#Otherwise he sleeps naked

[ask-toukendanshi]

Sengo, is there anything you enjoy doing on days where you have no sorties or chores? Please don't say stripping,,,,

"I like spending time with Hachisuka going through fashion magazines. I find them fascinating... And Hachisuka's company is nice, he is so used to my appearance that I could be in any state of dress and he wouldn't care. Maybe I've influenced him a bit too much? But it really is a nice pastime. Other things I enjoy are nice long baths. I let others practice hairstyles on me, but that's not as much of a hobby as it is just something I lend my time to for the sake of others. And of course I love to spend time with Tonbokiri and the other two great spears. They've made me an honorary fourth member by now. I take up drinking with Nihongou and Jiroutachi as often as I am allowed." -Sengo Muramasa

[autismsupersoldier]

a non-exhaustive list of my dunmeshi cast headcanons, as well as a fun exercise in censoring genitals in creative ways. below the cut you can see a list of notes and explanations. hope you enjoy as much as i enjoyed watching the anime!

important to preface:

now, lets get into it.

thanks for lookin! here are some sketches too:

some more falins because shes my favourite!

[konigsblog]

TW: NON-CON, SOMNOPHILIA, AFAB!F!READER. 18+

Somnophilia with König (🌽 link)

König is a man with needs. He can't go without your sweet, loveable cunt for longer than a day otherwise he's left sexually frustrated and pent up. Your adorable pussy is a coping mechanism for his frustrations and trauma, an outlet for his pleasure, anger, and sadness.

You looked tempting while asleep in bed. König admired the relaxed and calm expression on your face, what he was about to disturb due to his own selfishness. He unfastened his belt slowly, rubbing the your glistening cunt in small circles. You were a fool to fall asleep naked in bed knowing how horny he becomes at the sight of you. it seems that you haven't learnt from your mistake, Engel. He couldn't help himself, he just hopes that you'll understand his desires.

Each thrust feels heavenly. König is left in a state of delirium and confusion as he ruts into your drooling pussy. His fingers grip your hair tightly and angle your face so that he can watch out for discomfort, towering above your bent over figure while carefully watching your facial expressions. He grits his teeth at the tightness of your pulsing walls, cursing himself for being so cruel. “I’m so sorry, Mäuschen. You know I can’t help myself, I’m a pervert” Guilt washes over König who lowers his head in shame as he ploughs his swollen cock into your folds selfishly, too depraved to stop himself.

You're tighter when you're sleeping, it's something he's noticed. You're unaware of how often this happens, how repetitive it is for König. He can't seem to pull out as he continues, growing addicted to the gummy feeling of your insides and the warm slick coat left dripping for his aching dick.

“You’re so adorable, little mouse. Your body knows that it belongs to me, even when you’re asleep.”

[pseudowho]

"Oi mate! This one yours?"

Kento faltered, an exasperated half-smile on his lips as he took you in, one hand on his hip and the other clutching his lower face. You swayed, completely smashed and giggling to yourself, on the bouncer's seat outside the club. The crowds bustled around you, heading home, somewhere between morning and night.

The bouncer looked peeved at your constant mild mockery of him, laughing to yourself with messy hair, a wonky dress, your heels in your hand, and bubbling over with ginrumtequilasoursshots. Kento sighed to himself, his resignation sparking with affectionate humour.

"Yes. Yes, that one is...mine."

Your ears piqued to hear Kento, a genuine grin splashing over your bleary-eyed face. You threw your arms into the air, the bouncer flinching away from you.

"Kento! Uppies!"

"Don't be ridiculou-- not giving you uppies--"

Your face crumpled, all innocent disappointment, and it shot Kento through with knives. A faint blush smattered across high, tight cheekbones, his face otherwise the picture of cool impassivity.

"...fine. Uppies. Just this once."

With a gigglesnort, your head swooped as you allowed Kento to lift you effortlessly onto his back, and sighed deeply into the heat of him, his enormous hands cupping your arse and hips. You felt yourself swayed half to sleep by his steady steps, the cool smell of night air on tarmac, and the sounds of the club fading into the distance behind you.

"...Kento?"

"Hmmm?" You bit your lip at the rumble of his back against your body. You replied, saccharine.

"...love you, Kento. Thanks...thanks for picking me up."

Another rumble, dismissive. "I love you. As if I wouldn't pick you up."

"...some boyfriends wouldn't pick me up--"

"When was I ever 'some boyfriends'?"

You bit into his shoulder, squirming against his back as he tensed. You fizzled, every nerve alight with liquor and want. Kento was silent for a moment, still walking in and out of streetlight shadow, in, out, in, out...

"...besides, I'm your husband."

You gasped, your head swimming with drink and surprise. "Oh yeah! Oh wow...my husband...yeah."

Kento scoffed, used to this. He felt your hands trail over his chest as he pressed you into the back seat of the car, strapping you in. He knew better than to put you and your drunk, wandering hands into the passenger seat.

You barely blinked, snoring in the back seat, before you awoke with a jolt and a squeak, being carried into the house. Kento juggled keys, and the car blip-blipped behind him as he fumbled the door open, kicking it closed behind him.

"Hey, Kento..." you whispered, loudly, as if bestowing a great secret, "...I think...we should go to bed..."

"Ah, yes. Definitely."

"...yeah?" You flirted, not as sly and seductive as you thought. Kento's nose grazed yours, his voice lowering a decibel. He laid you back on the bed, and crawled over you, strong arms bracketing you in as he spoke.

"...first...I'll undress you, nice and slow."

You squirmed, giggling beneath his forehead kisses, and he continued.

"...then, I'll get something more...comfortable, out of your wardrobe."

You bit the back of your hand, wiggling beneath him as his twinkling eyes drank you in.

"And then...I'll get you all dressed up."

You were on fire, alight with promise, and groped shamelessly at Kento's biceps as he chuckled.

"...and I'll take off all your make-up, and put you in your ugliest pyjamas, and brush your teeth, and put you to bed. With a glass of water and some pain relief on the nightstand."

You slapped his chest in a half-genuine sob, devastated, certain you'd managed to seduce him this time.

"Nooo, Kentoooo...please please please fuck me--"

"Absolutely not."

"But why not?!"

"Behave yourself."

"Don't you want me?"

"--looking like a sloppy Tanuki? No, my darling--"

"Hate you."

A quiet rumble, a laugh as he made his promise come true, stripping you naked just to dress you again. Brushing your teeth. Cleaning your face, and moisturising it. Rolling you into bed, more wine than woman.

You managed just a few more incoherent noises of complaint...before soft snores filled your bedroom. Kento huffed, chuckling to himself as he got ready for bed.

One night, you convinced yourself as you dipped into sleep, you may manage to seduce him while drunk. Tonight was not that night. Nor the next night. Not the next night. Nor the next night--

[readwritealldayallnight]

Saw the post of you asking if we had any tropes or ideas we wanted to see u talk abt and jumped for joy 🙏 … must ask . Do u have any thoughts on ghost finding out reader is pregnant 😋😋

I like to think Ghost starts having suspicions before you do

Wrapped around each other’s bodies, limbs tangled in the sheets as you sleep peacefully with your other half by your side, he’s never not holding at least one of your boobs in his warm calloused palms. You start to wake up with complaints about how sore they are however, his hands in complete agreement with his eyes; your tits have gotten bigger.

And though he hates to see how uncomfortable they have you feeling all of a sudden, and how you whine so cutely about how you need new bras, your cleavage spilling out of your cups, he’s finding it rather difficult not to appreciate the new view.

Next though, he’s noticing how strange it is that foods you usually loved, now have you crinkling your nose up in disgust, turning your face away from the smell, or worse, that one time you ran to the bathroom to spill the contents of your stomach, utterly repulsed by a certain odor.

But he forgets that you haven’t requested Chinese food in nearly a month when instead he’s trying to wrap his mind around how you want peanut butter and jelly on a cheeseburger.

He certainly doesn’t think twice about how you’re just tad bit friskier than usual, pinching his ass and trying to jump his bones more often. There’s never been a lack of intimacy or wanting the other in your relationship, but you seem nearly insatiable recently, using and abusing his fingers, his mouth, his dick, multiple times a day. There are no complaints on his end, your man always being borderline desperate for you.

It’s when he’s been away for work for the last two weeks and he’s walking back into the house and he sees you, that his eyes cannot deny the way you’re simply glowing. Radiating effortless beauty in a way he’s never seen before, which is saying a lot considering you knock the breath out of him every time he’s lucky enough to see even just your shadow.

You look so soft, so sweet, so perfectly his.

He’s searching for a cloth to warm up under the faucet, preparing to clean up the mess he’s just made of you in bed over the last few hours, when his eyes land on the unopened box of tampons under the bathroom sink. His mind starts quickly doing the math, believing that in theory you should have had to open this pack by now, when things begin to click for him.

Laying naked on your back atop the messy sheets, still catching your breath and coming back down to earth after the many times Simon brought you to bliss tonight, you’re admittedly confused when he comes back into the bedroom without the towel he said he was going to get. You’re even more caught off guard when he approaches you and lays two hands on the sides of your stomach, face approaching your abdomen with an expression of concentration on his face.

“Si what are you-”

“Love, I think you’re pregnant.”

He’s lucky you’ve been having the same suspicion for a few days now, waiting for him to take an actual test and find out, otherwise you might be smacking him upside the head right about now.

Once you do take the test however and confirm what he already felt sure of, that he had put a baby in you, he’s asking you why it isn’t appropriate to tape it to the living room wall for everyone to see, elated to share the news with those in your lives, meanwhile you’ve just decided he won’t be helping decorate the nursery, beyond building furniture.

[gghostwriter]

Level-One Intruder

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 2 Summary: Spencer apprehends an unexpected but adorable trespasser Trope:It’s fluff in a meet cute type of way w.c: 1.8k a/n: I'm a liar. I said I was going to post once I get over this flu but I couldn't help myself, not at all. I just really really wanted to share this cute cute fic I wrote with you all. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The brown tweed coat on Spencer’s shoulders threaten to droop down his arms as he wrangled his keys to unlock his apartment door.

There was little light on the hallway, something that could be attributed to the late hour of twelve midnight. Muffled noises could be heard from next door—a new tenant must have moved in while he was away. 

The FBI agent could feel himself coming apart at the seams from the lack of proper sleep. The latest case took eight long grueling days to solve and the team had to make do with what the small town could offer as arrangements.

His back felt stiff from curling on the squeaky sofa bed, trying his best to make himself comfortable and now, all he wanted to do was decompress with a totem of a book and sleep like the dead until his alarm clock rang for the next day. 

Dropping his satchel on the ground, silently assuring himself to get the laundry going the next day, a tiny scuffle echoed through his heavily darkened apartment.

Spencer tensed, unsure if his overtly exhausted mind conjured up the noise or if someone else found their way into his haven while it was otherwise unoccupied.

Another sound confirmed the reality causing him to draw his gun from his holster, ends pointing down, as he slowly made his way around the sofa to the first bedroom, minding his steps to avoid the sections with creaking floorboards.

He rounded the corner, eyes straining to adjust to the minimal light the outposts provide him—and nothing. 

The room was stale from lack of use and everything looked to be in the right place. The stripped spare bed looked untouched and all the windows were sealed shut. Exactly how he left it.

Another noise caught his attention.

Spencer tightened his hold on the gun and tiptoe’d to the next room—the bathroom and in there, the first real evidence was uncovered. 

His eyebrows threatened to meet in the middle as he took in the unspooled tissue roll hanging from its holder. The unused sheets of paper now sat on the green titled floor, no doubt flooded with organisms and bacteria that the naked eye couldn’t see. 

He shuddered from the thought.

Quickly moving on, he shuffled his way to the open kitchen. Right away he spotted something amiss—rather a few items amiss.

First, the lower cabinet was ajar. It was where Spencer stored his cleaning supplies and it was rarely opened as it was.

Second, his favorite Star Trek mug that he left out to dry near the sink was now precariously near the edge, threatening to break into a thousand pieces.

And lastly, the empty plastic bag of bread on the counter that he was sure had two more slices before he went away for the case.

There was an intruder and it seemed like he was hungry.

Weapon still in his hands, he slowly he crept his towards the slightly opened mahogany door of the main bedroom. He took a deep breath before rounding up to the room, pistol pointing forward to the unsuspecting guest. 

Except there was no one.

“That’s strange,” he muttered to himself, holstering back the revolver to his belt and to his surprise, someone answered or rather, meow-ed back. A fluffy orange cat with a collar on his neck.

The agent smiled. “You must be my intruder—”

Meow.

“—Now, who are you and how did you get in here?”

The cat was silent, content with rubbing his body on his black pant legs, leaving behind stray hairs that Spencer would have to lint away before laundry.

He bent down to see if there was any information hanging from the cat’s green collar. 

“Mr. Chewie. Is that your name?”

Feline eyes stared into his and blinked once. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he sighed. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d believe you could understand me but actually according to studies, cats lack the cognitive skills to interpret human language so I still don’t know why I’m explaining that to you.”

Meow.

“Nope, I’m sure you’re just responding to the fact that I am talking to you and my rambling is clearly brought by my lack of proper sleep—” a knock on his front door interrupted his musings. “—one second,” he called out, swiftly unbuckling his holster belt and placing it on top of the dresser. There was no need to frighten the knocking neighbor with a gun. 

Spencer turned back to the cat inquisitively sitting next to his feet. “Don’t move.”

As he made his way back to the entrance, opening lights as he went, he could hear the click clack of the feline’s claws against the wooden floorboards. It clearly didn’t take his order to consideration.

Spencer swung the door open as the stranger was poised for a mid-knock.

“Uh—hi,” the woman breathed out. 

“Hi,” Spencer drawled out in reply. “Can I help you?”

You rocked on your heels, fingers pulling down the ends of your oversized sweater as if it could lessen your state of undress. Spencer didn’t judge, it was early into the morning after all, nor did he stare long at your navy blue shorts and pink fluffy socks adorning your feet. 

“I’m your new neighbor and it’s not really the time to introduce myself but by any chance is there—”

“An adorable intruder in my apartment?” 

