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lincolndjarin · 11 months ago

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Not So Secret Santa

javier peña x fem!reader

this is a part of the @pedrostories gift exchange!!

summary : you get the only person you didn't want for your offices secret santa.

warnings/tags : 18+ mdni, enemies/friends to lovers, canon divergence, steve is your boss/close friend, reader and javier have a complicated relationship, reader is insecure, brief mentions of alcohol, porn with plot, smut, light angst, javier and reader fight physically but it's very light with no actual injury, masturbation, semi-public sex, p in v, idk how to properly tag this but javi likes boobs in this so he touches boobs, unprotected sex (don't do this, wrap it this holiday season), use of a makeshift gag, rough yet very loving sex because it's christmas and christmas magic means i can write what i want.

tldr : you and javi have sex in his office and you put his tie in his mouth to shut him up.

word count : 4.4k

✦ : merry christmas @taro-666 !!! i'm your secret santa !!! i hope you're well this holiday season and i hope you enjoy this fic !! i haven't written much peña, despite how much i love him so i hope i did him justice and i hope you have a wonderful holiday <3 <3 (also sorry this is a little late (20 minuetes left before midnight so we're good). i was out with family all day and was only just now able to get to my laptop, i promise i didn't forget about you lmao)

no use of y/n, reader has hair and painted nails & javier sort of half picks her up at one point, nothing else is described besides clothing.

lovely dividers by @saradika-graphics

“Please, Steve, I’ll give you a week's pay.” You lean across his desk, genuine desperation in your voice after an hour of begging.

“Not gonna happen.” He doesn’t even bother looking up from his computer.

“A month.” Your voice is starting to pitch up, something similar to anguish in your tone. Your offer finally gets a reaction out of him as his eyes widen, head tilting up.

“Jesus, you can’t be serious.” He’s examining your expression, trying to determine the sincerity of your claim.

“My entire Christmas bonus.”

“Okay, stop.” He sighs, giving you a sympathetic look. “We’re not allowed to switch.”

“When did you become such a stickler for the rules?” You cross your arms in front of your chest.

“It’s just a secret Santa. He’s our friend, whether you like it or not, you two are close and this shouldn’t be this big of a deal, now go, please, I need to finish up here so I can leave at a reasonable hour.” He loosens his tie as you sigh.

“It’s not just a secret Santa, Steve. It’s an opportunity for him to tell me that I once again didn’t do something right. No matter what I get him, it isn’t going to be good enough.” Even as you’re saying it you can see that he isn’t going to change his mind about this.

“He’s a dick to everybody. That’s inevitable, it just means he’s comfortable with you.” He’s already turning back to his work.

“Please, Steve.”

“No.”

You glare down at him, giving him your angriest look as his gaze tilts back up to meet yours.

When it’s clear that he isn’t going to switch you turn and leave, slamming his office door in the process.

“Don’t forget, I need you here early to help set up for the party!” His muffled voice seeps out into the hall as you walk away.

Once you’re out in your car and far away from prying eyes you unfold the damned slip of paper you’d drawn earlier today.

Javier P.

Of course, you got stuck with fucking Peña, a nickname you’d given him a few months ago. He absolutely hates it but the entire time you’ve worked for the DEA he’s gone out of his way to bother you. Sure, he’s your “friend”, in a strange, complicated way. But he still drives you up the wall with his constant need to one up you and the way he’s constantly making passes at women around the office.

And it’s not like you have any problems with him sleeping around, lord knows you’ve had a fair amount of one night stands, but he just has to hit on every woman you work with.

Every single woman, except you.

You’d never admit it of course but a part of you will always be self conscious about that fact. It doesn’t help that Javier absolutely adores bothering you at every possible moment. He loves nothing more than to pester, annoy, and mock you, spending nearly half his day leaning over your desk despite the million complaints you’ve sent Steve about his persistent partner.

He’ll sit on your desk, doing an endless amount of things to cause you distress. Like crowding you with his cigarette smell and vanilla cologne as he tells you you’re filling papers wrong, or telling you what colors to paint your nails, or solving your cases before you can even get to them, or teasing you about your shitty car. Today he wouldn’t stop bothering you about your weekend plans like he doesn’t already know exactly where you’ll be.

“Are you doing anything this weekend?” He’d asked with that devastating smirk and eyebrow raise combo.

“I have to go buy my secret Santa gift, just like everyone else.” You’d turned away, avoiding eye contact as he scoffed.

“What about Saturday?” He continued to pry, you wanted nothing more than to shove his perfect ass off your desk.

“The Christmas party, Javi. Just like everyone else.” You had sighed, squeezing the bridge of your nose as Emilia had walked past your desk. Javier immediately forgot your entire conversation as he turned to her.

“I love your nails.” He’d pushed his hair out of his face, holding his hand out to take hers, getting a closer look at the well manicured designs.

You had tuned out after that. Not wanting to be involved in the exchange as you went back to typing. Acutely aware of your own nails.

Red chipped paint.

You couldn’t help but wonder what it must be like to be the object of his affection.

It wouldn’t matter if he did hit on you, you would probably reject him anyway.

Probably.

It doesn’t matter, it’s never gonna happen so why let it bother you?

With a sigh you toss the paper into your cup holder, reaching to turn on the radio, maybe some Christmas music will make you feel better. Of course nothing happens as you turn up the volume knob but it makes you want to scream regardless.

Stupid fucking Peña.

Stupid broken radio, stupid shitty car.

“Fuck.” You mumble under your breath as you shift into drive.

Before you know it you’re back in your car in the DEA office parking lot, this time a few things are different though.

You’re dressed nicer, trading your slacks in for a skirt and your dress shirt for a sweater. And of course you now have a small wrapped box in your lap.

Since you had yesterday off for the holiday you spent your Friday at the mall, searching for a gift for Javier. Eventually you had settled on three little things; Nicotine gum, mostly because you’ll get more work done if he isn’t constantly dragging you outside for his smoke breaks. He complains too much about going alone and it’s always been easier not to argue, now he can stay at your desk with his gum. Beard oil, the fancy stuff he always insists on using in his mustache. You’d bought him the wrong kind last year for his birthday and you still haven’t heard the end of it. And a lighter, you had to beg the shop owner to make an exception and do a same day engraving of his birthday.

Jesus.

You know way too much about him.

You arrived two hours early as requested by Steve to help him set up. With the wrapped box tucked under your arm you anxiously tap the patterned wrapping paper with your freshly manicured nails.

“You should paint your nails green, I love green.” He had said through a drag of his cigarette.

Why did you let that idiot's opinions influence this decision? You feel foolish. The green chrome polish shimmering in the street lights in the parking lot as you step into the building. You had extra time while you were waiting for the engraving and you just couldn’t help yourself when the salon was just a few stores away. The image of Javier holding your hand and examining your painted nails while telling you how nice they looked was just too tempting. Maybe he’d even ask if you did it just for him, and you could drag him into a closet at the party, the exact situation you watched unfold last year. Except in that scenario you weren’t the lucky lady he’d run off with that night.

There’s no time to be thinking like that.

You shake off whatever filth you were imagining as you look around the hectic mess of garland and glitter.

Steve is already stressing, setting up tables as you set your gift under the tree before getting to work. The office is already mostly decorated but with his new position as supervisor Steve is insistent that everything be perfect his first Christmas in charge. So you plate food, and you mix drinks exactly as he wants them, and you hold the ladder steady when he insists on putting more lights up. When you’ve got about a half an hour before guests start arriving you’re finishing up and last minute touches, the two of you crowded around a drink tower.

The tension from your conversation yesterday seems to have fizzled out as you become engrossed in your work, when you’ve both finished he gives you an appreciative look.

“Thank you, seriously, it means a lot.” You help him adjust his tie as he straightens out his shirt.

“Anytime, although I’m surprised you didn’t just ask Javier.” You pat his shoulder as you finish, brushing a stray blonde hair out of his eyes.

He laughs, a nervous chuckle that makes you raise an eyebrow but when you open your mouth to comment on it he lets out a relieved sigh as the first of your coworkers arrive.

More people show up than you could have expected.

You stay near Steve for most of the beginning until he gets dragged away by one of the higher ups who had made an appearance, leaving you alone to sip your drink against the back wall. You hum along to a Christmas song that plays loud enough to drown out any conversation you might eavesdrop on to entertain yourself in his absence, your eyes scan the crowds as you try to match up the people you work with with their spouses.

You’re getting ready to find another group to talk to when you catch a glimpse of him standing against the opposite wall, talking to Bonnie, the woman who works in the cubicle next to yours.

Fucking Peña. Dressed in a stupidly tight green dress shirt.

You should leave them alone, especially if he’s trying to make a move on her. But you can’t help it as you make your way around the room towards them, a vague sense of jealousy settling in your stomach.

String lights twinkle across the ceiling of the office, creating a warm ambience throughout the space, just as you’re about to tap him on the shoulder you overhear their conversation.

“I had to beg Steve to switch with me, took an hour of convincing and a week's paycheck but it’ll be worth it to see the look on her face.” His back is to you as he leans in closer to Bonnie.

He’s probably talking about one of the other women from the office. Steve probably had someone Javier was trying to impress and that’s why Steve didn’t want to trade with you, he had already promised his pick to Javier.

Whatever, you can’t be too bothered about that. It does make you want to return to your spot on the other side of the room but you don’t get the chance to as the music is turned down rather suddenly.

One of the secretaries, Benjamin, stands on a chair, making an announcement that it’s time to do the secret Santa. You manage to twist through the crowds so Javier never sees you, finding his gift and bringing it to where he now stands, simultaneously keeping an eye out for your own gift.

You hand him the box, watching the way his face lights up.

“You picked me?” He grins as you nod, carefully peeling back the wrapping paper as you feel a tap on your shoulder. Benjamin waits behind you, leaning in to whisper while you watch Javier open his gift.

“It was short notice so we didn’t have time to get you a back up gift but your secret Santa told us at the last minute that he forgot to get you something, he promised to bring in something after New Years, I’m so sorry.” You feel a little disappointed as he murmurs but it isn’t that big of a deal, it’s a busy time of year and people can forget things.

“No worries, do you know who it was? I’d like to at least tell them it’s fine.” You turn away from Javier as he smiles at the nicotine gum, Benjamin's eyes flicker from your face to Javier’s before he gives you a sympathetic look, walking away.

Javier traded for your name?

As your head tilts to look at him now you can see the smirk he’s now sporting.

“ …but it’ll be worth it to see the look on her face.”

Javier had made a conscious effort to get your name just so he could not get you something.

Huh.

That doesn’t feel great. The look he gets to see on your face is betrayal and then just sadness. You don’t really care what the reason for his decision is, you turn and walk away from him regardless. If he tries to say something to you it’s drowned out by the music that starts once again.

Why are you so upset over some stupid joke? If it had been anyone else you wouldn’t have cared, you’d have brushed it off as a harmless accident but this wasn’t an accident.

Maybe he didn’t really think of you as a friend.

Maybe all of the teasing and one-upmanship really was from a place of animosity and you were just too blind and too infatuated to see it. You want to cry but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction so you sift through the bowl of keys, searching for the Star Wars keychain attached to your lanyard but you can’t find it. The combination of the blaring Christmas songs with the frustration you’re currently feeling only makes you more emotional.

You don’t want to go to the bathrooms where you might run into someone and you can’t go to Steve’s office because he might be talking to his supervisor, so you go to the only place you know there won’t be people.

Javier’s office.

You walk as quickly as you can, slipping inside as you slam the door shut behind you, clicking the lock in place before turning around, resting against the door as you feel tears spilling from your eyes. It isn’t until he clears his throat that your head snaps up.

Today is just not your day.

Did he know you’d come here? How the hell did he beat you here? He’s fidgeting with the lighter you bought him, watching it light and go out as he sits with your keys in his other hand.

Your face feels hot as you take in the sight of him.

“Give me my keys.” You hold your hand out, wiping your eyes with the other as you wait. Of course he doesn’t hand them over, that would be too easy and today is insisting on being difficult.

“I really liked your gift. Seriously, this is… outrageously thoughtful.” He murmurs, seemingly unaware of your mood until he takes a closer look at you, his expression shifting as he realizes your eyes are rimmed with red. “Why are you so upset? What happened?” He slides open a drawer, tossing your keys into his desk while you consider calling a cab.

What a foolish question.

How could he possibly not know?

“I want to leave, I’m sick of this party.” You turn to leave, maybe Steve can drive you home.

“Come on, the parties barely started.” He’s on his feet, he doesn’t try to corner you, if anything he sets himself against the wall.

“And I want to leave.” When you reach for the doorknob he grabs your wrist, holding it as he stares at you, a look of impatience crosses his face.

“Don’t tell me you’re mad about the secret Santa.” His brows furrow.

“This isn’t about a stupid secret Santa.”

“It sure seems like it is.” He’s still holding your wrist, why is he still holding your wrist?

This isn’t about the secret Santa. It’s a lot more than that, and after ages of keeping your thoughts to yourself in front of him you just let it out.

“This is about the fact that you don’t even care about me enough to make any sort of effort. I know you deliberately chose me, you specifically chose to do this to me and I don’t care that it’s just a stupid prank. It still- It’s still a shitty thing to do.” Your voice starts cracking half way through and you can feel your eyes welling up again but it doesn’t matter anymore, you were wrong, the two of you aren’t friends.

“So this is about the secret Santa.”

Of course he wouldn’t get it.

“You’re an idiot.” You finally pull your wrist from him.

You aren’t sure what else to do so you shove him, his back hitting the wall with a soft thud as you push past him to get to his desk, hoping to grab your keys but he catches your waist first.

“Can you stop being so stubborn for five seconds and just let me explain myself?” You can tell his patience is wearing thin, his voice is strained as he pulls you back against him, caging you against his chest with his arms.

“Fuck Javi- let me go-” You try to kick his knees but he anticipates it, shifting his legs to avoid you.

