#after hours! ᡣ𐭩

[welty4ng]

TEAR MY WORLD APART!

call transcript; “adapting is never easy. jiaoqiu supposes he only tolerates it because you’re with him”

cw; spoilers for the current quest !!! f!reader, NSFW (mdni) !! hurt/comfort, fingering (soft sex tbh), not proofread, ugh jiaoqiu i love you so much, fic below the cut, 4.7k words

When Jiaoqiu first returns home, there’s a heavy weight in his chest.

It felt horribly uncomfortable, having Moze walk him all the way from the docks to his house. It felt even worse to have his companion fish his keys from his pockets.

In his mind’s eye, he knows where everything is. He knows where you keep your plants and how to avoid running into them; still, he tips one over, the crunch of dirt beneath his feet ringing sickeningly in his ears. He knows where every corner of his house is; yet, he hits his shoulder when he rounds a corner a little too soon.

Shamefully, it takes him longer than he’d like to find someplace to sit. He’d never thought it to be so humiliating, to realize he spent so many years seeing the layout to his own home without memorizing it.

He’s unsure for how long he sits, the silence deafening and the darkness blinding. There’s a gnawing, ever-growing pit in his stomach at the realization that this might very well be the rest of his life. A shiver runs down his spine. He doesn’t think he’ll enjoy having his senses heightened any more than they already were.

Jiaoqiu jolts when he hears the front door open, his ears perking up. The sound of your footsteps reaches his ears before you call out his name, your voice gentler than he’s ever heard it.

“Hey,” you say, hushed. Jiaoqiu shudders when your hand finds his knee, trying to soothe him. His hands ball into fists on his lap.

“Hey,” he echoes, slightly strained. The weight in his chest grows heavier when you thumb at his knee. It’s horrifying, how he can practically picture the pity on your face — he’d never thought he’d be at the receiving end of it.

“General Feixaio told me what happened,” you whisper. Jiaoqiu’s ears twitch when you cup his face and he immediately nestles into your palm. Your thumb is gentle against his skin, caressing his cheek with the utmost of care. “I’m so sorry, love.”

There’s a lump in his throat, a million words on the tip of his tongue — ‘I’m okay. I’ll be fine. It’s nothing serious. I just need to adapt.’

All that he musters is a quiet, shaky, “I want to see you.”

Jiaoqiu wonders if you look as broken as he sounds.

Being molded into a homebody is not unideal, but Jiaoqiu has far too much to do.

He wonders if that’s why Feixiao sent Moze to inform him of the leave of absence he’d been granted.

It should be welcome. It is, to an extent, when guilt doesn’t chip away at his conscience; when he doesn’t feel like he’s a burden—

The clatter of pots makes him jump, his tail puffing up before matting back down. He exhales, low and unsteady as you call out a sheepish, “Sorry.”

Jiaoqiu doesn’t think he can complain. Not when you’ve carved out time from your schedule to look after him — to help him adjust, or whatever bullshit Moze claimed Feixiao had said. So he’ll endure the ringing in his ears when something is just a little too loud, endure the tangy, bitter smell of something burning, and offer a patient smile, followed by a soft, “It’s okay.”

Because he knows you’re trying.

Cooking was never your thing. He’d never let it be, because, why would he ever let you dirty your hands when he could do it instead?

Part of himself feels guilty that you’ve been forced into a myriad of things that fell under his attention. It’s an ever-growing sense of uselessness that weighs on his chest, burrowing deeper with every ‘tap’ of the knife on the cutting board.

He presses his back against the wall, trying to suppress the familiar urge to take over the cooking for you. A knot forms in his throat when he hears you softly hiss, his eyes yearning to open and treat whatever wound you must’ve gotten.

When a soft rush of water reaches his ears, he inches off the wall just enough, taking a step toward the noise. It feels slightly disorienting, trying to guide himself simply through hearing. Still, he tries, awkwardly stumbling in your direction with an outstretched hand.

A shaky exhale leaves his lips when he touches your shoulder, his tail awkwardly flicking to the side when you jolt at the contact.

“Let me help,” he whispers, his fingers instinctively squeezing your shoulder. There’s something so horrid about being able to hear your breaths before you even speak. He loathes how clear he can hear your breath falter as you hesitate.

“Jiaoqiu, you—”

“Please.” He’s tired of feeling useless. He has enough to deal with, now that his eyesight is gone indefinitely. He wants to help — to be of use, even if it’s just a little.

The weight in his stomach sinks deeper when you gingerly clutch his wrist. For a moment, he expects you to drop his hand and lead him back to the spot on the wall he’s claimed as his own. Instead, you bring his hand up to your face, letting his knuckles brush against your skin.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” you murmur, gentle as you press a kiss to the back of his hand. Jiaoqiu wonders what expression you’re making; wonders if it’s pity or sympathy.

He takes a step closer, his front bumping against yours before his free hand shoots out to hold onto the edge of the counter for balance. “Let me do something, at least,” he pleads, a vague hint of desperation lacing his words.

Your breaths fan his face, tickling his skin in a way that has his tail swaying.

“Please,” he whispers, trying to keep his voice from wavering.

There’s a brief moment of hesitance before you ask, “What do you want to do?”

Jiaoqiu’s heart hammers in his chest, a ticklish sort of hope flooding his being. His hand trembles against your face, softly squeezing your own when you grasp it.

“Anything,” he breathes out. “It doesn’t have to be cooking or cleaning or — just let me do anything.”

When your grip on his hand falters, he grasps it tighter, resting them on your cheek. The smell of something burnt fills his senses, but he can’t find it in himself to care; not when he can feel the faint warmth of your skin. “I want to be of use to you.”

His ears twitch when you sigh, his hand trembling lightly against your face. He can imagine the expression you’re making — pursed lips and furrowed brows, deep in thought. Still, he yearns to see it.

“You can help me stir the pot,” you offer, a hint of hesitance to your voice.

The weight in his chest lightens just a little, his fingers tightening around your own in a light squeeze. “Alright.”

It’s a shred of normalcy, he supposes; even if he’s just swirling a ladle. For a moment, it reminds him of a simpler time, back when he was younger and still learning to fend for himself. The soft ‘tap’ of the knife against the cutting board fills his ears, accompanied by your faint humming.

Will you let him keep helping you? Jiaoqiu can’t help but wonder. Would you let him stop being a burden? Do you even think of him as a burden? He hopes — prays — you don’t. He hopes you let him stay by your side, even if all he can do is rot.

It’s all he wants.

So, when you lead him to your dining table, trying to distract him from the scent of burnt meat, he’ll entertain you. He’ll keep his complaints to himself, even if the soup is far too salty; the noodles are a little too undercooked; and the cubed beef is a bit too charred.

You’re both trying, he reminds himself. Perhaps that’s why he can’t find it in himself to care much when he can hear the ‘snap’ of a noodle between his molars. There’s a slight tingle in his tongue by the time he’s done eating.

Still, Jiaoqiu doesn’t complain. Instead, he smiles, softening when your hand grasps his own beneath the table, squeezing twice in a comforting gesture.

“Thank you,” he whispers, hushed. When your breath hitches, a lump forms in his chest. Quickly, he adds, “For everything.”

For a moment, he supposes the only good thing about being blind is that he doesn’t have to see you cry. Though, he supposes it’s worse, hearing you hold back from it — hearing you struggle to remain composed.

When he opens his arms, you rush into him, leaving your chair behind and opting to perch in his lap — just like you’d always done. He holds you closer, instinctively; though, he rubs at your back with hesitance, almost trying to map out the length of your back.

He shudders when you wet the side of his neck. It feels more present, now that his world is shrouded in pitch black. Your cries sound louder, even when quiet and muffled by his skin.

“I’m sorry.” Jiaoqiu’s unsure if the apology is his or yours, the weight growing tenfold in his chest and ringing in his ears.

He can’t tell if the sobs are still yours, either.

Jiaoqiu learns to rise when you do. His routine morphs into your own, despite your insistence that he rest longer.

Staying in bed doesn’t feel the same without you, he’d argued. You were quick to relent after that.

His feet drag on the floor behind yours, his grip tight around the back of your nightshirt. There’s a dull ache in his head. He bumps into you when you stop, a quick apology tumbling from his lips before he can stop it.

When the sound of rushing water reaches his ears, they twitch, recognizing the familiarity. His hands perch on the edge of the counter, letting go of your clothes. It never takes long for him to hear the soft rustle of fabric falling onto the floor. It never takes long for him to fumble with his buttons, either, before you come to his aid.

“Will you help me wash my hair again?” he asks, quiet as you ease the fabric off his shoulders.

“If you want me to,” you reply, gentle as you help him out of his pants. When your fingers brush against his lower abdomen, he shivers, his tail puffing up as he sucks in a sharp inhale.

Jiaoqiu’s hand leaves the counter, moving to cup your cheek in a practiced (albeit clumsy) movement. Part of himself still feels like a fumbling fool when you move his hand just a little lower, correcting the placement. Still, you never mention it.

A voice in the back of his head tells him he should reject your offer for help — tells him he’s been more than enough of a burden by making you spend more time ensuring he’s clean than you do yourself. Then, a gentler, kinder voice reminds him you’d expressed your satisfaction at being able to aid him. Pride never stands a chance, when it comes to your delight; he realized this soon after meeting you.

So, he lets his finger brush against the apple of your cheek, his voice softening as he says, “I do.”

It’s become almost instinctive, following you. There’s always a certain gentleness with which you hold his hands, guiding him forward as you step into the shower. He hears the quiet scuff of a stool (your insistence, not his) being dragged across the tiles. Your hands remain gentle as you guide him to sit.

“Tell me if I scrub too hard, okay?” The statement is almost unnecessary, truly. You’ve never once treated him with something other than overwhelming delicateness — like he’s made of porcelain. Jiaoqiu considered himself tough, before losing his eyesight. He thinks that shell was stripped from him alongside his vision. He wonders if you know it, too — wonders if that’s why you touch him like he’s seconds away from breaking beneath your touch.

Still, all he says is, “Okay.” Then, after a moment, “Thank you.”

A lump forms in his throat at the beat of silence, his heart hammering in his chest. Aeons, he wants to see your expression — he needs it so desperately. It’s become hard to tell whether he says the right thing or not. Sometimes, he wonders if he oversteps. There are a million words at the tip of his tongue, all of them longing to spill out.

Something soft presses against his forehead, gentle and so, so soft. Two hands cup his jaw, holding him in place before drawing him in. His arms wrap around your middle almost instinctively, his face burrowing into your chest.

“I want to see you,” he whispers, his words muffled by your skin.

Your lips press against the top of his head, tender. Jiaoqiu melts when you cup the back of his head, holding him in place. He wonders if you realize how soothing your heartbeat is to him, currently. Your fingers weave through peachy strands, washing out the shampoo suds from his hair.

“I know,” you reply, your voice barely audible. “We’ll figure it out, love.”

A soft noise rumbles in the back of his throat, his ears twitching and tickling your skin. “Promise?”

“Promise,” you whisper, kissing the top of his head one last time.

For a moment, something akin to hope blossoms in his chest. It’s the first time he’s felt it, since losing his vision, Jiaoqiu notes.

Normal still feels out of place, though not as much anymore. It’s become a faint, lingering feeling in the back of his mind.

There’s still a vague sense of discomfort at being surrounded by darkness constantly. Jiaoqiu supposes it’s only through the habit of touching that he reminds himself he’s not alone.

He’s only grateful you indulge him, even if it must be a bother to have him hovering and pestering just to stick to you.

The streets of the Yaoqing — have they ever been this noisy? Jiaoqiu can’t tell. It’s uncomfortable, how loudly everything rings in his ears. He thinks he would rather trade the boisterous noise for the bright, vivid colors he used to complain about.

“We’ll head home soon,” you reassure, squeezing his hand as tight as you can. For a moment, he wonders if his distress is palpable (he concludes that, for you, it must be).

“You shouldn’t rush,” he replies, his words trailing off into a quick apology when someone bumps into his shoulder. His hand squeezes yours — the mere thought of separating from you makes his heartbeat spike in anxiety. Jiaoqiu softly clears his throat, quickly adding, “I’m fine, really.”

Neither of you seem to believe it, though you don’t call him out on the lie. Instead, you slow your pace even more to loop your arm with his.

“I was thinking,” you start, pulling him just a little closer to you as you walk, “We could get the ingredients for those noodles you like.”

Jiaoqiu hums, trying to ignore the way the corners of his lips curl up. “That would be nice,” he says, trying to keep his steps matched to yours.

“You could help me make them,” you offer, gently tugging him closer before someone brushes against his arm.

His steps falter for a moment. When he takes a second too long to reply, you rush to add, “Only if you want to.”

A lump forms in his throat, agreement sitting on the tip of his tongue. All he does is exhale. His heart hammers in his chest, thundering loud in his ears. You’re looking at him — he doesn’t need his vision to tell. A hushed, barely audible whisper leaves his lips when you call his name.

“Is it still too soon?” you ask, a hint of worry in your voice. Your hold on him tightens just a little. “I-I figured, maybe it had been long enough to try and ease you back into things you used to do. We can just pretend I didn’t say any—”

“I want to,” Jiaoqiu says, his voice wavering. He isn’t sure when his breath picked up, but he can feel his chest heaving. His tail lightly sways when you place your hand above his own, thumbing at his knuckles.

“Okay.” Your voice feels as soft as your touch. It tickles his nerves, sending a flutter through the pit of his stomach and down to his core.

He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours (a jolt of satisfaction in his chest at the lack of clumsiness). His ears twitch when the pad of your thumb lightly presses into his knuckle. 

“Okay,” he echoes, trying to match your tone. Jiaoqiu softens, gently rubbing his forehead against your own.

Warmth blooms in his chest when you whisper. The market’s ruckus feels like white noise as your words ring in his ears. Like instinct, his lips part before replying in earnest. “I love you, too.”

He wonders if it’s your face that’s burning up, or if it’s his.

It pains him a little, just how long it’s taken him to ask this of you.

Jiaoqiu feels you shift beneath him, adjusting your position before wrapping your legs around his waist again. He softly exhales, tracing the slope of your cheek with the utmost of care. His heart hammers away in his chest, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Don’t move,” he whispers, breathless as he pokes at the fat of your cheek. When you sigh, he lets himself cup your face, the pad of his thumb lightly pressing into the hollow beneath your eye.

“How much longer are you going to do this for?” you ask, curiosity lacing your voice. Jiaoqiu softens, his tail swaying when you lean into his touch.

“Until I’m sure I’ve memorized everything.”

“I thought you already knew my face by heart?” you reply. The corners of his lips curl up into a smile when he hears yours. He gently pinches your cheek, drawing a soft chuckle from your lips.

“I do,” he says, loud enough so it’s meant for your ears only. “I just want to make sure I know it, deep in my soul.”

A soft hum leaves his lips when you squeeze his waist. His hand moves, his thumb tracing the shell of your ear.

“How smooth,” you mumble, brushing a few peachy strands away from his face.

“I want to make sure it’s all like I remember,” he murmurs, complying when you pull him up with your legs. Jiaoqiu’s ears twitch when his nose bumps against yours, a breathless chuckle slipping past his lips.

His hand trails down, his thumb brushing your lower lip. When you gently kiss the digit, his breath hitches. He cups your jaw, trying to find an angle. You simply follow his lead, letting him lead.

He thumbs at the corner of your lips, your breath fanning against his skin. His mouth presses against yours in the softest — faintest — of kisses. When you sigh, he lets himself mold against you. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, his tail swaying when you grant him access.

There’s a hint of desperation behind his actions. Jiaoqiu wonders if you can tell, by the way his tongue licks at your mouth — almost like he’s trying to memorize the way you taste.

He barely gives you any reprieve, breaking the kiss to catch the slightest of breaths before he’s attached to your lips once more. When his name leaves your lips between kisses, heat pools in his stomach. It’s a feeling he’d thought dormant since he’d lost his sight.

Jiaoqiu doesn’t think he’d mind its resurgence — not after the way you part with a whined gasp, struggling to catch your breath. His lips press against the corner of your mouth, then lower, until he’s kissing a trail down to the spot beneath your jaw.

When you struggle to hold back a moan, heat shoots through his veins. Your hands find the back of his head, your fingers tangling in peachy strands. He complies when you help him up, cupping his face before capturing his lips with your own.

For a moment, Jiaoqiu wonders if you taste sweeter than he remembers.

“Guide me.”

“Hm?”

A soft, huffed chuckle escapes Jiaoqiu’s lips. His hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb applying a delicate pressure beneath your eye. He feels you shift on the bed, your legs tangling with his own.

“Guide me,” he repeats, his ears twitching when you yawn. A gentle noise rumbles in his chest, his body pressing closer to yours and his hand moving lower to let his thumb press against the corner of your mouth. Then, he leans down, his lips replacing the digit.

Heat pools in his stomach at the sigh you let out. His tail lightly sways, the ends puffing out when he nips at your lower lip. “You’ve been patient for long enough,” he murmurs, gently ghosting a kiss over your lips.

“Jiaoqiu—”

“No excuses,” he says, “Please.”

After a light kiss, he adds, “Let me do this for you.”

For a moment, he wonders if it’s your heartbeat he hears, instead of his own. He lets his hand leave your face to rest on the underside of your breast, relishing how your breaths stutter.

“You’ve done more than enough for me,” Jiaoqiu reasons, his voice tender as he moves his face closer to the crook of your neck. “I ought to express my gratitude,” he whispers, noting how you shudder as his breath tickles your skin. He presses his lips against the underside of your jaw — right at the spot he knows makes your breath hitch and your thighs clench. “Shouldn’t I?”

“I didn’t do anything with the intention of getting something in return,” you say. He catches on to the quiver to your tone when his ears twitch. His teeth graze your jaw, soft and experimental as he thumbs at the lower part of your breast.

“Isn’t that reason enough to accept my gratitude with open arms, then?”