You nod, sweetly smiling. The glint in your eyes filled with apologies.

“Yes actually, I was trying to ask him where he came from but I don’t actually speak cat and neither does he understand human.” 

You laugh sheepishly, fingers gently rubbing at the side of your neck. “I’m so sorry. I hope he didn’t make a mess or bother you at all. I left my fire escape window open for a little bit to let the breeze in and he must have explored out while I wasn’t looking. So sorry again, let me just get him out of the way—”

A rustle from behind made him turn, not before he caught your eyes widening to the scene inside his apartment. Your cat kneading on his brown throw blanket before settling on the sofa.

“Mr. Chewie, what are you doing?” You squeaked out.

Spencer laughed at the outrageous tone coating your voice. It reminded him of Garcia swatting the other agents away from her tech equipments.

The cat answered back with a meow.

“No, mister. You cannot sleep here, this isn’t our home! It belongs to this lovely gentleman over here—” you flashed Spencer a smile. “Now, please get your butt off the sofa and back to our apartment.”

The feline seemingly rolled his eyes and turned his back on you.

“Huh,” Spencer observed. “The studies might be wrong after all. I think he understands you.”

You laughed, shoulders shaking from the absurdity of his comment. “Mr. Chewie might be special or at least that’s what every pet owner believe to be. I never introduced myself have I? I’m Y/N. I moved next door a couple of nights ago.”

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he replied back. 

You tilted your head to the side. “Oh, is that why I haven’t seen you around, Doctor? Busy saving lives?”

He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. In a way, you weren’t wrong per se. His title did let people assume his career to be in the medical industry instead of having three PhD’s under his belt. The former was more plausible given how young he looked.

The sound of a door opening and closing at the end of the hall caught both your attention. Your eyes flashed back to his, twinkling. “So, Doctor. Will it be alright if I step inside and grabbed my cat?”

He cleared his throat. “Uh—yeah, yeah. Sure, come right in.”

You sheepishly smiled before entering his sanctuary. Eyes soaking in any piece of information that represented who he was.

Spencer felt your warmth as you passed his body. The smell of warm cookies wafting to his nose, dissipating the anxiety that threatened to creep up his spine from letting a stranger into his home. 

“Nice apartment,” you complimented. “There seems to be a lot of books.”

He tucks his hands inside his pant pockets. “I like to read.”

“Me too. It’s a great hobby to pass the time.”

You sweetly smiled before swiftly scooping up the lounging cat in your arms with little protest. “Again, I’m so sorry if he disturbed you in any way and please, let me know if he made a mess. I’d like to make it up to you—as a thank you and apology, I mean.”

“It’s no problem,” Spencer watched your cheeks match the color of your socks under the fluorescent light. It suited you, he thought. “Actually, can I just ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“Why is he—” his calloused hands reaching to pet the orange feline nestled on your chest. “—named Mr. Chewie?” 

You giggled, the sound similar to wind chimes being rustled by a gentle breeze. It settled the ache caused by his lack of proper rest. It was fascinating, intriguing, and a little bit frightening if he had to be honest.

“Well, I actually named him after Star Wars, Chewbacca, because of how fluffy he is and the name just shortened itself once I found out how perpetually famished he is.”

“He’s named well,” Spencer surmised, the empty plastic of bread flashing in his mind.

“Well, I shouldn’t be bothering you any longer,” you slowly backed away from his space. “Thank you, Doctor, and have a good night.”

With a sleepy smile on his face, Spencer watched you push open your apartment door. “Good night.”

You flashed your saccharine smile one last time before closing it behind you, leaving him feeling light and bemused for the first time in a long while.

And as he woke up to the gentle streams of the sun on his face, feeling well rested and ready to tackle the paperwork on his desk, the emotion still lingered causing the corners of his mouth to rise up into a soft smile. An after effect of your encounter that he didn’t mind experiencing. 

It was a certain type of high. 

It was something bright and puzzling.

A note and a batch of cookies taped to his door caught his eye as he exited the apartment. The  treats were in this clear, non-labelled package. Handmade then, Spencer noted.

His smile stretched his warming cheeks wide as he took in the scripted letters written on the pink post it that reminded him of your blush and your fluffy socks.

See you around, Doctor! 

Have a great day saving lives! 

- Your Nurse neighbor & Mr. Chewie xx 

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[allbark-no-bite]

things friends do.

felix catton x reader (wc: 3.1k)

summary: things friends do include but are not limited to: sleeping in each other’s bed, kissing, sharing beer, fucking each other

warnings: 18+ smut, unprotected sex

author’s note: y’all i have refused to believe that jacob elordi was attractive but saltburn did me in

————————————————————————

You were not in love with Felix Catton.

And Felix Catton was not in love with you.

He was a lover boy, but he was not your lover boy.

The thing about Felix was that he had just about everyone at his disposal. Girls, guys, it didn't matter. Everything belonged to him so long as he wanted it. But it didn't feel that way. You never felt as though you were owned by him. It was just that he was Felix and who didn't want to belong to him?

Of course 'just friends' didn't constantly have their hands all over each other, didn't sleep in each other's bed or see each other inappropriately naked. And 'just friends' definitely didn't kiss each other on the mouth.

But this was Felix.

Not Oliver, or Farleigh, or Veneita. Felix.

—

The party is so electric that you're not sure if it's the music or your own erratic heartbeat thumping in your ears. The place is so packed that at some point the entire bar had become part of the main dance floor in order to accommodate for the dizzying array of overheated, intoxicated bodies moving this way and that. Blue light illuminates the otherwise dark room. Flashes of neon green splash across swaying bodies, highlighting dancers as they navigate the floor.

To no one's surprise, Felix is in the center of it all. He'd gravitated towards the pole in the middle of the room like a magnet and had taken to it to pay his dues, his slender body rolling to the music with all of his typical charisma.

After a few beers, you're pleasantly buzzed, but you'll probably be toeing the line once you finish the fourth in your hand. Felix is well on his way to a monster hangover, one that he'll sleep off on the floor of your dorm room. Farleigh is right behind him, likely just as intoxicated, but with him you could never tell. Farleigh was always the same catty bitch no matter how drunk or sober he was. You loved him, but he was a bitch.

A heavy weight suddenly staggers upon your shoulders, and you groan against the weight, both you and Felix swaying dangerously to the side as he throws his arm around you. Usually this wouldn't work because he's so ridiculously tall but the alcohol had made him a little less coordinated than usual and he's slouched down to closer to your height. Beer sloshes over the rim of his plastic cup and splashes onto the floor at your feet.

"Having fun, darling?" he asks, half shouting in your ear to be heard over the music.

"Always," you laugh, though it's mostly directed at him.

His skin is clammy with sweat and his breath is coated with the familiar, yeasty smell of beer. "Where's Farleigh?" Felix doesn't even wait for your response before he's shouting for him. "Ay! Farleigh!" There's a cigarette pinched between two fingers of the same hand that's holding onto his cup, and he raises it to get his friend's attention.

His arm still around you, you dodge the spilling liquid heading for your feet. "Felix! Felix, careful!" you scold him, still laughing, so the smile doesn't disappear from his face.

In an attempt to solve the problem, he leans forward and starts to swallow back the remainder of the beer in his cup. He must underestimate just how much he had left to go because it starts to escape past the sides of his mouth, dripping past his jaw and down the front of his open shirt.

You shriek again. "Felix!"

Laughing, he pulls the cup away and brings it towards you. Before you can protest, he's tipping it back into your mouth. He leaves you no choice but to swallow it or wear it across the front of your shirt so you do your best to drink the remaining beer, more nursing from the cup than gulping as Felix was.

It leaves your lips and chin wet, and before you can wipe the excess beer away, Felix does it himself, somewhat roughly dragging his thumb under your lip. He then sucks the digit into his mouth, hardly thinking twice about it. It would have been erotic with anyone else. But this was everyday with Felix. It would have been weird if you hadn't chugged the backwash of his beer.

His attention is just as quickly drug from you to Farleigh. You hadn't noticed the other boy approaching. He gives you a wicked smile, a look in his eyes like he wants to say something but refrains. You tilt your head, prepared to ask him what his mischievous look is all about but Felix interrupts you.

"Farleigh, mate," Felix begins still hugging you close. "The girls are looking a bit bored. What do ya think?"

Across the room, India and Annabel are sitting on a couch together. The piece of furniture itself has certainly seen better days, torn and stained with bodily fluids of varying levels of disgusting. There's a guy with his arm slung around India, but for all she's paying attention to him, he might as well not exist. She's drinking from a bottle of champagne and couldn't look less interested in him.

Farleigh's eyes track from you to Felix, as though making some sort of connection, then he smiles cheshire-like. "Oh yeah, mate. You know, I do think India was actually looking for you earlier." His sinister brown eyes lock with yours, as if waiting for you to object. "Why don't you go put her out of her misery. (Y/n) and I will go busy ourselves at the bar."

Felix grins crookedly, nothing but honest fun shining in his blown pupils. "I will see you two later."

He straightens but not before twisting his neck, body still plastered to yours, and he plants a sloppy kiss to the side of your mouth. His lips taste like beer and nicotine. It's not really even a kiss, just a lack of coordination on Felix's part that he didn't catch your cheek. If Farleigh hadn't been trying to start something in the first place, you wouldn't have even thought twice about it.

It's not the first time Felix has kissed you. Hell, he's probably even kissed Farleigh at some point. Maybe not on the mouth because they were cousins, but that's besides the point. Friends kissed each other all the time. This wasn't anything new.

As Felix removes himself from you, his tall figure walking over to grab India's hand and lead her from the couch, the guy who had been flirting with her for the past hour glaring after them, you level your stare with Farleigh's. "What's that look about?"

Farleigh crosses his arms, looking as full of himself as ever, and rolls his eyes. He really was a bitch sometimes. "Fuck the friend code and fuck him already. You know you want to."

It's your turn to roll your eyes. "I don't want to fuck him, Farleigh."

You don't. Things just weren't like that between you and Felix. Sure, maybe there had been a few occasions where you'd sucked him off and he'd done the same for you in return but that was all purely situational. There were no feelings attached. Just two friends who were close enough to do that kind of thing without it being weird.

Farleigh just scoffs at your ignorance, pushing past you with his shoulder to head over to the bar. "Just like sweet little Ollie doesn't want to fuck him? Please, neither of you look at him all that different."

"Everyone looks at him like that," you argue. "He's Felix."

"No, everyone looks at him like they want his dick in their mouth. You look at him like you'd let him do absolutely anything he fucking wants to you. And honestly, (Y/n), it's kinda sad." He says the last part with faux pity, his voice demeaning.

You scowl at him as he turns back around and walks over to the bar.

Fuck Farleigh. You did not want to fuck Felix.

And fuck him for putting the thought in your head.

—

It's nearing two am by the time you remove yourself from the bar. You're no more intoxicated than you were earlier, having cut yourself off after chugging the last of Felix's drink, but you weren't particularly keen on walking in on Felix and India after tonight so you'd resigned yourself to sitting on a barstool for the remainder of the night.

You keep telling yourself that you weren't bothered by him having sex with her, but Farleigh had put the thought in your head and it wouldn't leave.

Of course you liked Felix. Who didn't like Felix? But did you want to sleep with him? No.

Maybe.

It wasn't like he wouldn't do it if you asked. But Felix would have sex with anything that walked. And you weren't India. You were his best friend. And no matter now many times you two had pushed the line of being just friends, having sex with him would completely ruin the line all together. And then what? There nowhere to go after you start dating your best friend. If it crashes and burns it's game over. And with Felix, that was a guarantee.

You pass India going opposite of you down the hall. One of the straps of her dress is hanging off her shoulder, bedazzled high heels in her hands as she struggles to slip them back on. There's a dark purple hickey at the junction of her throat and collarbone and another lighter one above her breast. You don't say anything to her, just push past her into Felix's dorm.

He's sprawled out across the top of the bed that he never makes, shirtless and only a pair of flimsy boxers to cover his bareness. His head rolls towards you, cigarette between his lips.

"Hey," he greets, smoke spilling from his mouth. "You have a good time with Farleigh?"

You pick your way through the disaster of his room, stepping around empty boxes of pizza and abandoned articles of clothing until you find something that looks wearable. You unzip your dress, only half turned away from him as you pull on one of his shirts. He's seen you naked before and so your ass and the side of your boobs is hardly scandalous to him.

"Farleigh is an ass," you retort, crawling onto his mattress to settle into the empty space at his side. It's without a doubt the same space that India had been just a few minutes before.

Felix frowns, the piercing his brow moving downwards with the expression. "What's he said to you?" His tone is concerned because he knows how his cousin can be.

You just sigh in response, shifting into a more comfortable position at his side. Felix takes another drag of his cigarette while he waits for your response. Farleighs words run through your head again.

"Why haven't we had sex?"

He actually laughs at that one, sitting up on one of his elbows so that he can see you better. The shag of his dark brunette hair hangs over his forehead as he looks down at you. "Do you want to have sex?"

While his tone is amused and humorous, you know he's genuinely asking. Felix would never make fun of you for that kind of thing.

You shrug, looking up into his bemused brown eyes. "I don't know. Maybe?"

This conversation shouldn't be as casual as you're making it out to be, and maybe it wouldn't have been with anyone else, but this is Felix. He's your best friend.

Slowly, he leans down and places a kiss on your lips. It's fairly brief, hardly even long enough for you to kiss him back before he's pulling away. "Then let's have sex," he says, and it's as simple as that.

Felix leans down again, connecting your mouths. Without breaking the kiss, he shifts from where he'd been laying beside you to bracket your hips with his knees. His long fingers find the buttons of his shirt that you just put on and begin to unbutton them, his hands sliding down your sides until you're squirming.

"Felix," you whine, already short of breath from his touch.

"Relax, baby. I've got you," he murmurs into your mouth, sliding one of his hands into your hair, the blunt of his nails scraping against your scalp. It gives him enough purchase to tip your head back and expose your neck to his unrelenting mouth. The hot heat of his mouth pants against the underside of your jaw, the wet muscle of his tongue laving along your throat.

