#and he's still as beautiful as the day i lost him

[cherspastries]

Cher!! I love your writing and you aesthetic so much :)

You’re a graphic designer yeah? What driver do you think would work well with a graphic designer reader, and on that note, what occupation do you think each driver’s s/o would have?

And do you do emoji anons? 👀 If so can I be 🫧?

I LOVE HER AS SHE IS,

DOING HER THING!

WORK IT!

2025 Grid x Reader

SUMMARY 𐙚 What jobs I think each driver’s girlfriend would have + how you first met.

WARNINGS 𐙚 Fluff, reader is described with feminine terms, mentions of alcohol / handling alcohol, not proofread

WORD COUNT 𐙚 6.3K

A/N 𐙚 Hi!! Tysm I love my theme, and yes I do accept emoji anons! Hello 🫧 !! Also, before I actually write, I love all the WAGs and respect their jobs, but I wanted to romanticize this a bit so… All the drivers are getting hypothetical new girlfriends with weird and interesting occupations and personalities

DIRECTORY | MASTERLIST | REQUESTS: OPEN

RedBull ෆ

Max Verstappen

Bartender

You cannot convince me this man isn’t always in need of a drink. Whether he’s celebrating or he’s upset, Max likes a good gin and tonic. Sure, he can make his own, but nobody makes it as good as his lovely girlfriend: a bartender. That’s right! He met you at a club in Monaco, of course. It was after he had won a grand prix, and he kept coming back for more and more alcohol until he was blackout drunk. You had to call him a cab home, and he kept mumbling about how beautiful and perfect you were. When he came back to retrieve his lost phone the next day, he apologized and properly asked you out.

But it’s also nice because Max’s favorite way to relax with you is to lay across the couch, drink in hand, and watching a show you both enjoy. He doesn’t want to overwork you, but if you offer to whip something up real fast, he’s definitely not going to say no to your hard work and encourage you to keep doing what you love. Side note, I genuinely think he loves being able to party at the club you work at. He loves getting to enjoy a night out, but also being able to visit you whenever he wants. His friends have stopped wondering where he’s ran off to after they found out who was behind the bar. They shouldn’t be surprised when he disappears every five minutes to go chat you up again. Sometimes regular patrons give him dirty looks because they think he’s hitting on you inappropriately, but then you flash the matching set of rings and they simmer down.

Yuki Tsunoda

Seamstress

I’ll be honest, I was unsure about this one, but I honestly think it makes a lot of sense. Yuki has really good style, so I had a feeling his partner should be related to fashion. However, seamstress was a bit of a stretch. I think you’d make a lot of clothes for him, which is why he has such great style to begin with. He’s wearing handmade, high quality patchwork hoodies and jeans and shoes that you decorated yourself, all made by you! So yeah, whenever someone compliments his very fitting form of fashion, he lets you know that the people are certainly admiring your work. Do we all remember when the internet went crazy over Yuki wearing his RedBull shirt unbuttoned? Yeah. All you.

He first met you when you were still just a fan. Some might argue the dynamic seems inappropriate, but you were never a huge fan of him specifically. Just… An F1 fan. You sewed shirts for the RedBull team, and they weren’t the typical tacky wear that the team usually received. These had lots of thought and enthusiasm put into them— He could only imagine how hard and how long you have slaved away making those, so he wore it with pride… Even if it was a tad bit too big. After that, he kept seeing you in the paddock, communicating with various engineers and drivers, collecting autographs like it was your job. He complimented your work, you introduced yourself, and the rest was history. So yeah, you ended up falling for the irresistible charm of Yuki Tsunoda, and honestly who can blame you?

Mercedes ෆ

George Russell

Graphic designer

Yes, okay. This is my line of work, and I honestly believe George would be the most supportive for a graphic designer out of everyone. I mean, he at least thinks he knows fashion and technology, so he assumes that he’s being helpful. I can see the two of you being high school sweethearts that pursued different paths, but stuck together. Of course you knew George was into racing at the time, because he was karting even back then, but you never expected him to reach such fame. He even managed to get to a job with the FIA, designing graphics for winners and podiums and such, so yeah. People have been silently appreciating your work for years. You’re the one who gets to see all the unused winner graphics.

Whenever you’re working on a project, you consult George. Even though half the time you don’t listen to his advice, it’s nice to get somebody else’s opinion and support. You know he’ll be honest instead of giving you that “it’s perfect the way it is” bullshit, so his unfiltered opinion is just what you need to get a sense of what the right direction might be. He used to sugarcoat it, but you eventually told him that his honesty wouldn’t hurt your feelings, and he started to be more open. Not that it was rude, because his opinions were still helpful and polite! He always tops it off with a kiss and a wish of good luck. He knows you’ll make the right decision.

Kimi Antonelli

Tutor

Alright. We all have fun joking about Kimi needing a math tutor, but what if he doesn’t. Because his girlfriend is one. You know? You’re still in school, just like him, so you make a lot of money by people paying you to help them out in classes. Yes, Kimi needs a nerd girlfriend I feel it in my SOUL. Now, contrary to popular belief, you actually don’t tutor him. Why? Because he gets distracted by you very easily. He can’t stop looking at your pretty eyes, your plump lips, and your soft hair. All he wants is to bury his face in your neck and lay on top of you 24/7/365, because you’re so soft and warm. So no, you don’t tutor him. You can’t tutor him. You’ve tried. You’ve failed.

He brings you to the Imola Grand Prix, happily showing you off and introducing you to all of his track mates with that huge boyish grin. He tells them all that you’re just his tutor, and that afterwards you’ll be in his drivers room teaching him the pythagorean theorem (which he doesn’t even know how to pronounce in any language, mind you, so he’s just stumbling over syllables to get the idea out.) You correct him and politely let them know you’re actually his girlfriend. They all tease him, insisting that this whole story was just an excuse to sneak you into his room for a cheeky make out session, which you both quickly deny with flushed cheeks and slight stutters. Looks like he’s been caught before he could even try.

Ferrari ෆ

Charles Leclerc

Fashion designer

Now this isn’t to say that Charles doesn’t already have good fashion sense, because he definitely does. However, I do think that after the two of you started dating, there was a noticeable change in his choices. He started to dress in a manner that was suitable to his… Well, everything. He had custom made clothes with logos pertaining to him on them, everything matched his face and body shape, and he was dressed to an absolute T. All thanks to you! He doesn’t even have to ask, you just quietly sketch up designs for jackets and shirts that he can proudly show off at races, and you’ve even helped him customize merch that is both affordable, and fits the aesthetic of most of his fans. Goodbye trashy t-shirts with a logo lazily slapped on, and hello well thought out designs.

You were definitely hired to design some of his merch after the team saw your concept sketches. He was completely clueless to your arrival, but once he saw you he knew there was something irresistible that surrounded you. Your aura was undeniably attractive, and you were a genius when it came to your job. Of course. He loved your sense of fashion, so Charles discreetly asked you out to go get coffee and discuss things some more. Except, the two of you ended up talking and laughing the entire time, so of course you had to reschedule. And then you had to reschedule again because the same thing happened. Then finally you realized what he was doing, and asked him out on an official date. From then on, he proudly showed you off as his girlfriend. No more hiding!

Lewis Hamilton

Makeup artist

Yes, both of the Ferrari boys have their fashion girlfriends. I think if they existed in the same universe they’d be really good friends, too. I think Lewis loves to listen to you rant about different qualities of makeup, and how different makeups can affect break-outs on skin, and how to prevent all that. There’s a lot that goes into your line of work, and he never gets tired of hearing it. I think his favorite thing is hearing you talk about different color palettes and how you decide what colors suit a client best. You’ve definitely done similar things on him, and he stays true to your advice and tries to mix those colors in to his outfits. He also refuses to hire anyone but you to do his makeup for events, and he brings you everywhere he can. Trust that you were attached at the hip during the Met Gala, and that he was announcing to everyone he met that you did his makeup, and how talented you are. Watch out because you’re gonna have so many clients coming your way.

Unlike Charles and his girlfriend, you were not hired to work for him when you met. It was actually more of a meet cute— He was asking for advice in your local beauty shop, because he figured you looked like you knew what you were doing and could tell him what the correct shade of blush was for his niece, who was clinging to his side. You were in awe because holy shit, the Lewis Hamilton was asking you for advice, which you gave while stammering to an embarrassing extent. He thanked you, and asked for your number with the excuse that he might need more advice in the future. You did not hesitate to give it to him, and while he didn’t call for advice, he did call to ask you out properly. Your dynamic is very much so “girlfriend who knows a lot about fashion and boyfriend who pretends not to so he can hear her ramble.”

McLaren ෆ

Oscar Piastri

Food critic

Oh yes, the two of you are most certainly bonding over a shared love of food. Oscar Piastri doesn’t present himself as a foodie, but it’s more of a hidden pleasure of his. I won’t lie, when you first mentioned your occupation he thought it was somewhat funny. Reviewing food for a living seemed like something simple. He took it at the base level ideation and assumed that’s all it was. However, when you got really invested with talking about it, Oscar was quick to learn there was so much more. You discussed about different types of recipes, and methods when it came to baking. You ranted about cuts of meat and how each one had its own taste. With your influence, he quickly became quite the enthusiast himself. So, every time you guys went to a restaurant, you both ordered something entirely new to compare and contrast to past dishes. It was fun getting to try new things with you.

When you first met, it was in a restaurant. One of those crowded places where you ended up shoulder to shoulder with a random stranger because of how busy it was. For you, that random stranger ended up being famous racer Oscar Piastri. Although it was awkward at first, you sparked up soft chatter about the meal. He told you he was having the same thing he always did: pasta. You explained your meal, which was exotic to the both of you. When you expressed your disinterest in the taste he teasingly asked what made you so qualified to comment on such a thing. That’s what he found out. Intrigued by your charm, and your passion for all things food, Oscar couldn’t help but ask for your number.

Lando Norris

Teacher

Lando, in my firm opinion, is fantastic with children. He’s a little immature himself, which gives him that natural charm that makes getting along with children easy. He has no troubles throwing on that enthusiastic tone that lights their brains up. One morning in particular, Lando’s dear friend Max had a huge favor to ask of him: Take Penelope to school. Kelly was out for work, and he was running a high fever, which meant ‘Uncle Lala’ was on duty for the day. Admittedly she was a little late, and she showed up with a smoothie from Lando’s favorite coffee shop and a brand new pair of shoes. While he’s good with kids, he’s terrible at saying no. He walked the young girl into her classroom, and he damn near lost his mind. You were perfect— radiant, kind, soft-spoken but not timid. The dream girl that mirrored him perfectly. Even though you playfully scolded them both for being late, all he could focus on was how beautiful you were.

From that day forward, Lando made it painfully clear that something was up. He offered nearly everyday to take Penelope to school, which Max and Kelly would not complain about. She always returned with a huge grin on her face, recommending that her uncle take her again because he was so fun. However, when she started talking about the flirty comments he’d exchange with her teacher, they realized why he was suddenly taking an interest in the life of their child. Lando loves hearing about your day and listening to the various interactions between the kids in your class. He’s smitten with you and your ability to flawlessly interact with children— Unfortunately this means your relationship is destined to be filled with baby fever from you both. 24/7.

Aston Martin ෆ

Fernando Alonso

Wedding planner

As expected, you meet at the wedding of a mutual friend. You planned everything from the venue to the number of flowers in each arrangement, and both the bride and groom were eternally grateful for your help. It was always much easier to have someone else do a majority of the planning for you while you got to sit back and nod along to every suggestion made. In short, your efforts paid off immensely. When you sat down at your assigned table, you were surprised to see the Spanish man in question not far behind you. He seated himself across from you, reaching a hand out to shake yours politely. He was charming right off the bat, his flirty comments flowing with ease. You almost wondered if you were intentionally set up to sit beside this guy, because your fun-loving personalities matched up nicely. He matched your vibe and you matched his.

Now you were going 20 years strong, each anniversary celebrated more profound than the last. You were teased nonstop by friends and friends of friends about the lack of a ring on your finger. “Twenty years and he still hasn’t made it permanent?” was something you heard more often than you were willing to admit, but in all honesty, neither of you were interested in the concept of marriage. Your love was all you needed to seal the deal. You didn’t require a fancy ring to know that. But finally, after years and years of waiting, Fernando dropped down to one knee to give you the opportunity to finally plan your own damn wedding, and you happily accepted. You harbored no anger towards his decision to wait, because ultimately it made the experience a lot more special. You finally got to be on the other end of things and understand firsthand why people hire you to begin with: Planning your own wedding is not all it cracks up to be.