You shudder, your hand moving to perch on his shoulder when he trails kisses down to your collarbone. “We both know what your gratitude entails, Jiaoqiu.”

He softly clicks his tongue, letting his canines graze against your skin. The hand on your chest inches upward, moving until his thumb reaches your pert nipple. “Even more reason for you to accept, hm?”

His touch softens when you sigh.

“Isn’t it a little too soon—?”

“I think I should be the one to decide that,” Jiaoqiu mumbles. He presses a soft kiss to your collarbone. 

There’s a slight hesitance to your actions — how you seem to mull over his words. His tail sways, lightly rubbing against the bedsheets as your fingers run through his locks.

“Still, I—” your breath catches, your words interrupted by a wanton whine when delicately rolls your nipple between his fingers. 

Heat shoots through his nerves, fueling the fire in his stomach as he pictures your expression — your face all scrunched up, but your lips parted as you pant. Jiaoqiu slows the barrage of kisses on your skin, softy exhaling.

He wants to see it, so, so desperately.

He wants to feel and touch and see. His ears twitch when you sigh his name, breathless. A soft growl rumbles in his chest in response before he presses an open-mouthed kiss on your collarbone.

“Let me take care of you,” he quietly pleads. “You shouldn’t have to suppress your own needs for my own.”

“I’m not—”

Jiaoqiu nips at your collarbone to cut off your words, his tongue gently soothing the spot. “Don’t lie to me,” he murmurs, his words slightly muffled by your skin. “Not when I hear clearer than I ever could.”

Your grip on his hair falters, your breath hitching. He wonders what expression you wear — are you flustered or taken aback? Or is it something entirely different? 

“Just because I’m blind doesn’t mean I can’t touch you like I used to,” he breathes out, gently rolling your nipple between his fingers. You tug on his hair, your breaths uneven. His lips trail kisses along the expanse of your collarbone. “You just need to guide me.”

His fingers leave your nipple, drawing a soft whine from your lips as he trails them down to your hip.

“It’s about time you replace your fingers with my own, after all,” he rasps, kissing a path back up to your jaw, “Isn’t it?”

His ears twitch when a strained whimper slips past your lips. He nips at your skin before pressing a feather-light kiss on the spot. Heat floods the pit of his stomach when you nod against his head, your hand resting atop the one on your hip.

“You’ve been more than patient, love,” Jiaoqiu whispers, his tail twitching against the sheets as you help his hand down between your thighs. He shudders an exhale, his fingers inquisitive as they search for your clit. His breaths become heavy, fanning against your jaw in a way so ticklish that your thighs instinctively press together.

A choked whine leaves your lips, your fingers curling in his hair. “‘s n-nothing,” you murmur, your voice trembling.

He gently clicks his tongue, his thumb pressing against you once he finds your bud. “It’s not ‘nothing,’” he replies, rubbing his nose along your jaw as he begins to circle your clit. “It’s never easy to care for a patient.”

You mewl, lightly jolting when his index finger prods around in search of your entrance. “W-wait,” you stammer, your hand moving to aid his own. His tail thumps faintly against the bed when his fingertips ghost above your folds.

“Here we go,” he whispers, unable to keep the elation from his voice. For a moment, he wonders if you’ve realized the selfish intentions behind his idea to thank you.

Though, he’s sure that even if you have, you probably don’t mind. Jiaoqiu knows how tired you must be from fingering yourself in his stead. Your fingers were never as good as his at bringing you pleasure, after all.

The corners of his lips curl up into a small smirk, his finger pumping in and out of you with practiced ease. “That’s nice, isn’t it, love?” he asks, his voice a soft coo.

“M-mhm,” you shakily hum, slowly rocking your hips against his digit to match his pace.

“Your sweet cunt just needed my fingers, didn’t it?”

He can’t hold back the purr in the back of his throat when you nod, your fingers fisting his peachy strands when he pushes a second finger into your folds.

“N-needed them s-so bad—!” you cry, your voice cracking. Your free hand grasps at his forearm, your breath quick and uneven pants. “‘s never the same when t-they’re mine…”

Jiaoqiu gently shushes you, peppering kisses against the underside of your jaw. “I know, love,” he coos, his voice full of sympathy. “I’ll take care of it for you.”

You moan, your breath hitching as your walls flutter around his fingers. When they curl, you cry, your hips desperately rocking against his hand. “J-Jiaoqiu—”

“Close already?” he asks, though he fails to hide the smile from his voice. You huff and he chuckles, a sense of satisfaction settling in his gut. How long has it been since he’s felt that — felt anything other than a weight in his chest?

Jiaoqiu can’t be bothered to wonder. Not when your cunt spasms around his fingers, your broken cries and moans rising in volume the more he curls his digits against the spongy spot in your folds.

“That’s it, love,” he breathes out, his voice a heavy rasp. “Let go for me.”

When you cry, he can only picture the expression on your face — can only imagine you look just like you’ve always done when you cum. His chest aches for just a moment, then lightens when you mewl his name.

“T-thank you,” you whisper, your words slightly slurred. Jiaoqiu softens when you kiss the top of his head. 

“I should be the one thanking you,” he replies, hushed. He nuzzles into you, slowly pulling his fingers out of your cunt. His chest rises and falls, weightless for the first time in weeks. “For everything.”

[tetzoro]

my little tumblr to do list today (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

ෆ sort drafts (current count: 267 . . . 164)

ෆ set up queue for work hours

ෆ catch up on tbr

ෆ answer asks

ෆ drop by inboxes

ෆ edit / finish a fic

ෆ smooch my mootiez !

[toruland]

dare i say based…

[fairy-angel222]

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

—in which toji is constantly fucking women and disturbing your peace. your complaints lead to you becoming one of them.

pairing: toji fushiguro x fem! college reader

cw: smut, breeding, daddy kink, size kink, age gap, toji being a cocky prick, unsafe sex, ass slapping, mentions of cervix touching

Ever since you heard about your next door neighbor Mr. Fushiguro going through a divorce, things have been hell. For you.

From the day he first moved into the apartment, constantly arguing on the phone with his ex wife about whose turn it was to watch his son, Megumi.

When Megumi is over, everything’s quiet, and you finally get a chance to rest your head and relax in peace. Doing some studying and cleaning in the quiet atmosphere.

You wished the black haired boy would stay for just a day longer, because Toji is back to his usual self hours later. Bringing in young college girls one after the other. Fucking them hard against his headboard as they let out loud cries of daddy. It was annoying. You could even stay inside anymore to get work done.

At every hour of the day he seemed to be active, fucking through all sorts of women, the shaking of your thin bedroom wall never coming to an end as high pitched moans echoed through.

It was getting to the point where you couldn’t take it. You were so fed up. Didn’t he ever get tired? Tired of promising these young desperate girls to call them back only to throw away their numbers and fuck their friends the next day.

Weeks go by and nothing changes, Megumi coming over for a silent three days then leaving again. Giving his father enough time to fuck any feelings for his ex wife out of his system.

You swore you couldn’t take it, you had barely been able to study, occasionally spending an hour or two in a nearby café between classes. When you noticed your grades slipping, your eyes having prominent bags at the lack of sleep, you groan loudly in frustration. Finding your legs moving before you could even process it.

Your fist raising to knock on the man’s door once, then twice, with no answer. You huffed, going in to knock a third time before the door swung open. A tall, muscular man towering over you with a scowl. “What?”

Your eyes widened as you scanned over his body, his perfectly sculpted face, broad shoulders, defined abs, and the very distinct outline in his sweats.

The man cleared his throat, a smirk gracing his face when he startled you out of your intense drooling. “Now, what do we have here?” he chuckled deeply, tilting his head to the side with crossed arms as he rested against the door’s frame. “Here to get your turn doll?”

You gulped, finding it harder to spit out your words as the Fushiguro man stared you down. “I.. I’m here to ask you to keep the noise down, some people have actual work to do.”

Toji whistled, “Oh? A bold one huh? I like it,” His hand reaching under your chin to make you look fully up at him. “you’re a pretty little thing you know,” he spoke, running his thumb along your bottom lip, “wonder what you’d look like ruined underneath me.”

You ignored the flutter that went off in your pussy, clenching your thighs discreetly as you glared. “Just keep the noise down okay old man? I'm trying to study.”

Toji could feel his cock grow harder, you were just what he needed. “So i’m an old man now? That’s a first, usually girls like you just call me daddy.” he shrugged, “but it’s okay, you’ll get there.”

You rolled your eyes as you walked away from him, annoyance written all over your face to mask the arousal swirling in your stomach. He’d probably fucked the entire neighborhood by now, including the campus, so you weren’t gonna fall for his sick charms. You just hoped he complied and kept the place quiet, you didn’t need that usual noise the day before your big test.

Toji had surprisingly did as you asked, and you sighed in content as you read through the pages of your notes. Your pen in your hand finding itself in between your teeth as you bit down softly. You got what you wanted, so why was your mind running wild with thoughts of the Fushiguro man’s hands on your body as he fucked you like all of those other girls.

You shifted in your seat, one leg over the other to bring stimulation to your needy clit making you whimper softly. You couldn’t let yourself give in.

Another week passed and you once again found yourself in the same noisy predicament. Your mind couldn’t help but wander to the man more than twice your age. Way too old for you yet just so.. hot. Toji Fushiguro had become your fantasy.

And it was unbearable.

Hearing all these moans day and night. Hearing Toji’s loud grunts and groans as he no doubt left them with the best fuck of their lives.

It was Thursday, and Megumi would be coming tomorrow per routine, so you’d finally get a break then. But, you couldn’t deny the fact that you wanted an excuse to go over there. Your face serious as you banged on his door.

You waited a minute, a shirtless Toji emerging into the door frame as it flew open. Toji smirked, “Ah, you again.” His sweatpants hung dangerously low beneath the start of his v line, black hair messy as his tongue darted out to swipe across his lips. “Finally came to your senses?”

His last fuck had left right before you came, coincidentally of course.

“N-no.” you objected sternly. “I’m here to ask you again to just be.. what are yo-“

You swallowed hard when he began stalking towards you, a sinister grin on his face as you were backed up against a wall. His breath fanned your head as he bent his neck. Hands on the walls near each side of your face. “Your face says otherwise, doll.”

“No it d-doesn’t.. you’re just a cocky old man preventing me from getting things done.”

Toji’s brow raised with a deep hearty chuckle, “Back to that nickname i see,” His hand grabbing hold of your cheeks and squeezing them together. “Gonna have to clean that mouth of yours, teach you how to be a good girl.”

You whimpered lowly, feeling wetness pool between your legs as you looked up through your lashes. Toji’s eyes trailing to your glossy lips as he inhaled sharply. “Don’t worry, this dirty old man’s lips are clean”

Pressing his lips roughly to yours, your eyes widening as you gripped the edge of your skirt with a moan. Toji smirked against your lips, his hands hooking beneath your legs as he lifted you up. Your frame so much smaller in comparison to his larger one.

Toji was quick to bring you inside. And you found yourself sitting on the man’s lap, your skirt bunched up at your hips as he hammered up into your wet cunt with brute force. His hands kneading into the flesh of your ass each time you ground your hips onto him.

You let out a loud mewl, his thick cock stretching you out and grazing against your gummy walls as he fucked you deep. Feeling him within your stomach when you cried out. “Fushiguro-san— ah, so- ngh g-ood.”

“That’s not my name doll, try again.” he growled deeply, landing his palm onto your ass in a hard slap. And you whimpered tearfully at the sting. “T-toji—” Another harsh smack burning through your flesh making you let out a cry. “Last chance.”

You moaned loudly, your back arching as Toji slammed into you. “D-daddy, ahh daddy, o-oh fuckk—,”

Toji hummed in satisfaction, “Look at you, thought i was a dirty old man hmm?” His teeth biting softly at the delicate skin of your neck, his pelvis hitting your red puffy folds relentlessly. “Moaning for me like a little slut, so fucking pretty.”

You let out a shaky cry, “Haah— F-fushiguro-san,” Your pussy clenched down on his girth, his rough hand making its way around your throat, squeezing the sides and forcing you to look at him. “Not gonna fucking tell you again.”

You mewled, “‘M sorry— nngh,” Your back arching when Toji bullied his cock deeper into you.

“Still waiting doll.” he grunted, eyes dark as his grip on your throat tightened, your moans and whimpers loud as his thighs noisily met your sticky cunt. “D-addy— ahh- so good,” you cried, feeling his angry tip forcing its way to your cervix, kissing the entrance with each harsh thrust.

“Good fucking girl, you’re getting there” he grinned with a groan. A creamy ring formed around the base of his cock, your pussy gushing messily onto him as loud squelching sounds filled the room. “Pussy’s so fucking tight— better be on the pill cause i’m botta cum in that pretty pussy, shit.”

“Ah— nngh daddy, ‘m close- gonna cum.” you whimpered, your eyes rolling back and your lips parting in a string of incoherent babbles, Toji’s thrusts sloppy as he groaned.

“Gonna cum on this old man’s dick yeah?” He teased cockily, “Had so much talk for someone who’s falling apart on my cock.” Toji grunted, “Bet ya sat there listening like a lil perv, your hand down your panties hmm?”

You shook your head no with a cry, “Uh uh- ahh— wasn’t.”

“Sure about that? Sure you didn’t sit there and fantasize about me fucking you like a little slut?” His hand reached down to rub at your clit, a loud moan escaping your mouth.

Your breathing sped up as you felt a coil buildup in your stomach. Your body shaking with pure ecstasy. You let out a high pitched scream, the stimulation to your g spot making your head go fuzzy. Vision turning white as you clenched down tightly on Toji’s cock.

“O-oh fuck— ‘m cumming— ah, cumming daddy.” Toji’s hand pressed down harder on your throat, the pressure restricting your air flow making you let out a choked mewl. Tears welling in your eyes as his heavy balls smacked against your ass.

“Nngh—” The ring of white thickened at his base as you let out whiny cries. Toji’s hand working small circles on the sensitive bud before he brought his lips to your ear. His voice deep and gruff as he groaned. “Fuck doll- squeezing me so tight, come on and scream for me.” He breathed, “make a mess on my cock.”

Toji’s mean pace became too much, a tight pull in your stomach as your mouth fell open, legs trembling with loud cries as an unfamiliar feeling washed over you.

It was heavenly, your brain going dumb and your pupils disappearing behind heavy lids as you screamed loudly, head falling back and nails digging into his shoulders as you fell off the edge.

Toji never slowing the movement of his hips, still hammering up into you despite the mess you were making on his thighs. Your pussy spraying streams after streams of clear liquid as you arched your hips, grinding back and forth to ride out your squirting orgasm.

“Even fucking louder than any of my previous fucks.” he laughed, “Wonder what the neighbors would say, went from being a whiny little bitch to being the same thing you complained about.”

You let out a whine, Toji flipping you abruptly onto your back, his hand still around your neck as the position allowing him to hit even deeper. “Fuck,” he grunted, his words in between each thrust. “gonna fucking breed that pussy so deep.” Letting out a low groan at the last thrust, his lips meeting yours in a sloppy kiss as he bottomed out.

A whimper fell past your lips into his when you felt him fill you up, his cum shooting in hot thick spurts along the walls of your cunt.

He smirked as he pulled away, watching you pant heavily. “Would make such a good breeding bunny.” Dipping his fingers past your lips and resting them on the back of your tongue. “Might have to keep you around, can’t be disturbed if you’re the one making the noise now can you?”

You shook your head tiredly, forcing your eyes to stay open as Toji pulled out of you. His sticky cum seeping out of your fluttering pussy slowly. Your brain was still so clouded, blinking in and out of blurry vision.

Toji hid the smile threatening to creep up onto his face, his face neutral as he plopped down onto the couch next to you. “Rest if you need to, then leave.” He said nonchalantly, trying to seem like his usual self despite the fact that he had not kicked you out yet. Which was something he never did, let a girl stay any longer than a second after sex.

The man would never admit it, but there was just something about you.

He wanted to make you his pretty little doll.

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | finding out you're pregnant

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : finding out you're pregnant with their baby even after agreeing on waiting a little bit before starting a family of your own.

୨ৎ : genre : romance & angst ୨ৎ : tws : arguing, pregnancy, mentions of abortion ୨ৎ : word count : 2786

୨ masterlist ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : got this idea from watching s2 of squid games, won't explain why, no spoilers here honeyyy

ʚ��max verstappen

max’s eyes widened as the words hit him, his gaze flicking to the pregnancy test in your hands. for a moment, he looked genuinely frozen—like you’d just told him red bull had switched to making bicycles instead of cars.

“we… agreed to wait,” he said slowly, blinking at you as if the sheer force of logic could undo the situation. he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

“max,” you said gently, biting back a laugh despite your nerves.

he stopped pacing, turning back to you with a raised eyebrow. “you’re sure it’s mine?” he deadpanned, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him.

you smacked his arm lightly. “not funny.”

he cracked a small, dry laugh, stepping closer and taking the test from your hand to set it aside. “okay, okay. it’s not what we planned, but…” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “i guess this is what i get for not reading the fine print in life.”

his hand found your waist, his expression softening as he pulled you closer. “look, it’s… unexpected. but it’s not the end of the world. just the end of uninterrupted sleep for the next few years, right?”

you couldn’t help but giggle as he placed a hand on your stomach, his confidence and dry humor kicking back in. “guess i’ll have to start winning every race now. baby formula might run through all my checks.”

despite his jokes, his eyes shone with something deeper—love, determination, and just the right amount of "what the hell do we do now?" but that was max: grounded, honest, and ready to figure out a solution to every challenge that was about to come flying at the two of you.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

lewis’s face fell the moment the words left your mouth. his brows knit together, and he blinked rapidly, like he was trying to process a race-ending penalty that came out of nowhere.