His other hand slides down your hip, then your thigh before coming to your panties. You have to force yourself not to squirm away in anticipation. Thankfully, Felix isn't a tease and he uses two of his fingers to pull your panties to the side. You do, however, jump when he slides them into your slick hole without any hesitation.

The bastard snickers against your throat. "Sorry," he apologizes, kissing apologetically at your jaw. "I guess I should have warned you."

All you can do is huff, your fingers tugging at his tangle of brown hair. He grins at your inability to respond before kissing your mouth again. He swallows the noise that escapes you when he curls his fingers and your back arches off of the bed. He does it again, this time scissoring them to stretch your hole. The burn is more pleasurable than uncomfortable, but it leaves you gasping into his open mouth.

Just when you think that's all he has to offer with his fingers, they somehow slip even further, hitting some part deep inside of you that you didn't even know existed. He curls them and you actually cry out, your knees knocking at his hips to push him away.

"I know, I know," he soothes, using the broadness of his shoulders to keep your legs in place. Felix curls his fingers into your smooth walls a few more times, his thumb circling your clit until you swear you can't take anymore. It's torture, the length of his two fingers inside of you.

Finally, he pulls them away before you can actually start crying. Your arousal coats his long fingers and drips down his wrist, glistening in the darkness of his room. Felix's brown eyes hold yours as he sticks them into his mouth, refusing to look away even as his tongue dips between them. You can barley swallow the spit in your mouth.

Felix grins, leaning down to kiss you. Even if you hadn't wanted to taste yourself on his lips, he doesn't give you much of a choice, his tongue dipping into your mouth. He moans, and it's quite possibly the hottest thing you've ever heard.

Then he's disconnecting your mouths to slide down his boxers. His hard cock bobs free, brushing against the lean planes of his stomach. You've seen Felix's dick before. It's no surprise to you how large he is— incredibly long with a perfectly mushroomed tip— but you've never had to think about it actually going inside of you.

His hand catches your jaw, forcing you to look at his face. There must have been flash of fear in your eyes because he murmurs sweetly, "Look at my face, okay? I want to see you."

You nod as best you can in his hold.

You're not sure if it's on purpose or not but he misses the first try, his cock sliding through your slick and nudging at your clit. Your whole body jolts but his hand at your throat holds you in place.

The second time, his mushroomed head catches at your hole and he slips in, meeting little resistance. He slides in only another inch or so before stopping, his cock already snug inside of you. You whine when he tries to push in further.

Felix kind of laughs, his hand reaching down to circle his thumb at your clit. "M'sorry, baby. You're so tight. Just give me a second."

You swallow, willing back tears. It's not that it hurts, not really, just the fact that he feels so good and you want him inside of you.

Without warning, his hand splays across your stomach and he uses the leverage to push further inside of you. This time your muscles relax enough around him and he slides all the way in.

You moan at the feel of him entirely inside of you.

“There we go,” he groans, the muscles of his abdomen contracting as he holds himself up. Now fully inside of you, he begins rocking his hips, his dick hitting that spongey spot inside of you with every thrust. Felix is breathing heavily into your ear, the squelching of him sliding in and out of you the only other sound in the room.

Soon Felix hits a spot inside of you that makes your toes curl and almost immediately you’re coming, clenching around him as you do so.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Felix thrusts into you a few more times before pulling out just before he can come inside of you. He spills partially onto the bed and partially onto your stomach. When he’s finished, he holds himself up over you avoiding his own release leaking onto you stomach.

When his eyes find yours, he grins, that signature crooked smile appearing onto his face. You can’t help but laugh, your head falling back into the pillow. Felix laughs too. Not because he particularly knows what’s so funny but because you’re laughing.

You’re laughing and he loves you.

He leans over grabbing a tissue from the box beside his bed and wipes you off as best as he can before tossing it onto the floor and laying back down beside you, an arm behind his head You rest your head on his other arm, scooting in closer to his side.

“Are we going to talk about this?” he asks, looking down at you.

You smile to yourself, watching his toes nudge yours instead of looking back at him. “About what?”

“(Y/n), we’ve been friends since grade school and probably kissed a million times.”

Eventually you look up at him, doing your best to not look so sheepish. “Farleigh told me I was worse than Oliver. Can you believe that?”

Felix scoff, his fingers scratching through your hair. “I wouldn’t fuck Oliver.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes playfully at him. “Yeah you would.”

Felix barks out a laugh. “Yeah, I would,” he agrees.

[mv1simp]

inspired by my fav @piastrification thank you for being in my walls 🫶🫶 hope you enjoy!!

Streets ♥️

Max Verstappen x PR Manager!Reader

we play our fantasies out in real life ways, and no final fantasy, can we end these games, though?

6 months ago, F1 champion Max Verstappen traded in his status as "serious cat dad with road rage issues" for "Genius. Playboy. Millionaire. Philanthropist". Since then you've been fighting absolute demons as his PR manager to keep his reputation clean in the media. After you tell him you've had enough, he proposes a very interactive solution to your problem.

Content includes: Humour, crackfic, fluff, so much sexual tension, 18+ MDNI, smut, playboy!max, exasperated manager! reader, a very well rounded fic for once?! 4.7k WC

If someone asked you where it’d all gone downhill, you’d have to say it started because of that greedy paparrazi rat Henri - photographer at the MonacoDaily, otherwise known as every PR manager’s sleep paralysis demon. Because this particular paparazzo had a nasty knack for capturing celebrities just as they made the most atrocious decisions known to mankind. And he had an even nastier knack for threatening to sell said photos to the highest bidder. Truly, it was a dark day for any media team when they were forced to bargain with such a foul demon, who’d be able to go toe to toe with the likes of Satan himself.

So when your phone dinged at 5am on a peaceful Sunday morning, only to reveal the 7th (7th!!) message this month from the very same greedy little rat, you threw it across the room. Only to then remember you devastatingly had not been born into a Dubai oil family and you needed this job to pay Monaco rent. The text turns out to be a photo of your aggravating client - Max Verstappen, F1 champion driver, loving father to two cats, and more recently, certified manwhoreTM. He’s living upto your nickname for him, pictured in some nightclub with a half naked blonde sitting on his lap. Alright, alright, not as bad as you were expecting, you could even photoshop the girl’s hair colour to match his current girlfriend’s one maybe? Well, except the brunette woman glaring behind him is his current model girlfriend of the month. You hear a ding, another text from Henri - this time with just a 😈 and 💸👀. You throw the phone back against wall.

Three hours later you’ve cleaned up the PR nightmare and are banging on Max’s apartment door. He blearily lets you in, shirtless and still looking half drunk, but you don’t hesitate to yank him by his beltloops and drag him to the dining table (after quickly checking out that broad chest of his, though, cause goddamn. You’re just a girl.)

Ow, ow, what the hell, Max groans as he’s shoved into a chair. Please. As if you could do any real damage in your 5 foot frame to the 6 foot driver. Slamming your hands on the table for some dramatic flourish (you’re never beating the theatre kid allegations) you give the Dutchman a piece of your mind, demanding to know what his problem is, does he know how many people you’ve had to bribe this month to stop #SluttyMaxEra trending on twitter?? And yes, you know he broke up with Kelly 10 months ago but can’t he just process this healthily and go to therapy instead of having a hoe phase and hooking up with every third woman in Monaco?

Max looks insulted at this slight to his honor. He retaliates by accusing you of buying into the patriarchy and slut shaming him (-That’s not how that works but pop off king, is your deadpan response), and telling you he’s very much over Kelly, okay, it was an amicable breakup (-Sure, Verstappen, that’s why you’d only played Lana Del Ray for a whole month afterwards, huh?) and well, what’s the issue, he’s a hot and rich guy in Monaco, it’s not his fault women just want him? Would it not be #misogynistic of him to deny women the opportunity to explore their sexuality?! He smirks, pleased with his defence.

You groan, slumping down on a chair and burying your face in your hands, muffling your groan of wholesome cat dad Max comeback whennn. Max rolls his eyes at your theatrics, asking if you’d finally lost the plot.

You try cleaning up the PR messes you’ve been making, Max Emilian, you hiss furiously, remember Ibiza? Santorini? The goddamn yacht party over summer break when he got with the captain and her deputy?! (Even now, thinking of that leaking online gives you heartburn.)

Which yacht, Max says cockily, the one where he got with them one after another or at the same time?

Your jaw drops. You hadn’t even known about the threesome, so you suppose you should be grateful that wasn’t another mess to clean up. But a deeper, insecure part of you can’t help but wonder why the only woman Max doesn’t seem to want is you.

And sometimes you can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to be one of his girls, under his strong body for once instead of on the other side of his hotel wall, having to drown out the very satisfied female moans and headboard bangs with noise cancelling headphones. Like always, you push that thought down quickly.

You, good sir, are for the streets, you announce, standing up and deciding it was time to leave before your delulu, jealous thoughts decided to resurface. Seriously, you mutter under your breath, you didn’t care if his current side quest was to fuck 10 times a week, but could he at least stick to one person for a bit and not make more work for you-

Max’s hand slams the front door back closed as you started to open it. You freeze, turning back to look at him smirking down at you. You hadn’t expected him to follow you down the hallway and you gulp nervously for the safety of your job - you might have taken the roasting a bit too far.

Instead, you get a sly, Oh, so I can do whatever I want, wherever I want, just with one person?

At your awkward nod, because yes, that would significantly ease your workload, he continues, enjoying teasing his uptight, pretty manager - then were you gonna offer yourself up? After all, there’s no PR messes to find out about if it’s you, right?

You blink at Max, completely stunned by the 180 this conversation has taken. Your expression is so adorable that he couldn’t resist a you’re so cute when you’re acting all jealous, you could’ve just asked if you wanted him to fuck you, ya know?

That promptly reminds you you’re dealing with an an absolute manwhore. RIP celibacy era Max, you’ll always be famous.

Um, absolutely fucking not, keep your STDs to yourself, you hiss, flushing head to toe, and furious at the desire in you to give into the devilish proposal. He encourages you to think about it, still smirking, relaxing his grip so you can mercifully flee far away from his intense gaze. Jesus, when did he learn to rizz a girl up like that?!

You don’t take his proposal seriously at all, ignoring his cocky looks at you over meetings all week (also, he’d texted you his clean STD result to assure you he was a #SafeSexKing.) But that weekend, your refusal comes back to haunt you when you’re on a well deserved night out with your girlfriends and your PR manager senses start going off. You narrow your eyes as you spot Max in the dark corner of the nightclub, hands all over a mystery redhead. She’s not going to be a mystery much longer though - if you’d spotted them it was a matter of time before fan’s phones did and then you’d wake up to another goddamn text from your sleep paralysis demon, Henri.

You don’t even have to think about it twice. Saying goodbye to your friends, you’re at Max’s side at a very impressive speed given your 6 inch stilettos and tight sparkly minidress, and once again dragging him off by the beltloops and into an open bathroom.

He lets you yank him away, smirking when he sees you lock the door for good measure. Sweetheart, he greets. So good to see you. Finally realised you couldn’t resist me?

You practically climb him like a tree while telling him to shut the fuck up and pay attention at media training day next time, because what kind of PR crisis did he have unfolding out there? And just this once you’ll help him out, you say breathlessly in between deep kisses, but this isn’t a regular thing -

There’s not much more talking from you because he has you moaning up against the wall next, fingers buried inside your tight little pussy as he talks you through an orgasm, and then another when he splits you in half on his cock. (Once again, manwhore, who carries a condom in their jean pockets?!)

Unfortunately for your self control but very fortunately for your sex life, it is not in fact, a “one time thing”. Your trusty rose vibrator is glad for the break as you’d been taking your year long frustrations at your dry spell out on her. Especially when coming home after staying in hotels where you’d had to book out rooms neighbouring Max’s, so no one else overheard the raunchy vocals of different women every night.

Like Max said, with you, there were no more illicit PR messes to find out about in the middle of the night. You’d redirect him everytime he gave you bedroom eyes (At the pre race debrief. Post race debrief. Weekly team plan meeting. Over zoom calls? Seriously?) - gently taking his large hand and guiding him to a much more hidden, PR crisis-friendly area. To your surprise, Max actually sticks to his word and only hooks up with you - admittedly, multiple times a week (Not that you’re complaining. Turns out he was just as good in bed as he was on the track. Except this time he was definitely not finishing first...)

And for a while, everything is going well. There are no more weekly scandals scattered across trashy celeb magazines about Max. Your boss is gushing with praise, so impressed that you’ve finally managed to talk some sense into Redbull’s problem child (ah, if only she knew, but she never would, because the goddamn CIA couldn’t torture this info out of you) and best of all, you haven’t gotten a text from papparazzi rat Henri in weeks!

So of course, Max Verstappen decides that things are getting just a little bit too quiet for his liking, you had to earn your generous PR manager salary, that he paid for, right? His new, numerous tactics to stir the pot had included:

Going to clubs with no private bathrooms so you’d had to sit on his lap in the VIP lounge as he pulled your panties to the side to slide into you, barely hidden under your flimsy dress. You’d held back your moans and prayed the bass was too loud for anyone to hear

Sitting right next to you at every team dinner or business meeting so that he could sneak a large hand up your thigh and tease your pussy for fucking hours, often just as you were about to speak. And when you’re clenching the table so hard your fingers were white, he’s bending under the table to pick up a pen or something but instead left teasing licks and kisses on your aching core. You'd learnt very quickly not to wear a skirt.

Picking you up in his 2 seater Aston Martin instead of the much more appropriate discreet, spacious, 5 seater Audi he owned - so when he was too pent up after a bad practise session to wait till he got home, he'd get you to go down on him right there in the car, sometimes even as he drove, instead of parking in some hidden backstreet. It was so dirty, that he needed you so desperately that he didn't care about being caught by anyone peeking in through the half tinted windows. Because if they did look, they’d find his head thrown back in pleasure as he moans, his fingers tangled in your curls as he moved your drooling, pink lips up and down his wide cock-

Anyways, you get the picture. And he’d escalated this all the way to the paddock, which was insane because there were always multiple cameras trained on the current F1 champion. It’s the one place you two couldn’t sneak off without a very high risk of being caught, as evidenced by the one and only time he'd managed to get under your skin in the garage. He'd had you pinned up against the wall in some narrow side hallway as he whispered how fucking sexy you’d looked today, wearing his hoodie to cover up the hickies you hadn’t realized you’d woken up with and paired with some tiny denim shorts. Having the 6 foot champion huskily groan that he couldn’t focus on his free practise everytime you bent over to pet a passing dog, or when you innocently sucked on the Redbull flavoured lollipops and then the goddamn ice cream from the truck they’d brought in - was quite the power trip, you admit. So you guided his lips from your neck as he tries to add to the growing bruises on your neck and redirected him to your waiting lips instead, steamily making out as his large hands squeezed your thick ass like he’d been thinking about all day-

Max?!?

