwear, but it’s been longer than usual since he’s been inside you and he didn’t do anything else to prep you, so the stretch burned a little. It was quickly turning into overwhelming pleasure though. When you reached a hand down to rub your clit, he twisted your arm behind your back almost painfully. 

“Brats don’t get to touch. You’ll be lucky if I decide to let you come at all.” You cursed under your breath and closed your eyes, only getting more worked up by his words and the way he said them. 

“Fine. When we’re done, we’ll go back out there and I’ll tell everyone about how Tommy Shelby can’t make a girl come.” You snarked. He pulled out with a low growl, making you smirk a little. You watched him walk across the kitchen, opening and closing drawers quickly. When he picked up a wooden spoon and started walking back over, you smirk dropped and you lifted yourself off the counter. “Tommy… Not here.” You warned, stepping away from him when he approached. 

“Get the fuck over the counter or I’ll make you.” When you didn’t move, he unholstered his gun and pointed it at you lazily. “Now.” Your eyes widened and you swallowed thickly, glancing between the weapon, the spoon, and his face. Even though you knew he’d never actually shoot you, the fear was still there. So you tentatively walked back over and leaned on the counter again. He lifted your dress, then immediately resumed fucking you, dragging the spoon over your ass to make you tense up. 

“I have responsibilities other than satisfying your needs.” He started, placing a firm smack on your ass with the spoon, making you curse loudly. “I run a business,” another smack, this one even harder, “I have a family…” The third hit brought tears to your eyes. “You are not my only priority, you understand?” You whimpered at the fourth smack, but even through all of this, he never stopped fucking you. 

“Answer me.” He growled, and this hit forced a choked sob out of you. 

“Yes! I- I understand.” You cried, clinging to the counter to ground yourself a little. 

“Your libido is inconsequential,” He continued, landing another hit on your already burning ass, “and I will not tolerate my woman acting like a whore because of it.” 

“Tommy..” You whimpered pathetically. 

“Do you have anything you want to say for yourself?” He spanked you twice in quick succession and you let your head fall onto the counter as a tear finally escaped your waterline. 

“I’m sorry!” You sobbed out, only crying harder when he hit you again. 

“Try again.” 

“I’m sorry, Tommy.” You whimpered. 

“Last fucking chance.” He spat, spanking you again. 

“I’m sorry for… acting like a whore.” You choked out and he landed one more hit on each cheek before dropping the spoon onto the counter. 

“There you go.” He cooed, rapidly snapping his hips into you, adding more pain to your already burning ass. “What would they think if they saw you right now?" He asked amusedly and you whined as your cheeks heated up. “Bent over some random rich asshole’s kitchen counter, getting spanked and fucked stupid…” 

“Tommy…” You whimpered, voice barely audible. Your hips were digging into the edge of the counter painfully and your legs were trembling from the intensity of the pain and pleasure. With each thrust, his balls were smacking your clit, teasing you with the slightest amount of touch where you really needed it. 

“From now on, when this cunt is needy, you come to me before whoring yourself around, got it?” You nodded desperately, feeling so close to pleasure that was just out of reach. 

“Yes— yes.” You choked out. “Please, Tommy, I can’t take this.” Your voice was a weak whimper and you hoped it’d be enough to get him to cave. 

“Do you need to come, darling?” He cooed mockingly, making you frown a little. 

“Yes! Please make me come,” 

“You can come. But you’re not using your hands.” He said cruelly. 

“Tommy, please..” You whined, needing more. You knew he wouldn’t give it to you though. 

“Better hurry too cause I’m getting close.” He chuckled quietly, obviously enjoying your suffering. 

“I can’t! Please!” You can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve been able to come from penetration alone. 

“Do you need help, my love?” He asked softly, voice contrasting his actions as he fisted your hair and yanked your body up until your back was against his chest. The cold barrel of his gun dragged down your cheek, making you stiffen and close your eyes with a strangled whimper. “Is this better?” You let out a choked sob even though, yes, it was helping you get closer to the edge. “You’re trembling… Like a little lamb.” He murmured against your ear, sounding uncharacteristically endeared. 

“Tommy..” You whispered, unconsciously flinching away from the gun. 

“Are you scared?” He whispered back and you just barely nodded in response. “Good girl. I like you like this.” He placed a gentle kiss on your cheek and you mewled, feeling your orgasm barreling toward you. He never stopped thrusting, but based on his breathing and the quiet sounds he was making, you knew he was close. Which meant that if you wanted to come, you had to do it now. His lips moved down to your neck and began kissing and licking the sensitive skin, occasionally sucking it into his mouth to leave a mark. 

“Come on, love. Drench my fucking cock, I know you can do it.” The gun brushed over your trembling lips teasingly. “This cunt isn't useful to me if it can’t come.” The degrading words forced a strangled moan out of you. When he cocked the gun, your body immediately went completely rigid. “If it’s not useful, then I don’t need it...” He said coyly and you whimpered in response, feeling so incredibly close to release. 

“So be a good toy and let that cunt show me why I should keep you around.” That was all you needed to finally fall over the edge. You sobbed out a moan and your whole body tensed up, then started almost shaking as all of the tension was finally released. This was your first orgasm in almost two weeks and it had you struggling to breathe properly and keep yourself up with the way your legs were beginning to feel like jelly. 

“Good girl.. I got you.” He cooed, holding you in his arms but never faltering in the movements of his hips. “Let it all out, darling.” 

“Tommy.” You whimpered through all of the moaning. 

“I know. I know, love.” He whispered, holding you tightly. “Ready for my come?” His words made another strong wave of pleasure roll through you and you were mumbling out incoherent pleas before you could stop yourself. You probably missed the feeling of him coming inside you the most out of everything. 

Without another word, his hips stuttered, then he bottomed out, pushing you almost painfully into the edge of the counter with a low groan. You whined at the faint feeling of his cock twitching inside you as he painted your walls with his come. He was grunting quietly, his breathing growing ragged and fanning your neck, getting you worked up again. But he was done far too soon. 

Panting quietly, he set his gun down on the counter, then kissed the crook of your neck, filling your stomach with butterflies. You loved his soft moments like this, especially after how rough and mean he was being. 

“Good girl…” He whispered. “So good for me.” Your cheeks heated up at the praise. 

“Don’t let me go, I’ll fall.” You warned quietly and he released of soft chuckle in response. 

“Lean over the counter, darling.” He murmured, giving one last kiss on your neck before letting you lean back down, resting most of your weight on it. He dragged out slowly, making both of you hiss at the sensitivity. “Fuck… I missed seeing this.” He groaned, enjoying the sight of your walls wrapped around his length. 

You whimpered in pain when he grabbed your sore ass and pulled you open to get a better view of your fluttering holes and his come leaking out. At the first sight of it though, he kicked your legs together, making it drip down your thighs instead. 

“Tommy...” You whined and he gave a teasing slap to your ass as he let out a half hearted chuckle, then pulled your dress back down. 

“Try not to leak all over the floor, love. I’m not sure how you’ll be able to explain that.” 

Taglist (join here)

@pedrisgatorade @lunyyx @faebirdie @idkdudsworld @nashja @rentaldarling @theoraekenslover @kaorisakamotofan @scorpiussage @naevisct @jimmywoosimp @cillianscrybaby @vivvive @ceruleanrainblues @mrkdvidal1989 @brooklynscherry-z @ohmysatansstuff @monsterfromthewoods @aviamulier @d1lf-loverthinqs @butlersluvbot @miyababby @n1ghtw1ngslver @mandowhatnow @baekhyunstruly @nashja @xxorazz @halleysc6met @crunchsworld @babaohhhriley @deceitfuldevout @gentyleman @lorelais-world @shroombloom-rry @pinguwrites @thatonesinglefriend @bernelflo @milktert @nyxxie.pooh @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @milkytomura @bigbossbabysworld @sheisthedxrkness @ll4n4 @olivialveshbc @feyresqueen @charlottegemyngende @ffionspreach @drcranessweetestdoe @goblinjnr @1nterstellarcha0s @mothhball @anonwrtr @venustusjuliet8 @literishdegree99 @hanawrites404

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby

[taintandviolent]

morally violating ; Kai Anderson x reader

warnings: kai is the warning. okay okay, real warnings: hatefuck (surprise, surprise), female receiving, clothed sex, rough sex, spanking, aggression, choking, degrading language, unprotected sex. a/n: 2.7k words! turned out to be part 2 to my howlin' for you fic. i feel like an anon requested this, but I'll be damned if I can remember which one. if it was you -- here you go! it's late, but who cares. you guys don't care, it's Kai. was originally part of my lazy (and embarrasingly late at this point) kinktober. week two AND three; spanking, clothed sex and degradation. so uh... enjoy. sorry if it's clunky and bad and weird and rushed!

full fic & taglist under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! /

​​You swept the blush brush over your cheeks and heaved a sigh. Ultimately, you were disgusted with yourself. Right? It might not have been surface-level, but somewhere, deep down, you really were. You had to be. It was sickening that you hadn’t stopped thinking about the furious fuck you two had had almost two weeks ago. You, as a proud feminist woman, found that very morally violating. Actually, you found Kai very morally violating. And yet, here you were, threading the ribbon of a Red Riding Hood costume through the faux-corset front. You knotted it tightly and gazed in the mirror.

You made a cute Red Riding Hood and your tits sat nicely in this corset. At least there was that. There was the possibility that he wasn’t even going to come, which was probably the best option. There was also the possibility that he would walk through the door with Winter. If the latter happened, you’d feel like a fool in front of your friend, and an absolute pathetic, begging whore in front of her brother.

Which is what you were. You knew Kai would make sure to tell you that.

You heard the first ding of the doorbell. Giving yourself a final once-over, you turned and bolted down the stairs. Your eyes swept over your living room, making sure it was presentable. You’d decorated modestly. Streamers of orange, black and purple hung from the ceiling, those little table top decorations were clustered on your coffee table. Carved pumpkins greeted guests at the door.

With a bright smile on your face, you swung open the door. A cluster of friends from college stood on your doorstep; hugs were exchanged before you ushered them inside. It was non-stop after that. Your guests flooded into your home, and before you knew it, you had to hold your drink above your head to navigate. Within a few hours, you had yourself, by all definitions, a successful party. You were two Red Solo cups deep, and you still hadn’t spotted either of the Anderson siblings.

Your eyes unfocused, watching the throngs of people as they undulated to music and clustered in corners of the room. Reminiscent activities of a college party, some playfully slapped each other, some made out, while others danced, feeling the beat of the song playing. Others had taken to sitting on the staircase, lounging against the wall and the bannister as they chatted.

“Hey there, little Red Riding Hood…” a voice said. Your eyes refocused onto a particular head of blue hair, wavy locks hanging on either side of his face. His dark, brown eyes penetrated — no, violated yours.

“You sure are looking good.” Song quote. Cute. Not.

Everything he said sounded so threatening, even when it was complimentary. Especially when it was complimentary. He was scanning your body like a drill sergeant examining a soldier, scrutinising every minute detail. Intentionally, you puffed your chest out, lifting your cleavage and squaring your shoulders.

“Did you let yourself into my house?” You snapped, incredulously. “Where’s Winter?”