“Just wait- listen to me.” He swings you around a bit as he tries to still you, you can feel his breath hitching, the buttons of his shirt digging into your back. The two of you thrash around for another moment until you freeze, feeling something poking your hip. When he realizes why you stopped putting up a fight he lets you go in an instant. “Shit- I-I’m sorry.” He stammers as you turn around towards him, eyes wide.

You never thought you’d see Javier Peña flustered yet here he is. When you take a step back his cheeks are burning red, his fingers twitch nervously at his side, and as much as you try to ignore it, his pants are tighter than usual. (And considering how tight they usually are this is quite a feat.) He won’t look you in the eye.

“It- It’s fine, Javi.” You adjust the hem of your skirt, trying to fix your hair. You just can’t catch a break today. “It was an accident, there was a lot of- of friction and it happens. I think I should just go.” You stutter a bit trying to find the right words. This entire evening has been catastrophic, and you’re more than ready to call it a night.

“It’s not an accident.” He mumbles, finally looking at you, not bothering with subtlety as he adjusts himself. “You should probably go.”

If it’s not an accident you don’t want to go.

You want to stay and keep making accidents, starting with rushing forward into him, taking his face in your hands and kissing him. Which is exactly what you do. At first he doesn’t react and you worry you read the situation wrong but when you pull away, just an inch, his hands envelop you.

Hips, waist, back, shoulders, hair. He’s everywhere, all consuming as his teeth graze your lips, in an instant your backside hits his desk.

When he finally does remove his lips from yours his are slick and a tiny bit swollen, his pupils swallow his irises whole.

“I loved your gift, I wasn’t joking, it’s perfect and the last thing I want is for you to think that I don’t care about you. Of course we’re friends, you-” As he rambles on you ball up the end of his tie, unceremoniously shoving it between his teeth.

“Talk later, this now.” You grab the bottom of your sweater, pulling it up over your head, watching his jaw tense at the sight of your chest, his hands playing with the strap of your bra as you hop up onto his desk. Hiking your skirt up, he slots himself between your legs, your own fingers push your panties to the side as he reaches behind you, easily twisting the clasp of your bra to release it, tossing it to the side as his enormous palms engulf your breasts.

You dip your fingers into the wetness between your legs, briefly taking a moment to wonder how you found yourself here. Just moments ago you were ready to leave and consider your friendship with Javier over, yet now you’re spread out on his desk, on display for him as you sink your fingers into your eager cunt.

You don’t get to linger on the thought for long because he groans into the fabric of his tie and you’re pulled back into the moment.

Jesus you’re soaked.

You have no trouble pushing two slick digits into yourself. You can feel the outline of him against your thigh and you know that you need to warm yourself up to take him. He’s too engrossed in your tits to do it right now and you’ve waited too long for this, you don’t want to wait, you just want to have him.

He’s tender at first, squeezing and softly tracing the outline of your areola until he seemingly can’t control himself any longer and he pinches, rolling your nipples between his thumb and pointer finger as your whine. Back arching of the oak of his desk as you curl your own fingers. Even through the tie his moans are still somehow louder than yours, you’re briefly worried about someone hearing as you let out a whimper while he tweaks your nipple but the music’s so loud at the party you can hear Mariah Carey from here.

You don’t stop for a second, putting your focus on reaching the peak that you find yourself already getting startlingly close to. You can feel yourself pulsing as you pick up the pace, reveling in the way his eyes devour the very sight of you. You’re agonizingly close when he grabs your wrist, removing your fingers carefully as you try and resist, wanting to finish what you started, you’re about to whine when he begins unzipping his pants. You can feel your pussy clenching at the very sight of him, of course he isn’t wearing any underwear under his dress pants so the second his zipper is fully down his cock springs free.

Javier fucking Peña has a gorgeous cock.

Standing stiff and proud without either one of you even having to touch it. Pretty and pink on the tip, already leaking down the shaft. And heavy, as he takes it in his hand, his other hand gripping your waist as lines himself at your entrance. He takes a moment, eyes scanning your face, silently asking for permission.

You can’t nod fast enough but the second that you do he slides into you.

You could never conjure up something this good in your fantasies. The way he fills you, stretching you open as he whimpers into the fabric of his tie, you like that he listened, that he kept it in his mouth this long. His strokes are needy and fast, like he’s been waiting for this for so long and now he can’t help but be ravenous. You were already painfully close before he filled you with his perfect cock, it takes only a few minutes for you to be right back there. His fingers dig into your waist so hard that you’re certain he’ll leave marks as he slams in and out of you, pulling out almost entirely with every thrust.

You’re vaguely aware of the sound of his trinkets rolling off his desk and onto the floor.

“Javi, Javi, Javi.” Between gasps you chant his name, the sound encouraging him as he pushes in deep, his pelvis grinding against your clit until you see stars. Your cunt clenching around him as your orgasm is ripped out of you. Messy and loud and blurry, he fucks you through it. You’re so blissed out you can barely focus on the persistent pounding into you until you manage to come back to your senses and his hands leave your waist, instead intertwining with your fingers as his hips twitch forward and you feel him hastily pull out of you.

He spits his tie out, opting to instead bite your shoulder as he comes, the groan that leaves his throat is obscene. Raspy and filthy as he collapses down on top of you, the two of you sweating and gasping amongst the paperwork and pens now scattered across his desk.

Did that really just happen?

He manages to collect himself first, leaning back and tucking himself into his pants before quickly tending to you. He grabs a few tissues, wiping your stomach where the product of your activities lay, before redressing you, slipping the flats that had slipped off, back onto your feet, pulling your skirt back down to cover you as he slides your panties back into place, and retrieving your bra and sweater, lifting you into a sitting position as he redresses you, kissing your cheeks, nose, and forehead the entire time.

“All good?” He whispers, gentler than you’ve ever heard him as you nod, grinning.

“Good enough to make me forgive you for not getting me a present.” You reach into his drawer, grabbing your keys before sliding off of his desk.

“Maybe this was your present.” He tilts his head, kissing you again, smiling all the while.

“That was the perfect gift then.” Probably the best you’ve ever gotten.

“Are you gonna stay for the rest of the party?” He takes your hands in his, his thumbs absentmindedly rubbing circles into your skin.

“I think I need to go to bed after that.” You laugh as you jingle your keys, turning towards the door as he catches your lips in another kiss.

It makes your heart flutter. The continued affection makes you think this isn’t a one time thing. You want more. You want conversations about feelings, and to talk about what just happened, you want to feel him inside you again, and the look in his eyes tells you that you’re going to get all of that. But right now you’re tired, so the rest can wait.

“Can I walk you to your car?” You nod as he murmurs.

He doesn’t let go of your hand, walking you out of the building towards your car, opening the door for you and giving you one last kiss with a promise that he’d call you tomorrow, before you watched him walk back into the building.

Your phone buzzes as you turn your key in the ignition, the sound of Wham! fills the car, Last Christmas playing softly. You take your phone out of your pocket, checking the text notification from Javier.

[ i forgot to tell you how pretty your nails are. merry christmas hermosa ]

Your head turns up in surprise as you realize your radio is working. A new radio system is installed in the center of your dashboard, with a little green bow taped to the top, and a paper tag with Javi’s familiar messy handwriting.

from : your secret fucking santa

a/n : happy holidays everyone!!

#pedrostoriesgift23 #lincolndjarin #taro-666 <3 #javier pena smut #javier peña #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal

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auspicioustidings · 3 months ago

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Now I pretty much missed the whole thing, but to be clear Barracks Bunny is a derogatory term which is why it's hot in the context of dark content? It's also very hot to imagine the likes of Soap actively claiming the term because he loves that it's a degrading way to call him a slut? Like you are interacting with darkfic, what's not clicking?

Anyway, Gaz gets Soap for secret santa and gets him a playboy bunny outfit as a gag gift only to be gagged when he swans in wearing it with no shame what so ever. This man has been slutting about and not one of his team has called him on it or teased him or said something horribly mean, what's a man gotta do to get some degradation around here? He's trying his fucking best to get one of them to say something mean and they're all just letting him live his life and being supporting? Christ he hopes the discomfort of the thong trying to bisect him and the time he took to make one of the bunny ears flop over just so isn't a waste and they actually take the damn bait for once.

#the way Ghost would absolutely humiliate this man and speak to him like he is dirt if he'd actually use his words and ask #because he is not going to just do it without consent and he needs that consent to be led by the other party #but Soap thinks he is being all coy and alluring

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disneyprincemuke · 11 months ago

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santa baby * ls2

it's never fun feeling like an outsider, so you'd sworn that nobody would ever feel the way you did all those years ago

pairings: logan sargeant x platonic!femdriver

notes: hi i know i took forever to write this but uh what r u gonna do? ik u love me B)

you hum, whirling around at the camera crew settling right by the front of the mercedes racing home. “ah, it’s that time of years again, isn’t it?”

“yes! are you excited?”

you nod with a smile as you see a box being pulled out of the cart they’ve been lugging around in the paddocks for the video. “have you seen the present? got any hints for me?”

“aw, we can’t do that,” she giggles. “where’s the fun in that?”

secret santa is the yearly affair that you find yourself looking forward to as the year progresses. it’s always the santa hat and the fun of guessing who’s gotten you what this year. what used to be a silly game of gag gifts when you first started out, is now an endearing event filled with thoughtful gifts that you keep on your shelf for years to come.

last year, max had gotten your name. he is very thoughtful with his presents. his present sits at the top of your shelf: a paper mache trophy he admitted that he made with penelope (you’ve met her and she loves you) deeming you his toughest competitor in 2022.

you’re curious to see who drew your name this year.

“oh! do i get to keep this one?” you giggle as she hands you a santa hat. you pull it over your head snuggly and clap your hands. “where is it?”

“here.”

a box is handed to you, wrapped neatly in a mercedes green paper. you squeal as you take it into your hands and carefully unwrap it. there is something about wrapping paper that is so incredibly delicate and worth keeping.

you carefully tear at the tape holding the seams and edges of the box.

“any guesses who it could be right off the bat?”

“it could be anyone at this point,” you sigh, shaking your head. “could it be max again? hopefully it’s not charles — who knows what he will give me.” you look up to the camera. “in secret santa terms, of course. he is actually a good gift giver.”

you tear off the wrapping paper, folding it up neatly before pinning it between your body and elbow. “okay. truth time.”

you pull the cover off the box and tilt your head at the array of presents sitting comfortably in mercedes’ coloured confetti.

“what did you get?”

“a ‘best mum’ mug?” you say, coming out in a slight question as you lift up the pastel green mug to the camera. “am i pregnant and somehow it’s passed me?”

you hear a chorus of laughter as you venture further, each of the presents somehow getting weirder by the second. “and a christmas card? seriously?”

you graze your fingers over the 3d design on the card with a small smile, reading ‘merry christmas!’ with a cute doodle of a christmas tree in the centre. “we’ve been instructed to tell you to read that after you get all the presents and guess him correctly.”

your eyes trail to the gold plate in the shape of a star.

“another trophy!” you shriek. you squint your eyes to read the inscription on the plate. you sigh and press your lips together into a thin line. you hold it up. “best grid mum. the spelling alone gives it away!”

you step forward and let the camera zoom into it, the inscription reading “best grid mom”. “logan’s my secret santa?”

“ah, rookie mistake with the spelling there, wasn’t it?” she laughs. “there’s one more gift. he told us to give it to you when you figure it out.”

somebody else reaches out with a frame in their hands. you take it into your hands and smile, a picture of you and logan sitting right outside the mercedes home together for lunch sits tightly behind the glass.

“this is so sweet!” you coo, one hand covering your red cheeks. “do you want me to read the card?” she nods. you open the folded card and read as you speak. “thanks for welcoming me this year to the grid. you’re the best ever. hope i get to race with you longer than just this season. love, your secret santa.”

you look up as tears well in your eyes, looking into the camera. “aw, you’re the sweetest, logan. don’t worry, i’ve already got a present for him this christmas.”

you point to the lens of the camera. “can i grab this thing real quick for dramatic effect?” he nods. you grab the frame of the lens and take a step forward. “james vowles, if you do not re-sign logan hunter sargeant, i know where to find you.”

@cashtons-wife

#logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant x you #fem!driver #f1 female driver #f1 x you #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke inthaf #logan sargeant platonic #disneyprincemuke 3k celly

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captain-hawks · 1 year ago

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THE LINE BETWEEN LUST & CONTEMPT

♡ — kento nanami x f!reader

As you glance down at the skimpy, khaki skirt and blue shirt that’s missing far too many buttons on the top end, topped off with a silky, patterned yellow tie and heels that may actually kill you, you find yourself wondering again who in their right mind let Gojo pitch Secret Santa-style costumes for the Halloween party.

18+ ONLY

wc — 5.5k

content — enemies to lovers speed run, protective Nanami, soft dom!Nanami vibes, "fucking it out", gagged with a tie, oral fixation, spit kink, spitting in mouth, fingering, squirting, handjob, choking, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, washing machine sex, wall sex, praise kink, Nanami’s big dick

— AKA what if nobody went to Shibuya and everyone went to a Halloween party instead?

╰┈➤ kinktober masterlist

“You’re joking, right?”

There’s a familiar chuckle that rings out over the phone, one that often signifies nothing good is to come when you’re on the receiving end of it.

“Does everything fit?” Gojo asks coyly, as if he’s incapable of hearing the thinly-veiled threat in your prior question. It wouldn’t be the first time.

You glare at your phone where it’s perched atop your dresser before returning your gaze to the mirror in front of you, readjusting the blue button down shirt once again in an attempt to keep your chest at least modestly covered—it’s a lost cause.

“Well, this shirt’s somehow missing half the buttons from the top,” you respond dryly, moving on to fix the silky, yellow tie with black spots that’s secured loosely around your neck.

This is a disaster waiting to happen.

“And?”

“And my ass is basically hanging out of this skirt,” you continue, roughly tugging the khaki-coloured material down in vain, as if that will persuade it to extend past its otherwise permanent resting place against your very upper thighs.