You instantly pull back from the driver and turned to see a flabbergasted looking GP - Max’s race engineer. His jaw is wide open as he looked at you two with round eyes. You’re fumbling to explain, trying and failing to push Max back - who looks rather annoyed at the intrusion and semi-glares at GP with narrow eyes. You hiss at the younger man to stop being rude and slip underneath his arms, going over to guiltily apologise to GP only to be met with You too?! How did he get you in his bed, you hated how much of a slut he was! Seriously, does he have a magical dick? Now you stare at GP in shock, unsure of how to respond to his question while Max starts laughing behind you. You make him join you as you promise to GP that he will never have to witness this again, because there will be no unprofessional behaviour of any sort on the paddock after "BootyShorts Gate" as you thereafter dub the incident. Regardless, GP still shoots you both wary glances and begins the habit of announcing his arrival and waiting 10 seconds before turning a corner in the garage, earning him many an odd look. Dramatic, really, was this where Max gets it from?

Max, of course, was very displeased with this new “professionalism” rule you'd set down - on the paddock was when he'd get the most tense, the most horny and desperate to have you underneath him, after all - and he made sure you knew it. You deliberately ignored his heated gaze on you as you interviewed him, or his lingering touches when he helped you hold your microphone up to his much taller frame, large hand wrapped around your small ones clutching the mic. Or his recent favourite, which involved standing next to you to help pick out the insta pics post-race (something he'd notoriously always hated to do) - except now, he conveniently happened to be shirtless, his toned abs and broad shoulders on display, running a hand through his sweaty tousled hair.

This last seduction tactic had sent you fleeing to Checo's garage to seek out the other Redbull driver's PR manager and beg on your knees for a client swap, surely, the sponsor benefits are legendary for whoever Max's PR manager is -

Nope. Nuh uh, no way, Checo is the breeziest driver ever to look after. The other manager pauses. Well, except for the occasional political military coup scandal in Mexico. But still, I'd take that any day over El Manwhore.

You wailed at whatever Gods had decided to curse you and took matters into your own hands, furiously plotting up social media campaign idea after idea that were exactly the kind of thing Max hated with a burning passion - hoping it would get him to back off on his tactics and wave a white flag. From viral TikTok challenges, to making him read all his cringe 2008 tweets, and even making him play fuck, marry, kill with the drivers of the grid. You'd admit, that last one had been rather funny to watch, making you chuckle as you scrolled through the comments, liking "Can't believe we got Max Verstappen saying he would fuck Lewis, kill Pierre and marry Charles before GTA 6" and "does Redbull admin know she posted this on main?!"

But despite your best efforts, it didn't seem to deter Max. If anything, he'd begrudgingly do the task and end up laughing excitedly at you - who was holding the camera - about some joke or the other and make your stupid heart flutter. You knew you definitely should not be catching feelings for your client - who'd made it very clear his interest in you was only physical. But no one needed to know that sometimes you’d log into your fake account to like the "Who got max giggling and kickin his feet and shii?" comments.

Meanwhile, Max had caught wind of your desperation for an escape attempt with Checo’s manager and had upped the ante. He slyly mentioning to Christian Horner than you were doing such a great job as his PR manager, could he pretty please have you promoted to his general manager for his non racing publicity too?

And that's how you found yourself at a Dior Sauvage photoshoot, despite your adamant protests to Horner. You were putting your Masters of Business Adminstration, first class honours, to fantastic use by babysitting a 26 year old child who liked fast cars that went vroom vroom. The only redeeming factor is that you can leave the unflattering Redbull shirt at home since this wasn't for F1 publicity and instead wear a nice outfit for once. Still, you thought it was odd that Max had so easily accepted this campaign, as he wasn't normally one to enjoy doing PR.

A few minutes later you've figured out exactly why your favourite manwhore had agreed to this campaign, because he's grinning at you while posed shirtless, toned abs and broad shoulders all on display as some pretty, busty model is draped over him. The photographer is making this even more painful for you by dragging out the shoot, making Max and the model reposition herself multiple times. You roll your eyes at the scene, because obviously they're two very attractive people who will look good together no matter what, did the photographer really need to be so extra? You stalk off at some point to make yourself a hot chocolate in the hopes it'll sooth the flames of jealousy that are threatening to consume you right now. Max approaches you when a break is called, running a teasing hand along your waist from the back and whispering you looked so fucking hot in this tight maxi dress, making you nervously look around to see if anyone noticed. Luckily, all the staff appeared busy and didn’t look in the dim corner you'd settled into to do paperwork. You hiss at him to keep your hands to yourself, Verstappen making him grin and inform you that's not what you’d said last night, in fact, you were practically begging for him to do the exact opposite-

You're glaring up at him, seriously contemplating if it’s worth breaking your contract clause to "act in the client's best interests" and mauling him with your laptop when the photographer comes up to you both with narrowed eyes. You guiltily step back, thinking he overhead Max's suggestive comments, but instead he just looks back and forth between you two contemplatively. Then, just as you were about to ask him what the issue was, he announces that you'd be replacing the model as the female for the shoot. No questions asked! he announces as you try to protest and snaps his fingers at the makeup and wardrobe artists to demand they sort you out (he gestures rather dramatically to your whole figure when he says this, making you scowl).

So that's how you find yourself dressed in a silky gold minidress with a sultry eye look, pressed up against Max's broad chest and trying not to focus on the intimate position you two are in. Max, however, has no such qualms about the position, using it to tease you further. You've been looking extra tense lately, sweetheart, he breathes, those devilish lips brushing past your ear. I know a great way to make you relax? You growl at him to shut the fuck up because oh my god, did he know how many cameras are pointed at you both right now? Besides, you mutter under your breath, it seemed like he was very interested in relaxing with that blonde model earlier.

Fighting to keep the smug look of his face, Max whispers back that there was No need to be jealous, schatje, you were the only one getting access to his magical dick. So caught up in the game you two are playing, you don't even register the photographer excitedly snapping up pictures, proclaiming that he knew it, the chemistry between these two is unbelievable!

Afterwards, as you're walking off the photoshoot, feeling all hot and bothered from Max's hands running across your exposed skin, shamelessly looking you up and down, the blonde Dutchman catches up to you. He teases you that you were going to get wrinkles at 25 if you didn't stop scowling all the time. I'm older than you, you scoff back, by a whole 6 months, in fact, so maybe you should actually listen to me for once instead of pissing me off? No problem, Max agrees, after all, he's always had a thing for MILFs. You can't help snort at his retort and then start laughing when he tries to maintain an innocent look. At least you were away from the cameras in case someone heard this, you mused.

Unfortunately, you both don't notice MonacoDaily's ratbag paparrazo, Henri, hiding in nearby shrubbery with his camera. It had been far too long without a Verstappen news scandal, he thought with a satisfied smirk as he clicked away.

And later than night, after you'd eaten the chicken stir fry he'd cooked and rewatched Cars 2 (a surpassingly more regular occurrence, these days, to unwind with him at the end of the day instead of immediately being mauled the second you stepped foot in his apartment) you made sure he followed your orders for once. Sitting him back, telling him just how bad he'd been today with all his teasing (-well, it worked, didn't it, sweetheart?) you showed him just how good you were at playing the game, too. And soon, he was breathlessly moaning underneath you as you rode him for the first time, gripping his cock like you were going to milk every last drop, teasing him with just enough pace to get him worked up but not enough to send him over the edge. And you only let him cum inside you when he begged you sweetly, making you go fuzzy at the sight of the infamous Redbull playboy being so desperate for you, and only you.

Afterwards, once you've shampooed each other's hair in the shower while gossiping about how catty that makeup artist had been, really, to imply that your pretty curls had been the problem and not her shitty styling? and Max has got you spooned against him, warm in an old hoodie of his, pressing a goodnight kiss to your forehead, you can't control the warmth blossoming in your chest any longer. And as a content sleep takes a hold of you, you can't help but wonder if Max's affections went beyond physical attraction, just like yours’ were now doing.

It turned out the opportunity to find out this answer would come the very next day, when the ding of your phone wakes you up in the early hours of the morning. It’s a very specific sound that you've set for a certain ratbag - and you get war flashbacks, hearing it now after so long. Scrambling off the bed, ignoring Max's muffled groans as you shove his heavy arm of you, you unlock your phone and gasp in horror as your suspicions are confirmed. Henri has arisen from the ashes and this time it's to deliver his sauciest scandal yet. Because a picture tells a 1000 words, sure, but he has the two of you on a goddamn video, flirting and giggling at each other as you exited the studio yesterday. There's no chance of you talking your way out of this one, as Max's large palm wanders to give your thick ass a firm squeeze as he guides you into his passenger seat. Goddamn, you knew you shouldn't have worn that tempting skims maxi dress - Max was an ass (and tits) man who couldn't be trusted to control himself in public. BTW already sold this 🥸 Henri texts. Just a courtesy FYI cuz I brought a boat with the bag from this one ✌️

You contemplate if it would be better to disappear off the face of the planet, or get plastic surgery to become unrecognisable as you chug your morning Redbull while moodily looking over the Monaco sunrise. Max joins you after a few minutes, looking extremely cute as he rubs the sleep out of his baby blue eyes and asks you what's wrong, schatje.

Taking a deep sigh (like you said, #DramaKid), you break the news. I’m going to hold your hand while I say this (- that’s really not necessary, Max interrupts) - but you know celibacy exists, right? As does having sex in a private location without the risk of being arrested for public indecency?

True, Max agrees, but what was the fun in that? Besides, you were just too hot to resist. Ignoring the butterflies at his cheesy flirting, you hold up the incriminating video on your phone as proof that it was not all fun and games, as Henri had already sold this to multiple news outlets this morning, you inform glumly. Max is strangely silent, looking intently at the video and even replaying it a few times, his eyes crinkling as a soft smile appears on his face when he hears the sound of you two laughing. Then - in a truly unbelievable redemption arc plotline from the Monaco playboy - he asks if it would be so terrible, to have this made public, to let the world know that you were together?

Well, I - you stumble over your words, - I dunno, I thought you liked that? Keeping it secret cause you just wanted a convenient hook up?

Max is silent again. Then, looking uncharacteristically nervous, he says that's not what he wants, not really, not anymore - not since he'd fallen in love with you, somewhere along the 3 months of the friends with benefits/PR manager and her problematic client situationship you’d had. And like at the very start, you don’t even need to think about it twice. This time when you shyly smile and kiss him, you make sure he can feel your love through it and know that you wanted more, too.

So you walk into work that morning, holding hands in open defiance, ready for the world to see. You’re rather confused when no one seems to be paying much attention, instead frantically trying to get the set up ready for the pre race testing. Maybe you two had not been as indiscreet as you thought and people already suspected? Or maybe you both had a penchant for drama and thought you were the main characters when you clearly were not?

You look at each other, shrug, and you give him a kiss on the cheek and tell him you’ll see him for lunch at the kebab shop on the corner, before he wanders off to the garage. Maybe Henri had a change of heart and decided not to exploit innocents for fame and money, you ponder hopefully. Maybe there truly was good in the world, after all.

And then you hear your name being called and turn to see your boss standing behind you menacingly, hands on hips. Care to explain why #MaxLovesMILFS is trending right now?

Somewhere along the Monaco waterfront, a paparazzi rat skulking in the bushes sneezes.

—————————————————————————

A/N: again thank you so much to @piastrification for inspiring this piece!! So sorry for the delay and I hope you enjoy my attempt at branching out to other fics xx tysm to you all for the requests, I am working them into my upcoming fics!! 💖

[reignpage]

Finders Keepers

Summary: in which alien!reader crash lands right in front of Gojo and your story with him begins Word Count: 1k (just trialing a new concept so it's a quick opening) Warnings: a little cursing, allusions to experimentation and alien warfare, reader is naked but not in a sexual manner

“I can’t believe aliens actually exist,” Satoru mutters to himself. 

This has been an incredibly wild evening. 

When he stepped out of his apartment to throw the bins out, he hadn’t expected to see a blinding flash of light zoom past him and explode in the parking lot. Thank goodness for his infinity, otherwise he would not have fared as well as the minivan you landed on. 

Yes. 

You.

The woman who came straight from the sky and fell on top of a car, missing him by just two metres.

At first, he thought it was a curse; these things get pretty weird sometimes, after all. But using his Six Eyes, he could tell you were different. Sure, you looked like any other person, with arms and legs and a head. But you had a unique aura to you, positively otherworldly. 

If he was any other kind of man, he would have just left you there and pretended nothing happened — ignorance is bliss and whatnot — but what kind of Honoured One would he be if he didn’t do his duty and helped you out?

So, he slides down the massive crater you made (boy is that going to be a pain for maintenance to clean up) and carefully cradles your naked body in his arms, carefully so as to not touch bits and pieces no gentleman has a business looking at. Why are you naked anyways? 

Sensing people making their way down the stairs to inspect the commotion, he teleports back into his apartment quick as a flash before anyone could think to look through their windows. 

He throws a blanket at you and leaves you on the sofa as he paces the length of his living room and ponders what to do. On one hand, he could call the police and leave it up to them to deal with you. The government would know best about how to deal about falling space women, right? But then, don’t all the sci-fi movies talk about inhumane experimentation, weaponizing alien technology, and Area 51? 

That wouldn’t be a very nice thing to do, at all. 

And on the other hand, he could just take care of you himself. He has the means to, that’s for sure. You really don’t look any different from everyone else — surely, you need the same things he does: food, water, shelter and warmth.