Lance Stroll

Author

Lance needs the peace and quiet that an author girlfriend brings to his life. He’s a well known introvert, which has yet to go unnoticed by anyone that he’s met. Lance prefers to keep to himself, and tends to distance from individuals who are overly loud. While opposites tend to attract, such an ideal is not the case for this fellow. He dreams of a romantically quiet life, and you’re there to fulfill that for him. You meet in the most cliche spot possible: a library. He’s not even that big on reading, but the spot was quiet and it gave him an excuse to brood in a corner and listen to music. You happened to be doing a book signing that day, which made the joint just a tad bit louder than he would have liked. However, when he saw you sitting at a table with a line extending outside the door, a cute smile on your face… Lance was utterly captivated. Your voice was low, your smiles were awkward, and your hands were trembling. Maybe it was weird, but that was everything he yearned for and more. When people started to clear and you started to pack up, he made a move.

Safe to say that said move was successful. The early stages of the relationship were less than ideal with both of you waiting on the other person to initiate every single thing, but finally you warmed up to each other and fell into a comfortable rhythm with your everyday lives. He cherished the days where he came home from loud engines and bustling crowds to the soft clicking of your keyboard, and the occasional flipping of pages. At the end of the day, no matter how stressful things get, Lance will always be grateful for the safety of your warm embrace as you hold him close to you at night. You’re his rock and his anchor, keeping him safe from the extroverts of the world. The media finds the two of you to be the ideal celebrity couple. Matching aesthetics, personalities, and beliefs. Your relationship is private, but it’s far from a secret!

Alpine ෆ

Pierre Gasly

Social media manager

I thought I was funny for this. You’re not a very good manager, because you’re always sitting there beside him, giggling at every post he scrolls by that’s related to him. With that being said, you always reach out and double tap the screen, liking whatever stupid thing had you guys giggling to begin with. So, to the people who wonder why Pierre is always liking every F1 related post, it’s actually your doing. You’re less focused on your actual job, and more on whatever content other people have managed to come up with. It’s really funny, in your defense. You guys first met because you were hired as the Alpine social media manager, but you always ended up laughing just a tad bit too much with Pierre over your ridiculous ideas that he kept building on to. Half the time you barely were able to execute said ideas, and ended up going with something entirely different.

Pierre loves that he found someone to match his energy and be okay with his teasing, along with tease him back. You’re fun— sometimes even more fun than him. Everyone in the paddock would agree. He loves filming videos and taking pictures with you for social media pages, and he loves even more than you get a little bit more freedom with his personal account and have directly spiced up all of his most recent content. Pierre fans have been wondering why most of his stuff has been a lot more enjoyable. Little do they know, you’re quietly working your magic behind the screen. Sorry Pierre, you get no credit. Although, having a hilarious muse does make it much easier.

Franco Colapinto

Florist

With this little flirt, knowing a lot about flowers actually proves to have some value. Franco’s always going out of his way to impress you: fact. He loves bringing home flowers, especially after triple headers, or just generally weekends that felt extra long without you right there beside him. It’s a new bouquet every time. While it is handpicked and arranged by him, it’s safe to say that Franco actually has no clue what he’s doing; his decisions are based off the initial beauty level of the flower. But, we can’t rule out that he intentionally picks randomly, because he does seem to love hearing you lecture him about flower language. He’s got roses being romantic burnt into his memory, but he can’t quite remember that yellow carnations are supposed to mean rejection. He does remember your face the day you brought them home, though, so he decides based on that. You sounded so sad as you explained the initial idea, and Franco was quick to make something up. So now, you guys decided they meant the love of Franco Colapinto— Yeah. He got his own damn flower.

You, as expected, had a meet cute as well. It came straight from a tacky hallmark movie. You had simply been arranging your outdoor stand one day, when a particularly fast biker flew by, clipping the edge of your stand and sending flowers flying through the air. You were devastated to see your hard work flying through the air and drifting away from you. Thankfully, one kind passerby stopped to help you pick up the lost work. He was handsome in his own, unique way. Somewhat familiar, you were sure. He laughed with you as he helped you set things back up, dropping a few flirtatious remarks that had your cheeks growing increasingly warm. It wasn’t until he dropped a joke related to racing that you picked up on it and breathed out a rather distressed, “Oh my God you’re Franco Colapinto!” He barked out a laugh and nodded to confirm your suspicions. He insisted you take his number. You know, just in case you need help dealing with a runaway biker again. It had nothing to do with the fact he thought you were the most beautiful person alive. No, no way.

Williams ෆ

Carlos Sainz

Baker

Get this man a beautiful baker girlfriend who can make him all the sweets in the world. No, but I did have a thought process for this. First date, he still doesn’t quite know that you’re a professional baker, so he’s going on and on about his incredibly pancake recipe when you mention that it’s your favorite breakfast food. You have a recipe of your own, of course, but you’re intrigued by the way he seems so cocky with said recipe, so you let him make you some when you visit him. And honestly, they’re really quite good! You’re considering replacing your own recipe. You repay his kind offer by baking him sweets— and I mean you really got busy in that kitchen, because you’re probably about to hand over 10 large containers full of sweets with flushed ears that tell him everything he needs to know. He’s a little embarrassed that he was ranting about his tasty pancakes to someone who makes them professionally, but he was happy to hear you sincerely liked them.

Now imagine Carlos’ embarrassment when he recounts how the two of you met to begin with. After a long night, he stopped by a local café to pick up a pick-me-up. You were there, but you weren’t behind the counter. You were standing off to the side, leaning over it as you chatted to the barista with a cup of coffee in hand. He approached the register, and you both paused your conversation so said barista could assist him. When Carlos pondered on a dessert from the display case, you very casually suggested that he take a croissant with that ‘trust me’ sort of vibe. He teases you— asks you what makes you a master of breakfast pastries, and you just shrug nonchalantly and tell him that maybe you have ‘insider’ information. He assumes you’re a regular by now, and accepts your suggestion. He gets the croissant. And your number. And a first date… And the embarrassment of finding out way too late into your relationship that you’re the damn baker for the café. That was your insider info.

Alex Albon

Veterinarian

The more obvious choice, yes. While I was afraid this might be too on the nose, I think it makes a lot of sense, really. He has a lot of pets. What does a guy with a lot of pets often do? He takes them to the vet. Alex already takes great care of his pets, so this visit was a little out of the ordinary. His cat had fallen ill, and he needed to get the proper medicine to care for her. But there was you, the newest hire at the clinic who seemed so good with his pet. You gave her treats to keep her distracted as you checked her out, ensuring the man that this was just a common sickness and would pass, but if he wanted he could slip some allergy medicine into her food next time. He was forever grateful. But then, suddenly his pets were falling injured or ill left and right. A man who rarely visited the vet was now becoming a regular, always coming up with some sort of concern. “Doesn’t her leg look weird?” “Nope, looks good to me.” You eventually caught on, and told him that at a vet clinic there was no rules against dating clientele. Now, there was rules against dating patients, but that was because your patients were animals.

He works well with your nonchalant charm. You’re easygoing and laidback, and that’s just what Alex needs. He appreciates having someone he can chill with because his life is often so chaotic that it’s hard for him to take time for himself. Therefore, he has you now. Plus it’s always nice to no longer have to visit the vet when you can now just stop by his house for a quick check up. It becomes even easier when you move in with him, because instead of being worried he can just rely on you to tell him when things are wrong and need to be taken more seriously. All in all, he found an absolute keeper, and the internet won’t stop encouraging him to put a ring on it to ensure nobody else does. Although, not sure anyone needs a veterinarian quite like Alex Albon does. So, I think he’s safe for now.

Visa Cash App Racing Bulls ෆ

Liam Lawson

Actress

I like to think you actually met when filming the F1 movie. You’re a background support character in the film, and Liam was just there to play himself, much like all the other drivers. You two managed to bump into each other, and it seemed like day to day conversations started to take place. You’d share a joke you heard while standing behind him at the coffee making station, or catch him up on the latest set gossip in passing. He was charmed by your wit, and you were charmed by the way he cluelessly fumbled over words around you. Imagine how surprised he was when you asked him out. He felt somewhat disappointed because he had been hoping to have that honor for himself, but he was glad that you reciprocated his feelings.

I think Liam with an actress girlfriend just makes sense anyway. He’s all for the drama you bring to the table, and loves watching every single film you star in, whether it’s a big or small role. He’ll go to every premiere, red carpet, and gala you’re invited to as your plus one. Not only does he love to show his support, but he also realized early on that he gets to meet a lot of his own idols this way. You have lots of connections, and he now has a stack of autographs from famous celebrities at home. It’s a win-win.

Isack Hadjar

Photographer

Your first time meeting Isack was actually a little chaotic. The team hired you to shoot some shots from the first practice on Friday. It was experimental, because it was their first time hiring you, and it was your first time working for a huge company, let alone shooting athletic shots. When it started raining, you hadn’t even noticed. You were so focused on capturing everything perfectly, and with the right settings, that eventually you were completely drenched without a care in the world. It was really down pouring. Subsequently, teams were pulled in from the nasty weather to dry off and warm up. You, however, were still perched in the stands out in the rain, laser focused on your camera. Isack, ever the gentleman, came out with an umbrella and held it over your head. You hadn’t even realized he was there until you felt his shadow cast over you. You looked up, and nearly dropped your camera. You were stuttering all like “Oh- It’s- Oh no, it’s you- Gah, I’m so sorry!” Which only confused him more. You explained you were meant to be taking shots of his team today, but all the ones you got were bad. You were better with portraits. He was stunned by you too. You were beautiful, even with your wet hair plastered to your face and your clothes soaking wet. So, with red cheeks himself, he invited you in to take some portraits, which would hopefully give you a chance at staying with the team. And you did! Which then gave him enough time to work up enough courage to make a move.

You’re a little scatterbrained, it’s true. Every-time you come to the paddock, you’re in a panic as you ramble about how you accidentally left your SD card at home in your laptop, and that your whole reason for coming was now ruined because you didn’t have a way to take photos. Isack reassured you that missing one race wouldn’t be the end of the world. Besides, he ended up finding your SD card in your purse when you asked him to grab your phone. You’re lucky to have found him, because he certainly helps keep you grounded. You’d probably have floated off into space without Isack there to hold you down and keep you steady.

Kick Sauber ෆ

Nico Hülkenberg

Sommelier

You were evidently flawless at your job. You knew everything there was to know about wine, and all of its pairings with food. It was an elegant and refined drink to be saved for fancy events, much like the one you met your beloved at. Your relationship has been in the making for about three years now, and despite its… Awkward start, the two of you have been developing nicely. There was an event for F1 drivers hosted at a vineyard, and you were hired to take care of the wine: a rather simple job. Famous people weren’t a surprise to you anymore, but as you were sharing with your audience the history behind the drink you picked out, you felt your breath leave your body in an untimely manner. That was when he walked in, stealing away your attention. Salt and pepper stubble, a lazy smile, and an appearance that screamed ‘just woke up from a nap in the sun’ in the most endearing way possible. You, a normally charming and easygoing woman, were caught off guard and ended up muttering something stupid like “this wine is… fermented” followed by a nervous laugh, which cued your audience to chuckle along with you.

He teased you later. Of course he did, because how could he not notice the way you’d freeze as you quietly eyed him. When you were setting up glasses, he approached from behind, and you immediately turned around at the sound of his voice, which consequently sent one of the glasses flying. Nico, a man trained in his reflexes, caught it with ease that made your heart flutter. Thank God you managed to snatch him up, because nobody had ever made you feel such a way. It didn’t matter if he didn’t win on the track, because everyday he came home to the most beautiful woman possible, who’d shower him with lots of well deserved love. Plus, you always knew what wine would suit his mood. Yeah. He made the correct choice.

Gabriel Bortoleto

Streamer

We know how brain-rotted Gabriel is. You can’t tell me he doesn’t have a favorite streamer too. It’s you. Before you guys started dating he was a fan. He found your unique commentary on games to be interesting and the way you played— yada yada. Truth be told, he just thought you were pretty and funny. He even suggested through donations (under a secret account name, mind you) that you play one of the F1 games. With the money you earned from the donation, you bought it and showed the whole world just how awful you were. Gabriel secretly messaged you on instagram, claiming he had just found you when you were playing F1 24, and would love to come properly teach you how to play on stream. You agreed, of course. And it was a success. After the cameras turned off, he shyly admitted that he had actually been a fan of yours for awhile, because he felt bad for deceiving you. You just thought it was cute, and offered him the opportunity to come back if he so wanted.

Now, Gabi is a frequent feature on your streams. Not necessarily just as your partner in multiplayer games, but he can be seen on your face cam. Maybe he’s sleeping in the background, or he just happens to pass by. Sometimes he’ll even come give you a kiss in front of thousands of viewers, acting like he forgot you were streaming when in reality it was done intentionally. Sneaky bastard. Your fans love him, but Gabriel also loves to remind them that you’re a happily taken girl. You don’t mind anyway. It’s nice to see your longterm fanboy staking his claim in a way he thinks is secretive. Trust that you know… You always know what he’s up to. There’s no hiding it. Don’t be surprised if he starts spamming your chat with italian brainrot. Imagine having to explain to newcomers that it’s a regular thing, too.