He stiffened, obviously put off by your immediate attitude. “She’ll be here. Later. Had something I needed her to do.”

“The fuck?”

A beat.

“…did you let yourself into my fucking house, Kai?”

“Did you intentionally dress up like Little Red Riding Hood after I dressed up as a wolf?”

Your open mouth closed wordlessly, lips rolling inwards. The question was rhetorical, and answering would only humiliate you further.

“Why don’t we go discuss your choices upstairs?”

You stared at him, a vicious fire burning behind your eyes. Hoping he’d… what? Retract his statement? Run back out the door, finally realising that you weren’t one to be fucked with? Doubtful. He never backed down in front of a woman. Besides, if he did, you’d likely stop him, catching his arm at his bicep and yanking him back towards yourself — because you didn’t want him to leave. And you knew it.

With a huff and a sharp turn, you headed up the stairs, navigating around the people that sat on the steps. Every feminist cell in your body screamed perilously at you as he followed you up your carpeted steps, the heavy stomp of his boots following closely behind you.

You were in no mood to self-rationalise, you were too busy trying to calm the drooling monster between your legs. You squeezed your eyes shut, silencing the thoughts as you opened the door. The guests would entertain themselves — this wouldn’t take long. It didn’t last time.

He began surveying your room, walking it with his hands behind his back as if grading you. When he came to your bathroom, he toed open the door with his boot, and peeked his head inside. He seemed satisfied with whatever he saw — maybe his own reflection. All of this made you acutely uncomfortable. You shifted your weight, flipping the frill of one of your petticoats.

“Come here.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said… come…. Here.” He repeated, more sternly than before.

For whatever stupid reason, you obeyed him. You marched your sorry little ass over to where he was standing, staring up at him like a lost puppy. The bathroom door was still ajar, and you could see inside, courtesy of the little butterfly night light that was plugged in above the sink.

Kai reached in, flattening his hand against the wall and flipped the light switch.  

“Put your hands on the counter.”

You hesitated. This didn’t sound good. But as soon as Kai jerked his head in the direction of the countertop, you hurriedly flattened your hands on the counter, keeping your eyes locked on his reflection.

“Good. Good. Now we’re getting somewhere. You’ve thought about our little encounter at Winter’s party often, haven’t you?”

You shook your head.

THWACK!

Your jaw dropped, stunned, as a burning red welt swelled on your right ass cheek, the flesh tingling with pinpricks of pain as the blood rushed to the surface. There had been no warning for the first, and there wasn’t a warning for the second, or the third.

“Let’s try that — wait. Oh. You like this.” He spat. “Don’t you?”

You shook your head again, indignantly, and Kai reared his hand back. You flinched and tightened your muscles, waiting for the impending impact. You knew it would piss him off — maybe that’s why you did it. Filling your mind with horrible things that would hopefully keep the arousal at bay wasn't working. You were failing… miserably. Spanking wasn’t something you’d explored in the past, never would have thought to. But the way that he was leaving large, burning handprints on your ass cheeks had you leaking out into your underwear. You could feel it, you knew it. Fuck, so wet… fuckfuckfuck.

As if he could hear your thoughts — a terrifying thought — Kai hooked one finger around the crotch of your panties and harshly yanked them to the side, exposing your slick folds. The tip of his middle finger explored curiously, unsurprisingly finding the beginnings of a juice-fest. Slippery, clear liquid oozed from your opening, and you heard Kai chuckle through his nose.

“Oh, no? What’s this?” He asked, knowingly. You had yet again lied to him. You personally didn’t see it as a lie but as a vicious betrayal from your own body. A wet, vicious betrayal.

“Nothing,” you rasped, ashamed, and knowing full well what was coming.

“What was that?”

“I said… nothing.” Might as well accept your fate now. You gripped the edge of the counter, bracing for impact.

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! Your knees buckled in pain, a desperate whimper falling from your lips. Welts rose until your entire backside was a crimson, burning masterpiece of his hands.

“Clearly, you haven’t caught on. Allow me to explain this to you. Every time you lie to me, you’re going to be punished. And I know what you’re thinking. ‘Oh, but Kai, I like it when you spank me like the disobedient bitch I am.’ Maybe so.”

You didn’t appreciate the mockery of your voice.

Kai flattened his palm on the searing mound of flesh, caressing it tenderly as if deep in thought. Somehow though, the gentle touch made it sting more than before. You writhed away from his hand, only getting an inch or two away before he crudely yanked you back into place. Tossing you around like some sort of rag doll. “But, eventually, pleasure turns to pain. It’s up to you if you reach that point.”

Condemn yourself or liberate yourself? The answer was obvious. You sought pleasure not pain, and if Kai was willing… You met his eyes in the mirror, boring deep into them. You bent your arms at the elbows, stretching them across the counter and arching your back, pressing the curve of your juicy ass against his groin.

“Just fuck me,” You begged. Pathetically, desperately, whiningly. “That’s all we both want. It’s why we’re — why we’re here. There’s your truth, Kai.”

For a moment, Kai didn’t speak, he just stared. Just… watched you in the mirror. You drew your bottom lip in and bit down hard, hoping to entice him further. Slowly, his large hands slid up your back, going as far as the fabric would allow before dragging them back down again, his nails raking against your bare skin. Abruptly, he took hold of your ass, squeezing the soft flesh too hard, twisting your expression into one of pain. With the still warm pain of the spanks, you couldn’t help but wince at the sensation.

“Is that really wha—

“Don’t ask me if it’s what I want,” you groaned. “Don’t fucking ask me that.”

That launched him into action; his hands leaving your body. He unbuttoned his jeans, reaching in to pull his throbbing cock free. His gaze drifted from you to himself, looking down at it. Decently hard, but could be harder. The chase hadn’t been as long as last time, giving him less time to get worked up. He gave it a few angry pumps before lining it up with your slit. 

This was the second time you were going to fuck Kai Anderson — and in a similar way; pissed off and completely clothed. Behind you, Kai used the tip of his cock as a toy, slapping it messily against your swollen, blushing cunt, threads of precum stringing from your clit to his head.

You shuddered. Kai dragged his cock down, pressing the bulbous tip into your pink, weeping slit. Gushy and searing hot, the spongy walls clenched, forcing it back out. Kai grit his teeth and pushed the head in harder, breaching it. Slithery warmth washed over him, gripping it tight. His cock twitched inside of you, seeking out depth. “Ohhhhh…. Fuck. Fu-”

With the head of his now rock-hard cock planted inside you, he no longer needed his hands and let go, moving them up to sweep his hair out of his face. He was embedded inside of you now, slick walls gripping his shaft, carnally begging for more. Using only the strength of his core, Kai backed out and plunged his cock back in repeatedly, popping the head in and out of your wet pussy. With one determinate thrust and a deep groan, he pushed himself all the way in, his lower abdomen bumping against the fullness of your ass cheeks. 

His hands dropped heavily to your ass, taking fistfuls and pulling the cheeks apart to watch as it slid in and out, coated in your arousal. You whimpered, eyes rolling back, lids fluttering speedily. You hated him so much, but it felt so good. To turn dick down this good… would just be a waste. Not only was it long enough to hit your cervix, his cock was thick and veiny and massaged your insides in all the right spots.

“Look at yourself,” he growled, reaching one hand around to pinch your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. Your lips puckered out like a fish. “Look at what a little whore you are.”

Slowly, you lifted your eyes to the mirror. You couldn’t deny your reflection; your red and white petticoats fluffed up around your waist, your previously perfect curls knotted in his fist, and your face distorted in a whorish display. The cherry on top was every time Kai’s cock bottomed out inside you, you winced and let out the most pathetic, whimpering moan. It was like a bad porn moan, and it was coming from you. Kai’s hand retreated from your face, slithering down to your neck, where he gave a firm, warning squeeze before returning to its place on your hip.

“I bet…” He paused, thrusting hard into your cunt a few times. His words were breathy and laboured. “I bet you’ve been thinking about this since that night. You like this.”

You had — that part was true. The other part about ‘liking’ it? Up for debate. Your pussy certainly did with the way that she clenched her slick walls around his thick cock, hungrily gripping it every time he tried to slide out.

“You fuckin’,” You clenched around him, letting out a shrill moan through gritted teeth. Your voice cracked. “You fuckin’ wish, Kai.”

THWACK!

That one really hurt. Hot tears welled up before streaming down your cheeks, leaving lines in the rouge. Kai slowly leaned over you, pressing his toned stomach against your back and even through clothes, you felt the muscles tensing.  He angled his lips right next to your ear, and hissed: “I don’t have to wish for anything. I get everything I want.”

His hot whisper made you shiver violently. And he didn’t — he was right. You were giving him everything he wanted, everything he asked for. Just like one of his little pathetic, whinging groupies. He started pulling you onto his cock, hard, and your entire body seized up, your walls shuddering, pulsing, quivering with the sensation. You pressed your head into the countertop, moaning loud into the sink. The wet, slapping sounds drifted into a singular dull thudding noise; your ears were ringing, your chest heaving. His pace quickened, his thrusts merciless. The taut coil in your tummy wound tighter, creating a deep pressure above your bladder. Your thighs quivered, knees feeling like jello as you tried to hold yourself up against the counter.

“Fuck, Kai - fuck-fuck-I’m gonna’ fucking—

With a winded groan, Kai tensed up, and plunged himself as deep as he could go, pulling your hips hard onto his cock. Hot, white euphoria erupted inside of you, filling you up and oozing out the sides of your cunt with each unsparing thrust he gave. Unable to hold it any longer, you arched, screaming towards the mirror. Kai leaned back and pulled out slightly, just enough to watch as your pathetic little cunt clenched through your own orgasm, fluttering desperately around the tip of his dick. He gathered your underwear again and pulled them up, before snapping them down on your ass. The strings of cum that dripped from you seeped into the fabric, sticky and warm.

Kai reached around again, lifting you up by your neck. This time, his cheek pressed against yours, rubbing it like a dog nuzzling its owner. “You’re going to spend the rest of your little gathering feeling that, understood?”

You said nothing and he gripped harder; slight pressure on your windpipe.

“Understood?” Again, nothing and Kai pressed his palm against your throat until you gasped, thrashing your head up and down in a panic. “SAY IT.”

A weird whine came from your throat as you desperately gasped for air. Your pupils dilated. Finally, you croaked: “I-I’m going to feel your c-cum between my… my-legs all night long.”   

The pressure released, and Kai had turned away from you, busy stuffing his heavy, flaccid cock back into his dark jeans. Shakily, you straightened up, pulling your skirts back down where they were intended to sit. Thankfully, he hadn’t fucked up your makeup like he did last time - you could pass as just a tipsy girl who had just smeared her mascara a little.

Once you two were downstairs, you paused at the bottom of the stairs. The party thrived; nobody had noticed you were gone. You heaved a sigh of relief, knowing that now, nobody could pin it against you. No questions, no accusations. Me? Fucking Kai Anderson? Absolutely not, I’d rather die. Gag.

“We’ll have to discuss your constant lying at a later date.” And with that, he was gone. Gone to spread the good word of his weird little fucked up cult, and get more people to campaign for him, or whatever it is he did. You watched him, eyes narrowed, as he manoeuvred through the groups of people. He’d done it again. Motherfucker. You shifted your weight, feeling the sticky mess between your legs as dried into the fabric of your panties.