Right?

Just as he’s about to pick up the phone to call his doctor friend, you begin rousing from sleep. Your eyes flutter open and they’re a normal colour, which freaks him out more if he’s going to be perfectly honest. 

“Uh,” Satoru scratches the back of his neck, shuffling on his feet a little, “hey? I’m Gojo Satoru. You can just call me Satoru, though. If you want, or can, I guess.”

You tilt your head, scanning his body, and you open your mouth. What comes out is definitely an alien language. Or maybe he needs to travel more. But he certainly does not comprehend a single thing that you say. 

Clearing his throat, he tries to smile comfortingly. “Okay, so I didn’t understand what you said. Sorry. But uh, do you need anything? Like, do you know where you are? Yeah, you definitely don’t know what I’m saying either, do you?”

You tilt your head again. 

“What is wrong with me? Seriously. What was I thinking bringing you home? You may have fallen from the sky but I’m the one that clearly hit my head. I really am an idiot.”

Glancing around the room, you don’t look any bit as frazzled and panicked as he is. Actually, you’re as cool as a cucumber, and there isn’t a hint of shame or embarrassment on your face when you push yourself off the sofa, blanket sliding down your body. 

“Woah! Woah!”

Satoru presses his hands to his eyes and leaves them there for a second or two before realising that does absolutely nothing and when he pulls them down, he doesn’t flinch when you’re standing before him, inquisitive eyes meeting his. 

His infinity is on and he’s ready to subdue you if you prove to be a threat, but so far, he’s simply letting you reorient yourself, getting used to your surroundings and giving you the opportunity to decide he’s not a bad guy. 

That being said, however, he’s still deciding whether to keep you or not. He doesn’t want you to be poked and prodded — that wouldn’t be a very cool welcome to planet Earth and he doesn’t need you to go around telling your alien friends humans suck, though they do. But he also doesn’t know if that’s the best decision. 

You could be a danger to jujitsu society, to his students, to the world. What if, right at this very moment, you’re leaking deadly radiation? And what if his infinity can’t keep it out? Can’t keep you out?

Gosh, there are so many things that could go wrong. 

It’s entirely possible too that you’re a blood sucking monster intent on wringing him dry for all he’s worth. Maybe you’re not even an alien. Maybe you’re a special kind of curse, the kind that can bypass his Six Eyes, though he’s fairly confident that’s not the case (there’s no one stronger than him, after all). 

What if this is Kenjaku all over again?

Yeah, on second thought, he should definitely call the police. Or Ijichi, or the Prime Minister of Japan, or whoever will believe him when he says there’s a naked, alien lady in his home, and no, he’s not a pervert playing out some sick fantasy.

But just as he’s lifting his phone, you lift your hand the same time he does and cover your eyes. 

Then you say his name in perfect Japanese with a sweet, soft voice, not a hint of hesitation or unsteadiness. You smile, eyes still obscured, and he feels himself mirroring your gleeful expression. 

“That’s right. I’m Satoru. It’s nice to meet you.”

He decides, there and then, to hell with radiation, alien armies, and the deadly risk you pose to everything he knows or cares about. The military, conspiracy theorists, and scientists be damned.

He’s going to keep you. 

[hanasnx]

PANTY-STEALING, PART TWO — clark kent.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: part one. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ what it says on the tin, panty stealing ノ voyeurism ノ inappropriate thoughts about reader ノ sexual content.

It’s been several days since CLARK KENT’s stunt in his bedroom, narrowly escaping your discovery of him finding and pocketing your used panties. He’s been beating himself up over it ever since, his guilt distracting him from devising a sound plan to replace them naturally. You’d already asked if he’d seen any of your “missing clothes” avoiding mentioning your undergarments directly, but he could tell what you were hinting at. Coolly he had shrugged knowing your dirty panties sat in the top drawer of the nightstand in the loft of his barn.

He nearly punched a hole through his forehead with the impact his fist when he realized he should’ve just washed it with the rest of his laundry, playing it off like he simply didn’t know it was in his hamper. It’s past the point of no return, if he did it now after you questioning him it would look suspicious! His thoughts run away with him.

Lying awake for yet another night about it, he swallows hard staring up at the ceiling. Cramped on this little couch, he’d taken it as a courtesy and you’ve been sleeping in his room. You’ve been sleeping in his… bed. Memories of that little silk robe you wore invade his otherwise purer mind: the glimpse of your ass under the impossibly short hem, how perky your tits were cold and fresh from the shower, how you must’ve been wearing nothing under it—

Clark digs the heels of his hand into his eyes to symbolically avert them, growling softly in frustration. The crest of his watch digs into the tendon on the top of his hand, and he throws his arms down at his sides, a little squished because of his width compared to the sofa.

He wonders if you’re wearing anything in his bed. You’re a type hard to pin down, somewhat unpredictable in what you say versus what you do. If you’re in his bed, you might say you’re in pajamas, but you’re hiding the fact you’re naked in a guy’s bed you aren’t dating. He’s seen the room since you’ve taken it over—you didn’t even change the sheets. It smells like him, he’s sure, and he hopes it’s a good thing. His fingers twiddle with the stringy crochet of the blanket over his stomach at the thought that you might like the way he smells. You might’ve kept the bedding because you think he smells nice. You might rub your nose into his pillow and take a deep breath while your bare body shimmies against his sheets. That perfect silhouette imprinting into his mattress is enough to twitch his dick. It’s the kind filling out like it’s looking for something: standing in the direction of the nearest hole.

His palms fly to cup it comfortingly, trying his best to sooth its ache while he squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to ponder anything else—anything that’s not completely objectifying to a house guest. The confines of his grip only anger it, spiting him by pridefully hardening to a painful degree that makes him grit his teeth. The kind of feeling that drives him to trudge out to his barn in the dead of night and open that nightstand drawer just for a peek—just for a touch—just for a—

The next day he avoids you like the plague. If you loftily call his name, “Cla-a-r-rk!” singing it like a song, he has to ignore the melody to make himself scarce. The last thing he needs is to be caught in a close space with you and give himself away. As soon as he even hears you come around, his entire body erupts into some kind of bizarre full-figure blush, heart leaping out of his chest to spring into action.

He can’t look you in the eyes when the night before his cum joined yours, staining the delicate part of your panties—since dried. Having wrapped his big hand around it, and jacked off until his balls didn’t hurt anymore, he couldn’t even look himself in the eye. There’s no way he can return them to you, but he can’t seem to get rid of them either. The fragile fabric crumpled up and back in that drawer.

[togament]

" 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. windbreaker boys edition. "

pt. 1. (sakura, ume, suo.)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : kinda suggestive (i mean it's me. ofc its gotta be suggestive somehow), some swearing, kinda ooc for suo. can you blame me though? we know so little about the man and we're already 140+ chapters deep.

𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐀.

- canonically doesn't own a pillow so he only sleeps on his side, curled up to conserve heat. like a cat. but after having you around? he's clinging onto you, man. he may deny it vehemently when you tease him about it in the morning, throwing pillows at you as he's blushing profusely, but he doesn't know you've taken a picture of him with his arm over your chest, tugging you close to him. - clenches and grinds his teeth when he sleeps. you buy him a mouth guard so his jaw isn't as tense when he wakes up. (TMJ sufferers rise up) - sleeps in his boxers when you're around but if not, he's going commando, baby. just... text him when you're planning on surprising him in the morning. give him prep time unless you're looking to eat sausage for breakfast. - gets bed hair but doesn't care. he'd have a huge cowlick on his head but he doesn't mind. best he could do is kind of wet his hair? anything more than that is too much effort. - very light sleeper. if he hears the smallest bump in the night, he's immediately up. - has only one duvet and it's kind of falling apart. you gifted him a new one and he almost cried in front of you (not without freaking out about it first.) - talks in his sleep sometimes. you record him whenever you catch him doing it just to play it back for him in the morning. he's always so confused as to how and why he does it.

𝐔𝐌𝐄.

- won't sleep unless you give him his goodnight kisses. you have to. how dare you deny him of the pleasure of kissing you before you sleep? - always lets you sleep before he does because he reads before he sleeps. - needs reading glasses and falls asleep with them on. CONSTANTLY. you have to remind him about them before you snooze or you peel them off when you wake up before he does. has broken one (close to a dozen) reading glasses before you came along because he kept sleeping on them. - has to read before he sleeps. it's a necessity. he reads stuff ranging from philosophy to manga. never fails to fall asleep with a book in his hand too. - checks on a spreadsheet he's got for his plants so he has a game plan ready in the morning. checks the weather and temperature and everything before he does his reading routine. worries endlessly if a heavy typhoon drops or god forbid hailstorms. - HUGE SLEEP HUGGER AND YOU CANNOT TELL ME OTHERWISE. his body just naturally gravitates towards you in his sleep. it's cute. it's endearing. until it's a hot summer night and you're damn near naked because just wearing a shirt's making you sweat. ume's just a happy sleeping puppy of a man, sweaty body clinging to your side. - a very light snorer. you rarely ever get to hear him snore. he only does after a particularly tiring day or after you've had rounds and rounds of se-- - gets a boner most nights. - wet dreams often. you have to help him out in the mornings. - that being said, he's very, very touchy in the mornings.

𝐒𝐔𝐎.

- sleeps like the dead. you may or may not have held your finger to his nose to check if he's still breathing. - never has bed hair. when he wakes up, he looks absolutely impeccable. it's crazy. - has a candle warmer set to a timer. likes sleeping when his surroundings smell good. also has a scent diffuser. - has like... a 30 minute long ritual before bed. candle warmer, check. proper pyjamas, check. pillows plumped, check. skincare routine, done. you always end up waiting for him on the bed while he's apologizing with that sweet voice of his while crawling into bed with you. - only ever sleeps facing up. if you want to cuddle, he could. but he can't engulf you in his frame or anything. just an arm around you or maybe with you pressed up against his side. - he runs cold so he's got thick duvets over thick duvets. they're really soft too. hotel quality. always gets them washed. - somehow you've never caught him in the process of waking up. he's always up before you, brewing tea or cooking breakfast. hell, he already has a set ready for you by the time you wake up. - who am I kidding suo never sleeps.

a/n: just a quick little thing before i hop into bed. doing part two soon bc i wanna clown on kaji so fucking BAAAAAD omg (affectionately) ok goodnight babycakes.

[iclarye]

Good Looking

pairing: opla!sanji x reader

summary: your plan was quick and simple. you would go to the kitchen, make some tea to ease your headache, and then return to your comfy bed. you weren't expecting to come across your crew's blonde cook barechested cutting carrots.

word count: 3.1k

warnings: 18+ content, smut, swearing, pet names, kitchen sex, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, cunnilingus, semi public sex, PIV

authors note: english is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes. read this fanfic on ao3: good looking. enjoy!

You are used to this. The utterly exhausted sensation after several hand-to-hand combats, so when the headache started when you finally lay down in bed, you just decided to ignore it; the sleep would catch up before it got.

Until the needed sleep never got you. So, after an hour or two of rubbing your temples and staring at the ceiling while feeling envy-induced annoyance for Nami’s peaceful breathing, you pushed yourself to stand up.

Even if the cool night air almost makes you wish you hadn't left your warm bed, you needed that green tea to stop the pounding headache in the back of your head. The kitchen lights shining through the window went undetected as your mind was busy figuring out how you could prepare the drink quickly so that the pain could cease as soon as possible.

“Oh, it’s you, darling. Is everything alright?” As you walked into the door and recognized Sanji's words, you snapped out of your thoughts and began to look over your surroundings. He was not wearing any type of shirt while he sliced carrots from behind the counter.

Barechested. Topless. Half naked.

“Y-yes, I mean, no. Just a headache.” You gaze the blonde in the eyes as you stumble through your sentences, you are merely vaguely aware that your face is beginning to turn red. “I just want that green tea, I know it's somewhere around here. I saw Nami storing it in the cabinets earlier.”

You felt foolish. You became used to seeing shirtless men given that you lived in the middle of the ocean and therefore often came across Luffy, Usopp, and even Zoro barechested. They would often walk around the deck that way on hot days. Sanji, however, always showed up in a suit or, at the very least, had a formal shirt rolled up to his elbows. Even so, there was no chance of seeing him dressed otherwise since he went to sleep after you and woke up before everyone.

“I can do it for you, it’s my job after all, taking care of my sweet girl.” He placed the knife down, threw the chopped carrots in a nearby pot, and proceeded to go through the cupboards. “Love, do you remember where she stored it? There are plenty of cabinets in this place.”

"What are you doing here?" You instantly regret your tone as you noted Sanji just froze in his search.

“I mean, sorry, the kitchen is your place, I know. I just never saw you here this hour, and me and Luffy go here to do midnight snacks sometimes”

“I could not sleep”

“Me too” Once again, an irrational remark. He was informed that you were having trouble falling asleep, that's why you were there. “Why the carrots?”

“The attack that happened today. I had hoped for more food, but I believe you are aware of how fucked our situation is.” He continued looking for the tea while chuckling flatly. “We don't know when we will receive more supplies; we right now have barely anything stocked. Even the carrot peels have been put to use in an effort to reduce waste, you know.”

You weren't sure how to respond. It was clear that everyone's mood was negatively affected by today's incident. The worry of what would happen in the next few days or weeks was filling your head since Usopp managed to escape the ship. His back was to you, so you were unable to see his facial expressions, but you couldn't help but notice his muscles.

You felt a little guilty since you couldn't take your focus away from it, despite him having just voiced some serious concern. Has he lately started working out, or has he always had muscles like that?

“Are you and Luffy close then?”

The sudden break in silence confused you as he turned toward you with the pot of tea in his hands and a pleased smile.

“I suppose so. After all, he was the one who invited me to join the crew, right?” You smirked at the thought. It wasn't much time—perhaps a few months—and you were losing track of time at sea. “I fearlessly agreed to become a pirate, although I had never spent more than two weeks on a boat.”

“I remember that. You were so naive”

Of course he remembers. When you joined the crew, it was very easy to have a conversation with Sanji, he was constantly complimenting you or flirting in a straightforward manner. You never took him seriously, hearing about the blonde's techniques from Nami from the first day, but it was often hard not to chuckle or blush when he was so…

“Not anymore.”