Haas ෆ

Oliver Bearman

Artist

This is a pair nobody expected, to be honest. The Haas team was directed by PR to show up to an art event. Apparently the establishment was sponsoring them for the next race, and it was the polite thing to do. Oliver didn’t really care— He wasn’t a fan of PR events and media. He was outgoing and charming, but he tended to keep his life private for the most part. But he was glad he went, because when he saw you on a shaky ladder hammering in a stubborn nail with frustration, he knew you were someone to keep him on his toes. You had on overalls covered in paint. Some was fresh, but most of it seemed deeply imbedded in the fabric, like you wore them just to get them dirty. Your arms, too, were covered in colors. It was quite the sight. When you saw him, you dropped your hammer. Right on your foot, and then it tumbled down the ladder to fall unceremoniously on the ground. You hissed as you descended the ladder, jittery with excitement. You greeted him with a very enthusiastic handshake, announcing how you didn’t think he’d show up. You kept rambling, and he kept listening. Eventually you asked him if he could sit still, and he said yes, to which you replied with, “I wanna sketch you, then. You have this beautiful angelic vibe and I need that.” So, if that’s not forward I’m not sure what is.

It’s true. You’re his joy, and he’s your muse. And, for what it’s worth, Ollie was right. You certainly do keep him on his toes because he never really knows what’s next with you. You’re vibrant and fun and you love nature— The stereotypical small town girl who falls madly in love with a city boy. You like to run through tall grass barefoot and paint in the middle of giant fields whatever your heart desires, and now you’re dating Oliver Bearman. But it’s a good thing, because you both have changed each other in the best way possible, and even though you’re so different, you work harmoniously in a healthy relationship. You’re both happier than you’ve ever been, truly.

Esteban Ocon

Model

This man is TALL. He needs a tall girlfriend to sit by his side, and that just so happens to be you. You met at a huge gala for F1, where various other celebrities were invited to bring more attention to the sport. You’ve always been a fan, so you were glad to have the opportunity to meet a lot of the people you had admired for so many years. One of those people was Esteban Ocon. He was hated by his own community, regarded as one of the least likable people around, but you saw through that. This was a sweet guy with a bad reputation over one incident that took place many years ago. He was a bit surprised when you intentionally sat down beside him and introduced yourself with a huge smile and a delicate handshake. You were beautiful. It was almost too good to be true. He couldn’t let go of an opportunity like this, so he clung to you the entire night and asked if you’d be willing to see him again. Of course you would.

He supports your career through and through. He admires your skill, and all the thought that goes into modeling. It’s truly impressive. In turn, you support his racing career. You frequently feature his races, and while you do try to avoid the cameras, it’s impossible to not be featured when reacting on occasion. You have a loving dynamic— almost the perfect couple, and everyone in the paddock knows it. You’re the type of people to solve every disagreement by calmly talking it out. You’re the type of people to live by the rule “never go to bed angry.” You both get bad reps. In his community’s mind, Esteban is cruel and vicious and impossible to like. In your community’s mind, you’re stuck up and bossy and rude. So, together you make a perfectly misunderstood pair that understands one another. Delightful, right?

[delilahsturniolo]

⟡ ݁₊ ᥫ᭡ ceo!matt finally getting to taste you after a long day of work

.ᐟ oral, (fem!recieving) fingering, kissing, dirty talk, pet names.

(credits to @sturnslutz for ceo!matt)

matt comes home after a grueling day at the office, his mind filled with thoughts of nothing but you. as he walks through the door, his eyes immediately find you, sitting there on the sofa in the lingerie you know he loves. the lacy fabric clings to your curves, showcasing the body he's been dreaming about all day.

“hey, how was work?” you looked up at him, watching as his eyes scanned your body. he sets his briefcase down. “long.” he huffs, all he wanted was you in that moment. “yeah?” you tease. he crosses the room in a few long strides, not able to contain himself, sweeping you into his arms. his lips crash into yours, urgent and demanding. he kisses you deeply, his tongue delving into your mouth, claiming you as his own. you melt against him, your body molding to his as the kiss deepens.

"i've been thinking about you all day," he growls, his voice low and thick with desire. "about how much i want to taste you." your breath hitches. "i need you," you whisper against his lips, your voice breathy with desire. "i need to feel your mouth on me."

matt doesn't need any more encouragement. he lifts you easily, his strong arms carrying you to the bedroom. he lays you down on the bed, his eyes dark with lust as he takes in the sight of you, spread out before him like a feast. "you're so beautiful," he murmurs, his hands running over your body, caressing every curve. "been waitin’ all day for this pretty pussy..”

he starts at your neck, kissing and nibbling his way down. he lingers at your breasts, sucking and licking your nipples until you're writhing beneath him, your hips bucking up to meet his. but he doesn't stop there. he continues downward, trailing kisses over your stomach, your hips, until he reaches the juncture between your thighs.

"please," you beg, your body aching for his touch. "please, matt." he looks up at you, a wicked grin on his face. "i love hearing you beg f’me pretty girl..” he says, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. "but i'm going to make you scream."

with that, he lowers his head and licks you, one long, slow stroke that has you crying out in pleasure. he licks and sucks, his tongue delving into you, tasting you deeply. he laps at you like you're the sweetest thing he's ever tasted, like he can't get enough.

"fuck—taste so good," he growls, his voice muffled and vibrating against you. he focuses on your clit, sucking it into his mouth, his tongue flicking over it. you're panting, your hips bucking, as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. your hands fist in his hair, holding him against you as you rock against his mouth.

"matt," you moan, your voice high and breathy. "i'm so close. please, don't stop." he doesn't. he keeps licking and sucking, his mouth working you until you're teetering on the brink. then he slides a finger inside you, then another, pumping them in and out as he sucks hard on your clit.

that's all it takes to send you flying over the edge. you come with a scream, your body shuddering, your hips bucking wildly as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. matt keeps licking you through it, his tongue gentle now, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from you.

when it's over, he crawls up your body, kissing his way back up. he kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. "you're incredible," he whispers against your lips. you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close. "i love you," you whisper back, your voice still breathy from your orgasm. he smiles against your lips. "i love you too," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "you know what? my meetings can wait.”

with that, he starts all over again, kissing and caressing every inch of your body until you're lost in a haze of pleasure, his name a constant refrain on your lips, you grab his tie, pulling him closer and deeper into your lips, awaiting a long and special night between the both of you.

© delilahsturniolo

💌: oh this isn’t the last blurb by the way, there’s more to come 😉

[lazysoulwriter]

all of you – pedro pascal .✦ 💗💜💙

requested! thank you. content: bisexual reader, supportive boyfriend Pedro, emotional vulnerability, happy tears, gentle comfort, pride month post, fluff

---

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him.

In fact, that was what made it so hard — the fact that he was so good. So kind. So warm and affectionate and loving in a way that had felt safe from the very beginning.

Which was why the fear felt so out of place.

But it still lived there — in the corners of your heart where other people had left scars. In the memory of past boyfriends who reacted with disgust, with jealousy, with objectification. Who either treated you like a porn category or something broken.

So even though Pedro had never been anything but respectful… your hands still trembled a little when you reached for his one night, the words thick in your throat.

“I wanna tell you something,” you said quietly. “And I know it’s not a big deal to a lot of people, but it has been before, for me. And I just need you to… be gentle.”

Pedro immediately put down the book he’d been reading and gave you his full attention, thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Always, baby. You don’t ever have to be afraid with me.”

You took a breath.

“I’m bi.”

There was a beat.

Pedro’s face didn’t twist or change. Didn’t flash with questions or discomfort. He just looked at you, full of something impossibly soft.

“Okay,” he said, with a small nod. “Thank you for telling me.”

You blinked, surprised by how gentle his tone was. And then your chest tightened when you realized—

That was it. No prying. No jokes. No “threesomes” or “you’ll leave me for a woman someday” bullshit. Just… warmth.

“I’ve had really bad experiences,” you admitted, voice cracking. “People either don’t take it seriously or make it into some kind of fantasy for them. I just—I’ve been afraid to tell people. Especially guys I’m dating.”

Pedro’s grip on your hand tightened, but gently. He brought it to his lips. Kissed each knuckle.

“I’m so sorry they did that to you,” he murmured. “That’s not love. That’s not seeing you as a full human being. And I do. I see all of you.”

Your eyes filled with tears. He brushed them away with the pads of his thumbs, cradling your face like you were made of porcelain and love.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, voice low and thick. “And I love that you trust me enough to share this. I don’t care who you’ve loved before. I care that you’re here. With me. Letting me love you.”

You threw your arms around him and cried into his shirt — not from sadness, but from the weight of finally being held right.

-

A few days later, you got a quiet tap on the shoulder while you were getting dressed.

“Can I ask you something?” Pedro asked, holding his phone sheepishly. “It’s totally up to you, zero pressure, but… I was thinking about making a little Pride Month post. Just something sweet. I’d love to include you, but I’ll only do it with your full blessing.”

You stared at him, stunned. “You want to post about… me?”

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Because I’m proud of you. And I want to celebrate you. Loudly. But only if that feels good for you.”

You kissed him hard for that one. Then nodded.

And that afternoon, he posted a picture of the two of you cuddling in bed — your face mostly buried in his neck, his lips pressed to your temple.

The caption read:

happy pride month 💕 especially to my beautiful bisexual girlfriend, who teaches me every day what love looks like in full color. you are seen. you are loved. always. 🌈

The internet, of course, lost it.

“Pedro Pascal being an ally is my Roman Empire.” “bisexual gf rights forever 💗💜💙” “he didn’t just say ‘love is love’ he said ‘MY GIRLFRIEND IS BI AND I LOVE HER’ and i’m sobbing” “protect this couple at all costs.”

But the best part wasn’t the comments. It was Pedro, wrapping his arms around you that night, nuzzling your shoulder and whispering:

“Thank you for letting me love you out loud.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

[trulyumai]

Pizza and Mishaps

Synopsis: You have captured Poindexters' attention. Always, he waited for you, watched and listened for your arrival to the shared complex. This time, he caught you waiting in the snow for your delivery driver. And who was he to leave you all alone? Warnings: Brief mention of stalking, light obsession, watching, pining. Fluff! So much fluff. Pairing: Benjamin Poindexter / Reader

The snow had been falling since before noon, whisper-quiet and relentless. By six o’clock, the city had turned to static—blanketed cars, muffled traffic, and sidewalks packed in white silence. You stood at the top of the apartment building’s front steps, bundled in a thick blue sweater with the sleeves tugged over your hands, peering out into the icy swirl with expectant eyes. Somewhere out there was your pizza. Probably lost. Maybe frozen.

Ben had been standing by his door for five minutes.

He hadn’t meant to. Really. He was just heading out to grab his mail—something he already did three times a day now, ever since you moved in two months ago. Not to stalk. He wasn’t like that. He was just...paying attention. Just in case you needed something. Like protection. Or salt for your stairs. Or someone to talk to when you were walking back from the subway with your headphones in and that look in your eyes that meant today had been a lot.

But right now? You weren’t even looking at him. You were watching the snowfall like it was something sacred, nose pink from the cold, bouncing slightly on your toes like it might speed the delivery up. You looked ridiculous. And beautiful. And warm, somehow, even standing in the chill.

Dex’s throat felt tight.

Your sweater was oversized again—he liked when you wore those, how they made your hands disappear and clung just enough to your shape when you moved. This one had little flecks of silver woven into the threads. He’d noticed them when he passed you in the stairwell that morning. Now the hallway light caught them again, soft and shimmery like frost.

He had no business looking at you like this.

You weren’t for him. You were for good people. People who didn’t have to clench their fists just to stay calm. People who didn’t sit in the dark at night trying not to think about the way your shampoo smelled when the wind caught your hair on the balcony. He wasn’t supposed to want anything.

But God, you made it so hard.

Especially when you turned suddenly, catching him there—standing with the mailbox open like he’d forgotten what he was doing.

You blinked, then smiled. “Hey, neighbor.”

Dex swallowed. “Hey.”

Your cheeks puffed a little as you breathed into your palms for warmth. “I think my pizza’s dead in a snowbank. Starting to lose hope.”

He smiled faintly, trying not to let it reach his eyes too much. “Need a search party?”

You gave a little laugh. “Only if you come with a shovel and thermal goggles.”

Dex hesitated. Then stepped forward, slow and careful. His boots didn’t make a sound on the carpet. You always smelled like cinnamon in the winter. And he was close enough now to see the flutter of your lashes where snow had started to collect on them.

“You really shouldn’t stand out here too long,” he said gently, voice low. “You’re freezing.”

“I’m okay,” you said, and nudged him with your elbow, teasing. “Just being dramatic.”