“you’re… pregnant?” his voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loudly might make it even more real.

you nodded, suddenly feeling unsure. “i know we talked about waiting a few more years, and i understand if you’re not ready. we don’t have to—”

“no,” he interrupted, his voice firm but his eyes wide. “no, don’t… don’t say that.” he stepped closer, his hand reaching for yours instinctively. “don’t even think about that. i want this baby.”

“but, lewis,” you started, “this isn’t what we planned. you’re so busy with your career, and i don’t want to—”

“i know,” he cut you off again, his voice cracking just slightly. he let out a shaky breath and rubbed the back of his neck, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a mix of worry and determination. “i didn’t expect this, yeah, but… that doesn’t mean i don’t want it. i do. i really do.”

his hand slid to your waist, pulling you gently closer. “i mean, yeah, i’m terrified. what if i mess this up? what if i’m not good enough at… being a dad?” he chuckled nervously, shaking his head at himself. “i’ve driven a car at 200 miles per hour, but this? this is scarier.”

you reached up to cup his face, your touch grounding him. “you’re not going to mess this up, lewis.”

he sighed, leaning into your touch. “i just… i want to do this right. for you. for us. for the baby.” his hand drifted hesitantly to your stomach, resting there as his lips curved into a small, uncertain smile. “i guess i’ll have to trade in some podiums for bedtime stories.”

the stress was still there, lingering in his furrowed brow and the way his jaw clenched, but beneath it, you saw something else—a flicker of hope and excitement. lewis was many things, but when it came to the people he loved, he never backed down. and in that moment, you knew he’d do whatever it took to be the best father he could be.

ʚ・george russell

george froze, his blue eyes locking onto yours, disbelief etched across his face. “you’re… pregnant?” he asked, his voice tight.

you nodded, your heart pounding. “i just found out. i—”

“what do you want to do?” he cut in, his tone sharper than you expected.

“what?”

“i’m asking if you want to keep it,” he said, running a hand through his hair, pacing the room with a mix of panic and frustration. “because it’s your choice, and i’ll support you, but i need to know where your head is.”

his words stung, and you stood up straighter. “do you think i’ve figured it all out already, george? i’m just as blindsided as you are!”

“i’m not accusing you of anything,” he shot back, his voice rising. “i’m just trying to get us on the same page. this wasn’t part of the plan, and now everything’s—” he stopped mid-sentence, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

you watched him, your own anger fading as his shoulders slumped. “i don’t know what i want yet,” you admitted softly. “but i’m scared.”

his eyes opened, the frustration melting into something gentler. “i’m scared too,” he admitted, stepping closer. “but if you want this baby, we’ll figure it out. together.”

his hands found yours, his grip firm but comforting. “i’ll support whatever you decide. but… if you’re asking me? i want this. i want us. even if it’s messy and terrifying.”

tears pricked your eyes as he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. “we’ll make it work,” he whispered, his voice steadier now. “and maybe… maybe this wasn’t part of the plan, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be the best thing to ever happen to us.”

for the first time since you found out, you felt a glimmer of hope—and in george’s arms, you knew you wouldn’t face this alone.

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos’s face went pale the moment you told him, his wide brown eyes staring at you like you’d just dropped the most shocking news of his life. he opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly struggling to find the words.

finally, he let out a string of rapid-fire spanish, his hands flying around as he started pacing. “¿estás segura? ¿cómo pasó esto? dios mío, esto no estaba en los planes.” (are you sure? how did this happen? my god, this wasn’t in the plans.)

you couldn’t help but bite back a laugh, despite your own nerves. “carlos, calm down.”

“calmarme? ¿cómo quieres que me calme?” (calm down? how do you expect me to calm down?) he exclaimed, throwing his hands up dramatically. “this is huge, my love, this is a baby."

“yes, it’s a baby,” you said gently, grabbing his arm to stop his pacing. “and i need to know how you feel about it.”

he froze, staring at you for a moment before his expression softened. “how i feel?” he repeated, his voice quieter now. he took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he processed everything.

then, slowly, a smile started to spread across his face. “a baby,” he said again, but this time it sounded different—softer, filled with awe. “we’re going to have a baby."

“yes,” you whispered, watching as his entire demeanor shifted.

his smile turned into a grin, and he pulled you into his arms, lifting you off the ground as he let out a laugh of pure joy. “amor, i’m going to be a dad!"

when he finally set you down, his hands immediately went to your stomach, his eyes sparkling. “i can’t believe it,” he said, his voice filled with excitement. “this wasn’t in the plans, no, but… this is amazing. you’re amazing.”

you laughed as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, still grinning like he’d just won a race. “i promise, i’ll do everything. i’ll be the best dad. and you—” he looked at you like you’d hung the moon. “you’ll be the most incredible mamá.”

all his earlier panic was gone, replaced by uncontainable happiness. carlos was over the moon, and in that moment, you knew this baby would be so loved.

ʚ・charles leclerc

charles froze, his green eyes widening as the words registered. he stood motionless for a moment, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no sound came out. then, he exhaled sharply, his hands raking through his hair, leaving it tousled in that way you loved.

“mon dieu…” he whispered, his accent thicker as he switched to french without realizing. “comment… comment c’est arrivé?” (my god… how… how did this happen?)

you hesitated, unsure of how to answer, but before you could, he looked up at you, his expression torn between panic and guilt. “no, i know how it happened. c’est ma faute.” (it’s my fault.)

“charles,” you started, stepping closer, but he backed away, pacing the room like he was mentally replaying every decision that had led to this moment.

“i should’ve been more careful,” he said, his voice shaking. “i should’ve… i mean, how could i be so stupid? you trusted me, and now…” he trailed off, his hands on his hips, his head hanging low.

“charles, stop,” you said firmly, walking up to him and grabbing his arm. “this isn’t just on you. it takes two people, remember?”

he lifted his head, his eyes glistening, and the vulnerability in them broke your heart. “but i was supposed to be more careful amore, and now i put a baby in you.” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “i didn’t want this to happen yet. not because i don’t want it,” he rushed to add, his words tumbling out in a whirlwind of emotion. “i do. i just… i wanted to give you more. to be ready. to make sure everything was perfect… amore you deserve everything, you deserve the world.”

you cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. “charles, nothing is ever perfect. and i don’t need perfect. i just need you.”

his breath hitched, and he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. “you’re too good for me,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. “but… i promise, i’ll do everything i can. i’ll be there for you, for the baby, for everything. je t’aime tellement.” (i love you so much.)

tears slipped down your cheeks as he opened his eyes, his hands coming up to cradle your face. “this baby… it’s not what we planned, but it’s ours,” he said softly, his voice steady now. “and i already love it because it’s part of you.”

he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, his thumb brushing away your tears. “we’ll figure this out together,” he whispered, his voice full of quiet determination. “i’ll make sure you and our baby have everything. i swear.”

in that moment, all his earlier worry and guilt melted away, leaving nothing but love and promise in his eyes. charles wasn’t just happy—he was ready to give his entire heart to you and the life you were building together.

ʚ・lando norris

lando froze, the lighthearted grin he’d been wearing vanishing in an instant. his eyes widened as he stared at you, his usually bright expression clouding over with uncertainty. “you’re serious?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual, almost disbelieving.

you nodded, your hands trembling slightly as you clasped them together. “i just found out. and… i don’t know what to do, lando. we’re so young, and there’s still so much we want to do.”

he ran a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath as he sat down heavily on the couch. “bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, his leg bouncing with nervous energy.

“i mean… we don’t have to go through with it,” you said hesitantly, your voice breaking a little. “we could—”

“no,” he interrupted, looking up at you sharply, his voice firmer than you’d ever heard it. “don’t say that. don’t even think about it.”

“lando, be realistic,” you said, your own frustration and fear bubbling up. “you’re in the prime of your career, and i’m still figuring out my life. how are we supposed to raise a baby when we’re barely adults ourselves?”

his jaw clenched, and he rubbed his hands over his face, clearly overwhelmed. “i know it’s not what we planned,” he said finally, his voice softer now but still tense. “and, yeah, i’m terrified. but this… this is part of us. and i can’t just… let it go.”

you sat down beside him, your shoulders sagging. “i’m scared, lando,” you admitted quietly. “i don’t want to mess this up. i don’t want to ruin your life.”

he turned to you then, his blue-green eyes filled with emotion. “you’re not ruining my life,” he said, reaching out to take your hands in his. “this is a curveball, yeah, but… i love you. and if this is happening, then i’ll be there. i’ll figure it out. we’ll figure it out.”

tears welled in your eyes, and he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “we’re young, and we’ve got so much ahead of us,” he murmured. “but maybe this is part of that. maybe this is the crazy, unexpected adventure we didn’t know we needed.”

a small, watery laugh escaped you, and he smiled, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “hey, if i can survive driving at 300 kilometers per hour, i think i can handle a baby.”

you laughed again, the tension easing slightly as his words sank in. lando pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, and for the first time since finding out, you felt like everything might just be okay.

“we’ll still live our lives,” he said softly. “we’ll do it all—travel, race, everything. just… with a little plus one.”

and despite the fear, despite the uncertainty, his words filled you with hope. because with lando by your side, you knew you’d figure it out together.

ʚ・oscar piastri

oscar stared at you in silence, his face unusually still. for a moment, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and the knot in your stomach tightened.

“you’re… pregnant,” he finally said, his tone flat, almost like he was testing the words.

you nodded, your breath shaky. “yeah. i just found out.”

he let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking his head as he stood up and started pacing. “of course. of course this would happen now,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you shot back, your voice rising defensively.

“it means this isn’t what we planned, y/n!” he snapped, turning to face you, his calm demeanor slipping for once. “we’re not ready for this. you know that.”

“you think i don’t know that?” you fired back, standing now, your voice trembling with anger and fear. “you think i wanted this to happen? i’m just as scared as you are, oscar, but this is our reality now.”

he raked a hand through his hair, his expression torn between frustration and guilt. “we’re still figuring everything out—our lives, our careers. a baby? how are we supposed to handle that?”

“i don’t know!” you yelled, tears brimming in your eyes. “but i can’t do this alone, oscar. i need to know where you stand.”

he stopped pacing, his shoulders slumping as he let out a long breath. “do you even want this?” he asked quietly, his voice breaking slightly. “because if you don’t… if you think it’s too much… i’ll support you. whatever you decide.”

the question hit you like a punch to the gut. “i don’t know,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “i don’t know what i want. but i’m terrified of making the wrong choice.”

oscar stared at you for a long moment, his usually calm eyes filled with a storm of emotions. then, slowly, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek.

“i’m scared too,” he murmured, his voice soft now, all the anger gone. “but… i don’t want to lose this. i don’t want to lose you. and if this baby is part of you, then how could i not love it?”

your tears spilled over, and he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. “it’s not going to be easy,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “but we’ll figure it out. even if it’s messy, even if it’s hard. we’ll figure it out together.”

you clung to him, your tears soaking into his shirt as the weight of the moment settled over both of you. it wasn’t the perfect, joyful revelation you might have dreamed of, but it was real. and as bittersweet as it felt, it was enough.

for now, it was enough.

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[giamee]

𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐓 '𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇 𝐑𝐎𝐓!

╭─────────────────────── ( 🍭 )

he just can't get enough of your pussy !

› 〉 📂 .ೃ | 🚨🚨🚨SMUT !! (f!reader receiving oral & fingering), uhhh pussydrunk hsr men who are MUNCHES <3, i think this is the first time writing smut on this blog so hereee we gooo, uhh clit slapping (only once thanks blade), overstim, nothin toooo crazy, ever so slight dom!reader for sampo (that man needs to get topped so bad) + you call him a pervert idk, squirting (shoutout luocha 😙)

╰─➤ 💌 ₍₁₎ I HAVENT WRITTEN SMUT IN AGESSSS SO PLS BE NICE AND TO MY MUTUALS SORRY THT THIS SHOWS UP ON YOUR DASHBOARD LETS STILL BE FRIENDS PLS 😭

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 JING YUAN.

this is a dangerous game when he's involved

as a general, jing yuan is very accustomed to being in charge, of taking charge and ensuring that things happen

and as a man who cares more about the hours outside of his work than during, who can blame him for wanting to commemorate each time that he comes home to you?

he's always been very giving as a lover, that much is true. and as a man with a tendency to be more on the... spontaneous side, you were no stranger to a quickie in a slightly less than convenient location. he just couldn't bear to leave you uncared for, after all.

so really, you should have expected that he would quite literally stoop to this level. one minute he was walking through the front door, you calling out a greeting to him from the sink as you washed some dishes.

and the next minute, he was on his knees behind you, your skirt flipped up over your hips and panties tugged to the side as he began to eat you out with some type of renewed fervour.

it had you slapping one hand over your mouth, the other white-knuckled as you hold on for dear life to the kitchen counter. your legs were very quickly turning to jelly due to his ministrations, the feeling of his tongue fucking into you rendering you unable to form sentences.

and even worse than the sensation was the sound of it- every lick and slurp reverbating through the empty room, every squelch of your pussy making you go a shade darker as jing yuan moaned, the bastard, and delved even further into your pussy. your hips pushed against him, his hands snaking their way around your thighs to keep you pinned in place while he ate you out like his life depended on it.

you bit back a squeal as you felt his tongue flick against your clit before running back through your folds, circling the hole before fucking back into you.

"fuck, i love this pussy so much," he moaned out, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh as he came up for air momentarily. "love comin' home to you every day- you taste so good, so good f'me-"

any attempts at muffling your noises were extinguished as you let out a sob, tears welling up from the pleasure, making you fold over so that your torso rested against the counter. your legs were spread wide by now, giving jing yuan all the access that he needed.

he relinquished one of your thighs in favour of using his fingers to pump into you, curling them just right against that spongy spot that had you shaking like a leaf, feeling the pressure build inside you much quicker than you anticipated.

"fuck- fuck- i can't, 's so good-" you were babbling now, trying in vain to break free or push his head away, the pleasure bordering on too much. it was comically easy how ineffective your attempts to hinder him were,

"you can." his voice was some soothing reprieve, and the warmth of his hands squeezing against your hips helped to ground you as he otherwise brought you to the edge.

your thighs were trembling, barely supporting your weight and you could feel your release fast approaching, though something was holding you back.

"cum f'me." jing yuan's rasped voice is what finally coaxed you to let go, to let that string snap with a final cry as you collapsed fully against the countertop.

always diligent, jing yuan continued to eat you out, making sure not to miss a drop as you spasmed against him, hips finally stilling after you ride out your high.

"bastard." your voice is muffled, head resting on your forearms as your regain your strength. jing yuan merely chuckles, placing a kiss with his wet lips to your inner thigh again, one last jolt of pleasure running through you before he stands, fixing your clothes for you.

"but you love it."

you give him a halfhearted kick in the shin.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 SAMPO.

he's the type of man who's best in small doses

the amount of times you get annoyed while he's on another tangent or trying to scam you sell you a product is..... a bit more than infrequent

but there's ways around that

"sampo, do you ever shut up?"

ironically enough, you asking him that made him do just that, pausing for a second to lick his lips as his smile widened, cheshire-like, as you watched the cogs turn in his head.

"no, but for a small standalone price-"

if youuu put a buck in my cup i will shut the fuck up (sorry)

"sampo."

the man cackles, slinging an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in to his side.

"sorry, doll, but a man has to make a living somehow."

you turn to glare at him now. you really weren't in the mood.

"either shut up or i'll make you."

you watch as his smile drops for just a second, his pupils dilating ever so slightly at the underlying hint of what's to come. and bless his heart, the man decided to push his luck.

approximately five minutes later, you were grinding on his face. the only noises that he really made now were occasional grunts and moans as you rocked back and forth, and you decided that you liked him much better when he wasn't talking.

the man with a silver tongue had his uses, after all.

he was so eager to please, too- from what you could tell with the way he was eating you out. if it weren't for the overwhelming pleasure you were feeling, you would be convinced that he was enjoying it more than you. his moans reverberated around your clit as his tongue flicked over and sucked it, leaving you keeling over and your thighs quaking against the sides of his head.

every moan you let out had him eating you out with a renewed fervour, almost desperate for you to reach your high. you let your hand snake into his hair, getting a full handful before yanking on it, hard. sampo whines from the sensation, and you almost miss the muffled plea for you to do it "again".

his fingertips are digging into your thighs almost painfully, keeping you seated firmly against him (not that you were going to move, anyway).

your eyes land on the tent in his boxers, and an idea pops into your head as you snake your hand past his abdomen to pull his waistband down, letting his cock spring free. it looked painfully hard, the tip already leaking pearls of precum, and you spat in your hand before starting to jerk him off, ever so slowly.

he whined again at the pressure, his hips thrusting up to meet your hand, desperate for any sort of friction.

"you're getting off to this, you pervert?" you laughed as he shook his head desperately, still plunging his tongue deep inside you even as his hips bucked wildly. he was already so close, it almost made you laugh.

you yourself were beginning to feel the coil deep within you start to tighten, a telltale sign that your own orgasm was approaching.

"so if i were to just... stop, you wouldn't mind?" to emphasise your point, you loosened your grip on him, grinning to yourself as he whined pathetically.

"hm... that's what i thought."

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 BLADE.

blade's mean when he eats you out

he's one of those who eats it for his own pleasure, and whether it's until you orgasm once or multiple times, he's not stopping until he's satisfied, overstimulation be damned

"you still alive there?" the man between your thighs snickers at your fucked-out state, not even able to form a sentence to answer him.

how many times had he made you cum by now? six? seven? you'd lost count long ago, and you don't think it mattered much to blade. sometime after the second one, it began to dawn on you that his goal wasn't to simply make you cum then call it a day.

"c'mon, eyes on me." you squeal at the sensation of his hand slapping down against your clit, the raw flesh stinging for a few moments before his hand smooths it over, soothing the skin.

"you can handle one more, right?" you lift your head weakly to meet his ravenous eyes, somehow even hungrier than when he had first started peeling your clothes off. the look in his eyes made a shiver run down your skin, and you gave him a sheepish nod.