Coming down off the orgasm was one of the worst feelings; reality set in, and you were painfully reminded that you’d just fucked your sworn enemy. A poster boy of toxic masculinity had just filled you up with his seed. Sickening. A voice from behind jolted you out of your fuming stupor — Winter.

“You should really stop lying to him.”

You barked out a flabbergasted laugh. “That’s what I should stop, Winter? Lying to him?”

“Yeah,” she muttered lowly. “He hates liars.”

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @garykingz/ @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @tatesdisasterofalover / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @enchanting-evan / @yesdevineruler / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake / @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @demxnicprxncess / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @lilthbunny / @quickandsilvers / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha / @randominstake / @throwinginmythai / @hyperharlz / @poltoreveur

#i'm literally so sorry if this is bad #i'm v insecure over this fic because the writing juices have just not been there lately folks #kai anderson #kai anderson x you #kai anderson x reader #kai anderson smut #ahs smut #myfics #lizzieslazykinktober

[naffeclipse]

I absolutely adore every AU you come up with, but I was actually curious if you had already or were considering writing a traditional DCAxReader? Hopefully I can kick this art block soon because there is so much fanart I want to draw of your stories :) Hope your week is going well! (besides the roof disaster ^^;;;)

On another note... AUs are my brainrot and I keep thinking about that post about the large bed... and spoopy ghosts. Clipgeist? No running away from something that can follow you to the ends of the Earth. Poor Y/Ns just can't catch a break lol

I have a few canon stories with the DCA x Reader on my Ao3 but nothing as grand or long as my AUs! I do have a 'canon' story plotted but I don't know when I'll write it. Hopefully one day!

Ah, that's so exciting! I hope you can chisel that art block down hehe 

It's going good (aside from the roof ;-;) I have this week of school before we go on break for Thanksgiving and it can't come soon enough!

Shaking your hand so hard rn!! I love AUs! And a spooky ghost one? Oh ho, I've always wanted to write a domestic monster scenario!

Perhaps Y/N moves into an old, old house with steep roofs, pointed arches above the windows and doors, and a lovely porch. It's two and a half stories tall (the half story is attic space under the roof rafters) with a four-story central spired tower! All dark wood and even darker interiors. You can't desire if it's Dracula's castle or a fairytale home for the happily ever-after-ed prince and princess. It's even got a secret underground tunnel! What more do you need when flipping a home? You love restoration and you intend to keep all its gothic charm while updating it to be, well, livable.

It's also incredibly cheap! Like, stupid cheap, for something that should be incredibly pricey for its prestige style and historical value. Not that you've ever looked a gift horse in the mouth, but even you have second thoughts before ultimately snatching up the house key.

The first night is always unsettling—maybe you hear a voice whisper in your ear despite it being dead silent and there's not a soul for miles, but you'll brush that off as getting spooked by old ghost stories your brain conjures up within the ornate decorated rooms.

From there, things get stranger and stranger still. Your paintbrush is moved and you know you didn't set it there because of the wet paint dripping onto the floor. The electricity is ever fickle, turning off at the most opportune moments during the night, like when you swear you saw a figure standing at the end of the hallway, all thin and scraggly with a ghostly smile and an inhuman head framed with wavering energy that almost seems to glow like embers in the dark!

Still, you continue your repairs and restorations, sometimes softly talking to yourself out loud and talking to the house like it's a wounded animal you intend to restore back to its fittest with all the love you can pour out of your heart. Places need love, too.

The most obnoxious thing is that you can't access the tower—the door is always locked, and no matter what key you try, it refuses to budge. You don't dare risk causing damage by prying it open, but you swear you'll get into that tower one day. There's got to be treasure inside with how mysteriously it stands, just out of your reach. Though, you've mostly put it aside for now. Whenever you jingle keys in the lock, you swear you hear a voice grow angry with you, and the hallway becomes so cold you can see your breath.

So, yeah, you're saving that for later.

The pivotal moment of you even considering a haunting is one night when you find yourself overwhelmed and stressed from the ever-growing list of chores and how everything is falling apart faster than you can fix it. You dissolve on the living room floor into thick tears. You're usually so put together, even when alone. You hate crying. There's no one to hold you together except yourself, so why fall apart in the first place?

Your little moment of getting it out is interrupted when a quilt falls over your shoulders. A soft, heavy quilt of midnight skies and dotted pale blue stars that was never in this room.

You leap to your feet, quilt falling away, and call out in classic horror victim fashion, "Who's there?" but no one answers. In frozen terror, you stare at the room, expecting something, anything to jump out or scream at you, but it's so, so quiet. All is still, like apologetic comfort.

That couldn't have happened. No draft, no forgetfulness could explain how a quilt was draped over you as if by a concerned friend.

You stare at the quilt and decide that you've had a long day. You go to your room, unable to relax even once you're under the covers, feeling something cold and misty above your bed.

When you wake in the morning, that starry quilt is draped over your lying form. You did not put it there.

Something or someone else tucked it around you.

#haunting au #ghost!eclipse #clipgeist is so *mwah* #anyways what goes bump in the night but a haunting specter that may or may not vie for your affection #just don't go into the tower #hei-z-sky #naff writing

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

Metamorphose | 2k

my masterlist | ao3 ✦ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader ✦ Summary: You and Simon deal with the pain of losing a baby. ✦ TW and general warnings: established relationship, angst, fluff, sensitive content (abortion), depression and eating disorder mentions, it's painful but he comforts you

A/N: Hi everyone! Since I'm working hard on some requests I've received and in the next chapter of Shades of Red, I decided to release this kinda old drabble of mine here. I'm not too satisfied with how it ended up but enoughly to post, so enjoy <3

I'd also like to mention that I have a taglist for my longfic Shades of Red but not one for my general writing and drabbles so I'll make a post for it, but till then, if anyone's interested in being tagged in my general posts and drabbles, please let me know <3

The sky is colored in blue, pink and purple.

Mostly blue.

You stare outside of the window while it changes, a golden yellow sun by the morning that rises; it spent too much time burning bright in the also bright blue sky. You counted the hours till it started descending. Now, the sun was nothing more than a little line by the horizon, and the sky was fading into cold colors, fading into the cold night. 

You feel hungry, but it felt wrong to eat knowing you’d be sick of your stomach the second food hits it. You’re not in town anymore, Simon decided it would be better if the two of you took some time out in the country, where it was safe and you’d have time and space to do the things you loved. Running with your dog, swimming in the lake, breathing the fresh air. Truth is, you don’t feel like doing anything. Your legs are too tired, you’re sleepy, you’re tired. You’re very tired. 

You heard him on the phone earlier. His voice was hoarse and low, he argued you wouldn’t want to receive visits. You could tell whoever it was - was insisting, pushing him too hard into allowing them to visit you. He blatantly denied, and you could feel his mood changing in a bit of seconds, his patience running low and the moment he turned off and let out a huge snort; and it had been perhaps two hours since that happened.

You let out a tired sigh, your empty sad eyes stare down at a small sign of movement under the window you were staring at. A little cocoon, seeming to be still inhabited, was hanging from a little line in there. You knew it was supposed to keep hanging till the moment that little caterpillar metamorphosed into a butterfly, and broke the shell, flying out freely. But for some reason you can’t understand - as well as many things in nature, this one cocoon is about to fall.

Your shaky hands reach out for it and before it hit the ground, you carefully pull it and it detaches without a second guess. You take a small look around the room and grab a small empty cup where the water you were supposed to have drunk evaporated, and place the small thing inside of it.

“There you go.” You mutter, the first time you hear your own voice in days, maybe weeks. 

Some things aren’t supposed to happen. And you’re not supposed to die without being conceived the chance of living, even if only for a day.

You reach for Simon downstairs, minutes later. Looking pale for the lack of food you’ve been putting yourself through, tired for even standing, collateral effects of the strong medication you’re taking for the sake of your life. 

“Baby.” You mutter, and he turns instantly from the alluring stare he was giving the fireplace. Your man’s sitting in a cozy armchair, drinking tea - cold at this point - and dissociating just like yourself. You blame yourself for a second: how can you put him through so much? Isn’t he suffering as much as you, why are you isolating him?

“Yes, my love?” He quickly responds, like he craves for hearing more of you. “Another nightmare?” he asks, standing to come closer to you.

You shook your head. “No… I found this.” you show the cup between your hands; Simon doesn’t seem to get it at first glance. “A butterfly. It’ll come out anytime, the cocoon is moving.” you state.

“Oh.” He raises an eyebrow, and sighs a little. “What a cute thing… Should we put it in the garden?” He asks, so much calm in his voice you feel yourself a little lighter. 

“I want to see it.” You state. “The butterfly, I don’t know what type it will be, I’m curious.” 

Simon looks at you like love would, if love was a person. He’s as tired as you, you can tell. Maybe his legs work a bit more than yours and his hands have the capacity of doing the hard work still, but his mind is as empty as yours.

“Of course.” He nods, and reaches for his own coat, placing it around your shoulders. You feel warm and cozy to the smell of him. “We can watch, come on.” he suggests, and grabs onto your hand. 

His squeeze is light and calm, and your body follows him instinctively, not thinking about anything but the comfort you crave right now.

For the past few days, the only thing you could think of was the void in your belly. The void you haven’t felt in months; when you told him you were pregnant, Simon stared at you in complete despair and horror for at least ten excruciating silent minutes. You weren’t used to the idea as well, you’d have to interrupt your current work, you’d have to dedicate yourself to learn the slightest about being a mother.

It is a lie that every woman is born knowing how to hold a baby. When the two of you would visit some of your friends and their children, you’d try to picture yourself as holding your own baby instead of holding theirs. You couldn’t. They’d tell you that oh, god, don’t hold him like this, while laughing. But for you that was a sinful despairing moment.

Simon knew better than you, as a matter of fact. He held babies correctly, unintentionally - but very correctly. 

You didn’t know if you were supposed to feel envious of his natural ability or proud of having this man as a daddy to your baby. 

You learnt to love the little thing growing in your belly. He did, too. He would often bring gifts to you - keeping track with your cravings, and also buying things for the baby. Baby’s little room would be full soon enough. This little creature who wasn’t even born yet was everywhere around your house. The worries about conciliating Simon’s work with your pregnancy were starting to catch the two of you off guard, and soon as he asked for a license to take care of his pregnant wife, that day. That night. So much pain, so much blood. He wasn’t a small lifeless fetus anymore, it was a whole baby. It was a girl. She had a name. 

Some things aren’t supposed to happen. 

“Your parents want to visit.” He mutters, the two of you sitting in the swinging chairs by the garden, surrounded by dozens of different kinds of flowers. The weather is fairly cold, but you don’t feel it with his coat around yourself. “Told them you wouldn’t want to.

“I don’t.” You agree. “Tell them I need time.”

“I did.” He fixes the coat you have around yourself, and glares into you as the sky fades into deeper tones of dark blue. “I was a little less polite than that, but I did.”

“If you weren’t, they wouldn’t listen.” You argue, looking at him now, too. Your eyes fall deep into the void of his own. 