“I really don’t see what the problem is.”

Kicking at the precariously tall pair of heels sitting on the floor waiting to wreck your feet, you grumble, “I can’t even walk in heels.”

“Shoko’s house is small. You’ll be fine.”

You walk over to your bed, eyeing the gift bag that Gojo had left sitting on your desk at the school earlier this morning. Something still remains neatly placed at the bottom—a lacy, red lingerie set.

“Should I ask why you bought me lingerie, too? I don’t see how that’s part of the costume. Unless Nanami likes wearing thongs on his days off.”

There’s that fucking chuckle again.

“Nanami-kun loves the color red, don’t you know?”

An unwelcome flash of heat flares white-hot in your gut at the implication behind his words, and you’re mortified. “You’re aware we hate each other, right? Have you been living under a rock? He’ll probably turn around and leave as soon as he walks in and sees me wearing this.”

Gojo’s chuckle turns into an outright laugh, and you can practically hear him shoving his stupid blindfold up to wipe away the tears of amusement prickling at the corners of his ridiculously blue eyes.

“Hate? Yeah, sure. Alright.”

Asshole.

You hang up on him.

–

You had the (dis)pleasure of becoming acquainted with Kento Nanami just over a year ago, shortly after Gojo roped him back into the world of jujutsu sorcery, despite his best efforts to avoid it during his stint as a salaryman. Given that Jujutsu High isn’t exactly brimming with a large roster of full-fledged sorcerers, the two of you have—naturally—been paired up on your fair share of cases.

To say that you don’t work well together is an understatement.

Nanami’s straightforward and calculated way of operating in the field is a direct contrast to your fast and loose approach, one that relies heavily on acting on your feelings in the heat of the moment, rather than calculating precise, measured ratios that guarantee a critical hit.

You’re too reckless.

Too emotional.

Too spontaneous.

Too sentimental.

You grate on him much in the way Gojo does, but whereas there are years of friendship that give Nanami the patience to put up with the strongest sorcerer’s antics, he has no reason to extend that same courtesy to you.

Needless to say, he’d outright balked when Gojo happily announced that you were a grade 1 sorcerer as well, something that never fails to ruffle his feathers as he watches you flirt with dangerous situations time and time again just for the thrill of it, saving your finishing blow of cursed energy for the last possible moment.

“I can’t work with someone who’s actively trying to get themselves killed,” you’d overheard him snapping at Gojo after your second mission together. “She’s worse than you.”

“She always gets the job done, doesn’t she?”

“At the cost of my sanity, I can’t say it’s worth it.”

Admittedly, you may or may not exacerbate the issue on occasion, exaggerating the aforementioned behavior that you know gets on his nerves just to further get a rise out of him in your attempts to try and dislodge the perpetual stick that’s lodged up his ass.

–

When Shoko opens the door to her apartment later that evening, the sounds of music and laughter spilling out onto her front step, she takes one look at your costume, eyes wide, and laughs, “Oh, Nanami is going to love this.”

You exhale dramatically through your nose, though the exasperated gesture is thrown off by the way you then proceed to shiver, your meager outfit doing little to protect you from the crisp October air. “Tell me again why we didn’t veto Gojo’s Secret Santa Halloween?”

She shrugs, stepping aside to let you in as she offers you a knowing glance. “I seem to remember you saying how fun it would be to surprise each other with costumes.”

“That was before he picked my name,” you lament, glancing down at the outfit that you’ve now begun to refer to as The Slutty Salaryman.

“Guess I’m lucky you picked me, then,” she winks, waving a hand to show off the far more modest and fun rendition of Principal Yaga that you’d put together for her, complete with a faux cursed corpse seated on her shoulder with large googly eyes glued to its little bear face. “If it makes you feel any better, someone with a sense of humor clearly got Gojo.”

Careful not to trip and fall to your death in the heels as you head through the entryway to the party beyond, which is bustling with a mixture of familiar faces and strangers alike, you scan the room for a tall head of white hair. True to Shoko’s words, you’re not at all disappointed when you catch sight of Gojo dressed as Gakuganji, looking completely ridiculous with fake facial hair, crudely drawn makeup to add decades to his appearance, and loose-fitting pants that are amusingly unflattering on his lean frame.

It’s not quite revenge, but it’ll do.

–

Two hours pass without a sign of the man you’re dressed as, and for a moment, you’re relieved at the thought that perhaps you’re off the hook. Every little smug, knowing grin Gojo’s been tossing your way will have been for naught.

But perhaps just to spite you, the front door swings open the moment you take a celebratory swig from the glass of wine in your hands, leaving Shoko to pound on your back while you start choking on the liquid at the goddamn sight standing before you.

Nanami’s dressed as Gojo.

Sort of.

His blonde hair can’t quite disobey the laws of gravity like the other sorcerer’s stark white locks, so it hangs soft and loose over the white blindfold on his face, which is lifted just enough over one eye so he can actually see. Rather than don Gojo’s typical uniform, Nanami’s in an all-black suit (save for the tie he never goes anywhere without), the well-fitting material leaving little to the imagination as it snugly hugs his muscled arms and thick thighs.

You’re too distracted to respond to the way Shoko’s snickering in your ear, and when Nanami turns around to talk to someone—thus offering you a view of the outfit from behind—you choke again.

Naturally, you spend the next hour doing everything in your power to avoid Nanami for reasons you’re not quite ready to examine, utilizing an excessive amount of mental gymnastics to justify the way you keep dipping out of conversations every time you catch a flash of blonde hair out of the corner of your eye. The confusing mixture of feelings you’re experiencing has sent your fight-or-flight response into overdrive.

Your concerted efforts take a nosedive when a far-too-observant Gojo manages to wrangle the two of you into a conversation before you can find an excuse to be somewhere else. It’s disastrous at best, Nanami offering a blunt, disinterested list of every poor decision he felt that you made when Gojo asks how your joint assignment the other day went.

And just when you’re about to lay into Nanami about how difficult he made that mission, Shoko grabs you by the hip, resting her head on your shoulder with a smile as she turns to him and asks in a calculating tone, “Nanami-kun, doesn’t her costume look great?”

He glances at you with a gaze full of disinterest before turning to Gojo with an unimpressed look. “I’d never wear such a cheap tie.”

Nanami walks away to get another drink before you can think of a good comeback, though admittedly, the tie is a terrible knock off.

—

“Shit, sorry!”

Cold beer splashes across your chest and soaks the front of your shirt as a man trips and stumbles in your direction, and you groan in annoyance at the feeling of the sticky liquid dripping down your skin. Despite the fact that you wave him off, heading toward the kitchen in search of paper towels, he follows you, spilling out a string of apologies as he himself scrambles for a pile of napkins.

It’s an awkward shuffle of you trying to clean your chest off without flashing him and the man getting entirely too close as he awkwardly makes an attempt to dab your shirt dry. To your relief, he doesn’t make it that far, the fingers now wrapped around his wrist halting his arm midair.

“She’s fine.”

Nanami.

The blindfold is long gone, leaving behind the rare sight of him with no glasses and soft, tousled hair. Internally, you scramble to rustle up the familiar feeling of annoyance that always weighs heavily in your gut at the sight of him. Instead, it’s all you can do to try and keep the hitch in your breath inaudible as you feel your stupid heart trip over itself.

“I’m just—”

“Do you need his help?” Nanami interrupts the man’s slightly slurred words, directing his steely gaze to you.

For all of the endless comebacks you can normally conjure up to hurl back at him between one breath and the next, you’re temporarily rendered speechless in confusion as to why he’s helping you. So instead, you just shake your head.

“She doesn’t need your help,” he repeats, nothing friendly in the way he says it.

The man apologizes again as he drops your arm and scurries from the kitchen, and you turn away from Nanami, leaning against the counter as you attempt to catch your breath and school your expression into something that doesn’t scream, “Why the fuck was that so hot?”

“Are you alright?” he asks carefully, the tinge of concern in his voice sinking into your bones.

Hand coming up short from the now-empty paper towel roll, you let out a sound of frustration, though it’s moreso due to the infuriating way your body’s been reacting all night to a man you normally can’t even be in the same room with without arguing about something.

“Like you said, I’m fine,” you tell him sarcastically, spinning around and pushing past him to grab napkins from the table instead. When all else fails, deflect.

Unfortunately, spinning in heels is arguably one of your worst decisions of the evening, because you instantly lose your balance on the smooth tile floor. When you try to right yourself mid-step, the room tilts as the heel on one shoe cracks under the pressure. Your hands fly up to break your inevitable fall, but it never comes, a pair of arms wrapping firmly around your body and catching you.

Body momentarily on an angle as Nanami holds you against his warm, solid frame, you look up at him with a dumbfounded expression. If he did this in the field, you’d have jumped out of his hold with a snarky remark about not needing his help.

But right now?

Right now, you don’t know what you want.

He stares down at you, nonplussed. “You can’t walk in heels,” he observes.

You blink.

“I can’t walk in heels,” you concede, for once not brimming with the fire to argue.

“And you’re still dripping wet.”

Nanami lifts you back into a standing position, napkins clutched in one hand as he stands on your side with the broken heel and wraps an arm around your waist, helping you to walk. You desperately try to ignore the way it feels to be tucked against him.

You hate him.

Right?

He has you facing the short hallway that you know leads to Shoko’s laundry room instead of the living room. “Should I ask where you’re taking me?”

He looks at you, sighing and shaking his head as he walks you toward another door, flicking on the light before he suddenly hoists you up without warning. You yelp at the feeling of something cold touching the backs of your thighs, short skirt and thin tights doing nothing to protect you from the metal surface you’re now sitting on. Glancing down, you realize he’s put you on top of the washer.

“Here,” he unceremoniously drops the pile of napkins into your lap. “I thought you might want to clean yourself up somewhere more private, given that you seem to be missing most of the buttons on your shirt.”

Is that fucking sarcasm in his voice?

He waves his hand in the direction of the damp blue button down, as if it’s not meant to be an imitation of his trademark outfit.

“And what are you going to d—”

You’re cut off by your own gasp at the feeling of Nanami’s hand wrapping around your ankle, the gentleness of the gesture a stark contrast to the way he’d nearly manhandled the stranger in the kitchen. He raises an eyebrow, holding up the broken-off heel in his other hand.

“Can’t have you limping around Shoko’s house the rest of the night, can we? That’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

You can’t bring yourself to argue, too mesmerized by the way he drags a hand through his blonde hair to push it out of his face, the stubborn locks fighting their way back across his forehead as his brows furrow together in concentration.

You want to card your own hands through it, to see what kind of expression his face will morph into.

No.

“I think they’re a lost cause,” you sigh, leaning forward to take them off and admit defeat. You’re sure Shoko has a pair of slippers somewhere.

You get a face full of Nanami’s hair instead as he beats you to the punch, his long, deft fingers making surprisingly quick work of the tiny buckles as you try not to make it too obvious that you’re now purposely inhaling the scent of his shampoo for whatever fucking reason has compelled your traitorous body to do so.

This entire night is a write off at this point.

Head elsewhere, you belatedly realize that your legs are spread far too wide for the microscopic length of your skirt, which may be why Nanami’s gaze has remained dutifully trained on your feet, rather than the bright red thong you know is staring him in the face. You try not to make it too obvious as you inch your thighs back together.

Putting your shoes on top of the dryer, Nanami goes to leave, turning his head to the side once he’s facing the door, “Do you want me to get Shoko?”

You should say yes.

You should say yes and watch him go back out to the party, letting the door swing shut on this strange, baffling detour in your contemptuous, stormy relationship.

You’ll go home and sleep off the tightening of your throat and the pressure in your chest, these hazy, confusing feelings sure to fade in the night, long gone after sunrise like the evaporation of morning dew.

But you’ve never been one to make things easy for yourself.

“So that’s it?”

Nanami turns around fully, eyes meeting yours. “What do you mean?” he asks carefully.

“You’re just going to go back out to the party?” You’re not sure why you’re pushing him.

He takes two slow steps back toward you, hip brushing against your knee when he comes to a stop. “Are you incapable of getting off of the washer without hurting yourself, too?”

There’s an unfamiliar, teasing lilt to the way he says it, and you shift in place, blood prickling hot beneath your skin. What’s wrong with you tonight?

“You really have nothing to say about my costume?” The words are out of your mouth faster than you can take back the idle thought that’s been nagging you since he walked in the door.

Since you caught him looking at you from across the room several times after his initial biting remark about the tie, his expression unreadable.

Nanami scoffs quietly, the scent of his cologne licking its way up your nostrils as he leans one hand atop the washer, just beside your thigh. Veins bulge against his forearm, and you find yourself wondering when he rolled his sleeves up.

Electricity shoots down your spine as a caress of hot breath tickles the shell of your ear. “What do you want me to say?”

You stare straight ahead, not turning to face him. “How much you hate it.”

The air in the small room is thick with the tension that hangs heavily in the scant space between your bodies. Nanami’s quiet for a moment.

“I do hate it.”

Why do you feel so disappointed by the response you knew you’d get?

Then, his dress shoes scuff against the floor, his right hand coming to rest on your other side as he slides over and cages you in entirely.

“I hate how badly it makes me want to fuck you,” he breathes out.

Suddenly, you feel far too hot and dizzy to be perched atop Shoko’s washer. “What?”

He chuckles darkly. “Don’t act stupid, princess.”

The air feels like it’s rattling in your chest as you inhale, your increased intake of oxygen doing nothing to clear your clouded brain. “You hate me,” you say dumbly.

His thumb twitches, brushing against the outside of your thigh where there’s a small run in your sheer stockings. The contact is so minimal, you barely feel it, but it leaves a burning hot brand echoing through your nervous system all the same.

Despite the fact that he has you caged atop the washing machine, he’s barely touching you, his body arched just enough to avoid the idle sway of your legs. His tie dangles in the space between your bodies, and you have to fight the urge to wrap your fingers around it and tug.

Nanami stares at you, an odd expression on his face. “I hate the way you make me feel,” he corrects you.