He could feel the echo of your touch long after it was gone.

“Still,” he murmured, shrugging out of his own black coat. “Here.”

You blinked. “Ben, no—I’m just waiting—”

He didn’t say anything. Just held it out, eyes fixed on the pink of your nose and the way you were starting to shiver beneath that sweater. Not for long. But enough.

You stared at him for a beat.

Then slowly, you took it.

He hadn’t expected you to put it on right there in front of him, but you did—slipping into the warmth of it with a quiet sigh, tugging it around you until it swallowed the sweater whole.

“...Wow,” you mumbled. “Okay. This is really warm. Like illegally warm.”

Dex smiled, barely. “Military-grade.”

You looked up at him with those eyes of yours—mischievous, unguarded—and he swore his heart did something it shouldn’t have. Something not normal. Not safe.

“Thank you,” you said softly, then leaned against the rail again. “You’re always so nice.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

So he stood with you.

Waited for your pizza with snow collecting on his hair and hands shoved in his pockets like it might keep all the things he wanted to do—to you, for you, because of you—from showing on his face.

And when the delivery car finally came, skidding through the snow and crunching to a stop on the curb, Dex didn’t say anything else. He just opened the door for you like he always would.

Because for you?

He’d be good.

Even if it killed him.

[lavendermatchastrife]

Give Me The Last Four Of Your Credit Card…

warnings: 18+ mdni, sexual content, like explicit, unprotected sex, cursing, sugar daddy!gojo x sugar baby!reader, chubby reader, alt reader/goth reader, obsession, the most minor stalking ever, switch!gojo if you squint, not a slow burn more like warm hot on fire, reader is the bratty tsundere type, gojo is the sappy (lowkey) yandere type, cheating (not gojo), dw they match each others freak, heavy spending, money talks, eat the rich, unspecified POC reader, short multi-part series

summary: pretty girl with a broken heart? nothin’ a sexy sugar daddy (who also happens to be your neighbor) can’t fix!

wc: 9.3k

a/n: I decided to make this a couple parts rather than one condensed long-fic! pls enjoy, comment, reblog, whatever ur heart desires! I am open to suggestions and headcanons for my future/developing parts :3 <3 as stated in the drabble I did, this is based off of the Summer Walker song!!^

•

What was the point of having a heart in this world?

Your ex-boyfriend was disgusting, in every sense of the word. Left his shit everywhere, came and went as he pleased, spent your hard earned money, never washed his own dishes or did his own laundry, and used a fucking single bar of soap to wash himself. You thought cheating on you was the last straw, but that nasty shit was it. A bar of soap, if he was spending your money the least he could do was get actual shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. And moisturize for god's sake.

You put up with so much because you really thought you loved him. This time though, you were truly tired of him and tired of constantly having a broken heart. To hell with love, you certainly didn’t need “love” from anyone, let alone from someone as broke as he was. (The kicker was that he came from wealth, he just didn’t want to share any of it with you.) You were done with that way of living, done with giving yourself away for absolutely nothing in return. Your love from now on would be conditional. If that meant you’d be a man hating spinster for the rest of your life then oh, well. So be it.

You threw him out with all of the things you bought him. Kicked him to the curb despite his begging and pleading with you to give him another chance. Nothing he said would change your mind, but it sure was a sight to behold. You almost enjoyed seeing him grovel at your feet as you stood firm in your doorway. For once, in the entire span of your relationship, he was attempting to worship the ground you walked on. Too little too late.

He kicked up quite a ruckus, literally wailed while he kissed your ankles and you rolled your eyes. The neighbor in the unit next to you even poked his head out to see if everything was alright, and as his pretty blue eyes met yours you quickly looked away. His smirk was lost on you, and despite your lack of interest he still made his way over to the pathetic display. You sure were beautiful in your long black silk robe, fluffy black slippers, and that scowl plastered across your face had him practically drooling. He loved a woman with an attitude, and from the looks of it you’d have a nasty one.

“Everything alright, over here? Is he bothering you?” The handsome stranger tipped his rounded black sunglasses low, just to stare down at the man kissing your feet.

“This is your business, how?”

“You just looked like a sweet damsel, figured I could swoop in and save the day.” You snorted and rolled your eyes ready to tell him to take a hike, “Just kiddin’, these walls are thin and you guys have been fighting for hours. Came to see if there was anything I could do to help ya out.” This had your ears pricked with curiosity, if you thought about it, the walls were thin. You were mortified, on more than one occasion you’d heard your neighbor rustling around, his television going, occasionally he’d have a guest over. It never clicked that maybe he could hear you as well, it only made sense that he would.

You gave the lanky man a thorough look over. He was very good looking, he wore an expensive baby blue buttoned top, ironed black slacks, and perfectly polished shoes. You made a noise of contemplation, everything about him, from his maintained yet unruly white hair, perfect teeth, and manicured nails, even those douchey sunglasses, screamed wealthy. What the hell was he doing in these apartments? Well whatever his reason, maybe you could at least use him a little.

“I’m kicking this loser out, he’s a bum and he’s broke. I’m tired of him.” You tried to appear as if you were cold, vein, maybe even money hungry. You inspected your nails as your ex continued to plead with you to let him back inside, and you shooed him away with your foot. “Man, get the hell off me, I’m done with you. Get a job, make some real money, then maybe I’ll call you back.” You picked up the last of his things from behind you and threw it right at his pathetic face, and then pointed your sharp polished index finger at your neighbor. In the same demanding tone you used on your ex, you bit out, “Make him leave and I don’t know, give me five hundred bucks and then maybe I’ll give you my number.” You slammed the door in both of their faces, not waiting for the handsome man to respond to you. You couldn’t see his face (heart eyes, warmth in his cheeks, definitely beginning to drool.), he was probably insulted (he really wasn’t), but it didn’t matter to you in the moment. You were just so pissed off at what you came home to, you needed to think.

Your heart was racing, the last thing you needed was another too handsome man, barreling his way into your life just to wreck it. You felt bad that your first time actually talking to the cute guy next door was such an embarrassing scene. He didn’t deserve the way you brushed him off, or the clipped tone of your voice. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, you could tell he was genuinely concerned. You sighed then and paced your apartment, not paying any mind to the rustling outside of your apartment door and the frustrated pleading from your ex. You decided, after only a few minutes of contemplation, to hike over and apologize to the man. So you hopped in your shower, slipped on some actual clothes, and went to go knock on his door to apologize.

Or at least that’s what you planned on doing, but he was already right outside of yours. He held out a wad of cash and a tiny gift bag, from a jeweler way outside of any budget you could ever even dream of placing. You stared at it then back up at him, and he wanted to melt right into a puddle. Your eyebrows were drawn in, completely confused at the sight before you. God you looked so perfect, he needed to see more of your expressions up close. Meanwhile, as he stared down at you and shamelessly took you in, you had to stop yourself from gaping at him. How did he manage to clean up even nicer than when you saw him earlier? How did he manage to get you a gift and pull out money in the short time it took you to freshen yourself up. You were certain you took less than twenty minutes to scrub your day away, and only ten minutes to put on some simple makeup. You threw on a thin strapped black sundress, because it was at the top of your clean laundry bin, and you hadn’t even put on proper shoes, still in your house slippers from earlier. Where did he find the time?

“What, uh-” you blinked at the little bag as he took your hand and gingerly placed it in your open palm. He made sure to stuff the cash inside of it, too. “What is this for?”

“Being so damn beautiful.”

“Excuse me?” You backed away, intrigued and intimated at the same time. What did he want from you, was this hush money? Did he kill your ex? You glanced at the bundled up leafy greens, a thick stack of hundreds. You’d never seen so much in one place, you didn’t even want to know what was in the bag. You hesitantly stepped back towards him, took a look around outside of your door. “Are you pranking me right now?”

“No, I just think a pretty girl like you would be even prettier swimming in my dough and covered in the jewelry I pick out.” Where the hell was that coming from? You blinked up at him, then took a peak at what was inside of the bag. Pearls? Dainty little things, with a pinkish-blue hue, and pretty white gold clasps.

“W-what is this? Are you trying to get something out of me? Listen, I know that guy and I have been less than considerate, and I do apologize. But if you think I’m easy-!”

“No, no! I don’t want anything but your number, I just think you’re wasted on trash like him. I could get you things, I could take care of you. I have cash, like, not to brag-a lot of it. Honestly, you don’t even have to give me your number, just keep the gift.” He was rambling, if you had known him before, you would know that this was totally unlike him when it came to women.

He was your average Casanova, if he wanted someone all he had to do was snap his fingers. He had people from all walks of life swooning, his smooth talking landed him dates with models and movie stars. He was tragically handsome, disgustingly wealthy, and incredibly smart to top it all off. He was more than the whole package, and he knew it. But when you stared at him with your shining doe eyes it reduced him to a blubbering mess.

You stared at the money, the pearls, then your gaze found his once more. You studied his captivating blue eyes, then chewed on your bottom lip as you thought. You supposed you could give him your number. After all, he gave you more than the ridiculous dollar amount you threw at him earlier, and he got rid of your ex. Truthfully, you didn’t even want his money, it was meant to be a deterrent. And maybe you wanted to be a little bit mean.

Shit, you were easy! You flicked your head towards the inside of your apartment. Told him to take his shoes off as he clambered inside, and plopped the precious items in your hands onto your coffee table. He realized, as he looked around, that your apartment layout was exactly like his just mirrored. He stood in your entryway and appreciated the way your home was decorated and furnished.

There was soft, warm, inviting ambient lighting. A fluffy black rug placed in the center of your living room underneath the mahogany coffee table, it contrasted perfectly to the polished wooden floors. A black cushiony loveseat was pressed against the back wall of your living room. A smaller television was placed on a stand that matched your coffee table, pushed against the adjacent wall. Your apartment had a patio directly outside of your living room, the glass doors were hidden beneath black curtains. A singular trailing plant hung near it in a clay pot and dark grey woven hanger. Overall, it was very tidy but hardly looked lived in, the only real indicator were framed photos of you and some friends that lined the walls or were placed on your tv stand. There were a few pillows scattered about, from when (he assumed) you were fighting with your ex earlier. He thought he heard thudding from you throwing things at him, and the pathetic mewling from your ex in response would be, “Awe c’mon baby don’t be like this. She didn’t mean anything to me!”

You snapped your fingers to get his attention, and then pointed at your small sofa, indicating that he should sit. It was wordless, and he obeyed just like a dog. You could almost picture it, his tail wagging rapidly, his ears drawn slightly back but in hesitation not fear. The mental image brought a smile to your face that you quickly wiped so as to not catch his eye. You shuffled towards your tiny open kitchen, brought two glasses and a bottle of champagne you’d splurged on the night before. The memory brought a sour taste to your mouth.

Earlier that day, you had just been promoted at the job you’ve worked at for close to five years. It was very sudden and it took you by complete surprise. You figured you were going to be stuck in limbo with the same pay, same hours, same boring routine for another five years before they recognized how capable you were. That wasn’t the case, and they’d given you a couple more dollars and a title that probably didn’t exist. Those little details didn’t matter to you, though. You needed the raise, times were tough, you’d been saving up to go back to school and finally finish your degree; this could really help you out. So you bought a bottle of champagne to celebrate the news with your long time boyfriend. Who you were sure would be just as ecstatic, considering all he seemed to do was spend your hard earned cash on himself.

Just like a movie, you opened the door to your apartment, bottle in hand, keys thrown to the side. The place was eerily silent, abnormally dark. As you made your way to your room looking for your boyfriend, you heard the shower going in the bathroom adjacent to it. You shrugged, opened the door like you’d done countless times for the last year you’d been living together. And the sight before you, caused a loud gasp to rip from your throat and almost made you lose grip on the expensive bottle still clutched in your hands.

“What the fuck, Naoya?!” There he was, naked with his tongue down your best friend’s throat in your shower. One hand was on her hip. That god damn single bar of soap was clutched inside of the other.

Needless to say, the fight was ugly, you’d rocked the girls shit and his. You really didn’t want to put your hands on your (now ex) friend, but she knew what she signed up for when she hopped into your man’s pants in your apartment no less. Not a hair of yours was out of place, not a scratch was on your face or body, but you did break a nail. There went the hundreds of dollars you’d splurged on a manicure that day too.

Just thinking about it all got your blood boiling and you slammed the glasses down in front of you while you huffily plopped yourself on the couch next to your neighbor. He jolted at your hard movements and the dip in the cushion beside him. His body tensed when you leaned over to pour the sparkling beverage into your respective glasses. His eyes widened as you were just a breath away. Sweat dripped from his brow as you seemed to move in slow motion before him, adjusting the strap on your dress, fixing your hair, handing him his drink.

He scrambled to take the drink from you, “Thank you.” How polite, for all of his apparent confidence before; when you got him alone in your apartment he seemed like a completely different person.