For the first time in those two painful weeks, you can feel his pain flowing through his damaged soul. Like yours. 

“I know. Terribly stubborn blood you have, dear.” he mutters, moving your hair off your face. “Did you manage to eat something today?”

“No. I’m sorry.” You mutter, your voice failing for the first time.

“Don’t do this to me.” His voice comes out pained like yours. He closes his eyes, and his jaw clenches in sadness when he sees the tears start gleaming through your eyes. “Don’t apologize. Don’t cry…” he asks in an almost begging voice.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, love, this is all my fault, it’s-” you catch your breath in your throat and suddenly, you’re falling apart. Days of nothing, weeks of not feeling anything but pain in your chest, despair, panic, and now you’re falling apart in front of him. Your tears stream down your face like overflowing rivers. “It’s my fault.” You say, grabbing handfuls of your hair and tugging your face on your knees. 

Simon feels his own eyes get drenched as he can’t hold his own rivers by seeing you like this. He kneels down to the ground in front of you, pulling your hands from your hair, carefully stopping you from hurting yourself; feels excruciating to him to be able to do nothing.

“It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” He mutters, and you feel your body moving up. He holds you like you’re lightweight and takes his seat where you were sat at, now, holding you like a baby against his lap. You tuck your face on his chest now, the tears wetting his shirt, your painful voice coming out in low groans of pain, a painful cry of a mother who lost her children. The sad dead eyes of a father who watched this happening and couldn’t do nothing about it. The grief of parents, who didn’t have the chance of raising their children.

“Why? It hurts so much, so much.” You say beneath your cry, your eyes drenched, your face red from all of the crying. His hand is caressing the back of your head as he silently cries.

“I know. I know it hurts.” his voice is almost a blow of the wind, a whisper. “I can’t possibly know how it feels for your, my darling, but it feels bloody excruciating to me, everyday. I miss her all of the time.” He admits, his voice like the one of a kid who just lost its parents. “I miss talking to her, feeling her kick in. I miss her.” 

For the past few days, the two of you seemed to be speaking in foreign languages.

Couldn’t understand each other. Couldn’t comprehend. He was in pain, so were you. None of you could see each other, understand each other. The two of you needed space. The fights, the screaming, his complaints about your refusal to get help and your anger for not feeling understood.

Right now, you feel understood.

Who could understand a grieving mother more, than the kid’s grieving father?

You miss moments that didn’t exist. That didn’t even happen.

You shouldn’t have died without even getting the chance of living. Even if for a day.

“I’d give anything to have a day with her. A fucking day, just one.” You mutter in admission, as you hug in his arms and feel his warmth start to make you calmer by the second. Simon closes his eyes in acknowledgement.

“Me too, darling. And I don’t know what can we possibly do so this hurts any less, but I’m pretty sure we can make it easier if we’re together in this.” He affirms, his hand reaching for your face and washing away your tears. You look at his eyes for the very first time in weeks now. “We face it together.” 

The sky is painted in dark blue now as night approaches and the cold finally starts rising completely. You feel it hitting your skin, as Simon has you in his arms and you hum a low lullaby to the air. He runs his hand across your belly like he somehow tries to heal you from the void you’ve been feeling.

If she feels empty, then I’ll fill her with my own love.

You close your eyes and even though in this terribly uncomfortable position, you feel warm, and you feel cared. You rest. You fall asleep in a matter of seconds

None of you had awakened in time to see the cocoon hatch and the butterfly fly out. But for the past months, for the past years - when you were facing the task of emptying your baby’s room along with Simon, or when you were working - and even in other times, when you’d catch yourself thinking about her, you’d see a blue butterfly flying around you. 

Simon was too skeptical to believe, but even so, he’d always catch every butterfly he’d see, and bring it to you. “Look, who’s coming to visit!”

#simon ghost x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #cod fic #simon riley fluff

[covetyou]

freeze-thaw

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: no outbreak, fluff, smut, fingering, playing in the snow, temperature play, Joel probs has super bad circulation, established relationship but it's their first Christmas together and reader has some relationship insecurites word count: 2.7k summary: With your holiday plans ruined when a freak snow storm blows through town, you spend the fesitve period holed up with your partner, Joel Miller, learning exactly how warm you can keep each other in the snow.

A/N: happy holidays and merry sunday @oogaboogasphincter, from your Pedrostories Secret Santa! I went mostly for a snow, with a sprinkling of established relationship, and a dash of doing cozy things. I don't think I've written any of these things before, so it was a learning experience! I used just about every synonym I know for the word cold too.

snowy dividers by @saradika-graphics follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

Your holiday plans had gone to shit the moment that first flurry fell from the sky. Icy roads, cancelled flights, and downed power lines - Texas infrastructure at its finest - had put a halt to your plans to head back north for the holiday. Joel's holiday plans didn't fair much better, and instead of your first Christmas together being spent apart, you were spending your first Christmas together, well, together.

Then, to make a bad thing worse, the power went out, leaving you stuck in the dark and the cold in your apartment, and together suddenly became very together.

It hadn't been the plan - you still felt so very shiny and new at this, at being with him, and the idea of spending such a significant holiday holed up with him terrified you more than the dark ever did. But still, Joel drove on treacherous roads to come pick you up at 3am, dragging you and the perishable food from your refrigerator back to his place for the holidays. He had a generator, and fuel, and enough space for both of you to be comfortable, he said.

You spent the first day keeping to yourself, tiptoeing around, not wanting to disturb him any more than you were. Then he'd caught you circling around the back of the sofa, so as to not disturb his view of the TV, and his deep laughter stopped you dead in your tracks.

A "the fuck are you doin'" later and your insecurities came tumbling out, quickly quashed by Joel as he made it very well known just how much he wanted you there. That night, it didn't take you long to learn how warm you could keep each other.

The second day was spent bundled together on the sofa, him between your legs or you between his.

On the third, you worked up such a sweat together that you'd walked around his house naked, never more grateful for the generator chugging away in the garage.

Eventually, domesticity took over, and you spent a day wrapped up in each other in different ways. Watching a movie, drinking hot coffee, cooking a meal.

You'd trailed behind Joel into the yard on his way to check the generator that same day, Joel wanting to check it was well fueled, and you wanting an excuse to be out of the house for five minutes.

You kick at the snow, enjoying it for a few moments before it inevitably seeps through your shoes and chills your toes. Reaching down, you fluff it through your fingers, throwing a little into the air just to watch it fall again - as if you hadn't seen enough falling snow this last week. Joel is watches you, his eyes burning into your back and a smile tugging at his lips.

"You get inside, I'll deal with all this."

You stick your tongue out at him, trudging further over the snow to spin in the middle of the yard with your arms flung wide. He's laughing along with you when you stop, disorientated and unsteady on your feet. Looking back to him you stop in your tracks, finally seeing the deep gouges that mar the otherwise pristine white crust covering the ground. Yours and Joel's boots, footprints in the snow. Something about it, your foot steps mingling there together for all to see, wretches open your chest and captivates you.

And so, drawn in as you were by the footprints, you write your initials in the snow. Yours first, and then his, joined together and underlined as fact. You hesitate to carve out a frozen heart - too fearful to freeze something so warm and new and growing in something as rigid and fragile as ice - and turn to Joel again, a smile spreading across your face as you gesture to the letters in the snow -

"Oof."

- and a snowball, aimed perfectly at the back of your head a moment ago collides directly with your face. You cough and splutter, briefly blinded by ice as you swipe your freezing fingers over your face, hearing the creak of Joel's boots on the snow as he approaches you with apologies and laughter spilling from his lips in equal measure.

You glower at him, snow undoubtedly caught in your eyebrows, hiding a laugh of your own.

"Get," he says, turning you by the shoulders and pushing lightly to get you back inside. "I'll handle out here, check on the generator. Get warmed up."

Inside, the warmth almost burns as you peel off your layers and check on the food still baking away in the oven. Holding your hands in front of it like it was an open flame, you warm your fingers and wait for Joel, who comes back a few minutes later, chilled to the bone, stomping the snow from his boots and shaking his head as he shudders with the cold.

"Generator's still lookin' good," he says, slapping his gloves down on the counter. He rubs his hands together, blowing on them in an attempt to warm them up faster. Four days now, and the power was still out thanks to a new downfall of snow overnight.

"Your turn to get warm then," you smile, bending down to peer into the oven. "Dinner won't be long now."

"Sounds great, darlin'."

The bitter bubble of air he brought in with him surrounds you as he pulls you into his arms, nuzzling his frosty nose into your hair, laughing with you as you twitch away from the cold.

You expect him to move to the stove, to warm his hands on the heat of the oven just as you did, but instead he draws his fingertips up your belly, pushing your sweater up. Cold fingers meet the soft warmth of your bare skin and you gasp, gripping his arm.

"Joel! Don't you dare."

It was karmic justice really, given the number of times you'd warmed your feet on him in the night recently. You couldn't help it if the man was like a radiator.

"Got old fingers, baby, cold gets to my bones quick. Lemme warm 'em up, I know just the place."

"Fine," you say, tensing and preparing for the incoming press of his icy hand to your belly.

It doesn't come. Instead he tucks his hand down the front of your leggings, dragging the cold with him and holding you tight with his other arm.

"Joel..."

"What? Friction gets 'em warmer quicker. You don't want me to lose 'em to frostbite, do you?" You can feel him smiling into your hair as you gasp at the cold press of his fingertips to the white heat between your legs.

"No. Wouldn't want you gettin' frostbite."

Joel hums into your hair, breathing you in, just as he starts to rub softly over your clit. The sensation makes your skin prickle, first with warmth, then with cold, then something deliciously inbetween.

A moment later he's already slipping them from you and you twist, raising your eyebrow at him and preparing to call him a tease, only to watch as he slides his fingers into his mouth, slicking his cool digits up with his saliva. He's tucking them back into your leggings with a mocking raised eyebrow of his own, kissing the gasp from your lips as his fingers make cold, wet trails down your warm stomach again. They slip against your clit with ease now, but the wetness only exacerbates the chill of his fingers.

The layers of your panties and leggings can't warm up his hand fast enough, and even as he starts to rub gently at you, doing much more than just warming his fingers, you feel a shiver of cold run through you.

"Friction is b-bullshit," you stutter. "Your fingers are still cold as hell."

"Just think how I feel, they're my fingers."

"My heart bleeds for you, Joel," you retort, leaning your head back onto him.

"If it don't feel good, I can stop."

"... I never said anything about stopping," you sigh, closing your eyes and widening your stance a little so he can reach further down.

Joel doesn't need further prompting, his spit slicked fingers slipping through your folds to dip lower between your legs to swipe at your entrance. It seemed counterintuitive, putting something so cold somewhere so warm, but Joel's fingers sliding with ease through the wetness pooled between your legs was proof enough that it did something.

Small strokes become broader, his cold fingers swiping up and down the seam of you as if to prove friction was all he was after. The heat from your core soon begins to warm his fingers, pulling warmth back into his bones and easing the ache in them with each passing moment. Still, it's slow going, and your arousal seems to grow exponentially quicker than the warmth in his fingers.