Oh.

“But you—”

“You’re reckless.”

“I’m—”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Well—”

“You’re too fucking smart to be risking your life in jujutsu sorcery.”

“You’re one to tal—”

“Too talented—”

“Well that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever—”

“—you have no regard for your own life in the field.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“You infuriate me to no end—”

“Are you hitting on me or trying to hurt my feelings I really can’t te—”

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he rasps, chest heaving.

You stare at him, blinking slowly. “The feeling’s mutual.”

He runs his tongue over his lower lip. “I can’t stand it.”

You can hardly hear the sounds of the party anymore.

“Then do something about it.”

Nanami’s lips come crashing into yours, and every flickering ember in your body flares to life.

There’s a dizzying precision to the way Nanami kisses, mouth claiming yours so thoroughly that a moan crawls its way up your throat before he’s even begun to skirt the seam of your lips with his tongue. Your lips part for him, and he deepens the kiss, one hand cupping the back of your head as his tongue slides over yours.

He explores your mouth like he wants to devour you, and you let him, already dangerously addicted to the taste of his saliva mixing with your own, keening when he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down.

His hand drifts from your thigh to your shirt, and he grunts as he feels the still-damp material. Without hesitation, you begin to undo the few buttons Gojo hadn’t torn off before giving it to you, overcome with the need to feel the pressure of Nanami’s large, callused hands against your bare skin. He slips the loose tie over your head as you toss the soiled shirt aside, a groan escaping his mouth when he finally takes in the unhindered sight of your bright red bra.

While the straps are lace, the cups are thin and sheer, leaving your peaked nipples on display. You almost hadn’t worn it after realizing how little it left to the imagination.

But now, seeing the way Nanami’s jaw ticks as he stares down at you, fingers twitching where they’re resting against the tops of your thighs, you don’t regret it one bit.

Your breasts feel heavy and tender under his rapt attention, and the coil nestled in your gut tightens.

Nanami looks like he’s holding himself back, and you feel a surge of arousal drip between your legs as you watch him teeter at the knife’s edge of his restraint.

“You don’t need to be gentle with me,” you tell him, overcome with the need to feel exactly what it is that he wants to do to you.

He cradles the side of your face, fingers curling behind your ear as he slots his mouth against yours. The kiss is thorough but brief, and soon he’s dragging his lips along the curve of your jaw, mouth blazing a trail down the side of your neck, tongue exploring the dip of your collarbone.

While you know where he’s headed, your entire body still arches hard into him when he finally cups your breasts with both hands, leaning in to wetly mouth at one of them through the material of your bra. He licks and sucks, the sensation making you tremble, and you throw your head back and moan, one leg hooking around his waist to pull him in as you scoot closer to the edge of the washer.

You’re about to take off your bra, but Nanami beats you to the punch, fingers easily flicking open the hooks and allowing your supple breasts to spill out before him. He dives back in, groaning as his lips close around your bare nipple, tongue dancing along the sensitive skin that surrounds the hard bud. His mouth is hot, and slick saliva coats your breasts as he goes back and forth between the two, kneading and sucking.

With both of your legs now wrapped around his waist in the haze of your arousal, you inadvertently begin to rock into him, your short skirt hiked up around your hips and rendered useless. You moan at the feeling of the sizeable shaft that presses hard into the heat between your legs, his erection straining against the zipper of his slacks. Nanami groans as you start shamelessly dry humping him, and your panties dampen further at the feeling of the sound vibrating against your tits. He gazes one of your nipples with his teeth, teasing it a final time before he straightens, hand coming up to cup your cheek.

Nanami stares at you intently, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, eyes tracking the way your pupils dilate in turn. He does it again, and your tongue darts out, grazing the tip. Tilting his head ever so slightly to the side, he presses the tip of his thumb just past the entrance of your lips, eyes darkening as he watches how easily you welcome the intrusion. He drags his thumb down the side of your chin, pulling down your lower lip with his pointer finger, and your lips part.

A small, eager thrum flares in your gut as you take his finger into your mouth, tongue wrapping around it as you coat it with saliva. Your panties are slick with arousal as you continue to chase the friction of his cock, moaning when he puts another finger in your mouth. You begin to bob your head on the digits, sucking on them so eagerly that you can’t bring yourself to care about the drool sliding from the corner of your mouth.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he groans, wiping off the stray saliva with his other thumb and licking his finger clean.

He’s said the same thing time and time again before, but it’s far more preferable in this context.

You whimper in relief when he finally slides that hand down your body, bringing it to rest at the apex of your thighs. The sound is muffled by the fingers still shoved in your mouth, and a sound of amusement rumbles in his chest as he watches you desperately keen and writhe for him.

He drags a finger down the length of your wet pussy, though the contact is muted by your stockings. You begin to shift your hips, a plea for him to tear them off of you, but his impatience wins out as he outright tears them open to gain access to the plush, dripping warmth of your cunt.

“More red,” he murmurs in approval, running his fingers over the matching sheer material that covers your mound, one digit sliding up to firmly tug at the thick, lace waistband that sits high against your hip bones.

“You like red?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

But he surprises you, still. “I like you in red.”

Nanami uses his thumb to push your thong aside, steadily dragging his finger down your soaking wet slit now exposed to him. The digit slides right through your sensitive folds, and he smirks before sliding one long digit knuckle-deep into your tight hole.

You gasp, toes curling as you buck into his touch, already greedy for more. Greedy to be filled.

“More,” you pant out as he slowly pumps the finger in and out of your cunt.

“Open for me,” he tells you, voice low and rough.

You don’t hesitate, lips falling open, and your body radiates with tremors of pleasure as Nanami spits directly into your mouth. Swallowing it down, you moan, drunk on the feeling of submission as he slides in another digit and continues fucking you on his fingers.

“Good girl,” he breathes out heavily. “So pretty like this.”

You shudder under the weight of his praise, something unlocking inside of you as you begin to realize maybe you’ve wanted this from him all along. Needed this from him all along.

“Fuck me, Nanami. Please.”

“Kento,” he corrects you, hair tickling your neck as he leans in, licking and sucking at the junction between your shoulder and neck.

“Fuck me,” you moan, loosening his tie as your fingers trail their way down opening each button of his shirt. “Kento.”

He bites down hard at the sound of his first name on your lips, his gravelly voice like fire against your skin, “Come for me first.”

He picks up his pace, fingers squelching lewdly in your cunt. Your mouth falls open as you try to temper down the loud moans of pleasure you want to give him, aware that all that separates you from the partygoers is the closed door a few feet away.

Kento roughly spits into your mouth again at the same moment that he brings his free hand between your legs to tease your clit, the fingers buried inside of you curling as he strokes your sensitive, spongey wall. A choked out sob leaves you when you come, and he swallows it down with a messy kiss, meeting your muffled cries of pleasure with his own rough moan as he feels you squirt all over him, clear liquid spraying his shirt and pants.

“Fuck,” he groans, the wavering loss of his composure now evident in his voice as you ride out the last waves of your orgasm on his hand.

Overcome with the desire to feel the large erection tented painfully at the front of his pants, your fingers fumble with the button and zipper, a sigh of pleasure leaving you when you finally wrap your hands around his long, thick cock. Kento kisses you filthily, moaning into your mouth as you begin pumping his cock, thumb sliding over the precum dripping from the head.

His large hands grasp your thighs, pulling you as close to the edge of the washer as possible. Kento wraps his own hand around his dick, firmly dragging the head down your creamy slit. You rock forward, chest heaving, muscles clenched tight with desire and need, only to be met with a sharp burst of pleasure as he slaps his cock heavily against your pussy. You whimper for him.

Placing a finger over your lips, which have been far from quiet throughout this ordeal, Kento goes to grab the tie left discarded beside you. However, after his fingers close around the material, he raises a brow and shakes his head, letting it drop to the floor as he begins to loosen his own tie instead.

You make no effort to hide the shameless need on your face as he smirks at you, shaking his head before wrapping the tie around your mouth and gagging you with it.

“I like seeing you desperate,” he murmurs against your ear, before finally sheathing his thick cock inside of you.

His dick is so big, your tight pussy throbs from the stretch while he splits you open, flooding your body with an overwhelming wave of pleasure. Suit jacket already discarded somewhere along the way, your fingers tug off his unbuttoned dress shirt, leaving your hands free to explore the firm expanse of his abdomen.

The washing machine begins to shake loudly with each thrust, and Kento grunts, arms wrapping tightly around you as he lifts you, choosing to fuck you up against the wall instead. The continuous push and drag of his fat cock through your slick channel leaves your mind begging for more.

Your lewd moans are quiet and muffled against the gag, but he can still hear it when you beg, “Harder.”

He obliges, the shelf leaning against the wall beside you trembling ever so slightly when he begins to roughly thrust in and out of your cunt. His cock relentless plunges in to the hilt, your pussy greedily taking every long, thick inch as he fucks you deep. One of his hands runs down the side of your neck, and you find yourself leaning into the pressure, whimpering against the wet material blocking your mouth.

“Should have known you’d like this,” he rasps, hand sliding to the front of your throat as he tightens his grip and starts to choke you. “Now come on my cock.”

The pleasure that erupts inside of you swipes every remaining bit of air from your lungs, a choked out sob crawling its way up your throat as you tremble and shake in Kento’s steady grip, cunt squelching wetly around his dick.

He looks down between your bodies, the sight of the creamy ring you’ve left around the base of his shaft drawing a rough, aroused noise of appreciation from him.

Kento goes to pull out, but you shake your head, a small whine slipping past the tie, and he groans heavily, forehead falling against yours as he slams his cock back in to the hilt. It only takes a few strokes before he’s coming, too, shaft pulsing and throbbing within the tight grip of your slick cunt as he dumps rope after rope of hot cum inside of you, filling you to the brim.

When you’re finished, Kento sets you down carefully, his fingers tender as he undoes the gag and leans in, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss, tongue swiping along your lower lip.

“Are you alright?” He asks, thumb stroking your neck.

You don’t answer him for a beat, and his mouth curls downward in concern, meeting your gaze only to find the deceivingly innocent pout of your lips.

“Don’t tell me you’re done already?” you say.

You should be exhausted from how thoroughly he just fucked you, but instead, you’re already thinking about feeling the thick stretch of his cock inside of you again, and your cunt flutters and aches with a need that’s yet to be sated.

Kento laughs, the sound deep and rich, and you think you could get used to hearing it.

He pulls up your underwear, along with your now-ruined tights, lowering himself down on one knee before you as he presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your cunt while his thick, sticky cum begins to soak into your panties. You exhale shakily, already far too close to undone just from the sight before you alone, and he smirks, standing back up.

Kento takes your chin between his pointer finger and thumb, teasing your bottom lip. “We’re not done, we’re just going to go somewhere where I don’t need to cover your pretty lips next time.”

— likes, comments, &/or reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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psychedelic-ink · 11 months ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓

ㅤㅤ70s rockstar!dieter bravo x innocent fanf!reader

genre: smut, minors dni, 70s rockstar au

word count: 2.2k

summary: it's the 70s and your friend invites you to an underground club where one of your favorite musicians is playing: dieter bravo.

warnings: innocence kink, mild corruption kink, backstage s.ex, piv, dirty talk, weed, oral + handjob (male receiving)

a/n: this is my secret santa gift for @dark-scape! I hope you like it! 🎄🎄🎄 and thank you to @pedrostories who hosted the event, I had a blast writing this and I hope you enjoy, happy holidays! ♡♡♡

You stand at the entrance of the dimly lit alley, feeling the air thick with anticipation. Diane stands right next to you, equally as excited but way more relaxed compared to you. The muffled sound of a soulful guitar seeps through the cracks, sending shivers down your spine.

“Come on, don’t look so scared,” Diane says, taking you by the hand. “There’s a reason why I brought you here today. A little birdie told me Dieter Bravo is playing tonight in secret.”

"Dieter? Like, THE Dieter Bravo?" you stammer, your eyes widening with disbelief.

“The one and only. Now let’s go!”

Excitement bubbles within you as you process the information. Dieter, the musician whose records adorn your bedroom walls, is playing. You can’t believe it. Knots form in your stomach and you have the sudden urge to gag. What would you do if he tried to talk to you?

You vigorously shake your head. That wouldn’t happen. There’s no way he notices you among the crowd.

Nonetheless, you’re still excited.

As you walk in, your heart beats madly within your chest. The air carries a sweet, heavy scent of incense, and the dimly lit space is adorned with wild tapestries. The soulful strumming of a guitar creates a low buzz as people chat and laugh, immersed in the ambiance.

The shifting colors of the lights cast a dreamy glow over the scene. You notice multiple people making out, most of them pushed against the walls. It’s a very close-knit scene. A lava lamp flickers in the background now and then, the shadows playing over the colorful walls.

Navigating through the crowd, you discover the heart of the club—a small stage bathed in psychedelic lights. It’s empty for now and once more you feel your pulse racing. The room pulses with a different kind of energy, experimental and free. Occasionally, there's a hint of something herbal in the air.

Diane leans closer to you, her lips brushing against your ear, “Let’s head to the front, they’re up in five!”

The anticipation in the room reaches its peak as the lights dim even further, and the crowd hushes in unison. The stage comes alive with a burst of colors, and there he is—Dieter Bravo, center stage, bathed in the vibrant hues.

The crowd erupts in cheers and applause as Dieter starts strumming his guitar, the soulful notes resonating through the room. His voice, smooth and magnetic, weaves through the melodies, casting a spell on everyone in the room. You find yourself swaying to the rhythm, completely captivated.

While the music envelops the space, you catch Dieter's eye. His mischievous smile sends a shockwave through you, and you feel your body tingle with embarrassment. Is he really looking at you? The possibility sends your heart into a frenzy.

Diane nudges you, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Looks like someone caught the eye of the rock god himself," she teases, giving you a playful grin.