Truthfully, he was just being cautious and a tad reserved, he didn’t think he’d get that far. And yeah, you definitely made him nervous. He’d seen plenty of gorgeous women, but you weren’t just a pretty face. You were the woman that plagued his thoughts and dreams for almost an entire year. The longer he sat in your presence, the more aware of the situation he became. The potential for what could develop between the both of you caused sweat to form at his brow.

You sat in silence, sipped on the crisply chilled champagne, your eyes definitely avoided one another mutually. You’d never been in the presence of someone so attractive before, you had a bad habit of dating down. Sure they were handsome, but you knew you were way out of any of your ex’s leagues.

The man cleared his throat after a couple minutes of pure silence. “Sorry, where are my manners? I’m Satoru Gojo, I’ve lived next door for the last 11 months or so.” He introduced himself, and you made a disinterested noise. Like the information didn’t mean anything to you, it did, but you didn’t want him to know that.

“I see.” You made no move to return the favor, not that you needed to; he already knew your name, already knew you’d been there long before him. Your name was so pretty, it really suited you. Whether it was your ex shouting it in anger or moaning it in pleasure, he knew it. He knew it and heard it almost every day. It plagued his thoughts, the months he’d lived next to you drove him insane.

Satoru saw you leave your apartment when he happened to be coming home from his own shift on numerous occasions. He didn’t really know what you did for work but the hours seemed brutal, and irregular. It was no secret that your bum of an ex boyfriend was in and out of a job, and relied on his parents' money as well as your money to get by.

Was it creepy that he was basically a fly on the wall when it came to your personal life? Yeah, definitely. It wasn’t his fault, though! He couldn’t control the fact that the apartment walls didn’t properly muffle the sounds beyond it.

It wasn’t like he was stalking you. He just thought you were pretty and sweet, and he didn’t mind how loudly you lived next to him. If you were alone he didn’t throw headphones on or turn his television up to drown out the sound of your life happening beyond that wall. He couldn’t help how attached he became to the idea of you. What was the harm in holding onto knowledge he’d happen to hear through his thin walls? He learned that you stayed up on the nights you were alone watching old horror films, or chatting loudly over the phone with friends. During a fight with your then boyfriend, he learned that you preferred dark chocolate over milk chocolate, and hated cheap jewelry. You loathed the idea of wasting money, especially on things of poor quality.

Half of your fights were about that man spending way too much. They would often go on for hours, and they almost always ended in the loudest rounds of sex ever. Satoru’s head would be squeezed between two of his pillows while he laid in bed. Or if the noise became unbearable, he’d just take a short walk. Your ex sounded terrible, grunted loudly like a beast and you sounded less than amused. You were loud for the sake of it, but it lacked sincerity. Yes, right there! In the flattest tone he’d ever heard. When your boyfriend would finally fall asleep Satoru would hear a loud sigh and then buzzing moments later. He was just thankful that you appeared to be going through a dry spell, lately.

For those times where he felt like more of an intruder, rather than a helpless bystander, he’d try to remove himself in any way possible. He didn’t want to do anything dishonest, after all those moments were incredibly vulnerable. If he was going to hear your voice in genuine bliss, it’d be completely consensual. He wasn’t the type of man to take advantage of an unaware woman, in the throes of pleasure. Even if it was tempting to listen in on your more intimate moments with yourself, out of respect and basic decency, he always removed himself.

The life Satoru led, he tried to be the best version of himself in every aspect. He was the epitome of success in his line of work. He fought hard for the position he held at the company he was employed at. He was known for being a tease, but never someone sleazy. He helped his peers in any way he could, took on overtime to save the rest of his team from more work than necessary. Overall, he wanted to be a good person, someone the people around him could rely on. Coming home, and listening to someone so similar to him yet so different; was almost grounding. It reminded him that there were other hardworking individuals, such as himself, that had their own problems and grievances. It helped him feel a little less alone.

At least that’s what he told himself so he could sleep at night.

He was lonely, and maybe that’s why he liked that he could hear you clean your room or laugh uncontrollably at something your friend would say over the phone. He didn’t have many friends, the ones that stuck around were just as busy as he was and hardly had time for a drink on occasion. His apartment was always quiet, he didn’t have a partner, didn’t have any pets. He went to work, came home, then went to bed so he could rest and then do it all over again. He was comfortable, yet he felt like his life lacked something, he couldn’t figure out what exactly it was. His slight obsession with you, he can’t remember exactly when it started. It wasn’t like it escalated into anything tangible, either. At the end of every day, you still had a boyfriend. You didn’t really notice him, and he didn’t make himself known either. At the end of the day, your vague presence was comforting and at most; entertaining.

“So uhm,” your hesitant voice brought him out of his muddied thoughts. “You said that these walls were thin, how much…how much did you hear earlier?” You asked, finally finishing your glass of champagne, and allowing your gaze to meet his own. You were so close to him, he took note of a nutty-sweat aroma that seemed to surround you. Like cocoa butter or lotion, your hair was damp from a quick shower and your shampoo had to have eucalyptus in it or something. He was blanking on what to say, too distracted by your growing proximity. Did you realize that you were leaning into him?

“Uh, I heard it all.”

“What do you mean by ‘all’?”

“Like, I heard him bring that girl home and fuck her, then I heard you come home and beat the shit out of them, and then I heard you kick him out.”

“Jesus!” You sighed, you were completely embarrassed. He’d heard literally everything. Which also meant he’d been able to hear all of your relationship issues for the entirety of however long he said he’d been living there. Which was mortifying in its own right, but you didn’t want to dwell on that detail for longer than you had to. “Do you know how long he’s been bringing my friend around?”

“I think this is the first time, although I’m not home all the time so who knows. Either way, I haven’t noticed him do this before.” A breath of relief left you, at least that douchebag tried to keep it out of the house for a little while. You eyed the bag on the table, and reached out for it to inspect the jewelry again. As you hastily threw the money aside, you pried open the little white bag. It wasn’t just a necklace, it was a pair of dainty matching earrings as well. It was modest enough, and classy. It was definitely to your taste, you had to admire it.

“These are really pretty.” Your voice trailed off as you pouted and looked to the side, when you felt your mask start to slip you added hastily, “A-although, I’ve seen better!” Satoru chuckled at that, you really couldn’t fool him but he played into it. Intrigued by whatever act you were trying to put on.

“We can do better, want me to get you another set real quick?” He pulled his phone out, pulled up the website of the jeweler and handed it to you. “Go on, pick something out.”

“What’s your game?” You took his phone, (What could possibly be better than pearls?) regardless of your apprehension. If money wasn’t an issue for him, then spending it on yourself wouldn’t be your problem either. He shrugged in response, traced his pretty blues along your hunched over frame. You rolled your eyes, crossed your leg over the other, and hastily scrolled like you were bored with what you were looking at. At that point you just wanted to see how he’d react, but he wasn’t doing anything to indicate that you were upsetting him at all. How did spoiled people even act? Your eyes had never dared to linger on luxury goods, so it was difficult not to widen them when you would see the price attached to some of the items.

To test him, you chose a ring that wasn’t too outrageous, yet plenty expensive. In fact, out of all of the options, it was one of the priciest items listed, despite its simplicity. Gems that were a sparkling dark blue and perfectly cut were encapsulated by a shiny silver band. You didn’t know what material it was made out of, these things were never actually important to you in the past. You cleared your throat, “This will do.” You hadn’t spent much time browsing, the ring was pretty enough, you tried not to think about the price of it. He made a noise of contemplation as he took the phone back from you.

“Is this the one you wanted?” He inspected the little ring, added it to the cart without hesitation, then added a matching pair of earrings for it as well. His finger hovered over the payment options, he hesitated for a second. He might as well get you the full set. So he added whatever else was in the collection to the cart just because he could. The total had too many zeroes attached to the end of it, and you willed your heart to steady. Satoru made a show of checking out, the order number beamed at you on screen and you blinked as if you couldn’t believe what he’d just done for you. Really, what was the catch?

“Do you want, like, sex or something?” You couldn’t wrap your head around the idea of someone just doing something like this for you. Let alone spending outrageous amounts of money on you without even blinking, and without even knowing you.

“If that’s what you want.” He leaned against the back of your couch, slouched his posture comfortably and mimicked your crossed legs. “What do you want me to want from you? Like I said, I just want your number.” He tipped his glasses down, his swirling blue irises captivating yours.

You took his phone, it was still unlocked, and you hastily typed your number into his contact list, the contact read Sugar Baby(?) <3. The whole “transaction” was simple enough, but felt so wrong. What was going on? Why did you feel a heaviness in your chest, it wasn’t the same as being upset. Did you like how it felt when he spent money on you? You’d never had anyone do that for you before, you’d always paid for yourself and then some. There wasn’t a moment you could remember where you weren’t the one that covered your own bill. That included the rent despite living with another person.

There was an ache between your thighs, and you didn’t have to check to know that you were incredibly wet. God, you felt like an awful woman.

“I don’t want a relationship. Probably ever again. If I give you my number, I’m just going to ask you for more money.” You turned your head to the side again, the habit seemed to form naturally as you spoke to your handsome neighbor. You didn’t want to look at him when you were being so childish and dishonest. He seemed nice, but you weren’t about to let some rich stranger steal your heart suddenly.

At the end of the day you knew nothing about him. If you wanted to simplify things, and avoid feeling bad; you could just label him as an eavesdropper that stepped in to help you out and that’s all he’d be. If being a money hungry, selfish person drove him away, then it would be no skin off of your nose. If nothing came of this brief interaction, it wouldn’t mean you’ve lost anything.

“Please do.” He was amused, and really enjoyed your hot and cold attitude. He knew a liar when he saw one, but there wasn’t any harm in the little act you were putting on. It was refreshing being around someone so expressive and confrontational. Especially since he was usually holed up for hours in an office with a bunch of uptight pencil pushers. “You can have whatever you want, do whatever you want.” You realized that despite all of your time in your home alone, that entire evening he hadn’t made a move to touch you. Satoru kept his hands to himself, he wouldn’t even brush his knee against yours. He was entirely conscious of his large figure, and didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

How fortunate was he to be your only immediate neighbor. Not only that, but he was also welcome inside of your cute little home, your safe space. He wouldn’t do anything to ruin that moment. He was thankful that you were in the last apartment at the end of the building. You didn’t have another neighbor on the other side, it’d always felt like it was just him and you. He couldn’t imagine someone else being the lucky one to earn your attention just for living next to you. He’d treasure whatever time he had with you.

For some reason, his transparency had your heart racing. You felt flushed, your body was tense with attraction you have never felt before. Was this really all it took to get you going? A huge wad of cash? A little bit of respect and honesty? It was the bare minimum (not the cash, his actions, that cash was definitely an added bonus), yet you found yourself leaning into him more, against your better judgement.

Your small hands traced along his muscular thighs, the touches were hesitant at first just so you could gauge his reaction. Curious eyes studied his large frame, it slightly trembled beneath your fingertips. He lolled his head towards you, then smiled in encouragement. If that’s how you wanted things to go, then he’d happily indulge. Your insecure fingers trailed upwards, like you were distracting yourself with the material of his nice slacks. “I suppose, if you really wanted to, we could fool around every now and again, too.” You leaned your face towards his own, studied his expression for any indication that he didn’t want what you were about to do. You really needed to relieve the ache between your legs, you hoped that he wanted to help you out with that too.

His firm arms slid around your soft figure, and lifted you so that your thighs could cage him against your small couch. He eagerly nodded along, but you scowled at the last second, and pushed him further into the back of the couch. “Act like you want it then, or I’m not giving it to you.”

“Please, I want it, give it to me, pretty girl.” His voice dripped with sweet honey, his words caused your cheeks to heat with burning excitement.

“Well, fine. But don’t think I’m desperate or anything! This is only because you asked for it.” You reached below to pull your long dress over your head. You continued to try to appear as if this was nothing to you, but never in your life have you ever just hooked up with someone before. Let alone a complete stranger. You tried not to dwell on the fact that you’d only learned his name an hour or so prior. He nodded once again, lazily smiled at your proclamation, because he could see through you entirely. You were incredibly honest where it counted, because his eyes traced how damp your panties were and how hastily you pulled your clothes off.

You helped him undress, it was sloppy and rushed but you just really needed to feel him against you. As you got lost in the moment, your frustration from your previous fight began to melt away. Maybe you really needed this, at the very least, you could see this as being a good way to calm down from the events that previously transpired. Your fingers rushed to unbutton his top, and shove his pants down. They were rushed movements with your growing impatience, so he did everything he could to help you out. Slid his shirt off his shoulders when the buttons were undone. Shimmied his pants off when his buckle was thrown off and the zipper was pulled down.

“You want this here, or your bedroom, baby?” You sighed in sweet relief when you settled yourself back over his awaiting lap. The little pet name made your heart flutter, but you squashed the feeling before you could dwell on it. You would not be swayed by pretty words.