"attagirl."

blade's one to keep you on your toes, never knowing just what to expect from him. he ducks his head down, leveling it with your still pulsing hole, and you gasp as you hear, then feel him spit on it.

there's a blunt intrusion as he sinks two of his fingers into you, knuckles deep, crooking them just right to hit that spot inside you. your leg twitches as an automatic response, making the man snicker again.

"you're so sensitive," he coos, and you hide your embarrassed face with your arm. "i bet if i just..." your body seizes up as you cum, again, more sudden than you ever expected as blade presses harder against you. a strangled moan flies out of your mouth, writhing at the pressure.

he's nice enough to let you ride out your high, pathetically grinding your clit against his palm, whimpering at the tenfold sensitivity and the little aftershocks wracking your body.

and when you're finally breathing normally again, you hear his voice break you out of your stupor.

"one more?"

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 GEPARD.

what he lacks in experience is made up for doubly in enthusiasm

because let's be real, this man is too busy with the silvermane guards to have enough time to be dating and fucking around

but for you? he'd make the time. and he'd learn how to get you off while he's at it, too

"so if you just, slide your fingers in, slowly." gepard follows your instructions dutifully, and even then you still winced at the feeling of his large fingers stretching you out, the slightest of burns already kicking in.

"like this?" he looks up at you, all puppy dog eyes, so eager to learn. his face was too innocent for what he was doing.

"mhmm." you smile down at him, his face rested against one of your thighs as his gaze returns to your cunt, glued to the way it stretches around his digits. he feels you pulse against him and he shudders, trying to hold back for your sake. he was here to learn what you liked, after all.

"and then you kind of... curl them a bit? and move them too." his ministrations are soft to begin with, and even there's still an unmistakeable squelch each time he pumps his fingers into you, the lewdness of it all making him turn pink.

"does that feel good?"

"y-yeah, so good, baby."

he's so close to your pussy, you can feel each time he breathes, his little pants hitting your clit, making you even wetter. the anticipation of it all had you practically squirming where you lay propped up on your elbows, watching him.

his eyes are still transfixed on you, mouth hanging open at the way your hips rolled ever so slightly, meeting each of his shallow thrusts.

"you see that bit above? if you lick it, it'll feel really good f'me." gepard nods, all too eagerly leaning forward, licking a thick stripe from your hole to the clit with his tongue, before starting to flick his tongue against it gingerly.

"yeah, fuck, you're good at this." he hums against you, starting to move his tongue with a little more fervour, his hand still pumping into you. he always had been a fast learner.

he settles into a rhythm, one that has you steadily building the pressure in your core, soft moans escaping your lips.

"just like that, fuuuck," you pant out, letting your head roll back and your eyes closed as you focused on the feeling. it's then when gepard decides to wrap his lips around your clit, sucking ever so deliciously to make your toes curl.

you let out a particularly loud moan at the sensation, one that your ever so perceptive boyfriend latches onto, increasing the pressure in a way that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

"geppie m'gonna cum- don't stop-" he obeys your every word, slurping at your cunt with a hunger that sends you over the edge. you convulse, hips raising off of the mattress to buck against his face, his fingers curling around your quaking thighs.

"use my face, darling," he murmurs into you, so eager to please. the way the ridge of his nose bumps against your clit helps you ride out your high, grinding against his mouth a few more times before you finally flop back down against, the bed, limbs turning to jelly.

"no fucking way that was your first time eating someone out." gepard merely grins, wiping some of your juices off of his face before crawling up the bed to meet you.

"'m sure it was, now give me a kiss."

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 LUOCHA.

your life will be CHANGED after this man eats u out for the first time i just know it

like.. he's got skills. he's a certified munch i know this in my SOULLLLL

"just relax, honey, let me take care of you." his velveteen voice is what has you finally lying back, letting the tension in your body leave you as his nimble fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, sliding them off of your legs ever so tantalisingly.

he groans at the string of slick that stays connected to them- no surprises there as you had been sat on his lap kissing him for the past half an hour- and you covered your face in embarrassment.

"don't go shy on me now, hm?" you peek between your fingers, catching the glint of his emerald eyes, the way his smile widens when he makes eye contact with you from his place between your legs.

"hi, pretty."

"hi."

"we can go as slow as you want, okay? tell me what you're comfortable with." luocha's thumbs rub gentle circles into your thighs, coaxing you to open them and let him settle more comfortably.

"do you want me to touch you?" you nod, watching as luocha's smirks almost imperceptibly.

"use your words, darling." you whine, kicking at him lightly.

"quit teasing me."

"do you want my fingers or my tongue?"

"luocha!" he chuckles, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee.

"i'm sorry, love, you're just so cute when you're flustered." he presses another kiss to your thigh now, lips inching upwards ever so slowly, holding himself back as he waits for your go-ahead.

"could you... eat me out?" your face feels so warm just from asking the question, but the nerves are quelled as luocha smiles brightly, shifting his weight on his hips to lower himself down closer to you.

"gladly."

there's a few seconds of anticipation, of his breath hitting your core before another entirely new sensation- something wet and muscled sliding against you as luocha licks a flat stripe through your slit. his tongue sharpens, flicking against your clit as he pulls away after his experimental first taste.

you're already feeling something inside you coil in anticipation, and it tightens even more at the blissed out expression on luocha's face.

"you taste divine, my love."

and then he's delving in for more. your usually so composed boyfriend lying flat on his stomach, buried facefirst in your pussy and eating it like a man starved.

the slurping and squelching noises are obscene, echoing off of the walls and filling up the room along with your wails and moans. your head was in the clouds right now, too fucked out to even scream his name. and he hadn't even put his tongue in yet.

as if reading your mind, luocha finally shifts his attention to your hole, his tongue circling it, teasing it open, before he plunges in along with his fingers, the size of them and his fingertips grazing against your g spot bringing you to the verge of tears.

everything just felt so good, and he was going to make you cum hard and fast.

the regular pressure of an impeding orgasm kept building up, more than it regularly would, until it became an entirely new sensation altogether.

"w-wait, baby, i'm gonna pee or something-"

luocha pauses, pupils blown wide with lust as he meets your gaze.

"you're not, honey, just trust me, alright?"

and because it's him, because you'd do just about anything for him right now if it meant continuing to feel this good, you lie back down, feeling him bring you back to that point again.

his fingers are drilling into you at an almost inhuman pace, the sound enough to make you cum, let alone the sensation. his soft lips suction around your clit, warm tongue flicking against your bundle of nerves repeatedly, making you squeal and throw your head back.

"'m gonna-" luocha nods encouragingly, his nose bumping against your clit in a way that has your vision go white as you writhe in ecstasy. there's an odd feeling, of something shooting out of you, and you look down to see a spray of clear liquid. luocha's fingers rub against your pusy frantically, making you writhe again, prolonging your orgasm as he milks you for every last drop.

you finally come back down to earth, vaguely feeling a warm wet cloth wipe away at you, at the mess you had made.

and luocha's gazing at you with nothing but adoration, a pussydrunk smile on his lips.

"aren't you glad you trusted me, love?"

𝜗𝜚 honkai star rail masterlist

[mi-olaaa]

Pretty girl.. (18+)

Fem!reader, softdom!ony, bf!ony, plussize!reader katoptronophilia, you alr know what it isss! Smut so no minors.. ofc. Enjoy!!

☆ ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ ☆

“Hey. Look at me mamas.” Ony murmurs into your ear, so sweetly. Too sweetly, especially for the way his dick is curving up into your gummy walls, but you listen, looking in the floor length mirror in front of you, watching how sinfully delicious he looks to you. “Onyy— fuck, i can’t” Your whines echo around the room, your head drooping slightly.

He grabs your face by your chin, gently peppering kisses, his grip on your hips tightening for a moment, as he pounds up into your dripping cunt. "Yes you can mama, this is your dick. Take it." You swear you were gonna die when he grinned so deviously at you in the mirror, the way he lowered those pretty eyes of his at you, the way his touch has you writhing under him.

You’ve been sitting on his lap in front of this damned mirror for almost an hour, looking at him bouncing you up and down by the hips, orgasm after orgasm, and he wants you to keep looking at him?

Ony's tip was reaching spots in you that you didn't even know existed, brushing up against your cervix, eliciting moans and pants from your mouth. He nips at your neck, hand leaving your chin, snaking around to your clit, rubbing circles around the puffy folds. "Baby, Ony— ouhhh please" You could feel his slender fingers on your clit, massaging the sensitive bundle.

"Please what? Use your voice pretty girl." He looks up at the mirror, watching his cock piston in and out of your pussy, and all you could do is drool. “Haah— stop teasing me please.” The moan that ripped out of your throat was pure bliss, and before you could even say it, you were squirting over his digits, some of your arousal even splattering on the bottom of the mirror in front of you two.

The clear, warm arousal of yours had him fucking into you like a madman. Ony’s grip on your hip tightened as you spasm slightly, his fingers dripping. While he had your attention on him in the mirror, he brought his fingers to his lips, licking the taste of you off of them. “Taste so fucking good mamas, need to eat you next time.” And again with that sexy gaze of his, looking directly at you this time as you nod lazily.

The way he was digging into you so deep had you damn-near screaming his name, pussy squeezing his length like a vice, milking him for all he’s got.

“Mhm mhm baby. Look at me, do what I told you, look at me.” He croons into your ear, the hand that’s not already holding you by your hips and slamming you down onto him, wraps around your torso, massaging your lovely breasts, as you come undone again.

Your moans come out wantonly, and you’re nothing but a drooling, sticky mess for him, it almost makes him wonder if it’s because you can everything in mirror? Doesn’t matter, with the way he’s filling you so good and fucking you so fast, you’re seeing stars and panting.

It’s interesting though, the way your face contorts in pleasure in the mirror to his ministrations, the way your thick thighs jiggle when you bounce on him, the tears of pleasure streaming down your cheeks as your back arches so sinfully, it’s too much.

And all it does is make Ony groan, and lean down to capture one of your tears on his tongue. “C’mon mama, just one more. You think you can do that f’me?” He speaks, trying so sweetly to coax another orgasm out of you.

It takes almost all the power you have to find an orgasm in you, but you don’t have to do much with how attentive he is to you and your needs. Massaging and toying with your nipples, whispering praise in your ears, pushing all your buttons, just to see his pretty girl cum again, and you do. You come absolutely undone on his dick, a pretty, creamy white ring of your arousal at the base of his cock, all the while, he slows his thrusts, having cum into you more times than you both could count.

By the time the both of you have came to your senses, he finally pulls out of your pretty, fat pussy. Watching as dribbles of cum spill out of you, kissing your neck once again. “See, I knew you had one more in you, good job mama.” He murmurs into your panting skin, side-eyeing you in the mirror, and how you tremble slightly, looking like a deer in headlights, massaging your sore thighs, admiring the fat of them.

Too tired to do anything but nod and stick a lazy thumb up, you slump on his chest, relishing in how warm he is. Ony doesn’t bother with clean up right now, he’ll do it sometime later, all he currently cares about is getting you into bed, especially with the way you just fell asleep on him. He picks you up from the small of your back and the back of your knees, bridal-style, before getting off the edge of the bed.

Flicking off the main lights in your shared bedroom, leaving the ambient lights on, he climbs into bed, setting you down and covering you up, holding you as you both wind down, petting your head softly, and smoking a blunt before going to bed.

That dick really fucked his pretty girl to sleep.

☆ ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ ☆

Authors note: heyyyy 🤭 ion have nun to say for once.. so imma shut my fat ass up. 🙃 LOVE Y’ALL 🫶🏾

[nativegirltapes]

ok so imagine drew and younger!reader having their first real argument, and we know she’s always right!!! <3

pairing , drew starkey x angel!reader warnings , them arguing + drew being a meanie notes, hope yall like this <3 i need dis man bad

ᡣ𐭩˙⋆.˚ 💝

"i just don't get why you need to be out till 1AM with your friends. like what are you guys even doing?" you questioned drew. he told you he would be home around 11, but two hours later there he was.

"i haven't seen these people in ages. we're catching up. ever heard of it?" drew snapped back, his attitude surprised you, he never got like this.

"okay. didn't need the attitude." you huffed under your breath.

"attitude?" drew furrowed his eyebrows and gave you a confused look, like you were the one asking stupid questions. "i walk in the house and you attack me with questions. and i have the attitude?" his voice was still calm, but for some reason it made you even more mad than him yelling would've. it was like he was trying to make you feel stupid.

but maybe that was where the age difference between you and drew stood out the most; arguments. he knew how to remain calm most of the time, he never yelled, even when he was really upset with you. whereas you immediately got defensive and mad. but looked like tonight he was taking a new approach.

"you're missing my point drew."

"and what point is that exactly?" drew looked at you like he was actually waiting for an answer, like his question wasn't rhetorical. you felt so stupid. drew had never gotten so blunt and snippy with you before. you didn't know how to handle it.

"whatever." you walked out of your shared bedroom, shutting the door behind you, feeling the waterworks already forming.

"seriously? you're gonna go run off and cry now?" drew yelled after you. he knew you too well.

after sighing and putting his feelings to the side for right now, drew followed right behind you. where he found you on the couch, crying in your own hands. he felt really bad. "baby, i'm sorry." he sat next to you, embracing you in a hug. "it's just been a long night."

you didn't respond, so drew took that as his opportunity to pick you up bridal style and carry you back to the bedroom.

your head nuzzled into his chest, tears leaving stains on his shirt. "you're so mean."

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 LOVERS ROCK

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: there are very few things that leave dazai osamu at a loss for answers. you are one of them. more specifically, it's your relationship (is this a relationship?) with him that has him so disconcerted, and dazai is getting to his breaking point.

(wordcount: 3.6k; nsfw [kind of, very suggestive so will label nsfw], ada!reader, dazai has SEVERE trust issues & paranoia, this is set like half a year after he joined the ada, dazai also has a bad relationship with sex that is mentioned in his narration, he is terrible at communication too, accidentally hurts reader a little [nothing major])

AUTHOR'S NOTES: hiiiiiii guys <.< so i'm actually really proud of this ehehe. this is a universe that i'm tempted to expand on like wykyk, but we'll see.

Dazai hates giving up control. 

Ever since he was a kid, he’s been hyper-independent. First with his family, because they were never around and he had to learn to be self-sufficient otherwise he’d die a slow, painful death. Then in the Port Mafia, he quickly learned that asking for help is a weakness and being dependent on others is a vulnerability that people would take advantage of to subvert his influence and usurp his position as an underboss. As long as he’s remembered, it was all but a death sentence to rely on any other than himself. 

It wasn't until he became a member of the Agency that he finally began to allow himself to depend on others—banking on Ranpo and his mind, Kunikida and his ideals, Yosano and her tenacity. But even then, he never allowed himself to lose complete control over a situation, drawing things out in a way that would always leave him with a firm hand guiding the chess board. 

Until he met you, at least.

He wasn’t sure what made you so different—he still isn’t entirely sure, it’s a thought that frequently plagues him, and because of it, he can never allow himself to be fully comfortable with you. You joined the Agency a month after him with lips that spoke pretty words and gave him even prettier smiles. You’d been kind to everyone, but Dazai likes to think you were especially kind to him. Maybe it was just his imagination, but Dazai liked the idea of it.

Well, he didn’t at first. 

In fact, he was rather hostile to it. To you. The longing he felt for the casual, soft touches you laid upon the other members of the Agency felt more like a weakness than anything else. It scared him. He’d never desired anything of the sort before, he’d always been okay on his own—thrived in it, really—and now he was suddenly seeking you out at all hours of the day, and he didn’t even fully understand why. Every time he sought you out, it ended poorly with him saying something uncalled for and your expression twisting as you tried to hide your hurt. 

And yet he still continued to seek you out. He made the same mistake over and over again: constantly forcing himself into your space after getting jealous watching you doll out casual affection to the other detectives, waiting for you to give him the same attention, and then lashing out in some manner when you finally did.

He supposed it didn’t help that Dazai was uncomfortable in general with people touching him, which naturally made him even more hostile because why was he longing for something that made him uncomfortable? 

He also still isn’t sure how you managed to break through all of his walls—or why you even persisted when it became clear that he was at best incompetent when it comes to dealing with real emotions, and at worst, borderline malicious. 

But you did. And it scared him. Scares him.

Dazai lets out a shaky breath when he feels your lips ghost against his neck, fingers twisting the sheets below him. Your hands are sliding against his sides, gentle and soothing, and a part of him wants to melt into the sheets while another part of him wants to flip the two of you around, press you back down into the mattress and rip control over the situation back from you.

As if you can sense his conflict—maybe you can, Dazai has come to realize that unlike everyone else at the Agency, who he can fool with his mask of exaggerated dramatics and clownlike behavior, that you had somehow learned how to see right through him—you pause for the sparest moment and trace your lips back up his neck to brush them against his own, soft and comforting, as if to soothe his discord.

And it works somehow. Dazai doesn’t know how you do it because he can’t even quell his own mind when it starts to spin out of control, but the brush of your lips against his is enough to ground him again. 

“Everything okay?” you ask quietly, eyes searching his face for the answers that he knew his lips might not give.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, voice rough and cracking over the word. 

He thinks maybe a part of it is the way you always check on him to make sure he’s doing alright. For Dazai, sex has only ever been transactional—he was young when he was first carted off to a whorehouse so he could be taught how to use his body for intel and other miscellaneous advantages. No matter how hard he tried to enjoy it, he always found it to be underwhelming at best and loathsome at worst. And he did try to enjoy it, he forced himself to seek out women in his free time to try to learn to enjoy the activity that so many other people seem to find comfort and pleasure in. 

It wasn’t until you that he could.

His first time with you was earth shattering. He’s not exaggerating when he says it completely altered his perspective on intimacy. It was embarrassing, almost—he remembers giving you quick, flirty smiles, and he remembers the sly comments he whispered to you at the bar the members of the Agency were at to celebrate Yosano’s birthday. 