You can't help but glance back at Dieter, and this time, he holds your gaze. His fingers glide effortlessly over the strings, but his eyes stay locked on yours. Your breath hitches as you watch Dieter play, his fingers moving over the strings with such skill and fluidity. You had never felt this way before, so drawn to someone like this. . . You can't believe how he can make a simple guitar sound so sensual and seductive.

You find yourself unable to look away, and Dieter notices, a sly grin spreading across his lips. Your eyes meet and you feel a jolt of electricity shoot through your body. He winks at you and slowly licks his lips, sending a shiver down your spine.

You can't help but imagine what it would be like to have those talented hands caressing your body, making you feel things you’ve never felt before. But deep down you know it won’t work out. He probably wasn’t even looking at you but at the crowd in general, there’s no way the heat in his gaze was directed at you.

The last note fades into the air, Dieter finally breaks the spell and looks away, confirming your thoughts, yet, a coy smile still plays on his lips. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart and the fire that his performance has ignited inside you.

Dieter stands up from his stool and enters the backstage area. You watch him disappear behind the curtain, but before you can snap out of your daze, someone taps you on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, Dieter would like to see you backstage," a stagehand says, gesturing towards the curtain.

You hesitate, unsure if you should go. But something inside you tugs at your curiosity, and before you know it, you're telling Diane you’ll be back in a second and following the stagehand toward the backstage area.

Stepping behind the curtain, you're hit with a flurry of activity: instruments being packed away, band members chatting, and Dieter standing in the corner, a small smile on his face as he sees you enter.

"Hey," he greets, walking over to you. "I'm glad you came back here."

You smile nervously, feeling a rush of excitement and nerves all at once. You can't believe you're actually standing backstage with Dieter.

Dieter leads you to a secluded small room. You sit down on a couch, and Dieter sits down next to you, his thigh brushing against yours.

"I saw you in the crowd," he says, looking at you with a hint of admiration in his eyes. You notice him pulling out a joint and lighting it. He takes a deep breath before offering it to you.

You shake your head, declining.

"No thanks, I don't smoke," you say, a small smile on your lips.

Dieter raises his eyebrows, his grin growing wider.

"Interesting," he says, his voice laced with amusement. "Usually the people that come to my shows can’t wait to get a hit. I can’t wait to get to know you more. . . intimately."

Dieter's words send a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but feel a spark of excitement at the thought of him being interested in you. You've always had a bit of an innocent personality, and the idea of Dieter being drawn to that only adds fuel to the fire.

He leans in closer to you, warm breath tickling your cheek.

"I have a bit of a soft spot for innocent types like you," he says, his voice low. "It turns me on."

A surge of heat spreads through your body, and you can feel yourself burning up under his gaze. You can't believe this is happening, that Dieter of all people is showing interest in you.

He leans in even closer, his lips almost brushing against your ear as he whispers, "I want to show you a good time."

Dieter's words send a jolt of arousal through you, and you get lost in the moment as he starts kissing your neck. But a sense of embarrassment washes over you, and you feel the need to stop him before things go any further.

"Wait," you murmur, pulling back slightly. "I've never done this before."

Dieter smiles, his lips brushing against your skin as he speaks. "That's even better."

Your heart races at his words, and you feel yourself getting even more wet. Dieter takes your wrist and guides your hand to his impressive bulge, causing you to gasp at the feeling of him underneath his pants.

"See how much you turn me on?" he murmurs, his lips still on your neck. "Do you want to explore more?"

You nod, unable to find the words to express how much you want this. Dieter moves his hand down to the hem of your dress, deftly sliding it up your legs. You feel a surge of nervousness at the thought of him fingering you, but the excitement and desire coursing through your body overpowers it.

Dieter smirks, his fingers finding their way to your underwear. He starts rubbing teasing circles against your clit, making you moan breathlessly. You try to muffle your sounds, but Dieter stops you.

"Don't hold back," he whispers, his hot breath tickling your ear. "I want to hear how much you're enjoying this."

With his permission, you let yourself go and start making louder noises, each touch of his fingers sending waves of pleasure through your body. Dieter continues to tease you, alternating between slow and fast movements, driving you crazy.

"Does it feel good?" he asks, his voice a seductive whisper against your ear. "Being fingered by your favorite rockstar?"

You can only nod, unable to form a coherent sentence as Dieter's skilled fingers bring you closer and closer to the edge. And when you finally reach your climax with a cry of pleasure, Dieter smirks triumphantly before leaning in to kiss you.

Dieter breaks the kiss and guides your hand to his already hard cock. Your breathing quickens as you wrap your fingers around it, feeling its impressive size and girth. Dieter groans, his head falling back as you start to stroke him, your hand moving up and down his shaft.

You feel his pulse racing beneath your touch, his breathing becoming more ragged with each stroke. You glance up at him and see the intense desire in his eyes, fueling your own fire even more.

"Fuck, keep going," Dieter moans, his hips slightly thrusting into your hand. And you do, picking up the pace as you stroke him faster, your own arousal building again at the sight of him losing control.

His grip on your wrist is firm but not too tight, guiding your hand up and down his length. The heat emanating from him as you work your hand makes your head spin, feeling the softness of his skin contrasting with the hardness of his arousal.

"Is this what you wanted?" Dieter asks, his voice low and gruff as he watches you intently.

You can only nod, unable to find your voice as you focus on your task at hand. Dieter's breathing becomes heavier and his hips start to move in rhythm with your strokes. His eyes are locked on yours, and you can see the desire and pleasure in them.

Feeling bold, you lean in and press your lips against his, eliciting a groan from deep within his throat. His hands move to your hips, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth.

Dieter's body tenses under your touch, and you know he's close.

"I can't take it anymore," Dieter groans, stopping your hand and pulling you over his lap in one smooth motion. You gasp as he positions himself at your entrance, his hands gripping your hips as he thrusts up into you.

"Oh god, Dieter," you moan, your head falling back as he fills you completely. His strokes are deep and powerful, rocking your entire body as he pounds into you.

As he continues to move inside you, Dieter starts to whisper in your ear, his voice deep and full of gravel.

"You have no idea how much I love defiling such a pretty fan like you," he growls, his hands gripping your hips even tighter. "Seeing you lose control like this, it drives me wild."

You can feel his words send shivers down your spine, igniting a deeper fire within you. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you meet his thrusts with your own.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Dieter groans, his pace becoming even more frenzied.

You can't help but moan and whimper as he continues to tease you, his words adding to the intense pleasure coursing through your body. He knows exactly how to push your buttons, and you can't imagine anything better than this moment.

"Dieter, I'm close," you cry out, your body trembling with each thrust. "Please, don't stop."

Dieter's eyes darken at your words, and he thrusts into you even faster. The pleasure building in your body becomes almost too much to handle, and you can feel yourself reaching your peak.

With a loud cry, you climax, your body tensing as you gush around him. Dieter groans and thrusts a few more times before pulling out and telling you to get on your knees.

You quickly comply, sinking to the floor and opening your mouth, eager for his release. Dieter stands above you, his hand stroking his cock as he looks down at you with a hungry expression.

"Such a good girl," he says, his voice filled with desire. "Now, open wide and take all of me."

You obediently open your mouth wider as he guides his cock between your lips, pushing himself inside. You moan around him, the taste of him driving you wild as he begins to move in and out of your mouth.

His thrusts become rougher and more erratic, and you can feel his release getting closer. You suck and lick him eagerly, wanting to taste every drop of his release.

With one final thrust, Dieter cries out and spills himself into your mouth. You swallow it all, eagerly taking every inch of him until he is spent.

As he pulls away, he looks down at you with a satisfied smile. "You did so well, my little fan," he says, helping you to your feet. "Nothing beats sex after a concert."

“Was. . . was I good?”

Pulling you on top of his lap once more, he claims his lips, his cock twitching as he tastes himself on your tongue.

“You were perfect.”

#dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo fic #the bubble fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories

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brunchable · 4 hours ago

Text

Secret Santa | S. R.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x F!Reader Themes: Ex-lovers. Petty Revenge but Steve is just sweet ;_; Summary: You and Steve are forced to participate in your friend group Secret Santa gift exchange, and of course, you end up assigned to each other. You're determined to give him the worst gift possible, but his surprisingly thoughtful present throws you off—and leaves you questioning your assumptions about him. A/N: This oneshot is a part of my 4K follower Christmas Celebration. Also this one will be connected to Santa Baby that will be released next week. dividers by @saradika-graphics

It wasn’t your idea to do Secret Santa. You’d never suggest something so contrived, so obviously destined for disaster. No, this brilliant plan came courtesy of Nat, whose mischievous smirk while handing out the hat of names told you she knew exactly what she was doing.

The moment you unfolded the slip of paper and saw his name, you felt the universe mocking you. Steve Rogers. Captain Perfect. Your ex.

You stared at the paper as though sheer willpower might summon a new name. It didn’t. Across the room, Steve raised his eyebrows as he read his own slip, the corner of his mouth twitching. You had a sinking suspicion the universe had played a cruel joke on him, too.

“What are the odds?” Nat said, sidling up next to you with a glass of wine.

“Oh, I don’t know. Rigged?” you hissed back, crumpling the paper in your fist.

Steve Rogers had a habit of ruining things. Like relationships. Or, in this case, your plans to breeze through the gift exchange with a generic mug or a gift card. No, this was war. You were going to find the most obnoxious, useless gift imaginable. The kind of thing that screamed, I know exactly what you hate, and I’m leaning into it.

You weren’t just shopping for a gift. You were shopping for revenge.

The mall was an absolute hellscape of holiday cheer—children screaming, Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas Is You blasting on loop, and couples holding hands like it wasn’t a battlefield. You were on a mission, weaving through the chaos, hunting for something so heinous that it would make Steve Rogers cringe.

The first store you entered was a pop-culture knick-knack shop. It was overflowing with mugs that said, “Live, Laugh, Love,” and socks decorated with pizza slices. You rolled your eyes. Too tame. Too basic. No, you needed something with bite. Something so wrong that Steve would open it and instantly regret ever existing.

That’s when you saw it. A coffee mug. But not just any coffee mug.

It was massive, comically oversized, the kind of mug that could double as a soup bowl. Bright red, with bold, white text plastered across the front:

“WORLD’S OKAYEST LOVER.”

You snorted so loudly a nearby teenager gave you a dirty look. But it wasn’t enough. Oh no. You needed more.

Two hours later, you stumbled into the most chaotic store in the mall: an unhinged combination of novelty items, offensive gag gifts, and borderline illegal paraphernalia. The walls were lined with things like glow-in-the-dark shot glasses shaped like butts and calendars full of “inspirational” quotes… all of which were expletives. And there, under a flashing neon sign that screamed, BEST GIFT IDEAS EVER, you found it.

The pièce de résistance.

A calendar. Not just any calendar, though. It was titled:

“12 Months of Aggressive Affirmations.”

The cover featured a cartoon bunny flipping the bird. Each month was worse than the last—January read: “GET UP AND FUCKING WIN,” February shouted, “STOP BEING A SAD LITTLE BITCH,” and March simply screamed, “YOU’RE NOT THE PROBLEM, EVERYONE ELSE IS JUST DUMB AS SHIT.”

You couldn’t breathe. You were doubled over, tears streaming down your face as you clutched the calendar. It was perfect. Aggressive. Vulgar. Completely unnecessary. And most importantly? It would absolutely short-circuit Steve Rogers’ clean-cut, wholesome brain.

You slapped it down on the counter, ignoring the cashier’s judgmental look as they scanned it.

“You okay?” they asked, clearly unnerved by the manic grin plastered across your face.

“Oh, I’m great,” you said, pulling out your card. “This is going to make someone very uncomfortable.”

————

On the day of the exchange, you could hardly contain your excitement. The calendar was wrapped in gaudy, glittery paper that shed sparkles everywhere—another little insult aimed directly at Steve. When he finally picked it up, his brow furrowed at the excessive tape you’d used to ensure he’d struggle opening it.

Everyone watched as he peeled away the layers, muttering something about how you always made things difficult. But when the calendar came into view, his face went completely blank.

“‘Aggressive Affirmations,’” he read aloud, flipping to January. “‘GET UP AND FUCKING WIN.’” His lips twitched, but he refused to give you the satisfaction of a laugh. Instead, he held it up, deadpan. “Wow. You really went for it.”

“You’re welcome,” you said, smirking.

Nat practically fell off the couch laughing. “This is… incredible.”

“Yeah, this’ll look great in his bedroom,” Bucky added, snatching it to flip through the months. “Oh, man, look at June. ‘YOU’RE HOTTER THAN A FUCKING FOREST FIRE.’ Steve, this is the kind of energy you need.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “I hate all of you.”

But when you caught his eye, you saw it—a flicker of amusement, quickly smothered by exasperation.

“This is going in my gym. Where no one else can see it.” He put the calendar down carefully, shaking his head.

“Oh no,” you said, grinning wickedly. “It’s going on your fridge. Front and center. So every morning, you can start your day with a dose of aggressive self-love.”

Steve sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know whether to be mad or impressed.”

“Oh, be impressed,” you said, raising your glass. “It’s the best gift you’ll ever get.”

And when he smiled—small, reluctant, but genuine.

Steve wasn’t good at gifts. Not because he didn’t try, but because he overthought everything. For him, giving a gift wasn’t just about handing someone an object; it was a gesture, a piece of himself. And when it came to you—well, he hadn’t earned the right to give you anything, had he?

The relationship ended because of him. That much was clear. He’d been the one who pulled away, too overwhelmed by his own insecurities and the shadow of the life he thought he couldn’t offer you. And yet, here he was, standing in front of a boutique window, staring at the dress he knew you’d wanted for months.

He remembered the first time he saw you touch it. You weren’t even shopping for yourself. You’d dragged him into the boutique while looking for a birthday gift for Natasha, weaving through the racks with easy confidence. But then, you stopped.

Just for a moment.

The dress was simple—red silk, with delicate straps and a neckline that dipped just enough to make you bite your lip in that nervous way he loved. Your fingers brushed over the fabric, and you sighed, soft and wistful.