The both of you were finally in your undergarments. Breathing heavily from the growing intensity between the both of you. Harsh panting echoed throughout your otherwise empty apartment. You hadn’t even kissed, barely even touched each other yet, still you felt you were nearly undone already.

With a delicate touch, you cupped his face, scrunched your eyes shut, then sweetly kissed him once. It was soft, so much better than he could ever dream about. It took all of your courage to give him the tiniest smooch, but once you started it was like you couldn’t stop.

“Here. Now. I can’t wait.” You kissed him again, in between your words. Teeth clacked together because of the force behind it. He didn’t mind, if anything it got him going too. Your fingers carded through his fluffy hair, tugged it back so you could bite his lip. God, this was how you kissed? That lucky bastard had you all over him like this and had the audacity to take someone else up on the side?

Satoru wrapped his arms around your waist and hugged you closer to his chest. Then he loosened one of his arms just so it could snake its way around to unclasp your bra. You threw it to the side, then continued to kiss him. Your bare chests rubbed together, it was warm and oddly intimate. You wanted this to go fast, wanted it to be rough because that’s what you were used to. You were a little caught off guard when his hands gently brushed your naked chest. His fingers delicately swirled around your nipples as if he’d hurt you if he applied any pressure.

You were softly moaning already, which was unlike you. You usually waited for penetration before your act began, but you found yourself leaning into his touch like your body was begging for more. You didn’t know that someone else’s touch against your heaving breasts could feel so good. It was usually numb or even slightly stung when your previous partners tugged at them.

Your hips were moving on their own, craving the hardened length underneath them.

He rubbed your sides, and trailed kisses down your neck or across your shoulders. You gasped, and mewled with every touch, every movement. Your hands roughly tugged his hair back again, forcing him to look into your desperate eyes. “I’m not going to beg for it more than this. Tell me what you want.” You demanded, you scraped your fingers along his scalp, grabbed the base of his follicles in a way that had his eyes rolling back. No one had ever been so forceful with him, he was beyond aroused. He didn’t know he liked being manhandled, he probably didn’t, but the way you did it was addictive. He eagerly bobbed his head, because who was he to question you? Who was he to deny you? He could see how clearly you wanted him, and in his eyes, you asked him so nicely.

“Please, can I put it in? I need it, baby, please?” His eyebrows were drawn inwards, his cheeks were on fire, he was going to go crazy if you didn’t say yes.

“It can’t be helped, then. S-since you’re so desperate for it.” You pulled your panties to the side, shoved his black briefs down, and he lined himself up with your dripping entrance. Your face was impossibly warm, your bottom lip was worried, puffy and raw.

You couldn’t lie to him or yourself, the proof was in the pudding that was melting so sweetly all over his throbbing cock. Your body cried out for him, needed him just as bad, if not more.

It’d been a long time since you’d last had sex, not that sex had ever been all that enjoyable for you. You saw it as a means to an end. A way to keep your partners satisfied and happy with you. You’d barely explored mutual pleasure with another person outside of a quick fingering. In that moment, probably for the first time, you were taking control of your sexuality and it was thrilling. He didn’t know it, but the sweet spot between your thighs had never been so wet in your life.

He experimentally shifted his hips upwards, poked at your entrance until it bloomed for him. Like a beautiful flower, your lower petals surrounded him as he sunk inside of you deeper and deeper. A low moan left his mouth, and a desperate sigh escaped yours. “God, that’s tight.” His hands steadied your hips until your lower halves were mushed together. Your pelvises wetly kissed, and you moaned loudly as the tip of his long cock kissed the back of your aching pussy. He was big, it wasn’t anything outrageous like in those raunchy books you occasionally indulged in, but it was certainly bigger than any of your previous partners. He was thick, your walls struggled to swallow him and keep him tucked inside. It was so tight around him that if he wasn’t actively pressing into you then he was sure that he’d pop right out of you from the resistance.

He kept himself inside, so that you could get used to him. He knew he wasn’t the biggest guy out there, but he also knew that his size could mean trouble if he didn’t do things the right way. He already messed up by not preparing you, that was his bad and he’d make up for it another time, but for just that instance he had to feel you. You were gushing around him, so slick that you welcomed him inside easily enough. He didn’t want to move until you were ready, though, so he hugged you against him while you caught your breath. He rubbed your tummy then your burning thighs while he pressed addictive kisses to your drooling awaiting mouth.

Finally, after what felt like hours but in reality was only a couple of minutes or so, you began to move on top of him. You experimentally lifted yourself up, used his shoulders for leverage as you pushed him further into your couch. He moaned again, and squeezed his eyes shut. It’d been a while for him too, and he’d never done it without a rubber so he was having a hard time keeping his impending orgasm at bay. He gripped your hips as you moved up and down at a tantalizing pace.

“I’ve never ridden someone before, so if it’s bad then just do the work yourself.” You huffed out as you continued to lift yourself and then plop yourself down onto his lap. Your pace increased as you spoke, it felt so good and you moved so well that he had a hard time believing you. He threw his head back and shook it, he didn’t want this to end. The friction when your pussy kissed where his dick began drove you wild. Your clit was always left out of the fun before so the stimulation almost hurt, but you didn’t stop. You rubbed yourself against his lower half when you’d drop down, and he lifted his hips to help you feel more. He knew exactly what your body was seeking out.

You poor thing, tears clouded your vision and moans dripped from your lips in time with the spittle.

Your legs were getting tired but you didn’t know how to tell him to switch off with you. Although, as you stared at him from beneath your teary lashes, you figured you didn’t have anything to be scared of. He was incredibly compliant all day, clearly he was more than willing to spend tens of thousands of dollars on you; so he better be okay with putting a little more work into the sex. You paused your movements as you willed courage to enter your body, and you opened your mouth, “I’m tired, lay me down.” Were you being too mean? You didn’t know, because he flipped you over and laid you down as soon as you told him to. He was kissing you and bending your legs at your sides to welcome his body between yours. The couch was small, Satoru’s figure was huge, you didn’t think it was going to work but he was going to make it.

“Anything for you, beautiful. Want me to fuck you?” You nodded your pretty head, and reached your arms around his neck to pull him down and kiss him again. His eyes widened at how openly affectionate the gesture was, and he eagerly leaned into you.You realized you could get addicted to the feeling of him, but didn’t care at the moment what that could mean for the future. Why think about complicated things, when you could unpack everything later? Right now though, you had to feel him inside of you again.

As if sensing your thoughts, he pushed inside again. Snapped his hips and hit a spot that had your back arch off of the couch. You gasped loudly and the most beautiful noises left your mouth. He’d never heard anything like this through the walls, you sounded truly eager.

“Feels good?” He’d never heard your ex ask you that before, and you drew your eyebrows inwards at his question. You found it strange, it made you uncomfortable to talk during intercourse but you guess you could try for him.

“I-isn’t it obvious? Go ahead and move your hips.” You turned your furiously hot face into the cushioned seat of your couch. Tried to cover your expression as best as you could given that you were manhandled and folded into a pretzel. He could see it all though, the golden glow from your cracked blinds and the beating sun outside provided him with enough light in your dim apartment. He saw the sweat that dripped down both of your bodies. Was captivated by your perfect tits that rose and fell with every labored breath you took. Your cute crinkled tummy. Thick stretch mark kissed thighs. It was breathtaking, you were gorgeous, he'd never seen anyone so mesmerizing.

His movements were long and deep, hard when you met in the middle, a sticky squelching sound smacked between the both of you upon impact. As he slid away, thick strands of arousal trailed between your bodies to keep you connected. It was like your pussy just didn’t want to part with him.

Your mind was in a foggy daze, you still couldn’t believe that this was happening. Was the feeling that spread throughout your body so great because it was your first time without a condom? Or was he really just that good at what he was doing? When he sneaked one of his hands between your legs to tease your clit and you felt the hardness inside of you throb in time with your pulsing; you came to the conclusion that it was both.

“H-hey, you’re clean right?” There was no point in asking so far into the game, but you figured you might as well try to be a little responsible.

“Yeah, want me to pull out the results from my last visit?”

“N-no don’t pull out!”

“No I meant-!” You pulled him by the back of his neck to crash his jumbled words against your wet lips. You could take his word for it and worry about the consequences later, it was good enough for you. You didn’t want anything interrupting either of you, you felt too good and by the looks of things he did as well.

Your bodies made a crashing melody throughout your apartment, your voices harmonized as you panted against each other and moaned when it felt too good. His mouth ran a mile a minute, sweet praises that you didn’t want to hear because it was incredibly embarrassing but you couldn’t get him to shut the hell up.

“This feels amazing, you’re the best!” followed by a loud moan and a harsh thrust into you.

“God baby, you’re so tight, you’re so beautiful, I think I’m in love!” followed by another loud moan and an even harder thrust.

“Jesus Christ, I’m losing my mind, is this good for you? Mmmn. Do you like it? God, I’m in love with this pussy!” He enunciated each sentence with a deep thrust as punctuation. You slapped your hand against his mouth, but he wouldn’t stop his deranged mumbling beneath it. You squeezed your eyes shut, you felt that familiar burning at your core and the tensing of your lower half. You were close, and you realized as you almost succumbed to that white hot pleasure, that you were definitely ruining your couch.

“I’m gonna cum, don’t stop, ngh.” You whispered into the air, pulled at his snowy tresses, scraped against his sensitive scalp and he saw stars.

“Are you insane, I couldn’t stop even if God himself tried pulling me off of you. You wanna cum all over me? Do it, I’m begging you to cum for me!” He had a crazed look inside of his bright pooling eyes. How was he so rough yet so gentle? He treated you with care, rubbed your plush sides, pawed at your breasts, nuzzled his nose against your cheek; but his pace was brutal and his hips were relentless. You felt like you’d be bruised before long, which he’d also make up for later. “Shit, c’mon.” His movements slowed momentarily, but didn’t fully stop, it was just so he could focus on your aching clit. Your moans grew in pitch, your tits bounced in time with his thrusts, and god the way his fingers moved against your sensitive bud. It was all too much.

“Ngh! M’gonna cum! I’m cumming, Satoru, fuck!” Crystal drops sprayed against his abdomen, and he moaned like he was the one reaching his high. It was like you’d given him his own sparkling jewelry, and he was more than happy to wear it for you. He frantically nodded his head, brutally continued to rub against your heightened stimulus, and more of that sweet liquid diamond trickled out of you. It was a sight to behold, he’d burn it to the back of his eyelids if his body would allow it.

“That’s it, ngh, just like that.” Finally, his hips snapped into you at that same unforgiving pace as before, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You’d never felt that sensation before, you’d certainly never orgasmed during the act either. With heavy breaths you watched where the two of you connected, your eyes were half lidded with unbridled lust, and your hands hesitantly reached out to trace his chest. Was that okay? Were you allowed to touch him there? “Touch me, please. Wherever you want.” He begged you, as if sensing what you were thinking. And you indulged, scraped your manicured nails against his nipples lightly, traced your fingers down his stomach and across his toned muscles. He was an Adonis among men, you’d have to admit. He gasped and moaned, “Ugh, feels good, fuck. Can I cum inside, please?”

“I-I guess that’d be okay. L-lay down.” You told him, and just like before he didn’t hesitate to maneuver into the position you wanted. If you wanted to be on top again, then that’s what you’d get. You stared down at him as your breaths caught up with each other, his red face and sweat-dripped hair seemed to make him more beautiful. You’d never ridden someone before today, you weren’t sure you were even good at it. But he looked positively divine and so clearly fucked out that you just had to take at least a little of the control back.

You placed your hand on his broad and perfectly sculpted chest as he laid flat against your couch. Experimentally you lifted your aching hips up higher than your last position would’ve allowed, and then heavily dropped yourself down onto his throbbing length. His cock cried inside of you, precum shot out at the sensation of your gripping and pulsing walls. The new position had him so much deeper, you could practically feel him up to your throat.

It continued like that, your hands on his chest and chunky thighs encapsulating him, your plump backside loudly slapping against his skin as you dropped down. “If I’m heavy, speak up now, I don’t want to hurt you.” Your voice was soft and low, you subconsciously pouted as if you knew what he’d say to you. You tried to be mindful of your full weight but as your body got comfortable it’d be harder to control. A terrible blush broke out across your cheeks again, and you bit your pretty spit covered lips in nervousness as you waited for him to tell you to get off.

His hands gripped your hips and plopped you harder onto him, you fell against his chest with your full weight and he moaned again.

“This is perfect, you feel perfect, I love your body on top of mine.” He praised, and you stared into his crazed eyes bewildered. Was he really telling the truth? His hips snapped up into you again, and you nervously lifted and dropped back down to meet him. Your body felt fuzzy, your nose tingled, your mouth craved his so you kissed him. You licked his lips, grabbed his face to open his mouth and he eagerly waited for your next move. “Wanna choke me?”