He grinned at you before returning his attention to the tea. It was impossible to look away from his bare chest. You were unable to rest your mind from imagining how his skin would feel on your hand now that he was in your line of sight. You are already aware that he's a good-looking man, but now seeing more of his body did things to you.

“All right, madam. Here is your tea.” He circles the counters until he's right next to you. Really close. His eyes twinkle with recklessness, and you know he caught you staring at his figure.

You ignore the tickle in your lower belly as you stand there, grab the mug in your hands, and sip while gazing at his face. He still has that typical smirk, and when you finally finish drinking your tea, he glances at your lips before returning to your eyes. Everything becomes fuzzy and hot then.

He's very close. His hand has been lying on the counter, his chest is nearly brushing your own, and you can't help but notice his modest, almost transparent blonde hair in there. Perhaps it's a sign for you to walk away, that this is going in a dangerous direction, but you can't.

“What dear? See something you lik-”

You interrupt him with a kiss. It's all very messy and quick, and he is unable to have time to handle everything. You come to an abrupt halt and stare at him with wide eyes, realizing what you have done.

“Sanji, fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t meant t-”

He didn't let you finish the apologies. His hand pulls your head back, bringing your lips together. The kiss looks right now. It begins carefully, with both sides cautious, but it quickly gets heated as he doesn't hesitate to push his tongue into your mouth.

You’re breathless when he finally pulls away, and his eyes are hungry. He didn't think twice before pressing his open mouth and tongue on your neck. A moan escapes from your lips.

His left hand shifts down to grab your hip, and you catch your breath. Your hands graze his nipples as you reach for his pecs, and he hisses at the fresh sensation in your throat.

“Gods Y/N, you’re going to kill me this way”

You chuckled, and he kissed you again, although this time you took charge, moving one of your hands to his blonde hair before tilting his head to grant you more access. You stop the action just to take a moment to recover and gaze into his dilated pupils. He looks so attractive like that that you can’t help but want to go down on him.

”Sanji,” You whisper breathlessly, enjoying the sensation of his name in your mouth, “let me taste you.”

He groans in response, which you take as encouragement as you lean down and proceed. You lick and kiss the trail that leads to his crotch, and he hisses softly, his abdomen tense beneath your hands and mouth. As you get down on your knees and look at his pants, you can see his erection, which seems big and marked.

You don't hesitate to pull down the waistband of his pants and boxers together, exposing his hard, leaking cock to your eyes. It's big. It's more than you expected. There's a buildup of cum at the head, and you reach forward and wrap your lips around it, licking gently just to tease.

You look up as you swirl your tongue over the tip and dip your tongue into the slit to see him biting his lower lips, his head thrown back. You wanted to see his face while sucking him. So you take him out of your mouth and cautiously wrap a hand around him, teasing him a little with your hand. Your movements are agonizingly slow as you lightly suck and lick the sensitive head until finally he looks down.

“Oh, darling, you’re so pretty like that.” Sanji whined above you, and then your mouth opened around the head of his cock, and he slid it into your mouth. “Fuck, fuck. So… so perfect.”

You can clearly see the blonde struggling to keep his composure, like how his knuckles are white while gripping the counter behind him. You relax your throat, take a long breath through your nose, and exhale slowly before swallowing him whole while gripping his inner thighs.

His penis is large, so the initial sensation isn't the most pleasant, but as he lets out a loud groan, you forget about everything. Something about hearing Sanji whine in the kitchen while you gagged on his cock made the aching between your legs unbearable.

"Oh yeah, You are so good to me. Your mouth feels so good in me.”

You moaned softly at his words of praise, making vibrations around his penis, causing another moan from him. His left hand reached from the counter to your hair, and you didn't reject the help while bobbing your head up and down.

“My love, you are so perfec-“

A few tears occasionally escaped as you sucked him and he fucked your throat, sometimes only taking him out to run your tongue along his length. You started to see signs that he was close to cum. One of your hands left the thighs to rub his balls.

 “I… I'm going to cum, Y/N, dear... I" He gives you a chance to pull away from him, but you choose to continue and accept it all. You remove the entire length of his throat and leave just the head in your mouth.

He comes soon after, with a muffled groan, while you attempt to swallow as much as you can before it gets difficult, followed by a satisfied moan coming from you.

You felt his hand leave your hair, and for two or three minutes, you just remained there. He has his head back and is trying to catch his breath while you are on your knees, glancing at his chest and the beads of sweat gathering on his neck. It’s a perfect vision, honestly. You ponder whether he would notice if you began to masturbate right then.

“Come on, madam, let me help you up.” Sanji extends his hand to support you in getting up, and once you are upright, he grabs hold of your waist to keep you close to him.

He kisses you, tasting himself in your mouth. It's slow, and you realize he's still trying to emerge from his afterglow. When he breaks the kiss, that smile returns to his face, and you peck him once more just to get rid of it.

Sanji deepened the kiss again. And fuck, what else could you do but reply in the same aggressive way?

You're hoisted up by the hands on your hips and thrown onto the counter. The blonde is now between your legs, breaking the kiss, only to go straight to that specific spot on your neck that you're almost certain will leave a mark in the morning.

“Oh- Sanji,” You try to speak breathlessly as he licks your collarbone and his fingers brush the hem of your t-shirt, “You don’t h-have to do that.”

It wasn't that you didn't want Sanji. Since you entered that kitchen and spotted him without a shirt, you wanted this. Yet, you took the decision to give him an opportunity to back out, be thankful for the blowjob, and never bring up the matter again. Him taking you would be very personal.

“Please, my love,” You can hear the yearning in his voice as he whispers in your ear. “I just want to make you feel good too.”

You nod, and he attacks your mouth once again while his hands pull the hem of your t-shirt, exposing your chest, and you can't stop yourself from moaning at being so bare to him.

He doesn't think twice about placing his mouth on your breasts as he rolls the hard bud between his teeth and tongue and gives the other one a gentle stroke with his other hand. He bites your nipple as your head is flung back, and all you can do is pray that no one hears your loud scream.

He takes his mouth from your breasts and begins a trail down your stomach, and you can't stop whining due to the lack of warm sensation from his tongue in your niples, but you quickly figure out where he's headed as he lowers himself between your thighs.

He doesn't ask for permission as he aggressively rips off your shorts and, along with them, your underwear, revealing your pussy to him. He pulled your hips closer and dragged a finger down your folds, then placed it inside his mouth.

"Oh, you're so soaking wet, just for me, hm?" You are so stunned by the sight that you hardly pay attention to what the blonde is saying. “You taste so good, my darling.”

You stand on your elbows and glance at the man who is standing in between your legs. You can't help but gasp at the taunting as he starts giving you small small bites and kisses along your inner thighs. But you want him now.

“Oh Sanji, stop teasing for fuc-“

He didn't wait for you to finish the curse word before burying his face, pushing his tongue against your wet pussy, and licking a long, temptingly slow strip through your folds until he reached your sensitive bud.

In an attempt to create more friction, you thrust your hips into his mouth, and your left hand immediately settled on his blonde hair. Sanji found the ideal pattern to swirl his tongue over your clitoral region, leaving you panting for air.

He pushed two fingers deep within you, and you felt your walls clenching around them, sucking him in. His pace was fast, and he was still paying careful attention to your clit, leaving you close to the edge. You were a mess, and it wouldn't take long for you to cum. Yet you still needed him; you wanted more.

You sucked in a sharp breath and tried to block out the inappropriate sounds echoing through the kitchen.

“Sanji, p-please more”

"Use your words, my angel." You could see the glistening fluids from your pussy plastered on his chin when he pushed his head off of your thighs. “What do you want?”

“Fuck me, oh g-gods. I need you inside me." At your words, he groaned and took both of his fingers out to direct his cock at your entrance.

It wasn't difficult for him to enter since you were so soaked. At the feeling of it, you both simultaneously moaned. You felt completely filled; he just stood there for a while, waiting for you to get used to the size, until you signaled for him to start moving. It began off slow, but soon he started out moving his hips at a faster pace to satisfy both of you.

"You're perfect,” he moaned in two thrusts, and you had to put your hand over your mouth. “Look at you, taking my cock so well, oh darling.”

The hands on your hips let go and grabbed you under your right thigh, opening your legs and hitting you more deeply and faster. You thought you were seeing stars when he hit an exact spot inside your pussy that made you shout.

“Cum for me, my love. I know you want”

It didn't take long for your orgasm to hit you after that, your eyes rolled back and you let out a whine sound as you felt your walls squeeze his dick. He moaned along with you at the feeling and a few more thrusts and he came inside you.

Sanji's head fell directly to your shoulder, and you instinctively placed your palm in his blond locks. While the fluid was slowly dripping out of you, he continued to remain deep inside and breathe loudly.

He raised his head only to smile recklessly while glancing into your mouth. “So, do you still have a headache?”

Your hand reached out to push him, but you were helpless to suppress the giggles that came. He drew away from inside you but was still between your knees as he chuckled proudly.

“Do you think anyone heard?”

“I'm not sure, maybe when you let out that screa-" You slapped him on the shoulder to cut him off while embarrassed because of the probability. “Ok, ok my darling, next time we’ll find a more private place.”

“Next time, huh?

Sanji stood still with an anxious smile on his face; it was almost hilarious how someone so confident in themselves would respond in that manner. You wrapped his neck with both of your arms and gave him a quick kiss to reassure him that everything was fine.

"You should come to the kitchen more often, preferably alone.”

"And you should go shirtless more often too.”

"Only for you, my love.”

You gave him another kiss before leaving the counter, getting ready to go, and returning to the bedroom. Even though the night seemed to be becoming lighter, you were aware that there were still a few hours until sunrise. It was evident that there would be plenty of issues to address when you awoke, but for the time being, you were content, even though you were a little exhausted from the activities. As sleep came, all you could think of was Sanji and his smile.

© iclarye, 2023

[visionsofmagic]

day 13: clark kent [aftercare]

࿓ synopsis • after having a rough session with clark, you let him take care of your exhausted body.

―❦ nsfw, kissing, soft!clark, after a rough sex, f!reader, pet names, confessing, cleaning, washing, watching, fluff, i's all! • 0.6k • couldn't publish sooner, but, here we are at least. enjoy! [kinktober m.]

"agh -" you say, moaning lowly, in pain that comes from your sensitive clit as clark's fingers travel on it, cleaning you under the warm water.

“oh, baby,” he says, fingers stop for a moment, eyes scanning your face; furrowed brows, lips are getting a bite, hands hold him from the neck and chest as a source of cure and stability at the same time. “you okay? I can go slower if you want.”

he proposes as you sit on his lap, hugging him, and negatively shaking your head while one of his strong arms holds you from back so that you stay still, warm water waving from time to time as you move in sync.

sitting on the clean bathtub, you let clark take care of you after one of your roughest sex – you can see all the redness on your body which he left intentionally yet acting so innocent when he sees them, fingers caressing your soft skin gently as if he wasn’t the one who fucked you in different positions, earning a pathetic state out of you, nearly making you use the safe word because of how good he was fucking you and how much you wanted it to end even though your actions told otherwise.

fear of fainting, you stopped when he got your fourth orgasm, then, cumming all over you as he cries in pleasure, confessing how you make him so weak that he loses mind whenever he has you beside him, under him, above him – in every way he can, he loves it, he loves you.

so it’s not a surprising thing when he picked you up from the messy bed after preparing the bathtub for you to wash and get clean, got into it, taking you into his arms, making you feel smaller yet quite peaceful, letting him do whatever he wants to do to get you cleaned up, ready to rest on the bed you are sharing with him beside you.

he said sorry over and over again until you said it was okay – that you enjoyed every bit of it because you missed him as much as he missed you.

fingers gripping your chin, he makes you look at his shining blue eyes – your own reflection on them. he smiles widely, fingers moving to your hair, caressing it gently, still having that precious expression on his face, looking like a greek god yet feeling so human – one of his kind, always.

“you have no idea how much I missed you,” he says, now taking warm water on his palm, then, cleaning your naked body within it – he seems to have guilt because of what he has done to you; biting marks as he claimed you shine brightly, red marks on your waist is visible due to holding you tightly as he shoved his cock into you, the neck has pink colors because how he held it, pushing your face onto the pillow so that you could moan as much as you wanted while he had you from behind.

all because of him.

he would never hurt you, he didn’t either, yet, he seems a bit sorry. however, you know he also has prideful feelings, so, you smile softly, resting your head on his wide shoulders, saying, “they all will heal, don’t feel sorry – it was so good that I can’t wait to get better and do all those things again.”

he chuckles, kissing your forehead, and then, your whole face, “then get better soon because there are lots of things that I want to do to you, my prettiest girl.” with that, he kisses you one more time. he cleans you, drying you with the softest towel, changes the sheets, and puts you on the fresh bed, taking his side beside you – hugging you, he watches how peaceful your face looks, smiling down at you, and sleeping as he has you close enough to himself – he knows he should leave soon enough yet being with you seems as the right thing to do. he missed you so much after all – the world can wait a bit longer.

[etchstar]

COD characters and how i think they’d act when they are in a secret relationship with you

═══════ ⋆ghost⋆ ═══════

✮ everyone would know, not only because simon would refuse to go easy on you in bed, despite the thin walls and ruining his team mates sleep schedule, he didn’t want you to ‘hide those pretty sounds you make for him.’

✮ He would refuse to take his eyes off you during training, making sure to pay close attention to where his teammates hands were placed. One time price had to hold him back from Gaz after you happened to straddle him during a take down.

✮ When the squad realised it was probably best to just let you train with him, you know he would sneak in some cocky praising. He’d love to pin you underneath him and watch you try and squirm your way out as your stubborn nature only turned him on.

✮ Would definitely lie to you about missions if he felt that you would be put in danger, this annoyed you a lot.

✮ Was always by your side if you were on a mission, he would get mad at you if you strayed from his eyesight, often when you get a kill you’d be met with a stern glare from ghost for putting yourself at risk. only to be met with a spanking later that night.