“Beautiful,” you’d murmured, almost to yourself.

Steve had stood a few steps behind, pretending to check his phone. He remembered how quickly you moved on, like you didn’t want to linger too long. You probably thought he hadn’t noticed. But he did. He always noticed.

Now, months later, Steve stood in the same boutique, heart pounding like he was about to charge into battle. The sales associate greeted him with a warm smile, clearly trying not to gawk at the former Captain America standing awkwardly among racks of designer dresses.

“I’m looking for a gift,” he said, clearing his throat.

“For someone special?”

He hesitated, the words catching in his throat. “Yeah. She’s, uh... she’s special.”

The associate nodded knowingly and led him straight to the dress. “This one’s a favorite. Classic, elegant.”

Steve reached out, fingers grazing the fabric just as yours had. It felt like silk against his calloused palms—soft, delicate, everything he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch.

“She looked at this one,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “A while ago. I don’t think she thought I noticed.”

The associate smiled gently. “Well, you noticed. That’s what matters.”

He bought it without hesitation, ignoring the price tag. The dress came in a sleek black box tied with a ribbon, and Steve carried it home like it was the most precious thing in the world.

————

That night, Steve sat at his kitchen table with the box in front of him, a pen poised over a blank card. Words had never been his strong suit, but he needed you to know this wasn’t just a gift—it was an apology, a hope, a quiet confession.

After a long moment, he began to write:

Y/N,

I’m not great at words, but you always told me it’s the thought that counts. I saw you look at this dress once, and I don’t know if you even remember, but I do. You should have something beautiful because you deserve everything beautiful in the world. I know I’m the last person who should be saying that. But maybe this can say what I haven’t been able to.

—Steve

He stared at the card for a long time before tucking it into the box.

On the day of the gift exchange, Steve handed you the box without a word. Your name was scrawled on the tag in his careful handwriting. You hesitated, eyeing him warily, but curiosity got the better of you.

As you untied the ribbon and opened the lid, your breath caught.

The dress.

The room felt smaller somehow, the chatter of your friends fading into the background. You didn’t know what to say, and Steve didn’t push. He just stood there, watching you with that quiet, earnest expression that used to make your heart ache.

Your fingers brushed over the fabric, just as they had that day in the boutique. For a moment, you couldn’t speak.

“You remembered?” you finally whispered, looking up at him.

Steve shrugged, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “I always remember.”

You froze at his words, the weight of them pressing down on your chest. It wasn’t just the dress—it was everything. All the times he’d been paying attention when you thought he wasn’t. All the moments you’d convinced yourself he didn’t care.

Your throat tightened as guilt began to creep in, sharp and relentless.

“I—” You stopped, fingers curling into the fabric. The silk felt too soft, too expensive, too meaningful in your hands. “Steve, I don’t... I don’t deserve this.”

His brow furrowed, and he took a small step closer. “Why would you say that?”

You laughed weakly, a bitter sound.

“Because I’ve spent weeks trying to think of the worst gift to give you. Something obnoxious. Something petty. And you...” You gestured at the dress, your voice breaking slightly. “You did this.”

His gaze softened, but there was something unreadable in his eyes.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “You don’t have to feel guilty about that. I get it. You’re angry at me. You have every right to be.”

You shook your head, the lump in your throat growing. “But I shouldn’t still be mad. It’s been months. You tried, Steve. You really tried, and I—”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he interrupted gently.

But that only made it worse. Because you did—not for being angry, but for the way you’d handled it. For not seeing how hard he was trying now.

“I just—” You exhaled shakily, holding the dress tighter against you. “I thought you weren’t paying attention. That I didn’t matter to you like that. And now... this.”

Steve’s jaw tensed, his hands fidgeting in his pockets.

“You mattered,” he said simply, the rawness in his tone cutting straight through you. “You always mattered. I just... didn’t know how to show it before.”

The room was suddenly too warm, too loud. You felt exposed, vulnerable under his gaze. His words clung to you like static, leaving no room to breathe.

You lowered your eyes, staring down at the dress in your hands. “This... it’s beautiful, Steve. It’s too much. I don’t deserve it after—”

“You do,” he interrupted, his voice firm this time. “You deserve something beautiful. Even if you hate me, Y/N.”

You glanced up sharply at that, seeing the way his eyes flickered with something like regret—or maybe hope.

“I'm sorry. I don’t—” You stopped yourself. Lying felt crueller than the truth. “I don’t hate you, Steve. I just... I don’t know what to do with all of this.”

He smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You don’t have to do anything. It’s a gift. No strings attached.”

And somehow, that made the guilt worse. Because he meant it. You could tell. And it left you wondering if maybe he’d always meant it, even when he didn’t know how to show it.

“Thank you,” you said softly, clutching the dress like a lifeline.

Steve nodded, his hands still buried in his pockets as he stepped back, giving you space. But his eyes lingered, and for the first time in months, you felt like you really saw him. Not the perfect soldier, not your ex—but the man who’d been paying attention all along.

Tags: @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @strawberrybisou @alyana-luvs-u @rogersbarber @veronicapaula

@fynnwolff @bmyva1entine @thereoncewasagirlnamedjane @awaywithtime

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x female reader #captain america x reader #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #captain america x you #captain america imagines #captain america x y/n #captain america x female reader #steve rogers #captain america #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x you #steve rogers fanfic #captain america fanfic

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perseephoneee · 1 year ago

Note

I would love to see secret santa with isaac lahey for ficmas!

secret santa (isaac lahey x f!reader) ficmas 2023

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ happy day 4 of ficmas!

a/n: my special special boy isaac for the holiday season. dedicated to @mayfieldss for being my wifey.

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ join my taglist ↳ ficmas 2023

“How did you convince Derek to let you host a Christmas party at his loft?” you questioned, laying on Stiles’ bed as you crocheted. Stiles spun around in his desk chair and occasionally put more red string on his “murder board.”

“Because of my charm,” Stiles turned towards you, clicking a pen in one of his hands. You paused your crochet project to look at him with exasperation. “Okay, fine; I promised to leave him alone for a month and clean his car.”

“That sounds more accurate,” you chuckled, resuming your project. You let out a huff of annoyance as Stiles threw a paper ball at your head. “Why is this so important to you?”

“I thought you liked Christmas.”

“I love Christmas; I want to know what has got you in the overt Christmas spirit this year,” you asked pointedly. You started another row as Stiles let out a short breath.

“We’re all graduating, and I’m worried that we’ll never spend another holiday together again,” Stiles admitted, scooting his chair back to slap a new magnet on his board. You dropped your project, scooting to the end of the bed so you could look at Stiles. He refused to make eye contact.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you sighed, touching Stiles’ shoulder. “Even being friends with you couldn’t get me to leave this place behind.” Stiles smiled, covering his hand with your own. You knew Stiles was nervous that we would all go our separate ways and never speak again, especially with him attending the FBI academy in the fall. Even the people you knew Stiles would pretend not to miss (Liam, Isaac, etc.), as his friend, you were fully aware he would miss everyone.

“Y/N…thanks for always being my friend,” Stiles sniffled. You jumped off the bed to hug him, Stiles laughing as you almost tackled him.

“You’re my best friend, buddy boy– you can’t ditch me,” you collapsed on the ground at Stiles’ feet, a smile covering your face. “Now, what must we do to prepare for this party?”

“Well, Lydia has got most of it covered. I did manage to convince her to do one thing, though, as a gift for you,” Stiles held his hands in front of him like a movie villain, and you started to get very suspicious. You got back up on the bed, curling your legs into yourself as Stiles gave himself a drum roll. “I got Isaac to be your Secret Santa.”

“You what?” you screeched, eyes growing wide.

“Look, even though I think Isaac is the worst, I know you’ve had a crush on him for years. This is why he will be giving you a gift this year.”

“That’s not very secret.”

“I’m also setting up mistletoe all over the loft. There will be other casualties to my mistletoe plan, but I will happily sacrifice that for your happiness.”

“I…have no words,” you gulped. You liked Isaac since you first saw him, even before he became a wolf. And then he joined your pack, everyone started hanging out together, and your crush grew stronger. You jumped at the opportunity every time you got to do stakeouts or other missions with just Isaac. You didn’t believe that he liked you back, though. You were human, a lot quieter than the other pack members, and also prone to word vomit when feelings of awkwardness arose.

“This way, you’ll have something he got specifically for you.”

“Unless he gives me a gag gift because he doesn’t care.”

“If he does that, then he’s not worth your time. I’m saying that as your friend with the knowledge that you are a great person,” Stiles grins. He turns back to his laptop, feet propped up on the corner of the table and fidget spinner in his other hand. You had a slight smile as you returned to your project, and that smile didn’t leave your face as you spent the rest of the night with Stiles.

The party happened a week later. You, Kira, and Mason had spent time getting a bunch of decorations to make it look more festive and then left Lydia to boss Parrish around on where to put things up. Lydia had a vision; none of you dared ruin it. It gave you time to go home and get ready anyway. You dressed in a simple burgundy sweater with jeans and boots but bothered putting on more makeup than usual. You even clipped your hair back with some star clips you found in the back of your drawer. When you returned to the loft, your jaw almost dropped with how pretty it looked. Twinkly lights and tinsel covered the available surface area, and a tree was in the back with presents already stacked. There was a table with all the amuse bouches one could wish for, and the scent of cranberries and oranges filled the room.

“Happy holidays, Y/N,” Peter said from right next to you, giving you a minor heart attack.

“Someone invited you?” you exclaimed, earning an eye roll from Peter.

“I’ve been tasked with taking coats,” he sighed, already bored. You handed him your jacket and quickly left, not interested in being another meal. Malia was by the dining table eating all the different meats and cheeses.

“Merry Christmas, Malia,” you said, grabbing an olive and popping it in your mouth.

“Who knew food could be so fancy?” Malia mumbled, not taking a breather before eating more. She looked like a kid at a candy store, and it made you laugh.

“Food is still food, just prepared differently,” you responded. You watched in slight admiration as she chugged a glass of champagne before eating half a block of cheese. You wished for her metabolism so you could eat so openly.

“I like the pigs in a blanket the best,” a voice said behind you. You turned around and felt your heart catch as you saw Isaac, a slight grin on his face. He was dressed in a blue henley, and the lights reflected brilliantly off his eyes. “Although, I’m more a fan of the blanket.” He proceeded to suck off the bread part of the pig in a blanket, leaving you with a confused expression.

“Did you seriously just suck the bread off?”

“I said I was more a fan of the blanket,” Isaac answered, finishing the rest of his snack with an expression that read duh. Before you could react to whatever that was, you were handed a holiday cracker by Lydia, who was running around and gifting them out. These were wrapped in a green and gold floral print and tied with red ribbon. You held your cracker to Isaac, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. He took the other end of the cracker, and you both pulled, the contents exploding from inside. You happily picked up your kazoo and paper crown before helping Isaac open his Christmas cracker. You traded your kazoo for his deck of cards before putting your crowns on.

“Let me help,” Isaac said, positioning the paper crown on your head at the perfect angle. His fingers brushed down your hair as he stepped back, and you felt a blush coat your cheeks before you could stop it. “Look, now you’re a king.”

“Not a queen? Or a princess?” you asked cheekily.

“Pretty sure you could be whomever you want,” Isaac replied, hands in his pockets as he looked down awkwardly. For a boy who wasn’t always the best with words and frequently struggled to pick up social cues, he somehow managed to find a way to flatter you. Before you could respond, Stiles clinked his glass to alert everyone to Secret Santa starting. You found a spot on one of the couches, curling up into the corner. Malia sat beside you, offering you a candy cane she stole from somewhere.

“Thank you guys for bothering to show up today,” Stiles started, fingers anxiously tapping the side of his glass. “I’m happy to be included in this group of people, and…I don’t intend to lose you guys even when we graduate.”

It was one of the more severe things Stiles had ever said, and you could tell that it took a lot of willpower not to break into a joke. Everyone clapped and yelled kind things, though, and you knew it relieved some pressure from Stiles’ chest.

“Alright, let's start this party as we trash Derek’s loft!” Stiles clapped as Derek glared from the back. “Chill out, big guy; I was kidding.”

You had to give your friends credit; they put together some perfect gifts this year. You were excited as you had Kira the crochet fingerless gloves you had made in pink and black yarn.

“It has a mitten cover that you can button back,” you explained as Kira excitedly put them on and cooed over how soft the fabric was. Liam did try to steal them at one point before you promised to make him a pair.

You were shoving a cookie in your mouth when Lydia announced that it was your turn to receive your gift. Avoiding Isaac’s gaze, you watched as Lydia brought over a small box wrapped in brown paper with a silky ribbon. You anxiously untied it, carefully peeling the paper away. You were greeted with an emerald green velvet case that you opened with a small gasp. Inside was a simple silver chain with three different charms on it. One of the charms was the Celtic ruin for protection, another a car with a Christmas tree on top, and finally a coffee pot.

“I think I remembered that your family uses that sign for protection all over your home,” Isaac mumbled, a flush coating his cheeks as you finally looked up at him. “And the car is for when we were sent to get the Christmas tree, and you argued with the seller for trying to overcharge us. And the coffee pot is because of how you complain about needing coffee every time we hang out.”

You could feel your eyes tearing up as you looked at the thoughtful gift. Not only was it perfect, but Isaac gave it to you and put a lot of thought into it. You sat up, enveloping him in a hug that caught him off guard. Your face was buried in his shoulder as you inhaled the sweet vanilla scent that seemed to follow him. He tentatively hugged you back, bringing you in even closer.

“Isaac,” you sniffled, pulling away. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

The smile that covered his face was infectious, and you knew that if you sat there any longer, you would combust into giggles and likely start screaming (something Stiles has witnessed you do whenever Isaac would do something personal and pleasant for you). You excused yourself, exiting to the kitchen to get some water. As you poured yourself a glass, you also went to the hot cocoa bar and stole a snowflake marshmallow to nibble on.