When they finally feel warmer, and your soft sighs turn to deeper moans, you arch your back, winding your hips along with the movement of his fingers. The cold was no match for how hot you were starting to feel. You would burn the cold right out of him before he was through.

"Joel-"

You gasp again when he slides a single cool finger down and presses it slowly inside of you. His fingertips may have been warmed by friction, but the length of his digits had not, and they still felt icy cold, making you clench and grip around him. Still, no amount of clenching can hide the wetness dripping out of you as he slides in with ease, slicking his finger up before pushing in with a second. He fucks you with them slowly, restricted by the fabric of your leggings, before pulling your arching back flush to his body. A second later his fingers still inside you, anchoring you down just as his palm presses flat against your mound. Warming you up and then cooling you down again over and over was making your head spin, and while you shudder and shiver in his arms, you know it's not the cold that does it this time.

"How are your hands still so cold," you pant.

"Bad circulation, darlin'," he whispers, and you feel yourself grow wetter still at the low gravelly sound of his voice.

"Should get that seen to."

"Good job I got you in the meantime."

The slow curl of his fingers isn't enough, and you find yourself rocking into his frigid palm, eager for the friction to return to your clit now that his fingers are buried deep inside you.

"Grind on it, darlin', that's it. Warm me up."

He rubs the heel of his palm against your clit in sync with your movements, and before you know it you're holding back twitches and biting your lips to stop moans from spilling too loudly out of you.

"You're gonna make me come, Joel."

"Just warmin' my hands, nothin' else."

You can hear the smile in his voice and feel it against your neck as he nuzzles his cold nose into your cheek.

"I know your game, Miller," you say, before groaning once again, pressing back against him with each rock of your hips, feeling the rapid swelling of his cock against your lower back. It seemed you were warming him in more ways than one as his fingers curled inside you, pushing and dragging against that spongy spot on your front wall that he never failed to find.

"Pussy's like a damn furnace. Who needs the generator, when we got this."

His palm is still cold, but you're starting to sweat, feeling the prickle of it across your scalp as you move, panting into the warm air of Joel's home. He could hold you like this forever, be buried in you like this forever as the world outside turned to ice, and you wouldn't mind.

But you're made painfully aware that this can't last forever as you feel yourself getting closer, pressure building inside you with each buck of your hips.

"Joel."

It's dizzying - his slowly warming palm and fingers, now red hot inside of you as they press and press and press at you in a way that would normally have you boneless if you were lying on his bed. But, standing here in the kitchen, you lock out your knees and hold on, white knuckle gripping the counter with your own still cold hands.

A shudder hits you when his cold face nudges yours again, and you turn your head to meet his lips in a kiss. He pulls the warmth from you there too, his cold nose nudging at yours. Even through your panties and the restricted movement of his hand, you can hear how wet you are, sloshing beneath his palm as you let out a keening moan straight into his mouth.

"S'okay. I got you."

He coaxes it out of you, you can feel it coming, his fingers picking up the pace, making the nudge of his palm just right, for just long enough, to send you skyrocketing in his arms.

It's white hot, sending a shiver down your spine as an orgasm ripples through you, twinkling behind your eyelids before exploding in your core, a muted breathy scream pulling from you with each gasping breath that leaves your mouth. You're falling apart as he holds you together, coming on his fingers and beneath his palm as he grinds it into every rock of your hips. Well practiced hands stop just as you're hitting a point of oversensitivity, cupping and holding onto you gently as you go as limp as you can in his arms, knees locked to keep you upright.

He swallows down each of your moans greedily, until you're left breathing heavy, forehead pressed to his. You feel half asleep, even standing on two feet.

"S'your turn," you mumble, only to be dissmissed by Joel with a promise of "later". You're grateful for it, feeling too sleepy to function all of a sudden, until Joel's voice rumbles through you once more.

"I'd say you make a great handwarmer, darlin'."

Laughter spills out of you, warm and bright, the heat in your cheeks warming his nose as he nuzzles against you once again.

"Only one problem," he murmurs, the cottonwool slowly clearing from your head.

"Mm?"

"Got two hands."

His other hand is still cold, he knows it is, but that doesn't stop him from snaking it up your waist, under your sweater and tickling at your bare stomach. You crumple in on yourself, legs that had held you through orgasm buckling as you twitch and laugh into him, smacking your fists into his sturdy chest.

"Stop, stop! You ass- asshole! J-Joel! Stop it!"

He lets you taste the laugh on his lips, kissing you once more as his cold hand rests against your bare skin.

"C'mon, let's eat."

You end that day as it started, wrapped up together, oblivious to the world outside and warmer than you had any right to be in a snow storm.

By the fifth day, the storm has passed, and by the sixth the power is back on, just in time for the big day. You both barely notice, staying wrapped up and warm together over the holiday.

You return to your apartment in the New Year and, even though the power has been back on for days and the heat has been pumping steadily, the place has never felt so cold.

In the years to come, you'd ask Joel about that week - the first of a New Year, and the first without you after having you around for so long. He'd tell you how cold it felt, how empty his house was without you in it. And when you turn up on his doorstep at the end of that first week, sniffling and crying and telling him you missed him, he'll crumple, telling you he felt exactly the same before drawing you into his arms and pulling you inside.

And then, eventually, in a home that was his and is now yours, you'll be sat in warmth and sunshine - as unexpected to the you of back then as a snowball to the face - watching your combined families meet for a Christmas not turned on its head by a Texan snow storm.

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr

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#pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #coveted fics

[gyusimp]

°• 🍡 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚜���𝚘𝚗𝚜 🍡 •° [Dom Mitsuri Kanroji x Fem reader]

Ok, I know this post is a bit different so let me explain. I have a friend who's sickly in love with Mitsuri, so she literally paid me to write a fic for her hahaha. I had never written femxfem before, doing this took me out of my comfort zone and even helped me unblock myself! It was a new experience and at the same time fun, I was satisfied with the result so I wanted to post it here in case anyone is interested lmao otherwise just ignore it. I'll post it on AO3 later too.

°•Read Part 02 here!

🍡WARNINGS: NSFW | Fem character x fem reader | Smut | Modern AU | Both of them are adults | Minors DON'T interact.

You were outside her door, in the hallway of her apartment after ringing the bell. Mitsuri would not take long to leave and so it was. After about 10 seconds she appeared on the other side of the door with a big smile on her face as she invited you in.

You had a math test in 1 week at university, you weren't exactly good at math so your friend immediately offered to give you some lessons, practice some topics and help you pass the test with the highest possible score.

"Welcome back, y/n-chan!" She greeted you, excited.

You took off your shoes and left them at the entrance and then headed to Mitsuri's room, the sound of your bare feet and hers walking on the floor accompanied their voices down the hall until she entered her room. The study desk was clean and tidy ready to work so you put your small backpack on the floor next to the bed and sat on one of the chairs that Mitsuri had brought.

"Thank you so much Mitsuri, you have no idea how much this will help me, you are amazing." You thanked her, for the thousandth time since she offered you her help.

"It's nothing y/n-chan! Anything for my friend" she said with flushed cheeks, moving one of her hands while holding her face embarrassedly with the other. "How about we start now?" One took a seat next to the other, you took out some graph paper, your pencil case and your math book. You told Mitsuri what you had to study and which ones were difficult for you, she was not only very good at math but she was also very sweet and patient with you so that gave you enough confidence to ask all the questions you wanted.

She was as sweet as a kindergarten teacher, she even congratulated you when the answer in the exercises you did was correct. It had already been 1 hour and a half since the study session began so the best thing was a short break to clear your mind and prevent you from falling asleep.

"You're doing great! How about a 20 minute break?"

"Cool, I didn't want to fall asleep." You joked, laughing with Mitsuri.

"I'll go get a glass of water, do you want water too?" She asked.

"OK thanks."

Mitsuri stood up and stretched raising her arms, you looked for no reason in her direction without thinking and watched just as she adjusted her skirt after standing up making your chest jump. Mitsuri always wore tight or short clothes, and this skirt was very short so you could see the beginning of her butt as she started to walk towards the door. When she left the room you tried to erase that image from your head and think about something else, maybe read your notes again and thus distract yourself quickly but all that came to mind was the scene when she opened the door of her apartment and the first thing you saw after her face was her tight bust under the little t-shirt she was wearing and that prominent v-neckline showing a big part of the beginning of her boobs. Was it starting to get hot? You decided to take off the cardigan you were wearing and freshen up, luckily you were wearing shorts and a tank top.

After a few seconds, the pink-haired girl entered the room with 2 glasses of water in her hands, the water was so cold that small drops slipped down the glass.

"Thanks girl, this was what I needed." You said, hoping that drinking something cool would stop your pulse racing.

ೃ࿐♡ೃ࿐♡ೃ࿐♡ೃ࿐♡ೃ࿐♡ೃ࿐♡

About 25 minutes of class passed after having had that little break time, you were starting to get bored and despite putting all your effort into paying attention you couldn't solve this exercise. The problems were the most difficult and Mitsuri noticed your frustrated expression trying to solve it.

"Do you have any question?" She asked attentively.

"I can't understand this part, do the exponents have to be multiplied here too? Agh! I feel so stupid..."

"You're not stupid y/n-chan! You've already managed to solve other exercises, you're very smart!"

You looked at the clock on the screen of your cell phone, there was still time to complete the agreed 2 hours of study so you sighed tired when you thought about it.

"So far you've done really well, so I think we can take another break." Mitsuri said, trying to cheer you up.

"Ok, I hope that helps." You got up from the chair and stretched again as did Mitsuri. She got up from the chair and walked to her bed to get on and crawl on the mattress towards the pillows, you looked behind you and realized two things that made you feel too nervous again. She sat cross-legged but her skirt was very short so inevitably you could see her panties and because of the position of her legs you could have seen more but you decided to place your eyes elsewhere.

"Even I feel a bit tired" Mitsuri said.

"What are you talking about? I'm the one who's been burning out her one neuron." You teased, both of you laughing in unison.

"I mean, I've never spent so much time sitting in those chairs, I usually use my bed as a study area so now my back is tingling haha."

"Me too!" You said, sitting on the bed next to her.

Mitsuri sighed and ran one of her hands over her shoulder and back. "Do you mind?" She asked. You didn't have time to react when she reached under her clothes to unhook her bra and remove it, throwing it elsewhere.

"N-not at all, don't worry." You and Mitsuri were quite confident so she was used to doing things like this in front of you without knowing that you were trying hard to hide your nerves.

"These things can be really uncomfortable sometimes, especially when, well...you know." She said, pouting as she massaged her breasts. Why had she done that? Now you felt bad for not being able to stop seeing her. Her little shirt was so tight to her body that it hugged her breasts perfectly, making her nipples stand out from under the fabric. Her breasts were large and the way they bounced under her clothes when she took off her bra kept replaying inside your head. "Sure you're not hot? I can turn on the fan if you want."

"Oh thank you. I'd like that very much."