✮ Would fuck you til you couldn’t walk, and when you wake up there would be a note telling you he was on a mission and to ‘not worry’ cause he ‘hadn’t finished with you yet’.

═══════ ⋆könig⋆ ═══════

✮ So distracted, whenever price was going over a mission outlook, König would often zone out watching you sort out your pens in coloured order, highlighting information about the target, sometimes cutely chiming in with study of your own to help the group out. He’s thankful he wears a mask otherwise everyone would be able to see his tinted pink cheeks as he tries to readjust the tent in his pants.

✮ You would take König’s protectiveness over you and use it against him in training. If he were to flip you on the matt you were quick to let out a small whine which caused him to loosen his grip and quickly inspect you for any damages he did to your small figure, keeping in mind the size and weight difference between you.

✮ It all began when you needed König’s oversight on your research of a target. You burst into his room not realising the fact that the man was on his bed stroking his cock to the thought of how you’d managed to make him feel during training. When he saw you in there he was quick to cover up expecting you to run, or be horrified at what he was doing with how innocent you are in his eyes, but instead you dropped to your knees in-front of him.

✮ You LOVE teasing könig, mainly cause he won’t do a thing about it until the end of the day when he would force his member into you often cooing to you as he cradles you in his arms letting you adjust to his size as your pussy spasms on his cock letting out small whines into his neck.

✮ Was quick with medical attention, no matter what it was. Once you cut your finger using a knife cutting up salad, guess who was beside you with a first aid kit, bandaid and a kiss for your finger to get better. Ghost quirked his brow seeing this interaction remembering the moment könig dislocated a man’s shoulder tackling him and doing nothing about it.

✮ Found it so cute the way your small hands gripped the guns and how you’d often complain after carrying around a hefty weapon all day.

═══════ ⋆keegan⋆ ══════

✮ You and Keegan had a— rough beginning. To say the least you hated each other, anything you did Keegan had to do better and when he finished he’d just stare at you with those emotionless eyes pissing you off. That was before the team had busted a large undercover operation, going out for drinks to celebrate, causing you to wake up in his naked arms seeing his face for the first time.

✮ After that it was purely sexual, you still were silently competitive often trying to prove who was better, or who could make who cum first.

✮ After doing extended research on a target, price decided to give you your own mission allowing you to take Keegan, Soap and König along to a meeting breaking down the perps daily routine and secret doings still feeling those burning eyes on you the whole time.

✮ Keegan couldn’t explain it, he was infatuated by you, your constant drive to do better, the way you moved with such grace while controlling a knife, not to mention the face you’d make when he hit that certain spot inside you that made you let loose and forget about your seemingly one sided competition you had against him. When you’d melt on his cock and turn from soldier to slut for him shaking your hips trying desperately to drive him deeper.

✮ One day in training when it was just you and Keegan you’d managed to get him on his back quickly straddling him laughing at your victory over him, before you realised Keegan had lost control pulling you into him kissing your lips passionately before fucking you profusely in the middle of the training room.

✮ After that all you and Keegan seemed to want to do was find ways to sneak off during training and come back to each other risking the team finding you fucking like wild animals in the most inconvenient of places.

═══════ ⋆price⋆ ═══════

✮ You worked in the infirmary, acting as a worried nurse to the team, often scolding Ghost when he would go too hard with training and keeping the base tidy adding a woman’s touch here and there.

✮ You wouldn’t find out about price’s feelings for you until the teams base was invaded after tracking a terrorist organisation. Seeing you held in his targets arm with a knife against your throat as you tried to reassure the team to stay calm as tears stained your cheeks

before price put 3 bullets in the man’s skull. You were a bit shaken up for a while but that didn’t stop price from continuing your duties forcing the team to clean up after themselves and getting a new bouquet of flowers every week for the vase in the infirmary.

✮ It wasn’t until price was injured and sent to you that you had gotten to properly thank him, removing his shirt and working on his wound trying to ignore his built torso and rippling muscles before he tucked a hair behind your ear whispering how beautiful you were, yeah that’s it, your lips met his in a passionate slow but rough kiss.

✮ The team didn’t miss Price’s extra visits to the nurse and they certainly didn’t miss the lipstick prints on his neck or the undone fly of his pants leaving the infirmary.

✮ Price’s new found interest let the team have some more control over meetings, training and dinner, realising that the two people who acted as their parental figures started retreating to the same bedroom every night, rather than cooking dinner or joining for a movie before bed. Not that you were sleeping anyway.

═══════ ⋆soap⋆ ═══════

✮ You and soap were polar opposites, while you believed strategy for a mission came down to planning and being organised soap constantly undermined your set up immediately going for the throat no matter what the circumstances, although most would find it brave and inspiring you found it plain fucking stupid. You were always yelling at him trying to make him understand the risk he was putting him and his teammates in by not listening to you but all he seemed to do was smirk at you before teasing you about the fact that you’d go a light shade of pink when you were mad that he thought was cute, once more undermining your anger.

✮ That was until one mission, soap went in doing the wrong thing the wrong time again not sticking to schedule, guards had alerted the target who had made a quick escape ruining the mission. The team came back to their base all understandably pissed off but none as livid as you. You’d stormed into soaps room demanding an apology before he’d have you pinned against the wall nipping your neck. That night he took the anger of the failed mission out on you.

✮ The next day soap made a point to start planning the next mission going over your studies gathering locations of where the target could be before putting you in charge of a plan that he’d promise to follow.

✮ It’d worked, using a small camera and earpiece you were able to tell soap exactly what to do and when to do it while letting him handle the combat stuff successfully bringing down a large drug pin. The team cheered to your name raising their glasses before downing the alcohol and letting loose for the night. You thanked Soap for listening only to be met with a heated kiss dragging you to the toilets for a quickie.

✮ The next mission was easy, soap didn’t need your lead but insisted on having you in his ear anyway. Unfortunately it was the same day your vibrator arrived in the mail, you decided you’d try it out and let soap have a listen, that was until the earpiece cut out.

✮ Your door slammed open that night revealing an angry soap, throwing his earpiece on your side table demanding an explanation as all you did was give him a cheeky giggle. That was before he fucked you senseless of course.

[tsireyasluvr]

Beautiful girl

lo’ak x fem!human reader

Authors note: this fic was inspired by this post. can u tell this boy has been on my mind 24/7? anyway, i hope u guys enjoy this, especially for my insecure girls🫶

Summary: reader has insecurities about her looks and body, struggling to put them at ease. lo’ak finds a way to make her think otherwise

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, aged up!lo’ak, smut, mild angst, body dysmorphia, mentions of anxiety, comfort, soft dom lo’ak, praises, slow sex, oral (fem receiving), marking, dry humping, whining, moaning, p in v, i think that’s all? lmk if i missed anything!

“what are you doing?” lo’aks voice unexpectedly came through, startling you.

shit.

you were looking in the mirror, half naked in your dorm at the lab since you were in the middle of changing after just getting out of bed. you were wearing a slightly baggy sleep shirt, your panties and socks, having a harder time facing the reflection today. you felt your breath hitch in your throat a little when you realized he was seeing you fresh out of bed with no makeup on, trying to not make a big deal out of it but your insecurities were eating you alive.

“oh- um, nothing, i was just about to get ready for the day” you say softly, though lo’ak knew you well enough to know when somethings off. still, he chose to not say anything, instead coming up behind you while you still stared in the mirror. his four fingered hands came to grab at your waist, digging his nails in slightly into the flesh.

“mm i feel like you can just stop here” he murmured, leaning down his head to press kisses against the side of your face, trailing down from your ear to your neck.

“you look so fucking pretty”

he trails a hand up under your shirt, easily pulling the fabric up on his wrist as he goes, groping at your breasts. “so soft and sweet, mama” he continued pressing hot open mouthed kisses against your shoulder, grazing his fangs along your skin making you whimper slightly

“lo’ak” you breath out, turning your head away from the reflection, blushing in slight embarrassment. the sight made him frown, looking down at you as he reached a finger to tilt your chin up towards him. “what is it, baby? what’s going on, hm?”

but you didn’t feel like answering. instead, you looked up at him with your big doe eyes, standing on your tip toes to press a gentle kiss to his lips. your palms rested on his chest to steady yourself, feeling him softly kiss you back before pulling away again, brows furrowed in mild concern. after a beat, you opened your mouth to say something, before he gripped your jaw and pulled you into him again, kissing you hotly.

he licked at your lips, hardly asking for permission before shoving his tongue in your mouth, his teeth clashing with your own as he began walking you backwards. you struggled to keep balance, still on your tip toes as he tilted your head back more, licking into your mouth like he’s never tasted you before.

you almost tripped when the back of your knees met the foot of your bed, his hands instantly coming to grab at your waist and throw you on the bed. you let out a yelp, not expecting that as he quickly crawls over you. he looks at your beautiful body, unable to pull his gaze from every inch, groaning at the sight of your curvy form beneath him.

he reached for your shirt, tugging it up a little “you won’t mind if i get rid of this, right pretty girl? just want a better look at you” he breathed out, his tone sounding desperate as he waited for you to nod before roughly tugging it off. you blushed instantly. sex wasn’t new, no, but it has been taking you a while to feel fully comfortable naked beneath him.

“fucking beautiful” he growled, his mouth taking your nipple into his warm mouth, his hand groping at your other breast, making sure both were getting attention. he couldn’t help but dry hump you, grinding his clothed cock against your panties, making you moan close to his ear.

he began sucking marks onto your breasts, covering your chest in his saliva and gently grazing your nipples with his teeth. his free hand reaching for your thigh, grabbing at it and pulling it up to his waist, wedging himself closer to your core. he couldn’t stop groping at you, obsessed with the way your pillowy flesh felt so soft beneath his fingertips.

“lolo” you breathed out, watching him pull back from your chest with a look of pride in his eyes as he admires the bruises he sucked into your skin. he smirked at you, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek “m gonna fuck you so hard, mama. gonna ruin this tiny body of yours” he distracted you, his hands trailing down to pull off your panties.

once they were off, he quickly lowered his head to your pussy, pressing a wet kiss right above your mound. he barely gives you another look before licking a stripe up your cunt, moaning loudly at the taste as he holds down your thighs and sucks at your clit. “oh fuck! lo’ak, lo‘ak..!” you cry out his name, tiny hands instantly reaching down to tangle in his braided hair.

he smirked against your cunt, fucking his huge warm, wet tongue into your pretty pussy, all the while digging his nails into your thighs, obsessed with leaving marks along your skin. taking something so soft and treating it roughly, he just couldn’t help himself.

“you taste so good, baby, fuck. you’re so perfect, you know that? so sweet, can’t fuckin’ get enough of you” your legs quivered beneath his hands, making him ease up just slightly, not wanting to overwhelm you just yet.

instantly you wrapped your legs around his shoulders, your thighs engulfing his head, making him groan into your pussy. his eyes met yours, his pupils completely dilated at he licked relentlessly at your cunt, not missing a single drop of your slick like he was a starved man. his nose pressed against your clit as he shakes his head between your legs, wanting you to feel him everywhere.

you whimpered and whined, your chest heaving as you looked into his eyes, your teary hazy ones meeting his predatory look. “lo’ak, ‘m gonna.. mm..!”

“that’s it, pretty girl. c’mon” he cooed, grinning as he gave your clit one last harsh suck, making you completely unravel beneath him. he turned his head to the side, licking and biting at your thighs, continuing to keep his gaze on you as he leaves more marks in his wake.

he then crawls back up to you, making quick work of untying his loincloth before running the tip of his dick through your wet folds, hissing at the contact. “fuck, you did so good. always so good for me, just for me” he murmured in your ear, hiking your leg up again, your knee hooked over his forearm. you looked up at him with a fucked out expression, your hair already a mess and your cheeks covered in a blush.

he melted a little at the sight, coming down to press a gentle kiss to your lips while simultaneously pressing his cock into you, nice and slow so you felt every ridge against your walls. he swallowed your moans, reaching an arm to rest by your head, caging you in.

you pulled back, turning your face to the side so you could breathe. he peppered kisses along your face, pressing his nose against your cheek, scenting you as he dragged it down your neck. his hips sped up, thrusting into you harder now as you gasped “ngh! lo, please-“

“who’s my beautiful girl, hm?” he spoke against your neck, fisting at the sheets beside your head as he thrust his hips against you, slow and hard, hitting that sweet spot inside you with every push. you whimper, too focused on how good it feels to respond, making him still inside you.

“lo’ak!” you whined, turning your head back to meet his gaze, watching as he pulls back to look at you with a serious expression. “say it, mama. come on”

you swallowed thickly, looking at him with a pout that he thumbs away. you huff out a breath, reaching your hands up to play with his braids, feeling a little embarrassed. “..i am- oh!”

he rewarded you with a hard thrust, instantly making your hands drop as he began the same speed and movement from before. “you’re what?” he says, reaching up to grip your chin again as he forces you to look at him, fucking into you a quicker rate.

“your beautiful girl!” you cry out, your walls tightening around him, legs coming up to lock behind his waist as you cling to him, your cheeks squished by his hand.

he lets out a satisfied hum, enjoying your mewls and pretty noises, looking at you almost sweetly. a perfect contrast to his actions.

“good girl. say it again for me, yeah?” he murmured, letting go of your face to instead grope at your breasts again, still leaning over you as he stares at your teary eyes. “what are you, baby?”

you feel yourself getting close, his length reaching every perfect spot inside of you, feeling impossibly full with your belly bulging from the sheer size of him. “i-i’m- ah! a beautiful girl, ‘m a beautiful girl”

he grinned down at you, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “that’s right, mama. my beautiful girl. now be even prettier and cum for me” he was taking his time with you, but now he was ready to watch you come undone beneath him, reaching a hand to play with your clit harshly.

your jaw dropped in a silent moan, gasping as your eyes squeezed shut and you came all over his dick, making him groan in your ear before filling you up with his own release. he fucked you through your orgasm, hips slowly moving against yours as he leaned in to kiss you again.

once he slowed down, he reached a hand to cup your cheek, reluctant to pull out as he laid his head on the pillow beside yours. you reached to interlace your fingers with his, his hand practically engulfing yours as always. “i really do think you’re the most beautiful girl on the planet, y/n. both on mine and yours.” he specified.

you looked at him with a dazed expression, a loopy smile on your face as you nod along.