He knew that morning that he wanted you in his bed by nightfall—partly because he thought it would get you out of his system, that maybe all he needed was a good fuck to stop acting like he was brainless whenever you were around, and partly because he was curious. He was curious to know if that genuine demeanor of yours continued behind closed doors, or if it was all just a mask you liked to put up in public. 

Dazai’s hands were on you before the two of you even left for the night—they were creeping up your inner thigh, lingering on your bicep, he was resting his chin on your shoulder as he stood behind you, warding off any man that might try to approach you with cold looks you couldn’t catch. Eventually, like he planned, you asked him if he wanted to go back to your apartment, and Dazai agreed, of course, eager to get his questions answered. Eager to free himself of whatever shackles you’ve put on him.

And it all went downhill from there.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask again, frown deepening and hands stilling on his waist when you don’t find an answer you like on his face.

Dazai tries to play it off—you’re here for sex, not all of his unstable thoughts. He gives you a practiced smile and slips his hand under your shirt to rest on your lower back, pulling you firmer against him—an easy tactic, one of the first he learned to distract his partner when he slips up.

He should have known better than to think you would fall for it.

Instead of returning to the lingering line of kisses you were leaving on his neck, you sit back to study him, and Dazai feels seen. He shifts under your scrutinizing gaze, averting his eyes to the ceiling and counting the seconds that pass as he waits for you to ask that dreaded question. 

“What's wrong?” you ask him quietly.

Dazai can evade it. He knows that he can—even if the sex is ruined, because he knows you’re not going to have sex with him if you think something is wrong, he can evade this question by refusing to answer. You never press it, although sometimes your lips curve down in a disappointed frown that makes him feel even worse than before.

But Dazai finds himself hesitating.

“I-“ he starts to say before cutting himself off abruptly, horrified by the realization that he was just about to admit to you what he was thinking. “Nothing.” 

The anticipation that had sprung to your eyes when he started to speak dissipates when he blows you off, and it makes his chest tighten. He feels your thighs tense and knows you’re about to get off of him, so his hands fly to your hips to keep you in place.

“Something,” he corrects, voice just a little too raspy for comfort. “… Something.”

You settle back down on top of him, tilting your head to the side. 

“Tell me?” you offer quietly, your hands drop to his arms, sliding up and down the bandages that cover his forearms slowly. Soothingly. He hates it.

“I just don’t understand this,” Dazai admits. “It’s… confusing.”

It's possibly the first time he’s ever spoken these words out loud. It’s a weakness he’s never allowed anyone to be aware of—even when Dazai has no idea what’s going on, he’s careful to put up an impenetrable facade of confidence, one that even the keenest eyes can’t see through.

And here he is, bare of masks and facades, admitting his weakness plainly to someone who could easily take advantage of it.

Oh.

“This as in…?” you prompt with a pondering frown.

Is that it?

“This,” he repeats more insistently as his mind races. “Us.”

You, he accuses silently.

You have the ability to destroy him. Dazai realizes, disconcerted, that this is what is confusing him. He's allowed himself to be weak in front of you. He's lowered all of his guards. He's let you in through his many walls of defenses. You’ve settled down in the treacherous beating thing in his chest that he’s tried to rip out too many times to count, and Dazai waits for you to take advantage of it. He waits for this to go wrong. Waits for you to prove yourself to be a Trojan Horse in the form of dazzling smiles and a beautiful face. 

But you don’t, and that’s what Dazai just can’t understand. He doesn’t understand what you’re getting out of this—he knows what he’s getting out of it. He’s getting comfort, he’s able to pretend he’s capable of being loved, he gets you. But you’re not getting anything out of this, so he feels like he’s just been biding time before the other shoe drops.

“… What about us do you not understand?” You sound perplexed, and it agitates Dazai. Worse, you can tell it agitates him because immediately you run your thumb over the pulse point on his wrist to soothe him. You add quickly with a small smile, “I'm not understanding now, help me?”

It is beyond disconcerting that even though he knows it was a ploy to distract and soothe him, it works anyway. Dazai needs to do something about this.

“What do you get out of this?” Dazai decides to ask the question plainly instead of dancing around his words, partially because of the agitation and partially because he just needs an answer. Desperately. “What do you get out of what’s going on between us? I don't understand why you keep agreeing to meet me, why you initiate it sometimes. I need to know what it is you get."

Sex is transactional—it always is. Each party has to get something out of it, and if you don't know what the other is getting, then you have made a perilous mistake somewhere along the line. Dazai has known this since the beginning, but he allowed himself too long to bask blindly in the comfort of your arms and bed. He can’t keep doing this without knowing what you’re getting, It’ll come back to haunt him.

You’re still confused by his question even with the explanation, he can see it in the way the thoughts race behind your eyes as you try to piece it together. 

Eventually you settle on a smile that’s almost playful as you answer with, “You?”

Dazai’s frown deepens at your words, his expression becomes a bit colder. He thinks you’re evading the question because you don’t want to answer it, and that’s dangerous. You joined the Armed Detective Agency not long after him—were you a plant sent to get close to him by one of his old enemies? By Mori? His thoughts start to spiral dangerously. These are questions he should’ve been having months ago when you first joined the Agency, not now. 

“What are you really getting?” His grip on your hips tightens. “Tell me. Stop avoiding the question.”

Your expression becomes a bit more alarmed when he closes off from you, he thinks maybe his grip on your hips might be painful from your wince but he can’t afford to let go until he has his answer. 

“You, Dazai,” you say again, more insistently this time. “I get you. I get to spend time with you. be with you. That’s what I get.”

“But why?” Dazai presses, raising his voice, holding you tighter. He is hurting you now, he can tell from the way you try to bat his hands away, but he couldn’t let go if he wanted to. His blood pressure is rising as he realizes how badly he might have messed up. All of Ango’s efforts—Odasaku’s last request—all down the drain because of one mistake. “Why? What information are you trying to get? Who sent you? Who are you work-“

“What?” you demand. The confusion in your eyes is almost believable—Dazai thinks you must’ve been sent by someone important if you’re this good of an actress. His thoughts track back to Mori and his mind starts to fog with fury. “Who sent me? What are you-Dazai-I want you because I care about you. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

The fog clears, Dazai stares at you blankly, hands loosening on your hips. He's not sure he heard you correctly, so he says: “What did you just say?”

Your expression softens a bit, and you repeat, “I care about you. I want you because I care about you.”

“No, you don’t,” Dazai says immediately. Instinctually.

“Yes, I do.” Dazai has never seen you get irritated before, but your face twists when he instantly denies your words. “I do, Dazai.”

“You don’t,” he insists. “You can’t. You don’t even know me, you don't care about me.”

He thinks he almost would have preferred that you had some ulterior motive to this. He hates the way his chest swells with hope—hope is dangerous, more dangerous than any other emotion. Fear, anger, sadness, none of it compares to the light that tries to bloom within his rotted chest. He tries to cut it off before it can spread, but it’s notoriously hard to snuff out; it clings to anything it can get a hold on even as he tries to push it away. 

The idea is… more tempting than he expected. It’s concerning, that should be enough to clear his head, but it’s not. His fingers cling to your shirt desperately, he searches your face, trying to find the sparest indication that you may be lying.

He finds none.

Still, Dazai knows better. He knows this won’t last. you’ll find out who he was, all of the things he did, and then you’ll leave him. You’ll see him for what he is, and you’ll leave him. This will never last. 

Nothing good ever does for him. 

“But I do care about you,” you insist, and you’re cruel now, because you reach out to cup his cheek and Dazai leans into your touch. He can’t help himself from it. “I care about you deeply, Dazai.”

“You can���t,” he repeats, and to his horror, his voice wavers. “You don’t know who I am, you don’t know what I’ve done, and when you do-“

“We all have skeletons in our closet, Dazai,” you interrupt him quietly. “I don't think there’s a single ability user out there that doesn’t. I don't need to know your past to know I care about you.”

That’s not true, he wants to say, but can’t force the words out. Instead, he says hoarsely, “It would change how you see me. I'm not who you think I am. I’m-”

A monster. A demon. His blood is black—has been since the day he was born, will be until the day he dies. He is not someone who should be cared for. He's someone who should be left to rot, someone the world would be better off without. He doesn’t deserve this, not when there are so many other people in the world who are unfailingly good and do deserve it. 

“It won’t,” you say again, but Dazai knows it’s not true, you don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know how awful he is. You don’t give him the chance to protest though. “I care about who you are today. I care about who you are tomorrow. The day after tomorrow. Not who you were months ago. The past is the past, Dazai, leave it there.”

“It's not that simple,” he rasps. 

“It can be,” you say softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear, “if you let it.”

“It can’t be that simple,” he disagrees. There’s an odd lilt to the voice—pleading, almost, begging you not to give him hope only to rip it away when the truth inevitably comes to light. “It can’t.”

“It can for us,” you tell him again, and Dazai finds himself believing you. Wanting to believe you. Wanting to believe things can just be that simple. That easy. 

“Why?” Dazai breathes out, eyes searching your face for answers. “Why me? Why not someone…”

Someone better. Someone good. Someone deserving. 

“Because you’re you,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, you lean down to ghost your lips against his and it fogs his brain with a pleasant warmth he’s only ever felt with you. “Do I need a reason more than that?”

Dazai wants to say yes, because him being him is a reason for you to not want him. He’s despicable, he’s cruel, he lashed out at you for weeks all the while forcing himself into your space because he wanted to be near you but didn’t understand why. 

“I love your smile,” you say, thumb running along his bottom lip, “and I love even more when I’m the reason for it.”

“But-“

“And I love your eyes,” you continue, fingers trailing up his face to trace under his eyes. “I think they’re the prettiest shade of brown I’ve ever seen.”

“I know that’s not true,” he rasps—he knows very well that his eyes are unnerving, too black and too empty. People have been unable to look him in the eye for long even when he was a kid. “I-“

“But most of all, it’s just you,” you say softly, cupping his cheeks with both of your hands. “You make me happy. I like being around you. I always look forward to the time we get to spend together—missions, at work, after work. I’ll take you in whatever way I can get, Dazai.”

You don’t let him avert his gaze this time, you force him to look at you, force him to see the truth of your words reflected in the adoration on your face. No one has ever looked at him like this before, and it makes him feel bare. Seen. He’s always felt seen with you, but never like this.

“I was… mean to you.” He still tries to argue with you, lashes fluttering shut. “I was cruel for months because-“

You laugh at him. “Mean? You were like a puppy trying to snap at my hand to scare me off.”

Dazai gapes. “A puppy?” he demands, seriously offended. “Don’t compare me to a dog. I’m more like a… A…”

“A…?” you press, a pretty smile flickering at your lips.

“A panther,” he supplies confidently.

“A kitten,” you correct.

Dazai groans dramatically, flinging his head back, but he finds himself smiling. He finds his chest full of warmth, light and bubbly, and when he looks back up at you to meet your eyes, he finds the same emotion swimming on your face. He thinks again that no one has ever looked at him like this before—not with such fondness, not with adoration, not with…

No, Dazai doesn’t dare think that word.

“I care about you too,” he admits. He’s hesitant, like he’s scared to say the words out loud.

“Even with all of the skeletons hidden in my closet?” you tease, leaning down to brush your lips against his again, and then a second time, and then a third. He basks in it, eyes sliding shut as you kiss him gently—it takes a few moments for your words to register.

“They’re not worse than mine,” he replies, the pads of his fingers running up and down your thighs absently. After a couple of seconds pass, he asks, “… What skeletons do you have?”

You tilt your head to the side and say playfully, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Dazai isn’t ready for that, so he just tosses you a smile and a wink before murmuring, “How about you show me something else instead?”

You laugh at that, tossing your head back and giggling so genuinely that your hand flies to your mouth to muffle the sound. His lips part to make another suggestive comment, but he finds himself breathless at the sight of you. 

You’re beautiful, and Dazai can’t help but think again that he doesn’t deserve this. You.

“Deal,” you agree.

This time when you lean down to press your lips against his, Dazai’s hands are content to rest on your thighs. His fingers don’t itch to wrangle control from you, and his mind isn’t plagued with paranoia-induced thoughts.

He thinks, maybe, that he can get used to this. Used to you.

[ln4smiamitrophy]

𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

𐙚 summary; the one where lando wins the grand prix on his girlfriend’s birthday weekend

ʚɞ pairing; lando norris x reader (established relationship)

ᡣ𐭩 fc; your beautiful self

⭒ type; irl (& a smidge of smau)

⟡ a/n; IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!!! i’m sorry for not posting for ages, i’ve been really busy but i have more time now. i promise to continue my series’ as soon as i can. xx

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Last lap. Last corner. Last push. And he’s done it. Lando Norris has won the 2024 Hungarian Grand Prix. His second Formula One career win. He can hardly believe it.

You’d been watching the race from the Mclaren garage, biting your nails down to the quick. The nerves were building the longer you watched Lando lead the race. When it hit the 65th lap, so did your tears. You knew he was winning. And he did.

“Woooo! We did it!” He screams down the radio, a sigh of relief leaving his lips as he can finally relax. He won. “Happy birthday baby, this one’s for you!”

Hearing his team radio only made you tear up more, the grin on your face widening as you removed your headphones, immediately making your way to the barriers. The mechanics and engineers letting you through to the front, knowing Lando will want to see you.

The adrenaline was still fluttering inside Lando’s heart as he climbed out the car. Getting weighed and then pulling off his helmet and balaclava, placing them down before scanning the crowd for you.

There you are.

The sparkle in his eyes only growing when he’s met with your beaming face, tears still running down it. He ran towards you as fast as his legs would allow him, stopping in front of you. He reaches forward and your arms go to his neck, expecting a hug.

The shock comes when his hands go under your shoulders and he lifts you over the barrier with surprising ease, a squeal leaving your lips at the moment. Your legs find their way around his waist, clinging to him. His hands rest on the underside of your thigh to hold you up.

Your lips meet his in a delicate, loving kiss. He grins against your lips, feeling like the happiest man alive. He’d just won a race and now he’s holding the girl of his wildest dreams in his arms. Why wouldn’t he be?

“I’m so proud of you,” The whisper leaves your mouth, though your lips don’t disconnect from his. “I love you.”

He didn’t realise his smile could get any wider but it did. He chases your lips, a small peck landing on them. “I love you so much sweetheart. Happy birthday.”

The cameras are loving this. Every single lens on the two of you. But you don’t care. Why would you when the only thing that matters is right in front of you?

“My birthday was yesterday Lan.” You tell him, your forehead pressing against him.

He can’t help the chuckle that leaves his lips as you remind him. Of course he knows, he’d spent the whole evening after qualifying spoiling you every way he could. “Don’t ruin the moment,” He rolls his eyes at you though there’s nothing malicious to it.

His hands meet your waist as your feet meet the ground once more. You lean up to kiss him again, never wanting to leave him. But you can see his team waiting to congratulate him. “You have a team waiting for you.”

Lando’s head turns as he’s met with a sea of papaya clad mechanics waiting to grant him congratulations. He turns back to you, not wanting to leave but he knowing he has to. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, his eyes closing for a moment as he does.

“I’ll see you on that top step,” You whisper to him, hand sliding down his arm as you remove them from around his neck. He smiles at you before making his way to his team.

———————————————————————

Watching Lando on the podium was something you’d always loved doing. The way he shone was like nothing you’d ever seen. But there was something about him when he was on that top step. It was as if the Gods were bathing him in light. He looked surprisingly angelic for a man who’d just been sweating in a car for the past two hours.

As the British national anthem began, Lando’s eyes couldn’t help but scan the crowd for you. He found you almost instantly, stood next to his dad, grinning widely up at him. He kept eye contact with you the entire time it played, not wanting to look away.

Being on the top step of the podium, receiving that number one trophy was an indescribable feeling. Lando was caught off guard as his fellow drivers who joined him on the podium, Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton, drenched him in champagne. He just managed to do his iconic champagne pop, getting his revenge as he sprayed them back.

Shaking the champagne bottle once more, he pointed it over the balcony, aiming down at the crowd below. His eyes falling upon his wonderful girlfriend as he tried to protect her hair from the champagne. This was unbelievable. There was a sea of papaya as the fans watched his podium celebrations.

He loved it so much.

———————————————————————

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y/nusername

liked by landonorris, yourbff and others

y/nusername the best birthday weekend ever!! i’m so proud of you baby, i love you

tagged; landonorris

comments…

user1 my parents 🥹

yourbff i miss you, my wife

⤷ y/nusername i miss you more babe

user2 lando’s radio was the cutest thing ever

⤷ user3 “happy birthday baby, this one’s for you” SOBBING 😭😭

mclaren our lucky charm 🧡

landonorris i’m so in love with you

⤷ y/nusername i’m in love with you

user4 if it’s not like them, i don’t want it

oscarpiastri this does not warrant garage pda, i don’t wanna see that

⤷ user5 not oscar exposing them 😭😭

landonorris don’t know how i’m gonna top this know

⤷ y/nusername better get to brainstorming

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taglist: @danielshoe @amorrziinho @urfavwelshie @xylinasdiary @cleaswn @soamericn @marknolee @shineforever19 @formulaal @manicpixiemom @lemon-lav

[missnancywritesfanfic]

God I love cowboys and robots.

ONE FOR THE ROAD!

call transcript; “if you’re sure you’re dreaming, then how come it feels more real than it should?”

cw; f!reader, NSFW (mdni) !! dream (?) sex, p -> v, riding, biting, cyborg dick, light praise kink, boothill’s got a lotta nicknames for you, not proofread, this was born from a brainrot created by the multiple boothill edits i don’t apologize, fic below the cut, 1k words

“you’re not even gonna look at me, darlin’?”

a sharp gasp leaves your lips, goosebumps rising on your skin when cold metal thumbs at your clit. something sharp nips at your collarbone, your whine drawing a hearty chuckle.