You stayed sitting on the bed hugging your knees while Mitsuri stood up to go turn on the fan. When you felt the cool breeze hit your skin, you couldn't help but close your eyes and lie down on the pillows while leaving your legs bent. You felt a movement on the mattress so you assumed that Mitsuri had returned to the bed but then she didn't move again and remained silent so you wonder if she was still there or had left the room so you opened your eyes to find out. When you opened your eyes, you caught Mitsuri looking directly at your thighs and between your legs, with your knees bent that way she could easily see your panties under your shorts. This definitely made you too nervous, you were about to sit down and close your legs but another thought came to your head faster. She was also watching you like you were a while ago so that got you a bit horny.

Your face was very red just like Mitsuri's when she felt trapped by you but despite that she didn't try to hide what she was doing or at least try to look a little shy so that only made you keep moving forward.

"All in order?" You asked, spreading your legs with the excuse that your knees were blocking the view of her face in front of you.

At this point it was quite likely that you didn't care anymore and both of you would completely lose your shame.

"What are you talking about?" Mitsuri asked, starting to crawl towards you on the mattress.

"You didn't stop looking at me, it's unfair if I have my eyes closed." You answer.

Sometimes you two used to joke around in similar ways but now, things were getting a bit further, you both subconsciously expected one of you to stop but you kept going. You kept your legs open and Mitsuri lay on your abdomen between them, causing your core to rub dangerously against her and feeling her breasts lean against you.

"Of course that's fair, you were looking at me too so now we're even." She said, making you blush.

Both of you fell silent, Mitsuri staring at you while you tried to look anywhere but her face and that included the low neckline of her t-shirt in front of you. Mitsuri moved in place, at first you thought that she was settling into her place or she would just get up and the class would continue but everything changed when you realized that she started rubbing on you provocatively. Mitsuri settled her legs on the bed keeping one straight and the other bent to rub her own core against her panties and the mattress making her large breasts massage over you. The position of her legs made her little skirt mess up, leaving her butt exposed, showing you her tight little lace panties.

You didn't say anything, you just gasped and spread your legs more so that she could fit better in the middle of you. She smiled at you with desire so that she felt more confident to move as she wanted. Mitsuri placed her arms on each side of you to hold on better and continue rubbing on the mattress and on top of you, she even had the courage to start panting a little just to annoy you and increase your blush. Mitsuri wouldn't stop looking at you and see  doing this kind of thing made you feel too nervous and even more when she was so close to you; but you'd be lying if you thought this moment was weird or awkward, each passing minute turning you on more and more and just waiting for one thing to lead to the next. You wondered if at some point she was going to touch you.

"This feels s-so good..." Mitsuri gasped. She settled between your legs and lowered one of her hands to her panties to take them and rub them better against her wet core. "You've never tried this before y/n-chan?...it feels really good."

"N-no..." you managed to reply, feeling her breasts on you turned you on more and more besides the sight in front of you.

"Really? Never before?...self-satisfaction is just as important as self-love, girl." She told you.

You didn't know what to answer, Mitsuri settled back and took her hand out from between her legs. She held on to the mattress again and it was after that when she groped her hand directly between your legs inside your shorts, over your dressed cunt making you arch your back in surprise. You were about to say something but you didn't even have time because she started rubbing her fingers against your panties causing a lot of friction with each brush of the fabric.

"A-AAH!" You moaned, surprised to feel her fingers in your panties.

Hearing your voice like that made Mitsuri turn on more, causing her to start moving her fingers faster as well as her hips against the bed. With every movement, she could feel her wet panties brushing over and over again in the middle of her slit, right on her slippery clit. The feeling was perfect so she wanted you to experience it too.

"Y/n-chan...I want to make you feel really good, aah-ah." she moaned.

Mitsuri took her hand out of your panties for just an instant, grabbing your shorts and pulling them down over your hips and butt until she took them off and tossed them around, exposing your black lace panties fitting your pussy on her face.

The pink-haired girl's fingers took the center of your panties and she began to rub the fabric making sure that each touch was right on your clit just like she did until little by little you were wetting the fabric of your underwear; you even started to move your hips to get a better feel. Mitsuri noticed that you began to get wet very quickly and slowly began to moan in need.

"D-doesn't that feel amazing?" Mitsuri asked. "The rub on the clit is perfect-aah! I'm so-so wet! And you too...mmhh."

You were both about to cum if she continued like this, but Mitsuri didn't want this to happen, at least not yet. She wanted to try more things and at the same time make sure that you enjoyed it as much as she did. Mitsuri stopped and got up, tooked off her skirt and sat up to crawl over to you.

"Don't you think it would be better to feel…closer?" She proposed to you, biting her pink lip. She traced a line with her finger all over your slit, feeling your wet labia. "We are both very wet." You stayed in the same position and Mitsuri imitated it in front of you, legs spread and leaning on her arms on the bed. "I'd like to feel you…here" she said, spreading her legs and making her panties shift to let her cunt peek out from under the fabric.

"Then do it..." you replied.

Hearing that made her heart jump with happiness. Mitsuri came up to you and took your panties off, then she got rid of her panties as well and left them lying around. She took your thighs squeezing them sensually to accommodate your legs around her waist and make you hook her between your legs. She did the same and that's when you realized how flexible Mitsuri was when she spread your legs and hers and hooked you in the same way against the bed, letting her breasts crash against yours almost on your face. When he was in the position she wanted, she dropped putting some pressure on you and sat down so that her pussy was exactly on yours, making you moan when you felt his wet labia. Mitsuri leaned over and settled on your hips, holding onto her arms on either side of you and beginning to move her hips, slow movements in circles and back and forth. The contact between your most sensitive points was direct, the position of the open legs of both and each of the movements made your lips move and your cunts open to collide and slide against each other.

Wet sounds began to accompany your and her moans throughout the room, you moved your hips against Mitsuri's to cause more friction. Both cunts wet rubbing each other, your clit massaging against Mitsuri's was the most perfect sensation you've ever felt in your life. You looked up or squeezed your eyes but when you looked ahead and saw Mitsuri's neckline you completely sank in pleasure and didn't take your eyes off her. Her tits moved and bounced on you with each of her thrusts, her hard nipples standing out under her tight t-shirt. Mitsuri's movements began to get faster and faster, crashing and bouncing off of you, she began to grind her vagina against yours increasing the odds of bringing both of you an amazing orgasm. You realized something, Mitsuri's t-shirt was too small and her bust was too big, her boobs began to bounce more and more forcefully from her cleavage and seeing that made you crazy and she didn't seem to care at all; she just kept moving on you, getting wet on your vagina until the position she was in and her strong thrusts caused one of her breasts to come completely out of her clothes bouncing on you and then her other tit did the same. You didn't take your eyes off her, her pink nipples were rubbing on your chest so you decided to take them to massage them with your hands and make her as aroused as you were.

"Y-your boobs are so big-aah! I love them."

"You're also...a-aah- you're beautiful y/n-chan! Your little wet cunt is so cute ah-mnnh!" Mitsuri moved away from you a bit and took off her shirt, making her breasts bounce even more when she took it off. You didn't stop seeing her for a second, moving more.

When she returned to the position she was in, you put both hands directly on her butt to massage it and put some downward pressure so that your cunt was closer to hers, you squeezed and touched her ass making her moan for a long time until that you felt the need for more. Your left hand slid between her buttocks until it reached her wet pussy and your right hand began to play with your own pussy or the part that Mitsuri's couldn't cover, wetting the fingers of both hands, pumping your own hole and feeling this made Mitsuri squirm on top of you, leaning her head back moaning with all her might and moving faster on top of you. Your juices and hers splashed between her slippery cunt and your legs spread wider to rub you with each of her folds.

"AA-AH! Yy/n...y/n-chan! Mmghh-aah!! D-you think you're gonna cum already?"

You couldn't even answer because you were about to, you moved your hips hard to feel Mitsuri on your clit while you tightened around your fingers, you squeezed Mitsuri's ass again making her moan as you did when a warm sensation it went down from your abdomen straight into your pelvis.

"AAH-AAH MITSURI!! I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum! AAH!!"

Your legs spread wide, your back arched and a sticky white discharge shot straight out of your vagina drenching Mitsuri, causing her to do the same and cum in your pussy. Both wetting each other while she was still bouncing her pussy against yours in reaction to the orgasm until her speed slowed down.

Her thighs and yours were wet and sticky, you saw Mitsuri's breasts and as they glistened with sweat, sweat dripped from the back of your knees to your feet and your legs trembled as did your breath. Mitsuri lay down next to you and let both of you stretch out your legs after staying in that position for so long. Before she fully pulled away from you, you could see thin white threads coming from her cunt joining yours, leaving you wet and feeling slippery between your legs. Mitsuri's chest rose and fell with her heavy breathing, even though neither of you spoke it wasn't an awkward moment at all. You two looked into each other's eyes and different parts of your body at the same time. You didn't know what time it was, you even completely forgot the reason you were here, you saw the desk and looked at all your study material and then you saw the time on the clock next to the bed on a small table. 6:44 pm It was already getting dark outside and that worried you a bit.

"That was a very interesting lesson." You said, breaking the silence.

"We should repeat it another day, don't you think?" Mitsuri spoke, sensually.

"You think so? Then you won't be able to get me out of here that easily in a study session." You joked.

"You don't have to go today, I know it can be dangerous to go out at night so you can spend the night here..."

"You mean...a second round?" You said, getting up to approach Mitsuri.

"If that's what you want."

"Only if you let me go above you this time..." you replied, straddling her.

#kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #mitsuri kanroji #mitsuri #mitsuri x y/n #mitsuri x reader #mitsuri smut #mitsurikanrojismut #mitsurixfemreader #fem x fem #kimetsu no yaiba smut

[acewithapaintbrush]

This is now on Ao3 we well

Shanks has been acting weird ever since he ate that stupid fruit. 

"Are you angry with me?" Luffy asks one day when Shanks once again looks at him 'that way' and the stupid, sticky feeling in his chest just won't go away. 

The pirate blinks and takes a sip of his beer before he answers. The sticky feeling grows bigger. "How is your picture coming along?" 

Luffy scrunches up his nose so his tears won't fall. That's what Makino does when she doesn't want to answer his questions. Ask a question herself so he forgets what he was asking in the first place. But Luffy is smarter now, a big boy, and this is important. He pointedly puts the pencil down and doesn't forget. 

"Is Shanks angry with me 'cause I ate the stupid fruit?" 

Maybe he wasn't so successful about the tears because Shanks lowers his tankard and he gets this serious look on his face, the one he gets when he tells Luffy that the sea is a dangerous place and that he's not ready yet (he is he is he is). 

"No Luffy, I'm not angry." He sighs and seems to look through the little boy for a moment and mumbles under his breath. "A little worried, maybe." 

But Luffy has good ears. "Why?" 

Shanks jolts as if he didn't expect to have been heard. After a second of indecision he grins and ruffles dark hair. "Worried you are gonna eat the hair off of our heads! Why would you eat a fruit anyway? I thought you only liked meat?" 

Luffy shoves his hand away with a huff. He likes it when Shanks ruffles his hair, but he can't let the captain know that 'cause it's just another sign that he's still a little kid.

"I do! But the fruit told me to!" 

Luffy is too busy smoothing down his hair to notice Shanks grow absolutely still beside him. The whole crew, who has had one ear on their conversation this whole time, freezes. Tankards pause midair, conversations break off abruptly, chewing stops. An unnatural quiet falls over the bar. 