“Are you okay?” you hear Isaac ask in the doorway. You turn to face him, softening at the look of concern coating his features.

“I’m fine,” you reassure. “It was just a perfect gift; I didn’t want to get too emotional.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” Isaac whispered, looking down at an invisible spot on the floor. “I wanted to get you something that showed I cared.”

“I know you care,” you smiled, leaning against the counter.

“I mean, like how I care about you,” Isaac breathed, slightly shaky. You furrowed your brows as your brain struggled to catch up. Isaac looked at you, waiting for realization to set in. When it finally did, your eyes widened to the size of saucers, and if the counter didn’t support you, you would’ve passed out. Instead of saying something, you glanced at the kitchen doorway's opening where Isaac was standing.

“Mistletoe,” you whispered.

“Huh?” Isaac looked confused, glancing around before finally glancing up. Conjuring courage you didn’t always have, you stepped right up to him and pulled him down for a kiss right under the mistletoe. He made a noise of surprise before finally placing his hands on your waist and kissing you back.

“Happy holidays, Isaac,” you smiled, pulling away and looking up at him from under your lashes. His hand cradled your cheek before kissing you again, this time with the confidence of a boy who found his footing. You melted into his embrace, arms wrapping behind his neck and burying in his hair. One of his hands held the small of your back while he preserved your jaw, deepening the kiss. You let out a happy sigh as you let Isaac kiss the living daylights out of you as you thought to yourself:

This is the best Secret Santa ever.

#ficmas 2023 #12 days of ficmas #christmas #holidays #isaac lahey #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey imagine #daniel sharman #teen wolf #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf holiday #my writing

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abiiors · 1 year ago

Text

under the mistletoe 🎄// ross macdonald x reader (pt 2 of 2)

twelve days of christmas - day 3

a/n: best friends to lovers? no. it's idiots to lovers. this is also part 2 of secret santa cw: kissing, alcohol, very tame and cheesy. there might be typos... wc: 3k

a cheer cuts through the chatter in the room and ross finds himself standing under a mistletoe, liv first in his arms, then standing on her toes and then they’re kissing—sweet, long kisses that make him smile despite the butterflies in his stomach.

butterflies that should have been a result of the kiss. instead, it feels more like a swarm of bees buzzing in his chest from anticipation.

ross doesn’t expect to be this nervous. more than that, he doesn’t expect to pull away from the kiss before she does. even when liv looks at him with slight concern.

he certainly doesn’t expect himself to be so hung up on secret santa. he has bought plenty of gifts for people he cares about before! good ones too; sure, he’s no pro at gift giving but he’s not entirely hopeless. but this time he simply cannot afford to mess up. not when it took him two turns to get the name he really wanted.

everyone looks festive in some shade of red or green on white—and one silver but charli really pulls it off. liv has a beautiful green velvet dress on, her curly hair piled on top of her head and gold hoops dangling from her ears. liv looks stunning!

it’s her that really takes his breath away—the girl who’s been his best friend for over a decade now. the girl who now stares at him with a tight smile on her face, cheering almost on autopilot with the rest of his friends. she’s in a classic red slip dress and matching red lipstick that contrasts her skin so perfectly that ross almost feels guilty for staring at her longer than necessary. he’s right next to his girlfriend for fucks sake. he needs to focus!

the excitement in the room is off the charts! everyone’s buzzing to get to the main event—the secret santa gifts—and he feels a tiny pit of nervousness at the centre of all his enthusiasm. what if she doesn’t like his gift? what if it’s something she already has or something that’s too personal… too intimate.

liv breaks his little spiral.

“you alright?” she slides onto his lap with an easy smile and pecks him softly.

“yeah, just excited about the gifts! i wonder who got my name.” even with her on his thigh ross can’t stop his knee from bouncing up and down. the weird mixture of anticipation and butterflies is something he’s rarely felt before—not since… well not since her last birthday when he’d gotten her two tickets to the play she’d been dying to go to.

(if he’s being honest it was not since she’d asked him if he’d like to go with her.)

“me too!” liv beams and it’s as if that’s matty’s cue to announce that they can all finally, finally move to the living room.

the living room is adorned with twinkling lights and tinsel, creating a warm and cozy atmosphere. a decently sized pile of gifts sits under the pretty tree—the current object of everyone’s interest. his nervousness aside, ross feels as giddy as the others do, still like a child on christmas morning about to get the long anticipated pokemon card collection.

matty gets to the pile and starts calling out names one after the other.

ross is barely even listening—his mind races with a million different possibilities. what if it’s a shit gift? what if she doesn’t like it or has something similar or doesn’t get the significance of it?

what if she thinks he put no thought into it?

he’s barely even listening when polly coos over the “cutest jumper ever!” or when george cackles over his gag gift or when matty almost goes misty eyed over the vintage book.

he only snaps out of it when matty calls out her name and envelopes her in a hug.

“it’s perfect,” he sniffles and ross burns with envy.

not envious of matty. never envious of matty but… a tiny, irrational part of him wishes she were his secret santa instead. that she spent days thinking about him, obsessing over finding the perfect gift just like he had.

that maybe she spent her nights in bed, wondering a thousand times over if her gift would make him smile (it would, ross thinks. she could get him a £10 bottle of wine and he would still cherish it dearly.)

“ross!” matty calls out and he startles a little.

matty looks at him with a slightly puzzled expression and wiggles a neatly wrapped gift in front of him. it’s square and thin with a small note attached to it.

he recognises it instantly—a handwriting he’s only recently come to know as liv’s.

liv. his girlfriend. his secret santa.

and he’s an awful, awful boyfriend for the feeling of disappointment that rises in him.

his fingers move deftly, tearing apart the wrapping paper until the gift inside becomes visible. the first thing he registers is the word “untitled” printed front and centre in big bold letters. and below it: “divine connection: the last unreleased album”. it dawns on him slowly—the band, their band. the last album from their band. just his and hers. and on autopilot, his gaze snaps up to her.

“ross?”

for the second time that evening liv’s voice cuts through his spiral and he turns around to see her standing at the door to the balcony with a half-drunk champagne flute in her hands. she’s beautiful, he thinks. she’s always been stunning but his heart doesn’t skip a beat when he looks at her.

“can we talk?” she walks in and stands next to him, shoulders brushing with his. it’s a cold night. it’s silly being outside but he’s in a weird mood. he even kinda prefers it here.

“yeah of course,” he clears his throat and tries to appear casual.

“did you like your gift?”

“i did. it was… it was perfect.” at least that much is true. at least that much he can say with 100% certainty. “thank you. really, i mean it.”

“i know you do.”

for a minute she doesn’t say anything but her eyes roam over his face—a scruitinising sort of a look that makes him want to shy away. she’s never been particularly intense but in the few weeks he’s known liv, she’s had a way of guessing his little tells. it takes everything in him to not look away.

still, he closes his eyes for a minute.

the scene is still so fresh in his mind—ross opening the gift and looking up. ross staring at her and not liv. ross murmuring “thank you. it’s perfect.” and smiling at her before he even remembered that the gift was supposed to be from liv.

ross only looks at her, his best friend. and she can’t seem to meet his gaze.

liv clears her throat and brings him back to the present. she takes another swig of her champagne and offers him the glass. ross studies her lipstick smudge on the rim and accepts the drink gratefully.

“you’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

a second sooner and he would have choked on the drink or done a spit-take like a fucking idiot but the question leaves him so speechless that he almost drops the glass.

“who?”

“don’t play dumb now.” her tone’s a bit sharp but her words aren’t unkind and the thought of being scolded like that makes him blush slightly and straighten up.

he’s about to speak when she continues.

“i see how you look at her—how you looked at her when you opened the gift i gave you. you knew it wasn’t from me didn’t you?”

wordlessly, he nods his head.

“you knew i didn’t think of it. you were right though. i didn’t. i went to her because she’s you best friend.”

“and she told you about the band?”

liv clicks her tongue. “she handed me the record. turns out she had you for secret santa before we picked the names again.”

“oh…”

there’s another beat of loaded silence in which he struggles to maintain eye contact with her and not feel like an utterly shit boyfriend.

“liv i—”

“i know,” she smiles briefly. “but you can’t string me along, babe. look i like you a lot. i really do and i know… i know you told me you were trying to move on from someone but i assumed that was a past relationship. i didn’t realise you were talking about…your best friend.”

“i’m sorry,” he shakes his head. “i really am. i know that was shitty of me.”

“it was a little.”

none of them speak for a few minutes. ross looks at her champagne again, wishing he’d had a drink with him for this conversation. or maybe not—maybe a clearer head is what he needs. he is getting dumped, after all.

and yet… there’s no sadness. just a faint sense of disappointment.

“so this is it i guess?”

in one gulp liv finishes the rest of her champagne and nods. “yeah. this is it. for what it’s worth ross… i have no hard feelings.”

this time when she smiles at him, it’s open and sincere. much to his relief, it’s friendly. liv stands on her toes and presses a kiss to his cheek. it’s chaste and quick—a goodbye, one that he returns by hugging her tightly.

liv pauses at the threshold just as she’s leaving.

“why don’t you tell her?”

ross shakes his head in disappointment and feels the familiar ache settle bone deep. the night suddenly seems so much colder than before—no longer the cosy kind that makes you want to snuggle up with a loved one. this feels sharp and biting.

“can’t,” he shrugs, “i don’t want to ruin years’ worth of friendship.”

he expects liv to understand that. it’s a perfectly normal sentiment—to love someone enough that you’d rather have some of them than none of them. but she just shakes her head at him.

“wow…” liv sighs, “for a man so smart… you really are fucking dumb.”

and then she leaves him on the balcony, shivering and confused.

by the time he gets inside, there’s a lull in the party. everyone’s either drunk or loved up or both. well, maybe not everyone.

ross finds her huddled in front of the fireplace, absently staring at her wrist. at the pearl bracelet he got for her.

a near-perfect match to her beloved pearl necklace from her grandmother.

the fire casts a warm, golden glow on her—on her hair and the curve of her shoulder, the hollow of her throat, and down her chest. he stands transfixed at the threshold, waiting for something to happen.

maybe matty (passed out on the sofa) will wake up if he moves or polly might need something from him or george and charli might see them and he loves his friends but they have barely any concept of personal space after all these years. maybe he could just do it tomorrow when he’s not half-drunk, half-sober, and fully freaking out.

“ross?”

too late to hide now.

“why are you stood there? come on! it’s so cold!” she opens up her blanket cocoon—an invitation for him to join.

ross, startled by her voice, stumbles into the room. his cheeks flush with embarrassment and he clears his throat, trying to mask the awkwardness that has suddenly enveloped him.

fuck! she’s pretty. and yes he thinks that every single time he looks at her but it’s moments like these that really hit him like a gut punch.

liv’s words echo in his mind over and over again. for a man so smart… you really are fucking dumb. was she trying to say what he thinks she was? or is he just delusional and projecting his own feelings onto her.

her body is soft and warm when ross settles next to her, pulling her into his side and tucking her head under his chin.

“you were deep in thought.” ross teases a bit, not ready to broach anything serious just yet. what he really wants to ask is about the record—how she’d somehow known his perfect gift before he figured it out himself.

“just thinking about how good i am at gift giving,” she teases back. “matty was ecstatic.”

she's right but he can’t help but find a different meaning in her words.

“that you are,” ross murmurs in her hair, resisting the urge to press a little kiss there. it’s too much for him—this intimacy. something like that might just tip him over the edge.

for a while she doesn’t say anything and ross wonders if she’s fallen asleep. it’s quite late and they’re quite cosy, it won’t be the first time she's fallen asleep on him. maybe, if she is asleep, he might even press that kiss onto her head after all.

“liv’s not here?” her voice breaks his train of thought. it’s not teasing anymore—she sounds neutral and controlled and… and like she’s trying not to pry.

“we broke up.”

“what?!”

she almost shrieks and matty stirs slightly but goes back to sleeping again. ross feels guilty for just dumping it on her without any context.

“i’m so sorry,” she says before he has a chance to speak. “fuck, at a christmas party too! that sucks, love. are you alright?”

“it wasn’t like that. it was…” this is it, he thinks. his one chance to get it right. “i’m perfectly fine. i’m… i’m better than fine. it’s… well she–you… fuck okay!”

he cheeks grow warm. it’s worse now that she’s properly looking at his now, her face a mixture of concern and curiosity; that she’s now an attentive audience to his pathetic flustered words.

“let me…” he takes a big deep breath and squares his shoulders. “okay. let me get this right. for the next, i don’t know, two minutes, you aren’t allowed to speak, okay? okay. so! liv and i talked.” the skepticism on her face grows and ross tries not to let it deter him. “the gift, the record—”

“was it not good?”

“oi! no speaking, remember? two minutes.” ross scolds lightly and almost laughs at her sheepish face. “as i was saying, the record. it wasn’t her idea, was it? i asked her how she knew and she told me you gave it to her. for me! why didn’t you… why didn’t you give it to me yourself?”

for all her talking a moment ago, now she seems speechless. so much so that she can barely meet his eyes.

“it was a lovely gift, darling. maybe even one of the best and… i just want to know why, that’s all.”

her cheeks flush a subtle shade of pink, and she fidgets with the edge of the blanket. “i guess i wanted you to have something meaningful without making things awkward. i’d already bought the gift and i didn't want to complicate our friendship with something that felt so… personal, especially with liv being in the picture. and…fuck! if that’s what made you break up, i’m so sorry, i—"

“it didn’t,” he cuts her off firmly. ross can’t help but notice the small details of her face then—the tiny smudges of mascara from no doubt when she sleepily rubbed her eyes, the glitter on her eyelids reflecting the firelight. her big, beautiful eyes and dilated pupils.

her slightly smudged lipstick…

fuck, it’s the tiny lipstick smudge on the corner of her lips that makes him lose his ability to think straight.

“we broke up because… well there’s someone else,” he speaks in a low volume. subconsciously, she leans forward.