“c’mon,” boothill purrs against your neck, sharp teeth grazing against your skin. a whine rips from your throat, eyes squeezed shut as your cunt flutters around his metal cock. “won’t you open those pretty eyes f’me?”

his lips press against your jaw, trailing kisses up to your cheek as he fucks into you. he gently nips at the fat of your cheek, your eyes slowly opening to peek at him.

“there we go.” your face burns at the tenderness to his tone, a soft whimper leaving your lips when he slows down a little. “ain’t that better, doll?”

you dumbly nod, soft pants and moans escaping your lips whenever the tip of his cock kisses that spongy spot in your cunt. a loud cry rips from your throat, your back arching off the plush couch and your head lolling to the side when he adjusts the angle of his hips, fucking his dick deeper into you.

has the dreamscape ever felt this realistic for you before? surely not, you think. but there’s no other explanation for it—boothill hadn’t even come to penacony with you, so it must be a dream.

“your pussy’s chokin’ me here, darlin’,” he hisses, a low chuckle leaving his lips, “you really missed me this much?”

it has to be a dream—that’s the only reason why he spreads your legs just a little further before lifting one of them up onto his shoulder, drawing a soft whimper from you at the stretch.

a shiver runs down your spine when his hands run up your waist, cooling your body just a hint from the heat it radiates. your lips part with a moan, back arching as his dick drags against your walls. boothill rasps your name, his fingers icy against your skin as he turns your head to look at him.

when you meet his eyes a toothy grin grows on his face, the sight too boyish for the way he’s bullying his cock into your pussy. his hand moves to thumb at your lips, red eyes giving you a once-over before zoning in on the way you clench around his dick.

“it’s like you’re tryna break me,” boothill drawls, thumbing at your clit again and groaning when more slick gushes out of you. “‘s that what you want? to break me apart so you can keep a part of me w’you?”

“i want—” a strained whine leaves your lips, “—i wan’ you here, boothill.”

“i am here, darlin’.”

you frown, softly groaning when he chuckles at your reaction before unhooking your leg from his shoulder. “‘m serious,” you mumble, your eyes half-lidded. boothill dips his head to kiss the corner of your lips, his thrusts slowing down as he wraps your arms around his neck. “you should be here. w’me.”

there’s a beat of silence before he chuckles again, his voice amused when he says, “i know, doll.” you whimper when his hands grip the back of your thighs, goosebumps rising on your skin at the icy touch as he picks you up just enough so he can sit on the couch before settling you on his lap.

a moan rips from your throat when his hand glides up to the small of your back, pushing you into an arch so your chest presses against his own. he nips at your neck as his hands move to your hips, barely giving you a second of respite before he’s guiding you along the length of his cock.

“i’ll c'mere soon enough,” he drawls, pulling at your hair to expose more of your neck. you shudder when his teeth lightly dig into your sensitive skin, your walls clamping around him and drawing a hiss from his lips. “‘m gonna keep you company, pretty.”

his hips rock up into your own, his fingers digging into your skin as he helps you match his pace. “‘m not lettin’ you leave this room when i get here, darlin’—not for a second.”

a low chuckle leaves his lips when you cry out, your warmth fluttering around his dick. “you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he coos, relishing the sounds of your skin slapping against his own. “it’ll be your reward for bein’ so good while i wasn’t here. how’s that sound?”

the mere thought makes you whine, your eyes barely open as you dumbly nod at his words.

“that’s my good girl,” boothill purrs, capturing your lips in a kiss as he picks the pace of his thrusts. you whimper at the feeling of his fingers digging deeper into your skin, heart thumping in your chest as he drags you along his cock.

his name leaves your lips in a soft cry, the coil in your stomach threatening to snap.

“i got you,” he pants, pressing a quick peck on your lips as he rubs at the small of your back in encouragement. “cum f’me, doll. i’ve got you.”

stars explode behind your eyes, your orgasm hitting you in a way that shouldn’t even be possible in a dream. you tremble in his arms, your body warm against the icy metal of his own. his hands make you ride him through your orgasm, slow and steady.

boothill’s lips press against your shoulder, right above a bite mark he’d left before. your mind feels muddled as he trails kisses up to your lips, gently nipping at the soft flesh. there’s a flutter in your chest when he pulls back, a toothy grin stretching his lips as he brushes your hair back.

“think you can gimme one more, darlin’?”

you whimper at the request, drawing a low chuckle from him. “jus’ one more,” he purrs, kissing the corner of your mouth. “for the road,” he adds, his voice a soft rasp. “what d’you say, pretty? one more. f’me.”

you’re dreaming—you’re sure of it. that’s the only reason why you nod at his request, your body melting against his own when he starts fucking up into you again. it’s the only reason why you mindlessly babble broken syllables of his name while he coos and praises you for taking him so well. his teeth sink into your skin, right above your collarbone.

you’re certain you’re dreaming. but, aeons, the way he bites at you hurts far more than it should for a dream.

[melobin]

cockwarming with riize ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

minors dni. @cupidslovearrows hehe enjoy <3

shotaro

shotaro can handle cockwarming, but he doesn’t necessarily like it. he has to be in the mood for it and the majority of the time he isn’t. he likes to be able to move when he’s inside of you, wants to be able to fuck you instead of sitting still. there are the rare occasions he likes it and those tend to be after sex, especially when he’s had a more tiring, draining day. the thought of curling up with you, fucking you slowly whilst making out and then falling asleep being stuffed inside of you is a dream to him. plus, you both wake up needing one another again after so the thinks that’s an added bonus. if you tried to tease him with it, he’d entertain you for a while. letting you play with him until he cannot do it anymore, wouldn’t be afraid to beg quietly in your ear, sweet talking you in a whiny voice about how good you feel when you’re sucking in his cock and how hard you make him cum. knows exactly what to say to you to get you to ride him the way he wants.

eunseok

eunseok would be horrible, to you at least. he has the self restraint to sit with you on his cock for hours, and he’ll do so until you break and beg for him to fuck too. cockwarming isn’t a gentle nor comforting thing with eunseok, it’s borderline a punishment. he just wants to see how long you can last with him stuffed inside of you, stilled. it doesn’t stop when you beg for him to fuck you either, he won’t touch you properly until he’s taunted you. needs to tease you about being so desperate that you have to beg for him to fuck you, so cock hungry that all you can think about is being used by him and filled with him cum. makes sure to say it all lowly in your ear whilst holding you down on his cock, maybe sneaking a hand down to rub slow circles on your clit whilst he does so. makes you fuck yourself on his cock after since you were so needy for it.

sungchan

sungchan cannot handle it at all. he tries, he really does try, but he can’t. whether it’s before or after sex, just the feeling of your warm cunt squeezing around his cock turns him on far too much for him to be able to simply just sit still. if it’s you teasing him, he ends up whining into your neck about how and he needs you to move, needs to feel you fucking yourself on his cock more than anything and he wouldn’t be afraid of begging for it. whines when you tease him about not being able to last too, he’s too sensitive about it. if it’s him teasing you, it won’t last more than thirty seconds even if he’s trying his hardest. he’s just so obsessed with how you feel wrapped around him that he needs to fuck you, ends up fucking you with his head buried in your neck and his fingers gripping the sheets beside your head. usually ends up cumming more than one during those nights too.

wonbin

wonbin is a hit or miss, mainly a miss. whilst he can last, he cannot last long. he tries his hardest but he fails, his will power is not strong enough to deal with you being still whilst hugging his cock. it gets worse if you move at all, any sudden movement has his hands digging into your waist and his heart rate picking up. he’d be letting out shaky breaths whilst he tries to calm himself down but ultimately it fails, would end up fucking you on his cock whilst basking in the way your cunt sobs around his cock. those would be the nights where he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back from completely ruining you, just needs to hear you crying out again and again about how good he makes you. if you were to cockwarm him, then he’d be a complete wreck. any form of eye contact would ruin him, if you kissed him then he’d end up whimpering into the kiss, begging quietly with little pleads for you to do something, anything. gets so sweet and thankful when you do, whimpering about how good you feel whilst you milk him with your cunt.

seunghan

seunghan actually adores cockwarming, it’s one of his favourite things to do with you. he’s quite good at separating cockwarming from sex and he often sees it as an act of comfort rather than an act of pleasure or teasing. he just thinks there’s nothing more comforting than laying with you, being able to feel each and every inch of you, inside and out. wants your bare body pressed against his, with your hands on his skin and his cock pressed deep inside of you. despite the comfort of it, he does find it incredibly endearing if you do end up getting needy from it and he’s always happy to fuck you. thrusting slowly up into you whilst keeping you pressed against him and whispering sweet things to you. he’ll want to continue cockwarming after you’ve had sex, just can’t bare to not feel you wrapped around him.

sohee

sohee is a wreck from start to finish. to him, cockwarming is a punishment he absolutely doesn’t want to receive. he likes to think he’s a well mannered, put together man but cockwarming changes all of that. he just can’t do it, the moment he sinks into your heat all he wants to do is pull out and sink back in over and over again, the idea of pushing into you and not moving bothers him deeply. he’s tried it with you before, purely out of curiosity, and he hated it. he blames you, your cunt is just far too tempting for him to be able to keep still when inside of you. it’s just so wet and warm and inviting that he needs to be able to fuck you as soon as he’s pushing into you and he just cannot stay still. his impatience is endearing in a way, especially because of how flushed and pouty he gets when you don’t move.

anton

anton actually has a lot of self restraint and will power, years of swimming taught him how to control his body and it’s incredibly useful in all situations. however, being stuffed inside your cunt and being unable to move is not one of them. cockwarming came about because you wanted to play a game to see who could go the longest without moving and anton wanted to entertain you, he also really wanted to win, he just underestimated his ability to be able to hold himself back when it comes to you. hint, he lost. he did find there to be some aspects of comfort and a lot of warmth with it, but he feeling of his cock throbbing with your walls tightly hugging him overpowered the comfort a lot and made it almost painful for him. if he’s hard to the point it hurts, then he knows he needs to fuck you and that’s how he ended up during cockwarming.

[tteokdoroki]

the consequences of constellations izuku midoriya ── ᡣ𐭩 ˙ ̟🩰 !!

⋆˙ᝰ about ! you’re in love with your best friend and you’re sleeping with him too… so you count the constellation-like freckles on his back to cope with the idea that he doesn’t love you in the same way. ( 2K )

warnings ! minors blank and ageless blogs do not interact. nsfw, suggestive, smut, angst. characters aged up to 20s, friends with benefits, unrequited love, mutual pining sorta, experimental piece, i wanted to play around with metaphors to do with space, fem!reader, pro hero!deku.

how do you always end up back here?

the answer remains a mystery to you, really. out of all the things that human-kind are capable of, their powers and prettiness, their strength and their stamina — even their knowledge used to invent the space shuttle that traverses the wonders of the uncharted starry abyss…and you still end up here. 

you always end up in the same place — amongst the crumpled linen of pro hero deku’s one bedroom condo. it’s high up enough that it just touches the skyline, it dips past the surface of powder blue skies into the inky black canvas of night to which you find yourself falling victim to sinful touches and muted whispers of pleasure.

it’s the same every time; izuku calls and you answer without hesitation — come rain or shine. you’ll often tumble past the threshold of his apartment with regret and pain pushed to the back of your mind because you’d much rather kiss him and taste the cigarette ash on his tongue in the moment than think logically or have some sense about you. in your world, there’s no better feeling in the world than deku’s masterful, scarred hands spanning out against the base of hour spine or napping out your curves. nothing beats the euphoric high you get from his hips smacking against yours almost in tune with the beat of his heart. 

he pulls you into his orbit. he places himself at the centre of your universe. he fills you up both physically and mentally to the point where every inch of your body and every corner of your heart is overcome with a scorching need for izuku midoriya, like you’ve been engulfed by the sun, it tingles at the tips of your toes and fingers to the top of your head. when he moans your name after every orgasm you share together desire lights up within you like a solar flare — you feel special, desired and maybe even loved.

but this is just sex.

it’s always been just sex, especially to izuku.

there’s a risk in allowing yourself to believe it could ever be anything more, and yet, you can’t stop yourself from indulging in this sweet fantasy every time you end up tangled in the pro hero’s expensive sheets. how could you not when he fucks you like you’re the only woman he’s ever loved. 

playing pretend in your head while he sends shooting stars of ecstasy across your line of sight.

shame and regret always hits you like a truck right after — forcing you to deal with the derailing reality that is loving someone who doesn’t want you back and sleeping with them just to get close enough to that feeling of adoration. it’s bad in the morning, but worse at night after deku has cleaned you up with a tender touch and tucked you in for some sleep — rolled onto his side as his own breathing evens out and his consciousness floats away into the depths of deep, empty space. 

you think that he’s still sleeping when the constellations of honey brown freckles on his back begin to blur and your vision swims from unshed tears and you curl in on yourself. claw marks and crescent moons from your perfectly trimmed nails have left their mark on his golden skin, etched between sun-spotted freckles and a collection of faded battle scars — if you look close enough, one might mistake the surface level wounds you’ve left on deku’s body as an attempt at scratching through the space-time continuum to be closer to him. 

izuku stays awake, hoping that you’ll find the strength to get up and leave him so that he doesn’t  have to turn around and pretend to love you again. though, there’s a selfish wish rooted in the back of his mind, longing for you to stay. for you to play make believe for a little longer, to wish upon the North Star and beg for some kind of grace from god — hoping that izuku midoriya will love you some way, somehow. 

he’ll fake it for as long as he can, if it means being the only person to touch you and hold you and kiss you. he’ll pretend to rip every star in the sky for you and breathe false affection past your lips with every kiss if it means he can replace the pain in your lungs and help you breathe a little easier. because in his own twisted way, izuku cares about your feelings…at least to some degree. he’d rather pretend than end things right here, right now. maybe that’s his saviour complex and his instinctual, dire need to save people who doesn’t need saving. 

maybe it’s because this little arrangement has gone on for far too long, to the point where he can’t tell what hurts you or what doesn’t.

when the bulking pro hero shifts beneath the linen sheets, you hand bolts out to grab him — and, as if you’re protecting the embers of a dying flame, a fading star between your fingers, you pull him back into your chest. grasping onto him, holding out for something. you’re afraid that if you let go, izuku will disappear into space’s abyss and you might never get to have him like this again. another selfish wish. this time from you, not from him. 

don’t go. you want to tell him. don’t fizzle away. you want to say. you know that it’s wrong to want to keep someone you can’t, who won’t love you, around. it’s testament to how much respect you have for yourself, how much self worth you have. which, from the looks of it, is little to none. you feel like you might die without izuku, even if what you have of him is so little. a plant with a crane its neck reaching for even the tiniest bit of sunlight to grow… that’s how you feel about izuku’s…affections for you. even if it’s not real love, you still yearn for it and blossom underneath it. even if you should let him go because you love him, you don’t want to.

out of fear that he may not come back. 

when izuku says your name, whispers it into the black hole of the night — he treats it as if it’s made of gold. the syllables heavy on his tongue, weighing it down with a force of gravity. “are you awake?” he adds, despite feeling the shake of your limbs behind him from crying. he speaks slow and tender, the gravel of the early morning still in his voice. 

your breath hitches warmly against his bare back like a mist over his sun spotted freckles. “no.” a dishonest answer that would have given you away instantly had the evergreen haired hero not already been up and listening to you cry. you sound strained, stuffy and he knows your pretty eyes are probably a putrid red and that there’s snot stains left in tracks on his satin sheets. and maybe, if he loved you like he should — this wouldn’t have happened, he wouldn’t feel so much guilt to the point where he feels sick to his stomach.

loving you is dangerous territory, like a trip to the uncharted parts of deep dark space. the concept alone is terrifying enough to send icy blood through izuku midoriya’s veins where he’s usually so hopeful and fearless. if he lets himself, for even a second, fall in love with you — there would be a chance your life would change for the worse, a chance that you wouldn’t be able to bare the long nights without him or the weeks where he’s gone. you hardly see deku now, how would you cope when he’s finally yours but too far away from you to touch. you could be in the same bed and he would still be light years away, galaxies ahead of your own train of thought because he is constantly thinking of who and how to save next.

not to mention the very fact that his existence is a threat to your livelihood, with villains lurking around every corner just waiting for a chance to make the number one weak…

…loving izuku midoriya would be like standing still in the middle of a hurricane on jupiter. 

no one would be able to withstand the largest storm in the universe, not even you, and the strength you find in loving izuku. 

still, you’re a liar and izuku knows it. even if he’s not supposed to. the bed creaks beneath his weight as he rolls over to face you, freckled cheek sinking into the cotton hills on his pillows as he finally sets his emerald sights on you. “you must be dreaming then,” he laughs fondly through his nose when he speaks, bringing a thumb up from underneath the duvet to swipe away your drying tears. the ones you tried so desperately to hide. water doesn’t fall in out space, it drifts endlessly and becomes a liquid with no form. izuku wishes you weren’t crying over him. 

shrugging, you lean into the man’s touch, letting deku cup your cheeks and trace your smile lines that don’t seem so smiley anymore. the early morning moonlight ( the sun has yet to rise ), illuminates the stars in his mossy eyes that practically plead for you to let go, and your heart lurches painfully. he feels sorry for you. “i hope so.” comes your tired whisper. embarrassed and heartbroken, you look away and tuck your face under the duvet — chin brushing your naked shoulders, skin bare and bitten and bruised from the night before. “if i am, i don’t want to wake up.” 

“what happens in your dreams?” capturing your chin between his fingers, izuku tilts your gaze over to him — inquisitive, cautious as if you’re an alien life form and he’s trying his best not to scare you away. he doesn’t quite understand you, why you keep returning to him , only to find yourself naked, vulnerable and heartbroken the next day. 