Shanks takes a deep breath. He runs a hand over his mouth, tries to gather enough spit to speak. 

"The fruit told you?" he asks, careful, casual. He needn't have bothered. Luffy is already bent over his paper again, drawing himself as a member of Shanks crew, completely oblivious to the tension in the air. 

(the picture will leave the port with Shanks weeks later and he will treasure it for the rest of his life but it will also always remind him of this moment, the moment he finally gets it, the moment it all falls into place, the missing puzzle piece he didn't even know he was missing) 

"Uh huh! The box made a sound, like bump bump bump and when I looked inside the fruit told me to take a bite, told me it would be fun, we would have lots of fun together. But it wasn't fun, it tasted bad." He sticks out his tongue and makes a face. "Super bad. But I guess rubber power is kinda fun. So I'll forgive the stupid fruit for tasting bad." 

Shanks is trying his hardest to breathe. He can feel Beck come up behind him, can feel him put a hand on his shoulder. The hand is shaking. "Kid, what-" 

"It was dark in that box." Luffy says. He sounds absent, his voice flat and distracted. His red pencil moves over the paper in a slow, meticulous manner, as if on auto pilot. Shanks can't shake the feeling that they aren't really talking to Luffy anymore. Or at least not only Luffy. 

"It was dark and you can't be free in the dark, you can't bring freedom in the dark. You need a light. You need the sun. There is a lot of sun on the seas, even in dark places. So we are gonna sail the seas and be free. And we're gonna have so much fun." 

Beck is crushing his shoulder, the whole crew is holding its breath. This feels like something sacred, like a moment in time that will never come again, a conversation that could change your whole life.

Roger would know what to say. 

Roger would laugh and know exactly what to say. 

Shanks feels like crying. He has no idea what to say.

"I-" 

The tip of the red pencil breaks off and Luffy flinches the slightest bit. He blinks at the paper as if he's seeing it for the first time before he grins and holds it up for Shanks and the others to see. 

"It's done! Do you like it?" 

Shanks isn't really looking at the drawing. All he sees is that boy and that grin and those eyes, bright and alive. 

"Joyboy." 

Luffy tilts his head. "What?" 

Shanks puts a hand over his heart and tells it to stop beating so hard, tells his voice to stop shaking. "You are truly a joy, my boy." 

It's a weird thing to say, nothing he's ever told Luffy before. But the kid beams and leans forwards as if Shanks has just offered him the world on a silver platter. 

(You have, haven't you? The world in a box.) 

"Does that mean you'll take me with you?" 

Shanks laughs and it sounds normal, it sounds familiar again. He pokes a small forehead and grins. 

"Nope. You are not ready yet." 

'But you will be,' he thinks as Luffy pouts and the rest of the crew tease him. 'One day you will be ready. And just maybe the rest of the world will be ready for you as well.' 

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #gear 5 luffy #one piece luffy #one piece shanks #one piece meta #Listen I just really love the idea that the devil fruit chose liffy #Because it took one look at that kid and was like #Yeah you are perfect

[coolshadowtwins]

SVSSS YQY Fan Fic Round up!

Ok, I finally have them all together! Please enjoy these fanfics, and if you have any to recomend that's not on here, feel free to say! I'll add it later!

First off, The YQY Weekend 2023 AO3 collection and The QiJiu Week 2023 I'm going to recommend as the entire pages! Great places to go find a fanfic to enjoy! Some might be double recomanded, but some should be unique!

Mouse On The Thorn by Lbhs_left_tiddie

On a mission, Yue Qingyuan comes across an omega child, who shares a name and a startling resemblance with his favourite shidi. Shen Qingqiu, however, denies knowing such a child, and make it very clear he wants nothing to do with him.

Without any family or home, Yue Qingyuan instead offers to take care of the child.

Palimpsest by Azzandra

Yue Qingyuan has one giant blindspot as a sect leader, and that's Shen Qingqiu.

But now a curse has made him forget Shen Qingqiu, and that changes some things.

gather jewels from graveyards by formerlyknives 

When strange rumours reach Cang Qiong, Shen Yuan is a little slow to investigate.

He lives to regret it.

The number children by Angry_gremlin_commando

Ten-year-old Mobei Wu, fifth son of the current Mobei-Jun, gets stranded in the human realm after one of his uncle's murder attempts. There he meets fifteen-year-old Yue Qi, fresh out of Lingxi caves and on the way to rescue Shen Jiu.

It turns out even ice demons aren't immune to Yue Qi's Big Brother energy. (This author has a good number of stories to check out! Go look at them!!)

A smile for the master, a snarl for the wolves by Angry_gremlin_commando

Shen Qingqiu and his young disciple Luo Binghe qi-deviate at the same time and swap bodies. It makes them understand some things about each other.

To Plant a Garden by SweetTiramisu

Yue Qingyuan spends so long beneath the earth that he becomes a part of it. Perhaps Shen Qingqiu will plant a garden in him.

Written for Qijiu Week Day 2: Touch Starvation.

bite your way to safety by AMereDream

The Geese come at a time that neither Shen Jiu nor Yue Qi considers ideal. They make it work. (This author has so many good fics! Go read them! This is just the one I chose to put on this list!)

You Were You, And I Was I by MissMegh

Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan qi deviate and turn into their teenaged selves. They don't know who they become. They don't remember the worst moments of their lives. They only know they're together again.

Pretty soon everyone on Cang Qiong Mountain knows they are, too.

Our Sect Leader Is A Baby! by dryingmangoes

Yue Qingyuan gets deaged. Somehow this changes everything.

for day 2 of qijiu week blessing/curse

Treading Well-Worn Paths by mofumofu

After Shen Qingqiu married Luo Binghe, Yue Qingyuan thought his role in the man’s life was over.

However, as he carried the child-sized lord of Qing Jing Peak in his arms, he was grateful for this unexpected opportunity to bond with the person he cherished most.

Shen Yuan, meanwhile, wondered desperately where the hell he was.

hey, share the weight a little by Tossawary

Shang Qinghua is miserable as an outer disciple of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, doubtful that the plot will ever begin, when he finally runs into his first character. Yue Qingyuan is only a boy in desperate need of a helpful friend. Well, why shouldn't Shang Qinghua be that friend? A little investment now when they're young and Shang Qinghua might just be able to survive this world with the support of a sect leader.

It's definitely not because he's also in desperate need of a friend.

(He's definitely not expecting love.)

you're my number one by pennydaniels

Yue Qingyuan is granted a chance to have his heart's deepest desire made real by a mysterious goddess living in a small sect's private temple.

The Evening by kat8cha

Yue Qingyuan wakes up, he gets dressed, he goes to work, he goes to the gym, he goes to a party.

He pays people to tell him what to wear, people to tell him where to be, people to tell him what to do, and pays for someone else's engagement party.

A broken mirror restored by bunnyfication

Yue Qingyuan is hit over the head with the realization that he could ask Shen Qingqiu to marry him, Shen Qingqiu's suspicious mind cannot make sense of the sequence of events. Yue Qingyuan would never, would he? What is this, mind control??? (it's happiness, but neither of them has ever felt it before).

nobody, nobody told me by AMereDream

“Qingqiu-shidi,” he started. “Are you al—”

Xiao Jiu tugged, surprisingly strong for someone who had collapsed out of nowhere less than an hour before. Yue Qingyuan followed, partly out of surprise and partly because it was Xiao Jiu; of course he’d go wherever Xiao Jiu wanted him to be.

He found himself being dragged onto the bed, only the thin sheets separating him from Xiao Jiu's body. His breath caught in his chest, and he clenched his eyes shut.

Xiao Jiu's bony elbows dug into his chest, his thin — too thin, having skipped too many meals even for someone who didn’t need to eat — shoulders curved to meet Yue Qingyuan’s body.

His long hair tickled Yue Qingyuan’s face. He smelled like the honeyed soap he washed his hair with. Yue Qingyuan inhaled covertly, deep and greedy.

 

One morning, Shen Qingqiu woke up a changed man. Yue Qingyuan is left trying to figure out what happened to make him so relaxed and affectionate.

#svsss #svsss au #svsss fanfiction #yue qingyuan #shen jiu #shen qingqiu #qijiu #79 #yueshang #shang qinghua

[gloomysoup]

when the world stops turning (my heart stops beating)

hello hello i bring you some actual writing for once how exciting !! this is based off this post by @acowardinmordor once i saw it my brain just wouldn't stop until i fleshed it out into something relatively coherent so here it is !! if this does well i'll probably put it up on ao3 later

ao3 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4

cw: drugs, illusions to drug abuse and overdose, minor character death, illusions to major character death (probably temporary), panic attack, medical crisis

When Eddie was eight years old, he found his mother on the bathroom floor, a half-empty bottle of pills in her hand. She wouldn't wake up. Eddie hadn't known what to do, so he wandered across the way to his favorite neighbor’s house. Mrs. Westbrooke was an older widow who'd lived in the same house for decades. Once Eddie had told her his mom wasn't waking up, she called for an ambulance. The paramedics came and took his mom to the hospital. Eddie stayed with Mrs. Westbrooke until Wayne came to pick him up.

That was the first time he spent more than a night or two at Wayne’s. It was about a week and a half before he was taken back home. The same thing happened a year and a half later. His mom passed out on the kitchen floor that time, and it was a baggie of colorful pills instead. Something she'd gotten from a friend of his dad. Something his dad had gotten her hooked on several months prior, when the doctor stopped writing her prescriptions. He was with Wayne for three days before his dad came to get him. Two weeks later, he was on Wayne’s doorstep with a single bag of everything he owned, his dad behind bars. He'd been with Wayne ever since.

His uncle had made a promise to him that first night, when Eddie finally realized this was it. He was with Wayne for good. There was no going back. He'd promised Eddie none of that would ever happen again. He didn't have to worry about Wayne disappearing in the flashing red and blue lights. He wouldn't find him half-dead on the floor of their trailer. He was safe. Eddie believed him. For years, Eddie believed Wayne was right. He'd never once let Eddie down before. He was always there. He took him in when he had nowhere else to go.

Too bad Wayne couldn't have predicted this.

New York City. June 1994. A sold out show at Madison Square Garden. Eddie on stage with his best friends. His boyfriend watching from the wings. How it was always supposed to go.

The air was fizzing with energy. The crowd was screaming so loud. Eddie’s heart was pounding, blood rushing with adrenaline. He kissed Steve hard in the green room, a promise between them of more to come. Steve wished him luck, and it was time to take the stage. They'd finally made it. All their hard work was paying off.

About halfway through the set, Steve disappeared. Eddie wasn't worried. He didn't know he should've been. When they came off stage, the crowd was still screaming, and the band was riding the high of a great show. It felt amazing. It was more than they ever dreamed, growing up the way they did in a town like Hawkins. Eddie was grinning so wide his cheeks hurt.

“Anyone seen Steve?” he asked, handing off his guitar and starting to pull off his mic pack.

“Not for a while,” one of the techs responded. “Said something about the bathroom, I think, but he never came back.”

Eddie frowned, a little confused. It wasn't like Steve not to be there when he came off stage.