“what?” he asked with a slight laugh, grinning at your expression.

“nothing.”

“what are you smiling about!” he demanded, tugging on your hand.

“nothing! just-“ you giggled a little, biting your bottom lip before speaking “you’ve never like, been so slow with it before, usually you’re all up in there with like no patience- “

“okay!” he rolled his eyes, clamping his hand over your mouth as you laughed against his palm.

[cressidagrey]

Lightning in a Bottle - Chapter 5

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody's first choice for once in her life.

Also known as: Azriel's shadows decide that if he doesn't treat his mate right... they'll just do it for him.

Warnings: 

ANGST, vomiting, Mention of the death of Mama Archeron

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Nesta could remember one time…the first winter they had spent in that godforsaken cottage…were Feyre had been so sick with fever, that Nesta had thought Feyre was going to die. 

It had reminded her eerily of her mother’s last days sick with Typhus…of the swelling scent of sick, the bright red cheeks and otherwise pale, clammy skin…

And she also remembered how she had behaved abhorrently. 

Eira had been the one taking care of Feyre. Their father had been useless as always. Nest had spit and snapped and Elain had…well, Elain had pretended like Feyre wasn’t a step away from dying. 

Elain was good at that. 

Eira had stoked the fire…Eira had made a bed out of blankets and pillows in front of it for Feyre…Eira had cooked soup and spooned it in their sister’s mouth. Eira had gone and begged their neighbour for her recipe for a cough medicine…and had then poured that down Feyre’s throat a well, cleaning up the vomit when Feyre threw it all up. 

Eira had done that. 

Eira had always done all of that. 

She had taken care of them all in these years in that cottage, had somehow managed to make sure that they all had two dresses to wear and that one was always clean…had managed to grow misshapen vegetables in that tiny patch of garden they had. If she hadn’t, Nesta was sure that they would have starved throughout one long winter. 

Eira was the second-born, right after Nesta. And somehow…while Nesta had always taken care of Elain…she had never done the same for Eira. 

Had never needed to. Eira had always taken care of everybody around her. 

Even now…She was still taking care of them all in her own ways, had gone out of her way to see Nesta every week, regardless of what Nesta had thrown at her head…took care of Nyx whenever Feyre asked, rocking him to sleep…helped Elain in the garden. 

And Nesta quietly wondered if anybody ever took care of Eira. 

Of Eira, who laid in her bed just like Feyre had done then…Pale and glowing with fever, covered with Azriel’s shadows, who did everything they could to preserve her modesty. 

She wondered what…wondered if he had given them that order. Or maybe they were self-aware enough to do it for themselves…

She wondered if it gave her sister any form of comfort from that, through that fledgeling mating bond. 

“If you show her naked form to him, I’ll burn you to crisps,” she hissed at the shadows who just ignored her. 

Rhys sat silently and unmoving, his face blank, chiselled in granite and Nesta swallowed at that. 

Maybe he could take some of the pain from her. Eira didn’t deserve the pain. 

Eira deserved nothing of this. 

Why had it been her? 

Why Eira? 

Why Eira, who had been turned into a fae just like Nesta and Elain had? And while Nesta had raged and Elain had spent weeks in that state between alive and dead, once again needing Eira to spoon soup into her mouth and take care of her…Eira had just…existed. 

And Nesta had taken it for granted. Had figured that maybe if one didn’t have the silver flame of death eating you alive from the inside out or have visions of death and destruction…maybe then it was easier to adjust to a new strange body, a new strange world. 

No mate for Eira either, a small mercy as far as Nesta was concerned. 

But the one thing she had noticed…it was that regardless of how well she seemed to adjust, Eira clung to whatever smidge of humanity she could dredge up. 

Starfall was something she hated, even when she never said anything…and when Nesta had her phase of going out and drinking every evening, Eira had one time and one time only come knocking at her apartment door, brought her food and then proceeded to ask her haltingly if this was what she wanted. If she didn’t care that her husband wouldn’t be her first. 

Eira and her romantic ideals of the future. 

Eira had clung onto that through anything. Her sister wanted a husband and children and that was that. He didn’t need to be particularly rich. He didn’t need to be anything other than kind. Eira would have been more than willing to be a farmer’s wife, to spend her days doing backbreaking labour if that meant…If that meant that she got a husband and children.

That was the difference between them. Nesta had been her mother’s prized possession. Elain her beauty. And Eira…well. Silent. Content in the background. Overshadowed by Elain’s beauty. 

It wasn’t like Eira wasn’t pretty on her own…wasn’t like that if she was given the chance, she couldn’t make polite conversation, once she had overcome her shyness…that she wouldn’t be able to keep a house running better than Nesta and Elain would have ever been able to. 

But none of that…none of that had mattered in the land of Prythian. 

And now this. 

Her little sister, lying in that bed, fighting for her life, because she had protected Nyx. 

Eira, who was clumsy enough that nobody had trusted her with a knife, because chances were, it was more likely that she would stab herself and not the other person. 

Eira, who abhorred violence and fighting and just wanted everybody to get along. 

Eira, who was sweet and soft and made dresses, little fingers dancing over fabric, stitching and tying off and embroidering and knitting, whose hands were always doing something…and if she wasn’t making something, she was cooking or canning or doing any other household tasks…now she was still.

For once in her life…she was not moving. 

She was just laying there, covered by shadows in a ripped and hastily torn apart dress. 

Nesta couldn’t fix this. Could fix none of this. 

Couldn’t fix Eira fighting for her life…couldn’t fix that mating bond that…

What would Eira think? Eira, who had fallen in love and tried to hide it so desperately and failed so horribly…what would she think about the mating bond snapping for Azriel? 

Would she be happy? Delighted? 

Or feel that this was one step too far from her humanity, one step too far from…

Nesta didn’t know. She had never talked with her sister about the mating bond or the lack of it for Eira…They had never talked about what had gone on between Azriel and Elain…though a part of Nesta had waited for Eira to find herself somebody else to fix her attention onto. Waited for Eira to realise that…that it was never going to happen.

Now though…she wondered if the mating bond hadn’t been there for her sister already. A pull that made it impossible for her attention to be changed to any other. 

She would be fine. It would be fine. It needed to be fine. 

It wasn’t fair that Eira, Eira was the one who…

It wasn’t fair that this had happened now. Now, when the mating bond had snapped and it seemed like her sister could get everything she had ever wanted…

And if there was a man that Nesta was going to trust with her sister, with Eira in all her sweetness and softness…then Azriel…then Azriel, it would be. 

Nesta couldn’t fix this. 

But maybe she could fix the dress…maybe she could…

She let go of her sister’s lax hand, as she stood and walked over to the closet. She opened it, half expecting a whole flurry of gowns to fall out. 

After their wealth had been returned to them, then in the Human Lands…Eira had stocked up all their closets with many new dresses and clothes. 

She had made most herself, of course, keeping the cost down to where it was an indulgence but not outright ridiculous. 

Nesta had expected the same now. Instead, with a blink, she weakly realised that she couldn’t have been more wrong. 

There had been the dress that Eira had worn today…and then there were 4 more…all of them dresses that Nesta could weakly remember Rhysand purchasing for them in these first few weeks in the House of Wind...a pile of dresses from which Eira had taken and fitted them to Nesta and Elain both, changed sleeves and necklines until they were exactly like they had wanted them to be. Eira had taken the leftovers...the ones neither Nesta or Elain had wanted. 

Nesta hadn't ever thought about it before today. There were servant girls who had more clothing than Eira seemed to have. 

And none of these dresses were decorated with the embroidery that was her sister’s trademark…the embroidery that decorated hair ribbons given to her sisters for birthdays and other occasions…that decorated the hems on Elain’s gardening dresses that turned muddy anyway. 

Eira's own dresses were well-loved, mended in places, threadbare in others. Of course. They had been well-loved for the better part of 3 years now. 

One dress was new. Nesta could see that. Beautifully grey, with long sleeves cuffed at the wrists and mother-of-pearl buttons. Beautiful. Simple. Heavy silk. Reminding Nesta of human fashion much more than the one of the Night Court. 

Going through her drawers didn’t make this any better. Nesta found aprons…but once again, a far cry from the aprons with floral embroidery around the edges that Elain favoured…and then sometimes in between old, well-loved things, meticulously taken care off…There was a pair of new shoes, leather and a closed with a crystal-embellished buckle. 

Such an indulgence that Nesta couldn’t help but smile and bite back the tears that threatened to overcome her. 

But that dress and that pair of shoes…it was one of the few things that truly showed her sister’s personality…

Finally, Nesta found her nightgowns…picking one up, made out of white cotton, with buttons down the front, that maybe would make it easier to dress her without hurting her. 

She took the nightgown and returned to Eira’s side, the shadows not having budged an inch. 

“Can you help me?” she asked, wondering if they even could understand her, or if they only listened to Azriel…

They understood. Immediately. They became nearly opaque, shielding Eira from Rhysand’s glance if he opened his eyes…and then so very carefully, arranged her sister in a sitting position so Nesta could remove the scraps of the dress she wore from her, see the white bandages tinted with red that Maja had used to protect the wound…

Eira was limp, unprotesting…against the gentle grip from the shadows that arranged her limbs so Nesta could easily undress her, and then fluttered around to help her pull the new nightgown over her sister’s body. 

The shadows pulled the covers back from the bed, and Nesta stared in admonishment as they lifted Eira up, becoming solid underneath her…nearly levitating her off the bed, so that they could quickly put fresh sheets on the bed, could tuck her underneath her duvet and fluff her pillows for her…take care of her, quicker and more thoroughly than Nesta would have been able to. 

The shadows picked up a hairbrush and whisked it to Eira’s side, brushing her hair until it was clean and free of tangles…pulling it back into a braid, tendrils of shadows trailing over her face…nearly lovingly. 

It must be Azriel’s doing. 

Nesta had never seen the shadows…dote on anything like that. She had seen them, rarely, top up Azriel’s teacup, but even that seemed to be an occasional thing. But for Eira…the shadows seemed to be at her very beg and call. 

Just yesterday she had raged at Cassian, that this didn’t mean that Azriel had any right to Eira, not when he had tried to pursue their other sister the year before. 

Now…after she saw this…it was…startling. 

She mulled it over silently. Eira and Azriel…the more she thought about it…the more she wondered if they didn’t fit together so well… Both so happy in the background, so painfully polite…so kind.

She picked up her sister’s blood-flecked dress, folding it with shaking hands…then picked up the petticoats she had worn. No blood on these. 

Nesta hadn’t seen any in her closet, so maybe Eira kept them in the chest at the end of her bed? She would just put them there…She opened that cedar chest and the cotton skirts were quickly forgotten, by what lay within it. 

The first thing she saw…were glittering silver flames. 

Nesta could just stare. 

There, safely folded…laid away…was a dress. 

She couldn’t help herself. Couldn’t help as she picked it up, hands nearly magically pulled towards it. 

Shaking it out…

A deep, dark red bodice…a v neckline…just deep enough to be interesting…peaked shoulders, not unlike the ones on Cassian’s fighting leathers…and then the skirts…layers upon layers of grey silk, embroidered painstakingly with silver flames that seemed to flicker in the light. 

It was the most beautiful dress that Nesta had ever held in her hands. 

And it was….she didn’t need to try it on to know that it would fit her like a glove. 

This dress…Eira had made this dress for her. 

She carried it over to her chair in a trance, smoothing it over her lap…seeing every single tiny stitch it had taken to bring it to life. 

It was perfect. 

She was ripped away from staring at it, with Rhysand’s sudden wretching, her head snapping towards him. 

“Fuck,” he choked out as he stopped vomiting. 

“Are you sick?” she demanded. “What if you get Eira sick, you idiot!” she seethed, but he held up a hand, vomit already being banished with nary a thought of him, as he looked at her, violet eyes…darker and…tortured in a way she had never seen it before. 

And then his eyes fell to the dress draped over her lap. 

“Eira made that for you,” he told her hoarsely, shuddering nearly “She…”

What had happened to him? Was Eira’s pain so bad that even Rhys couldn’t stand it? Was it…

“What happened?” she asked him sharply. “Is she in pain?”  

“Her mental shields are nonexistent right now. She dragged me into her memories,” Rhys answered, another shudder working over his body. “It was…unpleasant.”

That seemed to be an understatement. 

Nesta stared at him, grey eyes wide, red hot anger shooting through her. 

“So what, you just wanted to rummage through her mind?”  She snapped. 

“This was an accident. I did not do that on purpose,” Rhys shot back. “I wouldn’t have…”

“She has a right to her privacy!” Nesta raged. Hadn’t Eira already lost enough? Hadn’t they all lost enough?! 

“She does,” Rhys agreed, scrubbing one hand over his face.“She has a right to privacy. As long as it does not interfere with...”

“As long as it does not interfere with what?” Nesta demanded. “Your plans?” 

He stared at her, violet eyes wide and…hurt. 

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with her safety and happiness,” Rhys corrected quietly. He stared at the dress draped over her lap. “It’s a wedding dress. She made it for you,” he said with a nod towards it. 

A wedding dress? Why had she never…why had Eira never even mentioned it’s very existence? Why had she never…

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Like make another ugly dress?” Rhys quoted, his voice quiet, deathly even. "Sounds familiar?"

Her breath caught in her throat. 

No. No. No, Eira couldn’t…Eira had taken that to heart? Eira had taken to heart what she had spat in her anger and desperation? Eira had…

“If it makes it any better…There was worse said by all of us,” Rhys said, looking away. “Every single one of us.”

What?

“I have news,” Amren’s voice suddenly came from the doorway. She stood there, Madja, behind her, obviously having come back to check on Eira.  “The lightning that was used to fell the three Darkbringers? The magical signature was unmistakingly female.” She nodded to Eira. “I think she finally decided to be interesting.”

The anger that flared in her chest was so bright and hot that it had taken her breath away. 

Rhys beat her to it. 

“That’s enough, Amren,” he spat out. “We need to have a talk.”