“you love me back, i think. we’re more than what we are right now.”

bitter selfishness tacks itself to the back of your throat like bile — you know that you’re being unkind and greedy to izuku by voicing your thoughts out loud, begging him for even the tiniest slither of love but what’s worse is the lack of compassion for yourself. the endless torture you inflict on your being just waiting for the number one hero to maybe love you back. 

in away, it makes you deserving of one another. whatever it is that the two of you have is no healthier than a pack of cheap cigarettes from the combini at the top of the road. a nicotine addiction that neither of you seem to be able to quit. humming into the moonlit void, deku brushes a thumb over your streaked, pudgy cheek — tracing the tear stains and the tracks left by the lines in the pillowcase. 

his eyes shimmer like the Milky Way on a clear night as he looks at you, strands of longing twisting within the vibrant green flecks in midoriya’s eyes. it must be lonely for him out there — he’s in another universe of his own and you can hardly compare to or comprehend it. “are you still dreaming?” he asks.

reaching up, you grab his wrist from underneath the covers — feeling his pulse beat steadily underneath the pad of your thumb. “i hope so.” you repeat your words from earlier, lashes fluttering against your cheeks — heart pounding. 

“then i’ll love you how you like,” midoriya agrees, masking his sadness with his signature hero smile. the one he uses to let the people he saves know that everything will be okay. even when it’s not. izuku treats you like a damsel in distress and maybe you are. you need saving from yourself, from him and he knows it. you both do. “at least until you wake up.” 

nodding, you close your eyes and lock off the rest of your senses — listening to only the sounds your steady breathing mingling in your own personal pocket of space. time freezes for the two of you, you don’t know how many light years it’s been before you speak again — but izuku’s warmth is still there, still enveloping you like the brilliant rays of the sun at the centre of your universe. he doesn’t dare cast you out into the icy cold of space. not yet.

“then i’ll try to keep dreaming, i’m not ready to wake up just yet.” comes your quiet voice as you lean forward to press your forehead against izuku’s freckled one.

not yet.

he exhales, deep and sad, but cups your face a little tighter and draws you in a little closer. “me either, not yet.” 

not yet. together, wrapped up in one another, the two of you decide that you'll stay lost in the web of constellations for a little bit longer. 

not yet.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.

[lovegalor333]

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

safe house (next part)

summary: your boyfriend takes it too far again and paige picks us the pieces

content warnings: domestic violence

“Pick up, pick up, pick up.” You plead over the drone of the dialling tone. You were trying to reach your friend Allie, her apartment wasn’t far from where you were but you didn’t want to show up unannounced, but you also didn’t really have a choice. It was either Allies place or a park beach at 11PM because there was no way you were going back to your own apartment.

You lived with your boyfriend who had a temper firey enough to melt ice caps and you often ended up on the receiving end of said temper and today was no different.

You had gone to your classes and studied in the library for a few hours before heading home to cook dinner. Your apartment was silent and unlit when you walked in and you said a silent prayer, thankful that you would get a moments peace.

You cooked dinner, your favourite playlist softly emitting from the speakers, curating the perfect evening vibe.

The sound of a key turning in the door made your head snap up from the stove and you quickly paused your music in an attempt to not create any unnecessary arguments. Your boyfriend had an opinion on everything you did from the way you dressed, who you hung out with and even your music preference. He made it clear that no girl of his would listen to slutty music after you had played SZA one time.

“Hi baby, I cooked for us.” You announced as he joined you the kitchen, peering over your shoulder to look at the pot of freshly cooked pasta.

He’d been at the gym, he smelt of sweat and his skin was clammy against yours as he pressed into you.

“Pasta?” He questioned in disgust as if you just offered him a plate of raw meat.

“Yeah, you love pasta.” You said gently, he did love pasta, you’d been together almost a year now and he’s said many times it’s his favourite food but somehow you knew you’d be in the wrong tonight.

“I’m not eating that.” He scoffed, purposefully knocking the handle of the pot sending the pasta you had just cooked flying to the floor. The tomato sauce still hot, splattered up your leg causing you to jump back and collide into his chest.

“You don’t know me at all.” He says shaking his head, a deep frown set on his face. “You love pasta.” He mocked your words.

You mummbled out apology after apology as you begin to clean the mess he made but it’s no use. His hands were in your hair and then around your throat and you squeeze your eyes closed knowing what was coming next.

Like always, you told yourself just take it, there’s no use fighting back. He was bigger and stronger than you, your small hands are no match to his. Once he got bored, he goes to take a shower, without a second look in your direction and that’s when you left.

By the time you reach Allies place, she still hasn’t picked up so you hope that she’s in and just not on her phone as you knock at the door.

Your face ached and throbbed as you wait for the door to be opened and you knew the metallic taste in your mouth was blood, undoubtedly from a busted lip. Allie knew what your boyfriend was like so the sight of you wouldn’t be a shock but it was because it wasn’t Allie who opened the door.

“Y/N?” Paige, Allies roommate stutters, eyes darting around your face, her shock at your appearance evident.

“Um- is- is Allie here?” You murmur feeling embarrassed that someone else is seeing you like this.

“Um, no. Her and Jana are out. Are you OK? Come in.” She rambles out, stepping aside to let you through the door.

“I can wait in Allies room.” You suggest, noticing the setup of the living room. There was a blanket on the couch and Greys Anatomy was on the television and from the way Paige was dressed, in slouchy plaid pyjama pants and a black sports bra, you assumed you just interrupted her chilled night.

“Wait.” Paige stops you as you begin to walk to your friend’s bedroom. “What happened?”

You turn to look at Paige and her brows are furrowed and eyes turned down in genuine concern. You stare at her for a while, not knowing what to say or how to say it.

“Who did this to you?” She asks gently, voice soft and caring and your walls crumble as tears spill out and you stumble to sit on the couch, suddenly very light headed.

“My boyfriend.” You choke out between sobs and you watch as Paiges face turns from soft and concerned to hard and filled with anger.

“What the fuck?” She hisses coming to sit beside you on the couch. “How long has he been doing that?”

“A while. It’s fine. It looks worse than it is.” You reassure Paige and it was true. It always looked worse when it was fresh, once you washed your face and iced it, it would look better and with the right amount of makeup, you could cover it completely.

“Fine? Y/N this is not fine!” She fumed and brought her hand up to your face causing you to flinch at the unexpected, sudden movement.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. Can I touch you? I want to check you’re OK.” She apologises, her voice light and calm, an adjustment from a few seconds ago.

You nod your head, granting her permission to inspect your face. Her hands are soft and warm against your skin, they’re big but not big and scary like your boyfriends, they’re big and comforting as they trail across your face causing you to wince every now and then.

Paige uses a cloth and warm water to wipe away the dried blood on your lip, it stings but you’re used to it so you don’t react. Her movements are slow and careful as if your a piece of fine china and she’s scared to use any force incase you break.

“Are those- are those hand prints around your neck?” Paige asks and you can only nod, there’s no point denying it, the blonde girl is practically in your lap she’s so close to you.

“Fucking hell Y/N.” She breaths out and her hand comfortingly rubs up and down your arm.

“I don’t know what to do. He just gets so angry for no reason and I can’t fight back. I’m not strong enough.” You begin to sob again, only now realising the severity of the situation. You’re blooded and bruised again because of your boyfriend but you can’t see a way out.

“You have to leave him. You can’t keep going through this.”

“I can’t Paige. He’s already told me he won’t let me leave him.” You cry.

“Listen,” Paige begins, taking your face in her hands, “listen to me good. Tonight was the last night he’ll ever put his hands on you. Do you hear me? He’ll never hurt you again.” She comforts as tears spill down your cheeks and she wipes them as they fall.

“You’re safe here.” She adds before leaning in pressing a kiss to your forehead, it wasn’t sexual at all, it was completely platonic and warm and comforting and you believed her. You were safe here.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

a/n: hello guys, hope u enjoyed. let me know what u think, im still new to this 💋

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | the daughter of a rival team principal

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : the daughter of a team prinicipal finds love in another team ୨ৎ : requested : yes

୨ৎ : genre : romance ୨ৎ : tws : father-daughter arguing ୨ৎ : word count : 4799 (~685 words each)

୨ masterlist ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : this was so fun to write i love it (charles was a personal favorite >.<)

ʚ・max verstappen

you’ve always known what was expected of you. as the daughter of mercedes f1’s team principal, your life has been one of luxury, pressure, and constant public scrutiny. your father’s legacy has always loomed large over you, and you’ve been trained your whole life to uphold it. but tonight, at a charity event during the off-season, something shifts.

you never expected to meet him. max verstappen—red bull’s star driver, known for his dry humor and sharp wit—has always been in the rival camp. you’ve heard about him, but when you finally talk to him, it’s different. his banter is sharp, but there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes your heart race. it’s not the usual flirtation you’ve experienced with other drivers; it’s deeper, more genuine.

a conversation turns into a quiet moment away from the crowd, and before you know it, you’re both caught in an unspoken connection. you try to convince yourself it’s just the heat of the moment, but the chemistry between you two is undeniable. as the night ends, the weight of your family’s rivalry presses on you. you can’t be with him. not him. not a red bull driver.

but the connection is too strong. as the weeks go by, you find yourself texting max in secret, sneaking around after races, and spending stolen hours together. you’re falling for him, and it terrifies you. you’re not just risking your own heart; you’re risking your family, your reputation, and the wrath of the media. but when max looks at you with those eyes—full of intensity and something more—you can’t stop yourself.

the pressure builds with every passing day. your family expects you to uphold mercedes’ honor, and you know your father would never approve. meanwhile, max—who’s used to constant scrutiny—becomes frustrated. he’s tired of hiding, tired of sneaking around, and you start to feel the weight of it all. the secrecy is suffocating, but you’re scared of what will happen if the world finds out.

then, during a crucial race weekend, everything explodes. mercedes and red bull are neck-and-neck, both fighting for the title. after the race, max wins, and mercedes is left picking up the pieces. that night, you and max decide it’s enough. you’re done hiding.

you sit across from your father and max’s team principal, the air thick with tension. your father’s face is a mixture of shock and fury as he demands to know why you would choose max. “he’s from red bull,” he says, as if that’s enough of a reason for you to walk away. max’s principal isn’t much better, questioning how this relationship could possibly work.

but max speaks up. “i’m not just a driver,” he says, his voice calm but unwavering. “i’m with her because i love her. i’m not hiding anymore.”

the room falls into a heavy silence. your father’s eyes narrow, a flicker of frustration crossing his features, but as he looks at you—really looks at you—he sees something he can’t ignore. the sincerity in your eyes, the depth of your feelings for max, is undeniable. this isn’t a passing phase or a rebellious act. it’s real.

“you really love my daughter?” your father’s voice is no longer harsh, but laced with something else—caution, perhaps even a hint of understanding.

max doesn’t hesitate. “i do. i love your daughter.”

your father exhales sharply, the weight of his words lingering in the air. “if you ever break her heart, i swear to god, i’ll make sure your engine never sees the finish line again.”

max, looking both relieved and earnest, nods. “i would never, sir. i’d never hurt her.”

over time, both families begin to soften. the media circus doesn’t go away, but the tension between your families does. slowly, the world starts to accept what you already knew: love doesn’t care about the rivalry between teams. it doesn’t care about the rules.

max wins another race. this time, you’re there, not hiding, not pretending. the cameras flash around you, and you stand by his side, proud. he looks at you with that same intensity, but now, it’s not a secret. your love is out in the open, stronger than ever.

and as you walk off the podium together, hand in hand, you realize that no matter what the future holds, you’ve already won. together.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

you’ve always been part of the f1 world, living in the shadow of your father, the red bull team principal. but one night, everything changes when you're forced to attend a press conference with him. you’re trying to stay out of the spotlight, your eyes gliding over the room, until they land on him: lewis hamilton. despite the rivalry between red bull and mercedes, something shifts when your gazes meet—an undeniable connection, one that neither of you can ignore.

after the press conference ends, lewis, ever the charmer, approaches you with that trademark grin. “so, you're the red bull princess, huh?” he says, his voice playful, though there's something deeper in his eyes. you nod, taken aback by the intensity of the moment.

"you don’t look like the type to be stuck behind a desk," he adds with a smirk, his tone light but his gaze searching yours.

you laugh, trying to hide how your heart skips a beat. "guess i’m not."

the next few weeks are a blur of stolen glances and quiet exchanges. with every conversation, every private moment, you both feel the connection deepening, though the tension between your families grows. your father’s rivalry with mercedes runs deep, and the last thing you need is for the media to catch wind of anything. but as the whispers start, you can’t fight the pull between you and lewis any longer.

the secrecy wears on you both. the constant sneaking around, meeting in hidden corners, avoiding the constant press. it’s like living a double life, and eventually, it becomes too much. you feel suffocated by the pressure of hiding your love, and lewis, frustrated and restless, isn’t happy either.

then comes a pivotal race. both red bull and mercedes are facing setbacks, and the competition is fierce. the tension is at an all-time high. after the race, the world is still buzzing with the results, but you can't think about anything else. you need to see him.

as the race concludes, you rush through the paddock, your heart racing. cameras flash all around you, but you don’t care. you spot him—lewis, standing in the pit, grinning like he just won the world. without thinking, you run straight to him. the noise of the world fades as you leap into his arms, and he catches you effortlessly, spinning you around in a burst of joy. it’s a moment of pure freedom—a declaration that you’re done hiding.

the cameras capture everything: your arms around him, your laughter echoing through the chaos. the media goes wild. your father, watching the broadcast from his office, doesn’t know whether to laugh or shout. he stares at the screen, eyes widening in disbelief as you and lewis embrace on live tv.

"what the hell…?" he mutters under his breath. his fists clench, watching his daughter—his little girl—defy everything he’s worked for, the legacy of red bull and its rivalry with mercedes. for a moment, he’s stunned, unsure of what to think.

later, when you sit down with him, you brace for the confrontation. but instead of anger, he looks at you with a quiet understanding in his eyes. “you’re my little girl,” he starts, voice softer than you expect. “i’ve spent my life trying to protect you, to keep you away from this madness. but if this is who you love… then i’ll support you. even if it’s from a rival team.”

you feel the weight of his words settle in your chest. the rivalry still exists, but in that moment, you realize that family comes first. your father’s approval means more than anything, and his acceptance gives you the freedom to live your truth.

ʚ・george russell

it’s a late afternoon at the track, the sun casting long shadows over the paddock as the roar of engines fills the air. you’re standing near your father, the principal of red bull racing, watching the teams prepare for another race. it’s business as usual—except, today, something feels different.

as you glance around, your eyes land on him: george russell. mercedes’ promising young driver, always composed and focused. but today, it’s not the usual competitive edge you notice. instead, you spot a technical issue on his car, a minor glitch in the system that could cost him on track. without thinking, you stride forward, your pulse quickening with a mix of adrenaline and nerves.

“george,” you call, your voice cutting through the air.

he looks up, surprised to see you, but a flicker of recognition crosses his face. “y/n,” he says with a slight grin. “what’s going on?”

you point to his car. “there’s an issue with the engine cooling system. you need to recalibrate the sensors, or it’s going to overheat during the race.”

george raises an eyebrow. “and what would you know about that?”

you shrug, a playful smile on your lips. “i come with my dad to work almost everyday, i'd like to think i’ve picked up a few things.”

he laughs softly, shaking his head. “i guess i’ll trust you then. but i’m not sure if i should be worried about red bull’s tech advice.”

“don’t worry,” you reply, “i won’t sabotage you… too much.”

the banter flows easily between you, and there’s an undeniable chemistry that neither of you can ignore. but as you walk away, your mind starts to race. you’re intrigued by him—his dry wit, his easy smile—but you know better than to get too close. your father’s rivalry with mercedes runs deep, and you’ve been raised to see them as the enemy, not a potential partner.

over the next few weeks, you and george find yourselves crossing paths more often. each meeting is brief, a stolen moment outside the paddock or in the midst of chaos during a race weekend. you talk about cars, racing strategies, and even your shared interests beyond the track. there’s an easy connection, a bond that grows deeper with every conversation.

the secrecy of your meetings becomes a burden. you’re both constantly looking over your shoulders, afraid of getting caught. the fear of your families finding out and the potential consequences of your secret relationship weigh on you. yet, with every stolen kiss and quiet exchange, your feelings for george only grow stronger. the risk of it all feels worth it when he’s around.

however, the stress of hiding the relationship begins to strain you both. george’s success on the track only adds pressure. every victory for him is a reminder of the ever-present distance between you two. your father’s disapproval weighs heavily on your conscience, and it’s starting to affect your work.

during a pivotal race, both teams face challenges—red bull’s strategy falters, and mercedes struggles with tire issues. you and george exchange secret messages, working together to help each other’s teams without crossing the line.

as both teams fight to salvage their positions, your collaboration becomes more than technical support—it’s a defiant stand against the rivalry. the race ends with both teams barely staying afloat, but you and george share a quiet triumph, knowing you made a difference.

the media catches on, and the truth comes to light. both families are shocked, but as they see the depth of your love, your father’s anger softens. slowly, the walls between red bull and mercedes begin to crumble.

you and george publicly announce your relationship, standing together before the media, no longer hiding. the rivalry may still exist, but your love has bridged the gap, and together, you step into a new chapter where love, not competition, drives you forward.

later, your father calls you and george into his office, a wry smile on his face. after a moment of silence, he looks at you both, then shrugs. “i suppose if you’re really in love, i can’t stop you. just know… i can’t promise i won’t use my daughter to sabotage mercedes from time to time.”

you and george laugh, and your father chuckles, his eyes softening. "but seriously," he adds, "i trust you both. just don’t make me regret it."

with that, the tension breaks, and for the first time, the future of both families feels a little brighter.