“someone else?”

the room falls into a heavy silence, broken only by the crackling fire. she waits, her eyes searching his face for any sign that he's joking or playing some elaborate prank. but the sincerity in his expression leaves no room for doubt.

“you’re my best friend,” he says, “and fuck, do i resent that! how am i… darling, how am i meant to pretend you’re just my friend when you’re the fucking focal point of my world?”

her breath catches so audibly that it’s almost a gasp. he waits for her to say something. anything. instead she leans in an presses her lips to his.

it’s so unsure at first, almost like she freezes and her brain can’t figure out where to go next. the kiss lingers, soft and tentative—both testing the waters of something uncharted. ross's mind races, trying to process the warmth of her lips against his, the subtle taste of her lipstick.

she pulls away before he’s even had the chance to kiss her back and hides her face in his chest.

“oh god, that was too soon, wasn’t it! that was–you just broke up and i—”

“love, don't hide your face, don't…” his hands gently cup her flushed face, making her look up at him once again even when she can barely meet his eyes and in that moment he realises he’s never seen someone so beautiful.

so this time when ross crashes his lips against hers, he makes sure to pull her closer. to hold onto her tightly. his arms are around her, her hands in his hair and oh she fits so perfectly in the crevices of his body. like a perfect puzzle piece.

by the time they finally pull apart, slightly breathless and grinning uncontrollably, ross hears her giggle.

“wow, that was my first kiss under a mistletoe…”

“we aren’t—”

“i know, but we’re next to one so it’s almost the same.”

he looks to where she’s pointing, to the little bunch tied above the fireplace.

“we could do better, darling.”

“yeah?”

“mm-hmm,” he murmurs, stealing another quick kiss from her. “let me take you home.”

and she agrees in a heartbeat.

lemme know what you think <33

taglist: @scooby-doodoo @partoftheairforce @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855 @beachesgetpeaches @you-muppet @mcabister @alexmarie29 @at-her-very-foreign @hfkait @squishysoupy @sierraeslaprincesa @harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet @thereisaplaceintheheart @kennedy-brooke @lolidontknowanymore @theoriginalwhatsername @celestcies @sugarkane1001 @ari-turner @thewaywewereinsaigon @daphnesutton @beliefandsayingsomething @ros3chu @nothingrevealedeverythingdenied @zzzhealy @mattymybeloved @fck-off @indiaamars @sofaritsalrightt @k4tie75 @wondersecret @humptyhoran @indierockgirrl @hanbiior @moreyoulove-moreyouknow @rossgirly @if-my-heart-bleeds @little-lovely-darling @abriefnirvana @renitypoem

add yourself to the taglist

#christmas75 #12 days of christmas #the 1975 #ross macdonald #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald x you #ross x reader #ross x you #ross macdonald angst #the 1975 angst #minor angst #matty healy #george daniel #adam hann #angst to fluff???#in all honesty i kinda hate this because writer's block is a bitch but i can complain here because no one is going to see these tags #yeah. genuinely not very happy with this but also not in the position to rewrite it so we move

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valyrfia · 1 year ago

Note

Literally still cannot believe Max is an ambassador for EA Sports and the F1 game, considering how much we knew he hated it, and how particular he is about his racing games. Like he wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole and now he's endorsing it??

The only other person doing EA promo is Charles.

1+1=2 and all that.

Charles must have had some influence on Max betraying his own core values to endorse the F1 game, because I'm pretty sure Max isn't doing it for the money. I don't know if EA approached Max and Max saw that Charles was doing it and therefore found it acceptable to do the endorsement, or if he actually spoke to Charles about it, but either way - I bet he's definitely part of the reason Max is an ambassador.

Anon, you're 100% correct that it is Charles's doing that Max is suddenly interested in the F1 game but also I think you're forgetting a KEY piece of information here. Let us rewind, back to December last year, when Charles got Max for secret santa and got him a very particular gift...

So obviously what we can now extrapolate from this version of events is that Max played Charles's little gag gift, actually found out he liked it to an extent that he's willing to sponsor F1 23 (alongside Charles of course). Alternatively he's well aware that Charles likes it and so took the gig to appease him. Either way, Max is down bad.

#COINCIDENCE? I THINK NOT #anon #lestappen #they're So Crazy

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naughtynoodle · 2 years ago

Text

On the Edge

Description: Gag gift from the Inner Circle takes an interesting turn.

18+ only

Modern!Azriel x f!reader

Warnings: NSFW 18+, exhibition, edging, adult language

A/N: I love the thought of modern IC, like can you imagine the carnage they would reap? Minors DNI

This was turning out to be longer than expected, because I am a whore for the details. So there will be a part two :) Can be read as stand-alone.

On the Edge - Part 2

Grammar corrections are welcomed, as long as you're not rude

---------------

Starfall was a little different this year. Instead of just getting everyone the perfect gift, Cassian had suggested secret santa. But not just ordinary secret santa-

"Just picture it. Gag gifts." Cassian couldn't wipe the smug ass grin off his face, like he just came up with the most brilliant idea that ever graced the land. The group agreed, albeit reluctantly.

So the House chose people for each other at random, so not even Rhys would know. You, of course of all people, got Cassian. But a devilish thought came to your mind when you walked by a sex shop. Nesta was going to love it.

As always, Rhys and Feyre hosted an incredible Starfall. Nothing would ever beat the view from the top of their home. You didn’t think you could ever get over the beauty of it.

You heard Cassian shouting your name from the stairs, in your observation of the night sky the rest of the group had already started making their way downstairs to exchange the gag gifts. He bounced up and down like a child about to get ice cream and you shook your head with a small smile on your face.

As you turned to start walking you felt someone fall in step with you, you didn’t have to look to know it was Azriel. You would know his presence anywhere.

“So childish.” He tuts and you can’t help but let out a chuckle, nodding in agreement. You notice him looking down at you as you walk down the stairs, you stare back up at him questioningly.

“Are you waiting for me to tell you how pretty you are?” You teased, nudging his side.

“Yes, actually.” His lips form a pout and you found yourself staring at them before you shook your head and looked forward.

“You’re ridiculous.” You laugh, “But you look very dashing tonight.”

Before he could reply, Cassian came bolting up the stairs grabbing both of your wrists and hauling you down. Impatient baby.

The group gets settled, Azriel and yourself sharing the loveseat furthest from the fire. A small act that did not go unnoticed by him.

After wine glasses were filled, the House brought the gifts out and gave them to who they belonged to. Yours came wrapped in white paper with a silver bow, classy.

As each member opened their gift the laughter just continued to roll, then it came to Cassian. You hid your smirk behind your wine glass. You had opted to wrap the gift with black paper and a red silk bow. He tore through it and then shoved his hand in the box to pull it out and a look of confusion washed over his face.

Surprisingly, Amren was the first to break and the rest followed.

“It’s about time someone got Nesta something to shut you up.” Rhys grinned, and we all watched as realization hit him and his mouth gaped open. You could feel Azriel shaking with laughter beside you and you had to keep your mouth covered before you gave yourself away.

“Aw, honey. It’s even in your color.” Nesta snickered and he just shot her a playful glare before grinning.

“They all know I’m kinky, this just helps me more.” He leans back, twirling the gag ball around by the straps. “Your turn, Azzie.”

His gift was in a simple gift sack, so he pulled the tissue paper out and peered into the bag before dropping his head in his hand sighing.

“Don’t be shy, show us.” You poked him with your foot and he gave you the side eye. You watched as his hand pulled out a . . . penis sock. Hand knitted.

The bark of laughter leaves your throat before you can even control it. You were starting to think this idea of Cassians wasn’t so bad. Eventually the laughter calms down and you were the last one to open yours.

It was a vibrator. A remote controlled vibrator. You covered your face as you showed the group who just howled with laughter, and you couldn’t help the grin that covered your face.

“A lot of good this will do me. You all know how exciting my love life is.” This only seemed to add fuel to the fire and all you could do was shake your head at the group. The rest of the night continued as usual, more wine and snacks, scattered conversations. You stayed in the loveseat, as did Azriel.

His arm was slung over the back, legs splayed out so he could stretch.

“You know. .” You started and he looked over at you, “At least now your little buddy can stay warm.” You bit your lip in silent laughter as his eyes narrowed at you. His arm that was slung over the couch pulled you into his side. His head leaning down so he would speak quietly to you.

“And to think I was going to offer to help you with your new gift.” His breath hit your ear as you froze, eyes wide.

All coherent thoughts left your brain and it felt like rusty gears trying their best to run again.

“Wha- you-” you try to speak, face flushed and all you can see is the coy grin across his face.

“At my mercy, never knowing when I’m going to hit the button or change the pace.” And just like that he sits back up as if that conversation never happened.

How could he be just so fucking casual after that? And also, fuck him for knowing how flustered he can make you. You huff in annoyance.

“Is it because I called him small?” You finally say, he makes a choked sound, “It’s okay, Az, really. Size doesn’t matter.”

You smirk up at him as he stares down at you, and you take the opportunity to sneak away before he can corner you again with his words. To add insult to injury-

“It’s what’s in here that matters.” You pat his chest, chuckling to yourself as you get up and go get yourself a snack and another glass of wine.

The alcohol was definitely making you more bold than usual with Azriel. Sure you two flirted a lot, hell all of you flirted with each other - it was harmless. It was just fun flirting and teasing one another. But with you two, it never got too overtly sexual.

Had you thought about it? Obviously. But never acted on it. Actually, that was a lie. You two were so drunk one time at Rita’s that you made out in the back alley after the relentless teasing you two did to each other. But that was ages ago, you’re not even sure if he remembers that - hell you barely did.

You ended up going to the kitchen because all the good snacks had been eaten and like hell you were gonna eat the others. You sliced up some cheese and apples, and the house so graciously filled your wine glass as you murmured a thank you.

You felt him behind you before you heard him, and you jumped slightly. You should really be used to him sneaking up on you by now, but he always managed to surprise you. You watched as he took your wine glass and chugged it down, ignoring your whines of protest.

He towered over you, his eyes dark and you swallowed harshly.

“Just because I pointed out the truth doesn’t mean you get to drin-” his hand covers your mouth and you narrow your eyes at him.

“You’re going to wear this. Right here, right now.” Your eyes go wide as his shadows bring forth the vibrator. You blink as your eyes go back and forth between the box and his face. Apparently you were taking too long to respond because he starts opening the box. "Either you put it where it's supposed to go, or I will."

Your mouth drops open, your face heating up. His brow raises in question as he looks down at you, his free hand starting to trace up the slit in your dress.

"Okay, okay!" You finally surrender, slapping his hand away, "Impatient male."

You snatch the vibrator from his hand and walk away mumbling that your wine glass better be full by the time you got back. It didn't take long for you to place it where it was supposed to go, pressing the on button. It was almost embarrassing how turned on you were at the slight exchange between the two of you.

Your heels thudded against the stone floor as you made your way back to the kitchen, half-expecting Azriel to have rejoined the group but he stood in the same spot, arms braced against the counter.

You gave a mock bow, and then went back to your snack plate.

"You ate my apples! You bit-" You whip around to chastise Azriel when a sharp vibration cuts off your sentence and your knees almost buckle. His dark laugh hits your ears and you glare up at him. "Cut me another apple, you prick."

He slides a plate from behind him that was full of sliced green apples, like he knew you were going to react that way. You step closer to take the plate and his free hand pulls you in closer so you are flush against his front.

"I am going to have so much fun with you." Your heart flutters in your chest, "Hope you have a good pokerface."

His hand gives your waist a squeeze and he walks back up the stairs toward the living area where all your friends were. No doubt they were getting increasingly more drunk, which should make hiding this little game easier. Hopefully.

Downing the glass of wine, you make your way back up the stairs - taking extra care to brace yourself against the railing incase a certain bat decides to try and make you drop your plate.

You enter the room and everyone is laughing amongst themselves, your eyes immediately draw to Azriel. His dark gaze was already on you and fuck he looked good. His legs were spread and his arm was slung across the back of the couch again, though his hand was hanging behind it this time - no doubt the remote was in that hand.

Your thoughts were confirmed by the low vibration and you suck in a breath.

Cassian beckoned you towards where they were sitting and you obliged, albeit hesitantly. You could smell the alcohol pouring off of all of them, which you were relieved for.

"You were gone for sooo long." He whines and you chuckled.

"I needed to get more snacks for myself, Cass." You watch as his eyes land on your plate of apples and cheese and he makes an 'ohh' sound. Just as you were going to speak again, the vibration kicks up and the pulse beats slowly.

"Why are you so out of breath?" Feyre asks, and you look to see her and Rhys tangled into one another.

"Aren't you supposed to be in shape?" Nesta teases and you poke a tongue out at her.

"I've had a gallon of alcohol and I'm wearing heels."

Everyone makes a sound of agreement and go back to their conversations. You shake your head and make your way back towards the loveseat you were occupying earlier. The pulse gets sharper when you get a few steps away and you suck in a breath.

You quickly take a seat, trying to distract yourself with the snacks you brought back. Az pulls you back into his side once more, his head leaning on the top of yours. Slightly drunk Az was more affectionate, and you didn't mind one bit.

"Are you ready?" He murmurs in your ear and you furrow your brows as you look up at him. You hear the click of the remote and the vibration and pulsing kicks up to high gear and your legs tense automatically.

You curse under your breath and you feel his body rumble with silent laughter. You shove a piece of apple and cheese in your mouth so you don't make a fool of yourself in front of everyone.

"I hope you're enjoying yourself." You grumble at him and he leans down to your ear.

"Oh, I am. Watching your reactions as I change the pace is very entertaining." His voice seemed to be an octave deeper and your stomach curled. At this point you were more turned on by the fact that it was Azriel doing this to you than the vibrator pulsing against your core.

You left a waft of your arousal hit him and you feel his body tense and hear his sharp intake of breath. Two can play at this game, you think to yourself.

"That's a dangerous game you're playing." He growls into your ear.

"The higher the stakes, the bigger the reward Shadowsinger."

#acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #acotar smut #fanfiction #inner circle

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