“W-what?” You became instantly flustered, where did that come from? You just thought his glossy pink lips looked appetizing, and wanted to sneak a quick taste. What was this about choking? He grabbed one of your hands from where it leveraged support, and brought it up to his throat. Then he stuck his tongue out.

“Ahhh.” What were you supposed to do with that? You blinked down at him as your movements came to a gradual halt. He tipped his head back, kept his tongue out, and then took his free hand to where yours was around his throat. He applied just a bit of pressure, and his eyelids fluttered, his eyebrows drew further in. He was hoping you’d get the hint, and just spit in his mouth already. Although, as you leaned down, and experimentally licked his tongue, he was happy with that outcome. You squeezed his smooth throat just a little, used your other palm against his chest as support to move, and leaned down to kitten lick his tongue and face. “H-holy shit, don’t stop.” He said between kisses, “P-please.” He added, and you swirled yourself above him, sank onto him, and repeated every motion until he was seeing stars. “Oh my-I’m gonna cum. Can I cum, please? If you don’t stop I’m gonna cum inside, ah!” He was babbling, tears were in his eyes and you squeezed his throat just a tad bit harder. He gasped, and desperately bucked against you as said tears began to cascade from his ocean eyes and down his gorgeous face.

“Get on with it then, this is taking f-forever. If you’re going to cum, then do it just like this. I’m not about to clean you off of my tits. You already made me ruin my couch.” Your harsh words were cushioned with a sweet kiss to his spit slick lips. You weren’t going to tell him, but you really wanted him to cum inside, you didn’t want to separate yourself from him. You were on the pill, what was the harm in a little extra fun? Your eyes gazed down at his doll-like face, and you sent a short thanks up to god for letting your first creampie be with one of his many angels.

“Fuck, thank you! I’m gonna cum! I’m cumming inside!” His hands gripped you tight, slammed you down onto him so hard it knocked the wind out of you. The spot he knocked against inside made stars appear behind your eyes, and you came in time with him. “Mmm! Ah!” He continued to rut and buck as his hot load shot inside of you. There was so much that it bubbled and dripped down his length and onto his stomach instead. He’d happily clean that off of him, and he’d clean you too if you’d let him.

“Ah, ngh!” You cried against him, your heavy head finally fell to rest against his chest as you both came down from the intense session.

To your surprise, there wasn’t any post-nut clarity that hit you, just exhaustion. You were oddly fine with how things came to be, you were even okay with him scooping you up and navigating the both of you to your restroom. He rummaged through your linen closet right outside of the door, and made a noise of triumph when he found what he was looking for. He placed a towel onto the counter, and sat you on top of it so that the cold porcelain wouldn’t disturb you. You breathed deeply, and heavily as he wiped you down with a washcloth he found in the same closet. It was warm, and you opened your legs when he tapped your knee.

“Thank you.” Your quiet voice filled the silence, and he beamed down at you.

“Don’t thank me, I’m just doing what I should.” He brushed his thumb against your flushed cheek, and you turned your head to the side.

“If you want to stay over, you’re gonna have to buy us dinner.” You didn’t sound as demanding as you tried to appear, and he chuckled as you laid your head against his chest.

“Of course.”

“I don’t want a boyfriend.” As a quieter afterthought you mumbled against him, “Right now.” His deep laugh echoed throughout the quiet bathroom.

“That’s alright, I can be whatever you want me to be.”

“Even if I just want your wallet and dick?”

“Of course, I’d be happy to be your walking wallet. Sex would be nice too, but don’t think you have to put out.”

He could definitely live with that. Especially because he heard you, if all he had to do was wait for you to be ready for something more serious, then well, that wasn’t so bad. He’d been waiting this whole time for you to notice him, what would the harm be in just a little longer? He’d already made his mind up about you, he was going to win your heart, he was sure of it.

“Mind if I pay for your next set of nails, pretty girl? They’re in desperate need of some fixin’.”

“Mm, if you insist.” Your voice was sleepy, and you “angrily” mumbled out, “You made me ruin my couch.”

“I’ll replace that, too, baby doll.”

“Don’t call me that.” You cringed and pushed him away, he laughed again and brushed his nose against yours. He was so handsome, and sweet, what did he really want from you? What was he expecting to gain from all this? At this rate, you were sure you’d bleed his pockets dry. He reached his hand out to smooth down your mussed up hair.

“C’mon, let’s get cleaned up and then we can look at couches together.”

•

a/n: pls use a condom if u don’t know for sure if someone is clean or not, and pls make sure ur buying your jewelry from sustainably sourced shops 😭 ok so the next part will have a bit of a time skip, pls look forward to that! I should release around the same time next week :) please let me know what you thought, I’m open to all comments, questions or concerns!

[rizzlesregal13]

You Think I Don’t Miss Us Too?

AU: Agatha x Fem! Reader 💜

You’d both wanted a baby, a family of your own for so long… but when Nicki finally arrived, you didn’t expect for things to change the way they did. That you could lose yourselves in the journey.

I can’t even lie, this is a complete cathartic cleanse of my soul 🥺💜

I wanted this… to be a mom. Agatha did too. We both wanted a family. A home. A life with fingerprints on the fridge, little muddy shoes in the hallway and giggles echoing down the stairs. But I didn’t realise, no one tells you, that you’re not just saying yes, you’re saying goodbye, too.

Goodbye to slow naked mornings in bed full of lingering touches. Goodbye to spontaneous weekends and dancing in the kitchen at midnight wearing only oversized tee’s and socks because the mood struck. Goodbye to “us” the way we were… reckless, romantic, untethered.

I don’t mean any of that in a sad way, though some days it does feel like grief.

We just didn’t know.

Agatha is sleeping on the couch again, her head tilted at an impossible angle, her mouth slightly open. Nicki’s day cot sits a few feet away, a soft lullaby drifting from the night light nearby. There are spit-up stains on her pyjama top, and her dark hair is pulled into the kind of messy bun that says “I gave up sometime around 3 a.m.” But God, she’s beautiful.

Sometimes, when I look at Agatha now, I remember her as she was… Before this. Before the birth plan, the endless loads of laundry and the bottles always needing to be sterilised. Before we became a family.

Before we lost, and found, ourselves.

***

I met Agatha on a Thursday.

People always expect it to be more cinematic, some enchanted evening thing… but it was an afternoon, I’d spilt my Starbucks takeout down my shirt, and she was standing in line in front of me at the bookstore, flipping through a collection of gothic short stories. I made some awkward comment about Edgar Allan Poe and caffeine, and she turned to me, one brow raised like she could already smell how chaotic a life with me would be.

“I don’t really read Poe,” she said. “But I like women who pretend they do.”

I laughed, breathless. She didn’t.

I was hooked from that moment on.

We were fire and smoke. The kind of love that makes your lungs feel too small. The kind that makes you believe, really believe, that nothing could touch you as long as you had each other.

We moved in together three months later.

I remember the night we signed the lease on this house. It was smaller than we’d wanted, a little crooked in the floorboards, but it had charm. It had us written all over it, even if we hadn’t realised it yet. I opened the front door and Agatha stepped in like she already belonged to it.

The nursery was bare then. Just white walls and a draft we couldn’t place. We sat on the floor, a torn bag of Doritos between us, mismatched mugs filled with warm champagne because all the glasses were still boxed up.

“This’ll be the baby’s room someday,” Agatha said, her voice casual.

I looked at her. “Someday?”

She grinned. “Okay, one day. Like, years from now. After we’ve learned how to keep a plant alive and stop losing our keys.”

I laughed and leaned my head on her shoulder. “You really think we’ll still be here?”

“I think I’ll be wherever you are,” she said, and kissed the side of my temple.

***

And then there was Nicholas…. Nicki.

He was born at 16:35 in a sterile hospital room lit with raindrops sliding down the window, and when Agatha held him to her chest, I swear the entire world went silent. He cried, loud and furious, but the moment she whispered to him, he calmed.

Just like that.

And I knew then, watching Agatha in that moment, that I’d fallen in love with her all over again.

But love… love isn’t always what it looks like in the movies.

No one tells you how even the deepest love can feel fragile when you’re both stretched thin. How the smallest things can break you when you’re sleep-deprived and no one’s had a proper meal in days. How resentment doesn’t come like a storm, it seeps in like damp air, invisible until suddenly the walls are buckling & speckled with mould.

Just like the morning she dropped the dummy in the sink and snapped at me for not washing it fast enough. Like the night I forgot to switch the laundry and she had to wrap Nicki in one of her cardigans after his bath.

Like the week we didn’t really speak.

She’d been distant. Tired. Too tired for conversation, too tired for touch. And I took it personally. I always do. I told myself it was hormones, exhaustion, the adjustment. But part of me wondered, just for a second, if we were breaking.

That scared me more than I can say.

Because I still remembered the way her laugh felt pressed against my chest when we danced barefoot in our living room at 2 a.m., tipsy on boxed wine and the illusion that the world was ours. I still remembered the way she traced stars on my back with her fingers while we made up our own constellations.

I didn’t want to lose her.

So I snapped.

“I feel like I’m invisible!” I shouted one night, after Nicki had finally gone down. My voice cracking like a branch.

Agatha blinked at me. “Do you think I’m not trying?”

“I think we’re forgetting each other.”

She went so quiet.

And then she whispered, “You think I don’t miss us, too?”

She sat on the floor, right there in the hallway, hair hanging over her shoulders, hands in her lap like a child being scolded. And I hated myself for not seeing how hard she was trying. She was healing… physically and mentally. Feeding. Barely sleeping. Pouring herself out, every hour of the day, into the tiny amazing human we made.

I joined her on the floor, knees brushing hers. “I miss you,” I said as I took her hands in mine, our fingers linking.

“I’m still here,” she said. “But I’m tired. And scared I’m not doing it right.”

“You’re perfect,” I whispered.

She laughed, dry and cracked. “You only say that when I cry.”

I wiped a tear from her cheek. “No. I say it because it’s true.”

That night, we curled up on the floor together like we used to, legs tangled, the baby monitor buzzing softly beside us. No champagne this time. Just silence. Just warmth.

It wasn’t a fix, not really. There are no magic spells in parenthood, just the constant decision to stay. To reach out. To see each other, even through the fog.

And God, there’s so much fog… all the damn time.

Some mornings, I feel like a ghost of myself. I catch my reflection and barely recognise the woman staring back. Hair knotted, circles under her eyes like bruises, a cotton muslin draped over her shoulder like a fashion accessory. My body is not the same. My mind is not the same.

But there are flashes of the old me, the old us, in the strangest places.

Like the night Agatha made pancakes at 11 p.m. just because I said I missed the ones she used to make when we were dating. She stood at the stove in her pyjamas, humming some off-key tune, flipping each one with too much flair. Nicki was asleep—finally—and we laughed so hard we cried when one landed on the floor and she shouted, “Five-second rule!” like it was a war cry.

Or the time we changed a diaper at 3 a.m., both half-asleep, Nicki having had a major explosion, and then managing to pee on my chest mid-wipe. I yelped, Agatha screamed, and then we were both howling with laughter, kneeling in a puddle of our child’s bodily rebellion, as Agatha joked we needed to call a priest. That kind of laughter, laughter through pure exhaustion is holy.

These are the things no one tells you to expect. The magic stitched into the mess.

***

Some days I forget we used to sleep in. That we used to eat meals hot and watch movies in full sittings. That we used to make out on the couch like teenagers and disappear into each other like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Now, the world is diapers and nap schedules and wipes stuffed into every corner of the house. It’s alarms for feedings and routines and the occasional two-hour block of uninterrupted sleep that feels like a luxury vacation.

But even in the constant madness, I see us.

I see her singing to Nicki in the bath, her voice soft and slightly off-key, water catching the light on her arms. I see her wiping spit-up from her chest without flinching. I see the fierce, breathtaking tenderness in her blue eyes when Nicki cries and she reaches for him like there’s no other place her hands belong.

Agatha’s a force. She always has been.

She grew our child in her body, carried him through sickness and swelling and fear. And now she carries us both, still.

Sometimes I wonder if she knows how much I love her now. Not just in the way I loved her then… recklessly, breathlessly, but in a quieter, fuller way. Like a tide that never stops pulling toward shore.

Four months after Nicki was born, we had a fight… our worst. I don’t even remember what started it. Something stupid. Something small.

But by the end of it, we were standing on opposite sides of the kitchen, our words like weapons. I said she was too critical. She said I wasn’t pulling my weight. I shouted. She cried. And for a long time, neither of us moved.

Then Nicki cried from the next room.

Without speaking, we both rushed in.

She picked him up, soothed him instantly, and I stood there, heart crumbling, watching the two people I loved most in the world wrapped around each other.

When she looked at me again, her blue eyes were tired. But soft.