ʚ・carlos sainz

the press room was buzzing with the usual chatter—drivers answering questions, team principals looking sharp, and the sound of cameras clicking at every moment. you were there as part of your father’s entourage, the daughter of mclaren’s team principal. you’d been to countless media events, but today, something felt different.

the crowd parted as a familiar face made his way through: carlos sainz, ferrari’s star driver. his warm smile met yours from across the room. you’d seen him race plenty of times, but there was something about his presence that stood out today—something that made your heart beat a little faster.

you’d heard stories of how intense the rivalry between mclaren and ferrari was. it was ingrained in you from a young age, something your father had hammered into your head. he was fierce about his loyalty to mclaren, and he expected nothing less from you. but despite that, the moment your eyes met carlos’s, you felt an undeniable pull.

he smiled at you, as if recognizing that spark too, and before long, the two of you found yourselves chatting during a brief lull in the press event. he was charming, his wit sharp, and his dry humor caught you off guard. you laughed more easily than you expected, feeling the weight of your father’s expectations and the animosity between your teams fade away in the warmth of his presence.

“you know,” carlos said with a grin, “i’ve always thought mclaren had some of the best engineers. too bad we’re always on opposite sides of the fight.”

you smirked. “guess it’s more fun that way, isn’t it? keeps things interesting.”

the chemistry between you was immediate, and in that brief conversation, you realized you wanted more. but you couldn’t—could you? your father would never approve. ferrari and mclaren had been bitter rivals for as long as anyone could remember. still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something real between you and carlos.

over the next few races, you both found ways to keep in touch, meeting up in secret whenever possible. the stolen moments became your escape, a brief reprieve from the weight of being the daughter of mclaren’s team principal and the strain of hiding your growing feelings for a ferrari driver. every touch, every glance was like a silent promise, and with each passing day, it became harder to keep things a secret.

but the pressure was mounting. the media was getting more curious about the subtle tension between you and carlos. you had to be careful. every word, every action had to be carefully measured.

then came the race that changed everything. the tension between mclaren and ferrari reached its peak. your team was struggling—strategy issues, tire troubles, nothing was going according to plan. and then there was carlos, pulling off a brilliant move and clinching the victory for ferrari. the crowd roared, but for you, the noise faded into the background. all you could focus on was the moment he crossed the finish line, knowing you couldn’t stay hidden anymore.

you rushed through the chaos, your heart pounding in your chest. the cameras were everywhere, but you didn’t care. you didn’t think. you just ran. when you reached him, you didn’t hesitate. you jumped into his arms, and in one swift motion, he spun you around, laughing in joy.

the world saw it all. it was a moment of defiance—no longer hiding your love for him, despite everything you’d been taught about team loyalty and rivalry. the media exploded, cameras flashing as they captured the intimate moment. the tension between mclaren and ferrari had never felt more real, and yet, in that moment, it didn’t matter. you were with carlos, and that was all that mattered.

back at the paddock, you could feel your father’s eyes on you from the distance. he hadn’t yet approached, but you knew the storm was coming. when he finally did, his expression was unreadable, his jaw clenched in frustration.

“what the hell is this?” he demanded, his voice low but sharp.

you took a deep breath, walking toward him. “dad, i… i’m in love with him.”

for a moment, the silence stretched between you. then, your father’s gaze softened, just a little. he let out a long sigh, glancing back at carlos, who was now waiting a few feet away, watching the exchange with uncertainty.

“you really love him?” your father asked, his voice unsteady for the first time.

you nodded, meeting his eyes. “i do. it’s not a fling, dad. i promise you.”

he stood there for a long moment, his gaze flicking back and forth between you and carlos. then, in a move that surprised you, he chuckled—a little bitterly, but still, a chuckle.

“well, if you’re serious about this, i guess i can’t stop you,” he said, the tension in his shoulders easing. “but don’t expect me to go easy on ferrari next season.”

you laughed, relief flooding through you. “deal.”

and just like that, the walls that had once seemed insurmountable between your world and carlos’s began to crumble. the rivalry between mclaren and ferrari wouldn’t disappear overnight, but maybe—just maybe—the future of racing didn’t have to be defined by the battles between teams.

as you stood there, hand in hand with carlos, you realized that love had bridged the gap. you weren’t just the daughter of mclaren’s team principal anymore. you were someone who had found something real, despite all the odds. and that was enough.

the road ahead would be challenging, but with carlos by your side, you were ready to face it all—together.

ʚ・charles leclerc

you’d spent your entire life draped in mclaren orange, fiercely loyal to your father’s team. everyone at the paddock knew you—not as just the team principal’s kid but as a sharp-tongued, quick-witted presence who had zero tolerance for nonsense. so, when charles leclerc, ferrari’s golden boy, casually strolled over during a media event and commented on your bold mclaren jacket, you didn’t miss a beat.

“bold choice for you to critique fashion,” you said, raising a brow. “didn’t you wear that same ferrari polo yesterday? or is it just your uniform now?”

charles blinked before breaking into a grin. “it’s called consistency, chérie. something mclaren might want to try with their cars.”

your jaw dropped, but his cheeky smirk made it impossible to stay annoyed. instead, you laughed. “touché, leclerc. but let’s see how consistent you are on track this weekend.”

it started with playful banter, but the more you ran into charles during race weekends, the more intrigued you became. beneath his smooth charm and the ferrari-red facade was a kind, passionate guy with dreams that matched yours. the chemistry was undeniable, and soon, stolen moments between press conferences turned into late-night conversations over text, and quiet dinners away from the spotlight.

every meeting felt like rebellion—not just against your father’s expectations but against the entire cutthroat nature of the sport. you’d grown up in this world of rivalries, but with charles, you started to see it differently. the sport didn’t have to divide people; it could bring them together.

still, you knew what you were risking. your father had built his career on the rivalry with ferrari, and your mother… well, she’d always been the level-headed one in the family.

the turning point came after a thrilling race in monaco. charles took p1 in a breathtaking finish, and as he climbed out of his car, the crowd roared. you stood at the edge of the podium celebrations, your heart racing—not for mclaren, but for him.

as he spotted you in the crowd, you didn’t care who was watching. you pushed past the cameras and ran up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him in front of everyone. the world faded away, leaving only the two of you in that moment.

later, when the footage made its inevitable rounds, your father called you into his office. his expression was thunderous, but before he could launch into a tirade, your mother interjected.

“oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “love is love. let her live her life.”

your father looked between you and your mother, his frustration melting into reluctant acceptance. “fine,” he said, sighing heavily. “but if this boy breaks your heart, i’ll have him banned from every paddock on earth. do you hear me?”

“loud and clear,” you said, grinning.

charles became more than just a rival driver; he became your partner. the road wasn’t easy—balancing the pressures of your families, the media, and the sport itself was a challenge—but together, you proved that love could transcend the boundaries of loyalty and rivalry.

in time, even your father warmed up to charles, admitting that maybe ferrari wasn’t entirely the enemy. your relationship became a symbol of change, inspiring others to see beyond the rivalries and focus on what truly mattered.

and as you stood with charles at the end of yet another race, hand in hand, you knew you’d crossed the finish line—not just for love but for a new chapter in both your lives.

ʚ・lando norris

you weren’t supposed to be here—not in the simulator room of a mclaren facility. as the daughter of ferrari’s team principal, you had absolutely no business wandering into enemy territory. but your father had dragged you to yet another pre-season media day, and curiosity (plus boredom) got the better of you.

what you didn’t expect was to find lando norris, slouched in the simulator seat, muttering under his breath as he reset for yet another lap.

“maybe if this sim wasn’t ancient, i wouldn’t be two-tenths off,” he grumbled, smacking the steering wheel in frustration.

you couldn’t help yourself. “ever thought about turning left for a change?”

lando’s head snapped up, startled, before his lips curved into a grin. “great. ferrari’s princess is here to give me driving tips. what’s next? you gonna show me how to do a pit stop?”

“someone has to,” you shot back, stepping into the room. “clearly, mclaren hasn’t figured it out yet.”

his laugh was genuine, softening the edges of his earlier frustration. “careful, or people will think you’re defecting.”

“oh, please,” you said with a smirk. “if i wanted to sabotage ferrari’s reputation, i’d just let you borrow one of our cars.”

what started as playful banter quickly spiraled into something more.

the teasing didn’t stop after that. you’d bump into him at races or media events, and without fail, lando always had something to say.

“so, which ferrari secret are you leaking today?” he’d whisper as you passed him in the paddock.

“wouldn’t you like to know?” you’d reply, raising an eyebrow.

but beneath the sarcasm, there was something else—an undeniable connection that neither of you could ignore. it wasn’t long before stolen moments turned into late-night chats, and teasing jabs softened into something deeper.

you started meeting in secret, far from the prying eyes of the paddock. sometimes it was at quiet restaurants in cities where races were held, other times it was just sitting on the tailgate of his rental car, talking about everything but racing.

“do you ever get tired of all the rivalry crap?” you asked one night, staring at the stars.

“all the time,” he admitted. “but i’ve got to say, it’s a lot more fun with you around. even if you’re technically the enemy.”

you rolled your eyes. “please. if i were the enemy, you wouldn’t still be here.”

the turning point came after a pivotal race. ferrari had a disastrous weekend—your father’s strategy calls backfired, and both cars finished far outside the points. meanwhile, lando claimed p1, his first win of the season.

you should’ve stayed in the ferrari garage, consoling your team and putting on a brave face. instead, your feet carried you to parc fermé, straight into lando’s arms.

“you’re not supposed to be here,” he teased, grinning as he pulled you into a hug.

“yeah, well, someone has to congratulate you properly,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest.

the cameras were everywhere, catching the moment as lando lifted you off the ground and spun you around. by the time your feet touched the ground, you knew there was no hiding anymore.

when your father saw the footage, his face turned a shade of red you didn’t think was physically possible. “you hugged him. on camera. at parc fermé,” he fumed, pacing the ferrari motorhome.

“yeah, dad, i did,” you said, arms crossed. “and i’m not sorry about it.”

your mother, sitting calmly in the corner, rolled her eyes. “oh, please, let them be. even if it’s… inconvenient.”

your father stopped pacing, glaring at her before turning to you. “fine. but if he breaks your heart, i swear i’ll sabotage his car myself.”

when you relayed the conversation to lando later, he laughed, pulling you close. “your dad’s terrifying, you know.”

“yeah, but he loves me,” you said with a grin. “and he’ll come around. eventually.”

lando kissed your forehead, his voice soft. “good, because i’m not going anywhere.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

the first time you met oscar piastri, it wasn’t under the most glamorous circumstances. as ferrari’s golden child, your father had sent you to oversee a joint project with mclaren, which was code for "keep an eye on the competition."

you were mid-yawn at the coffee machine in mclaren's hospitality area, waiting for the machine to finally churn out your much-needed cappuccino, when a voice interrupted you.

“some of us actually have work to do, you know.”

you turned, glaring at the culprit—none other than oscar piastri, standing there with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

“well, some of us need caffeine to tolerate said work,” you shot back, not budging.

he smirked. “right, because ferrari's success clearly hinges on how long you hog the coffee machine.”

“it’s only fair since mclaren’s been stealing all the glory lately,” you retorted, crossing your arms.

his laugh was low and unexpected, and it caught you off guard. “touché. but seriously, i need my coffee.”

you rolled your eyes but stepped aside, gesturing dramatically. “be my guest, glory-stealer.”

what started as sharp-witted banter evolved into something… else. the project forced you into countless meetings, strategy sessions, and shared moments of quiet in the paddock.

late nights at the track turned into debates about racing philosophies—he’d argue for precision, and you’d counter with passion. more than once, you’d find yourself splitting snacks when the paddock catering failed you both.

“you’re really committed to this whole ‘traitor’ thing, aren’t you?” he teased one evening, munching on a shared bag of chips.

“it’s called strategic sabotage,” you deadpanned, stealing another chip. “someone has to keep mclaren humble.”

he grinned, leaning a little closer. “you’re terrible at hiding your motives, you know.”

“and you’re terrible at hiding how much you love this,” you said, gesturing between the two of you.

he didn’t deny it.

after a grueling race weekend, where mclaren edged out ferrari in the standings, you found yourself in the paddock sulking with a bottle of water.

oscar appeared out of nowhere, slipping a folded piece of paper into your hand.

“don’t open it now,” he murmured before walking off, his usual nonchalant demeanor intact.

curious, you waited until you were alone to unfold it.

"we make a good team."

the words were simple, scribbled in his messy handwriting, but they hit you harder than you expected.

your flushed face must’ve been a dead giveaway because your father cornered you that evening.

“do you want to explain why you look like a lovesick teenager?” he asked, arms crossed.

you froze, trying to come up with a convincing lie, but he sighed before you could. “it’s piastri, isn’t it? of all the drivers—him?”

“it’s not—” you stopped yourself. lying wouldn’t work. “okay, yes, it’s him. and he makes me happy, dad.”

your father stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. finally, he muttered, “fine. but if he so much as breathes in the wrong direction, i'll send a hit out for him.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, relief flooding you.

when you saw oscar later that night, you couldn’t resist telling him about your father’s “conditions.”

oscar grinned as he wrapped an arm around you. “i think i can live with that.”

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[giamee]

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍!

... aka something super self indulgent because i'm going insane right now

༊*·˚ featuring ➻ the hsr men

༊*·˚ gia's notes ➻ this is probably gonna get posted way after exam season is over but here it is!!! my coping mechanism!!! i have 3 exams in 8 days im gonna explode bro. and before that i had a THREE HOUR STATISTICS EXAM 😀😀

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 MAKES SURE THAT YOU SLEEP COMFORTABLY.

you've been running yourself into the ground recently with revision- yes, it's important and you need to study to get good grades, as he is more than aware of due to your multiple stressed rants to him when he suggests that you take a break.

it doesn't bother him, not really. he knows that you're beyond stressed right now and don't mean to be so snappy. he just wants to make sure that you're still taking care of yourself despite everything.

he's in your dorm room, not really making much noise, scrolling through reals with his phone on mute, just present to keep an eye on you and get you to take a break whenever it's been a little too long since you've moved from your desk.

it's some time where it's debatable whether it's very late or very early- both of your sleep schedules are fucked- and there comes a little thunk from your desk that interrupts the otherwise silent room.

your boyfriend glances up, smiling in triumph as he sees that you've finally succumbed to the nap that he's been trying to convince you to take for the past... 36 hours? something like that.

and now that your body has finally given in to exhaustion, he springs to action.

you'd been studying for days, you'd done more than enough for your upcoming exam, and a solid few hours of uninterrupted sleep is exactly what you need right now.

he slips off of your bed, his movements quiet and calculated as he sidles up next to you. your glasses are smushed against your face, and he gingerly removes them as gracefully as he can. you stir a little as he does so, and he grimaces, waiting for you to settle again.

it looked like you would wake up if he carried you to your bed- looks like he'll have to improvise.

he snags the fuzzy blanket folded neatly at the foot of your bed, wrapping it around your sleeping form still sat at your desk as best as he can. he then takes one of your smaller pillows, coaxing it between you and the solid wood of your desk as best as he can before admiring his handiwork.

hopefully, you wouldn't wake up with a stiff neck.

and finally, as a cherry on top, he places a kiss to your squished cheek and sits back down to let you take a well-deserved nap.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ BLADE, gallagher, BOOTHILL ++ your faves!

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 IS YOUR PERSONAL ASSISTANT WHILE YOU'RE STRESSING.

you don't have to lift a single finger when he's around. luckily for you, his exams finished a lot earlier this term than yours did, leaving him ample time to help you as much as he is capable of.

and what an attentive boyfriend he is! amidst all the stress, you can't help but swoon for him all over again because of how attentive he's being towards you. he just wants you to help you study and not worry about anything else!

if you're hungry, he'll have a plate of food ready for you before the request has even left your mouth. your back or neck is aching due to being hunched over? his strong hands are rubbing circles into the muscle, making you sigh contentedly as the stiffness melts away.

he's honestly like an angel in your time of need.

you feel guilty about how one-sided this all is, but he merely smiles, giving you a quick kiss and assuring you that he understands and just wants you to do well. you almost cried because of how sweet he was being.

once these exams are over, you're definitely going to make it up to him.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ GEPARD, jing yuan, sunday ++ your faves!

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 ACTS AS YOUR TEMPORARY STUDY PARTNER.

despite not doing your degree, he's clever, and he knows enough without googling to help you out when you revise.

he's an advocate for the "teach someone about a subject until they understand it as well as you do" and luckily for you, he's all ears... and even if he does get some things a little quicker than your fried brain can explain, he still bites his tongue and plays a little dumb to probe you further with questions to test your understanding.

it'll help in the exam.

you've decided that this is way better than being cramped in a booth in the library- you have the freedom to wave your arms around and pace the room, to fully illustrate your thoughts and knowledge as he flips through the colourful flashcards that you made, reading the answers on the back of each of them, grilling you on the questions like a tiger mum.

he'll be damned if you don't get an A.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ dan heng, DR RATIO, welt ++ your faves!

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 DEFUSES YOU WHENEVER YOU'RE GETTING TOO STRESSED.

in the days leading up to your exams, it was best to describe your stomach as a pit of nerves. it was honestly distracting you from revising, all the pent up anxiety that churned within you until you were on the verge of a meltdown.

and while you may be too stressed to realise all of this and do something about it, your boyfriend's watchful eye realises this.

and so he does what he does best- he makes you feel better.

he pulls your body to rest against his where he lies in your bed, his large hand drawing comforting circles up and down your spine- and after a few minutes he can feel you melt into him, your body finally releasing the pent up stress that it's been holding for too long.

"it's ok to take a break, honey."

you sigh into him, and he hugs you tighter.

"c'mon, let's go outside for a few minutes. it'll help you feel a lot better."

you shake your head.

"you wanna just stay here for a bit?"

he feels you nod against his chest.

"ok, then let's do that."

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ SAMPO, luocha, AVENTURINE ++ your faves!

IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ... do you want somebody like i want somebody?

the sweet and caring nature of the hsr men is also shown through them being your roommate <3