“He's probably just waiting in the green room, Ed,” Gareth said, knocking his shoulder against Eddie’s as he passed. “I'm sure there's nothing to worry about.”

Eddie didn't hang around with the others. He headed straight for the green room, hoping Gareth was right. There was a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. The same feeling he got all those years ago, right before he opened the front door to find his mom on the kitchen floor. It ate away at his insides, churning deep and uncomfortably. His heart was racing, and it was no longer due to the high energy of the show. Panic was coursing through his veins.

His hand hesitated on the door to the green room. He felt eight years old again, knocking on Mrs. Westbrooke’s door when he couldn't wake his mom up to make dinner. His hands trembled as he grabbed the knob and twisted, easing it open. The room was empty. Eddie’s heart plummeted. Steve wasn't there. Steve was missing, and Eddie had this horrible feeling spreading through his entire body. He still wasn't sure why the feeling was there; he had never once had a reason to believe Steve was doing anything harder than weed. It was still there, though, and Eddie was panicking. He needed to find Steve. He had to make sure Steve was okay.

He headed for the bathroom next. The techs had said he went to the bathroom. Maybe something happened. Maybe he hit his head and couldn't remember where he was. The feeling said otherwise, but Eddie refused to believe it. He was overreacting. Steve was fine.

He was lying to himself.

The bathroom door was unlocked. He pushed it open, knocking. “Steve? Are you in here?” he called. He could barely hear through the rush of blood in his ears. He stepped inside, and he was sure his heart stopped beating altogether.

Just like that, he was ten years old. His mother was dead on the kitchen floor. Mrs. Westbrooke held him on her front porch as his mother was taken away in a blur of red and blue. He was ten years old, watching Wayne’s old pickup coming up the drive. Through the pounding in his ears, he could faintly hear the gravel crunching under the tires of the red truck. An odd comfort. A reminder of safety. What he wouldn't give to have that again right now.

“She wouldn't wake up, Uncle Wayne,” Eddie said softly, his voice trembling as a few tears rolled down his cheeks.

Wayne bent down, his old knees creaking, and pulled Eddie into a tight hug. “I'm sorry, Ed.” He squeezed tighter, letting Eddie bury his face in his worn flannel. “You're gonna come stay with me for a couple days, ‘til everythin' gets settled.”

“I don't got any clothes, Wayne.”

“Don't you worry ‘bout that right now. We’ll figure somethin’ out. I promise it’ll be alright.”

Steve was lying on the bathroom floor. Eddie couldn't breathe. There was a bag of colorful pills, so similar to the ones his mom had taken, sitting on the sink counter. Next to it was a line of white powder. Eddie’s vision blurred with tears as he dropped next to Steve, shaking his shoulder.

“Steve? Steve, baby, wake up. Please wake up.” Eddie was gasping for breath through his sobs as he tried to shake Steve awake. It wasn't working. He wasn't waking up.

“Mama? Mama, come on. You gotta get up.” Eddie crouched down next to her, shaking her shoulder. “Mama, please. You can't sleep on the floor.”

“Please, baby,” Eddie begged, pulling Steve into his arms on the bathroom floor. “Please. I can't lose you too, Steve. You gotta wake up. Please wake up.”

“Eddie? Are you okay?” The bathroom door opened. Jeff walked in, stopping dead in the doorway. It only took a few seconds for him to gain his bearings and jump into action. He crossed quickly, bending down next to them. “Shit. What happened?”

“I- he- he won't wake up, Jeff,” Eddie sobbed, still holding Steve tightly.

“Okay. Okay, let's not panic yet.”

The cracks in Jeff’s voice were not comforting. Eddie was already panicking. He'd been panicking since the feeling started to solidify, since he didn't find Steve in the green room. Eddie was well past not panicking. Eddie was teetering on the edge of a full-blown panic attack.

Jeff glanced around, took notice of the drugs on the counter, the way Steve’s chest wasn't rising or falling. He wasn't breathing at all. Jeff stood up quickly. “I'll go get help. I’ll be right back, Eddie. It's gonna be okay.”

Jeff ran from the bathroom. Eddie could barely hear the slap on his shoes on the linoleum in the hall over the sound of his own sobbing, the blood still rushing in his ears despite it feeling like his heart had stopped beating. He held Steve against his chest, burying his face in his hair. He silently begged the universe not to take Steve away from him. He wouldn't be able to handle losing anyone else. He needed Steve.

Eddie wasn't sure how much time passed before Jeff came back, paramedics in tow. All he knew was that Steve wasn't waking up. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he begged and cried, Steve wasn't waking up. His skin was pale and starting to grow cold. There's remnants of white powder on his nose. The paramedics try to move him from Eddie’s arms, but Eddie can't let go. He can't lose Steve.

“Eddie, you have to let go,” Jeff said gently, trying to tug Eddie’s arms off Steve.

Eddie shook his head. “I- I can't- can't, Jeff,” he forced out between sobs.

“The paramedics are gonna help him, Ed, but they can't do that unless you let go.”

“The paramedics are gonna try to help your mama, honey,” Mrs. Westbrooke promised eight-year-old Eddie as they watched from her porch. “Everything'll be alright, don't you worry.”

He missed Mrs. Westbrooke. He wished she were here to hold him, tell him he would be okay. He wanted to sit on her porch in the creaky rocking chairs, eating fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. He wanted safety and familiarity. It'd been a hard day for Eddie when the old woman died. He'd give anything to be back there with her, instead of here in this living nightmare.

Eddie reluctantly released Steve. The paramedics moved him to lie flat on the floor. Jeff’s arms wrapped around Eddie as he continued to sob. Eddie’s hands grasped at Jeff’s shirt. It was clean and dry. He must've changed after the show. Before he found them. The paramedics took Steve away, but Eddie couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. His whole body shook. He couldn't stop sobbing. Over and over, all he could think was that he felt like a little kid again, back when everything was falling apart. Steve was going to die, just like his mom did.

It was all Eddie’s fault.

#gloomysoup writing #gloomysoup writes #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fic #stranger things fic #eddie stranger things #steve stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steddie fics #steddie angst #steddie au #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington angst #rockstar!eddie munson #tw drugs #tw drug abuse #tw overdose

[fushiglow]

satosugu mailman au 💌

a very special delivery for @kymsys's birthday! how many days will it take for satoru to fall in love with his new mailman? let's find out!!

here's part one for my tumblr pals to enjoy! however, i'll be posting this work over quite a few days over on twitter/x, so please head over there if you want to follow along! if you don't have an account, i'll be uploading the entire thing to my ao3 when it's done — so don't fret ♥️ enjoy the fic!!

There were three things Gojō Satoru loved above all else: sweets, scale model kits, and sleep. He was a simple man in that sense — really, he asked for very little except a healthy supply of sugary treats, the occasional plastic mech, and an undisturbed lie-in seven days a week. So, when the shrill ring of his doorbell wrenched Satoru from a beautiful dream at exactly 8am on a Monday morning? Needless to say, he wasn’t pleased. Now, Satoru wasn’t an unreasonable person. He understood that the rest of the world started moving a little earlier than him — which is why Satoru had taken special measures to protect his precious rest without hindering anyone else. He’d chosen a job that allowed him to work from home, forgone the company of a housemate in favour of living alone, and — most importantly for a hobbyist like Satoru who ordered more kits, paints, and crafting tools than any one person needed — installed a secure parcel drop box outside his front door, preventing the need for anyone to pester him. That’s why Satoru didn’t bother getting out of bed after the first ring, assuming that the person who’d decided to disturb him would eventually figure it out for themselves. Perhaps they were a bit slow though — because less than thirty seconds later, the doorbell came screaming through the house again. Swearing into his pillow, Satoru pulled the duvet up to his ears. All he could do was hope they’d leave quickly so he could snatch at least some sleep in the 45 minutes left until his alarm went off. No such luck. Right when Satoru thought it was safe to relax, the doorbell started up again — and this time, it didn’t stop. With a stream of profanities falling from his lips, Satoru hauled himself out of bed, seeing red as he stomped down the stairs and marched across the hallway to the front door. He flung it open with a frustrated snarl, preparing to share some choice words with the impatient piece of shit on the other side — only for his insults to die on his tongue at the sight of the man standing before him. The broadest shoulders he’d ever laid eyes on; thick arms, tanned and toned; a muscular torso tapering down to a tiny waist — and all packaged in a uniform, for god’s sake. When Satoru finally managed to lift his jaw off the floor, he looked up at the man’s face and the damn thing unhinged from his skull all over again. He was all sharp cheekbones and sunkissed skin and the sweetest smile Satoru had ever seen. Perhaps a little too sweet now that he really looked at it. ‘I think your doorbell is broken.’

Sure, the guy was hot — easily the prettiest person Satoru had ever seen — but that didn’t stop his eye from twitching at the blatant passive aggression masked behind that sickly sweet smile. Satoru matched it with one of his own. ‘I assure you, it’s not.’ ‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’ Satoru didn't think he seemed sorry in the slightest — even if his voice did sound like melted chocolate. ‘I’ve got a parcel for Gojō Satoru?’ When hot mailman tilted his head to the right, a lock of glossy black hair fell into his face. Too short to secure in his bun and too short to tuck behind his ear, he simply brushed it away from warm eyes the colour of honey. Satoru wondered if every part of him was as gorgeous. ‘It needs a signature.’ Shocked out of his stupor, Satoru's gaze travelled to the box at the right of the door. ’The regular guy always puts them in there.’ Hot mailman simply beamed at him. ‘Do I look like the regular guy to you?’ No, Satoru thought. There’s nothing regular about you. As though he could read minds, hot mailman winked at him. ‘Then I’ll need a signature, please.’ And god — he was so effortlessly charming that, for the first time in his life, Satoru found himself speechless. For a long moment, he simply stood there, gawping like an idiot. When hot mailman eventually quirked an amused eyebrow in his direction, Satoru had no choice but to take the signature pad being waved at him, managing to make a hash of his name before wordlessly handing it back. Having completely and utterly embarrassed himself, Satoru had started to retreat into the safety of his home when a strong hand closed around the edge of the door. Hot mailman popped his head around the side. ‘You forgot your parcel.’ Satoru watched those amber eyes as they slid down the length of his body — and hot mailman's sickly sweet smile morphed into a devilish grin. ‘Your clothes, too.’ Glancing down at himself, Satoru’s heart stopped in his chest when he realised he’d answered the door in nothing but his boxers — and not fitted Calvin Kleins that emphasised what he was working with either. No, the ratty, stretched out Digimon boxers he’d owned since he was 17. With a mortified squeak, Satoru snatched the parcel from hot mailman’s hands and slammed the door in his face, uncaring of whether his stupid bangs got caught in the doorframe. Tossing the package onto the floor, Satoru brought his palms to his rapidly heating cheeks, taking a moment to stare into the silence of his hallway. Then, he summoned all the air in his lungs and let out the single loudest ‘fuck!’ he’d ever produced. Hot mailman’s beautiful laughter travelled down the entire length of the driveway.

#hbd my love!! 🫰 #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #satosugu #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk fic #gojo satoru #geto suguru #sugusato #stsg #sgst #五夏 #夏五 #goge #gego #呪術廻戦 #my writing #fushiglow