“I don’t want to fight,” I said.

“Me either,” she whispered. “But I don’t know how to say what I need anymore.”

And that… that was the realest thing either of us had said in weeks.

So we started over. Again. And again. And again. That’s what love is now. Not perfection. Not passion. But choosing each other, even when everything feels too loud, too heavy, too far away.

***

Yesterday, Nicki fell asleep on my chest while we lay on the couch. I watched the rise and fall of his back, the twitch of his fingers, the little coos he makes even in his dreams. He has my brown eyes. Agatha says that’s how she knew he was ours from the very beginning.

She sat beside me, her hand resting on my thigh, silent.

The sunlight filtered through the curtains and hit her hair just right. Brown and soft, a little messy. Her blue eyes were tired but calm. The kind of calm that only comes after storms.

“I miss who we were,” I said.

“I do too.”

“But I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”

She leaned her head on my shoulder. “We’re still us. Just… a different version.”

“A version who lives in sweatpants and eats cold toast?”

She grinned. “Exactly.”

I let out a soft laugh. “You think he’ll remember any of this?”

“No,” she said. “But we will.”

And maybe that’s the part I wasn’t prepared for. That the love I thought was unshakable would be tested. That we would be tested. Not in one big explosion, but in a hundred small moments. Forgotten lunches. Missed cues. Words said too sharply. Affection withheld because we were too tired or too hurt or just didn’t know how to say, please don’t forget me.

No one tells you how the silence can become dangerous. How you start keeping score. Who’s doing more. Who’s giving more. Who said what, who meant what.

We weren’t prepared for that part.

But we also weren’t prepared for how it would change us. Not into strangers. Into something more.

You become teammates in the truest sense. Sometimes I carry her. Sometimes she carries me. Most days, we both carry everything and just pray we don’t drop the ball.

And when we do, we pick it up. Together.

***

On the days that feel hard, harder than usual, when there’s a quiet between us, or our only communication is “can you pass me that”, There’s one moment I keep coming back to.

It was a week after we brought Nicki home. He was screaming, I mean, really screaming. Nothing was working. Diaper - fine. Hunger - fed. Temperature - normal. We were out of options, running on fumes. Agatha looked like she might cry. So did I.

But then she grabbed my hand.

“Dance with me,” she said.

“What?”

She already had her phone out, playing that stupid playlist we made years ago, slow, silly songs with lyrics we always misremembered.

She held Nicki to her chest, and I wrapped my arms around them both. We swayed, bare feet on the hardwood, hearts thudding out of sync. The music played low. His crying softened, and somewhere in the middle of that moment, I felt the world pause.

We were still us.

Changed. Exhausted. Glued together with love and spit-up and survival.

But still us.

***

Nicki’s laughing now, that belly-laugh that makes his body bounce, and his smile lights up his whole face. Agatha’s pretending to sneeze into a muslin and he thinks it’s the greatest thing he’s ever seen. I lean against the doorframe and watch them, her hair falling into her face, his arms flapping with joy.

Agatha looks up and catches me watching.

“What?” she says, smiling.

“Nothing,” I whisper. “Just… this.”

She walks over, kissing me on the lips, soft and certain. “We’re doing okay, huh?”

“We’re doing more than okay.”

We didn’t know what we were walking into.

But if I had the choice, I’d do it all again. Every hard night, every fight, every tear. Just to get back to this.

To us.

A little messier. A little more tired.

But more in love than ever.

[sunnysheaven]

BEAUTIFUL STRANGER .ᐟ lh⁴⁴

"looked back for a second, didn't want to be rude / i tend to fall in love on the tube." - laufey

♡ . featuring: lewis hamilton x gn!reader ♡ . word count: 1744 ♡ . contains: strangers to (imagined) lovers, imagined conversations, awkward encounters, romanticising life a little too hard, innocent crushes on morning commutes, reader is an american in great britian, the highly illogical instance lewis takes the tube, unedited content that was written well past my bedtime ♡ . love notes: for my lovely friend, @andromedasgallery. i hope you find a similar encounter some day<3 (or not). i haven't written in quite a while and it's also my first tumblr post. i decided i should stop letting my tumblr marinate and actually post something, even if it's not well thoughtout. heavily inspired by my lack of navigational skills, tiny crushes on public transport, and the fact i've never ridden the tube. that's for next year to worry about.

THE TUBE WAS UNDENIABLY CONFUSING. It was a twisting labyrinthine of lines and stations, writhing on the map like an entity. Of course, it wasn't as needlessly complicated as the Chicago metro or the New York subways. Maybe the unfamiliar accents that floated in the air, thick and foreign, made it all the more confusing.

Barely escaping from the purgatory of whooshing trains and all-too-bright lights, you found your way between Mile End and Stepheny Green. While your ability to get lost—even with a map—stumped even you, time barely allowed you to scramble onto the District Line before it took off.

Waves of cool air nearly swept you off your feet, about as brisk and unwelcoming as it could be at 5 o'clock. A few weary souls dotted the sparse seating on the train. Every person was hunkered over their phones, bathing them in a soft light that barely combatted the flickering lights overhead. Just as you were about to sit down, the train lurched into motion, sending you tumbling onto an uncomfortable-looking seat across from a man who looked all too put-together to ride the London Tube. His dark, meticulously braided hair was tied back, clearly freshly braided. A large, tattooed hand came to absentmindedly scratch at the parts of the hair before settling back down on the greyish pages of the morning paper. He sat straight, dark brown eyes flickering over the pages intently. He looked laser-focused, not even wavering as the train pushed forward. But when you landed harshly on the seat across from him, his eyes darted up to catch you almost slamming your head into the railing. Cheeks warm, you could barely hide your fluster. Straightening, you closed your eyes briefly and silently prayed the ethereal man across from you didn't witness your blunder.

Unfortunately for you, fate was not so kind. Soft-looking lips twitched into an amused smile; a pair of kind-looking oak eyes twinkled with innocent mirth as they met yours.

"Are you alright?" A smooth, masculine voice asked, an almost musical lilt to his voice. It barely created a ripple in the sterile quiet of the train. Soft and light, it seemed as sweet as honey. The distinctly British accent—obviously—melodically curled around each syllable. His amusement at your fluster waxed, filling out a certain warmth in his voice. What would it sound like calling your name in the morning? A gentle call for breakfast and coffee floating through a heavenly-scented kitchen? Would it still be just as gentle and sweet? Or would it rasp as if he had just woken up? Mouth nearly falling agape, you nodded dumbly in acknowledgement. Mustering your nod took all you had before you had to look away. And yet, the tiny glance of him was enough to ink itself into the backs of your eyelids. His visage, a mixture of soft and sharp, perfectly formed whenever you blinked. Tall(ish), dark, and handsome. The prettiest eyes you'd ever seen. Something about his eyes seemed so old. It felt weathered and kind, almost sharp in a way. He radiated a warmth you couldn't quite pinpoint. The stranger seemed to ooze a powerful, unspoken strength. It was powerful, quiet, and kind, like a tree offering fruits and shade. It felt like the kindness one would spare to someone just a little more than strangers. You couldn't help how your eyes were drawn to him, taking him in longer. Jewellery seemed to glitter everywhere you looked. Two chunky diamonds glittered on his lobes, partially covered by Airpods. Necklaces of silver and pearl covered his throat, more darkly coloured ink peeking out from the collar of his shirt. Twin studs glittered from the gentle slope of his nostrils. He looked sculpted, perfect even. You must have marvelled at him—stared at him—for too long because his eyes flickered back up to meet yours. His gaze momentarily stripped from the newspaper sent your heart racing. Breath caught in your throat, you couldn't help but wonder if this was your little fairy tale moment. The one you read about in stupidly cheesy romance novels and squealed over in shitty romcoms. Plump lips merely curled into another smile, this one more curious than the last. This time, you smiled back, still too nervous to speak. Tearing your gaze away, you couldn't help but feel rude for staring at him for so long. Yet, he was irresistible. The man's features drew you in like a moth to the flame.

It felt too early to scroll through your phone, but your hand found your pocket, scrambling to drag your attention away from the pretty man. Headphones planted firmly in your ears, you flickered through TikTok (which had grown stale), Instagram (weird in its own right), and Twitter (which you instantly closed after reading the most eyewatering tweet from Kanye that was now trending). Resigning yourself to some random RnB and jazz playlist, you allowed your consciousness to take a backseat. You drifted through the thin line between sleep and consciousness, a thin veil slipping you into a state of barely there awareness. But you surfaced into consciousness at one point, eyes instinctively flickering over to the dark-skinned man with ink lining his hands. As if on instinct, his eyes flicked from the page to meet yours. They swirled with mirth and amusement as if he expected you to look at him again. His gaze sent you into another tizzy. Your watch beeped with the notification for "abnormally high heart rate." Cheeks flushing, you slapped a hand over the watch's face to hide it from view. You glanced away, offering an awkward cough.

"Can I help you?" He crooned, soft and gentle like a summer breeze.

"Oh, I'm just tired," you blurted out, laughing nervously, "Sorry for staring."

He tilted his head curiously. The flickering lights practically saw his dark, mahogany skin glowing. An easy smile crossed his face, lifting a tattooed and jewellery-adorned hand to wave you off. Silver bands, intricate and twisting, adorned his tattooed fingers. Each varied in design and thickness, but it still felt cohesive. By all means, the amount of jewellery he wore was busy. Silver twinkled at his wrists and neck, his ears, his nose. But it all made sense. It was effortless. He was effortless in a way that commanded respect and cultivated envy. His rings winked at you as his hand settled back onto the news, deliciously veiny and large. You could imagine his fingers intertwining in yours, somehow perfectly moulded together. It wasn't hard to imagine similar rings lining your fingers, preferably from him. "I'm used to it," the man replied, laughter wove into his words like fine lace. Of course, he'd be used to it. He was gorgeous. He was ethereal. The stranger was the kind of gorgeous that people wrote poems about and sculpted with bare hands. It was the beauty that would be preserved in oil and brush strokes across stretched canvases. It was the kind of beauty mere words could not describe.

As the stranger laughed, his smile flashed. A pretty, gap-toothed smile and incisors sharper than his eyes were alive. And it was directed at you. Swallowing heavily, it became increasingly obvious how parched you were. Shifting in your seat, you nervously scratched at your cheek.

"You took quite a tumble earlier," he teased, tone somewhere bordering polite and teasing, "did you bump your head?"

He lowered the newspaper to his lap as if to take all of you in. And yet, his gaze remained unwavering from your face. His kind eyes smoothed over every curve and contour as if to dedicate you to memory.

"Not at all!" You sputtered defensively, trailing off in a silent question of his name.

"Lewis."

It rolled off of his tongue firmly, with conviction. Lewis. It was a good name—if your hours of aimlessly scrolling through baby name websites served you correctly, it meant "renowned warrior." It was a powerful name, in your opinion. Brave. Courageous. It suited him, you thought. He wielded it like a shield, wearing it with pride. Lewis. That name seemed to shine through with his straightened back and the almost sharp, wise look in his eyes. "Lewis," you repeated back, testing how your tongue rolled around it in the same manner he did, "What a fitting name."

"Really?" The newly-dubbed Lewis hummed, his brow crooking up in amusement.

"It's a strong name," was your humble response, accompanied by a shrug.

"How so?"

"It means 'renowned warrior.'"

The conversation carried on in a jovial tone, flowing over the train's soft rumble and increasing murmur as people began to trickle on and off the Tube. Satisfactorily, your phone weighed down in your pocket as you prepared to step off the train. It was heavy with the weight of his name, Lewis, and his number.

But as your foot crossed the yellow-taped line, body passing the barriers, a British voice rang out through the train. It was cool, unyielding, and feminine.

"The next station is South Kensington. Doors will open on the right-hand side."

It continued to drone on as the train slowed to a stop, yanking you from your daydreams. Your eyes opened to meet the stranger whom you had accidentally dubbed Lewis. His nose, still decorated with silver, was still stuck in the thin, greyish papers of the news. And yet, his eyes still flickered up to meet yours. They were still dark and warm, though slightly confused. The newspaper lowered to reveal a thin, polite smile before flickering back up as he continued to read.

Still brushing off the remnants of your half-sleep, you managed to navigate the winding tunnels to your next Tube Line. You couldn't shake how his voice had said your name, even if it had been imagined. The way he had spoken his name stuck deeply in his head.

Was that even his name? Probably not.

But he looked like a Lewis.

Stepping onto the next train, your mind wandered back to that District Line that left at 5 in the morning and the beautiful stranger that had brightened the car.

What would have happened if you hadn't left the train? What if you had stayed a little longer?

Maybe you would have caught his actual name. Maybe you would have asked about his tattoos. Maybe you would have exchanged a few words.

But alas, your beautiful stranger on the District Line remained just that—a beautiful stranger.

At least until the next commute.

[leejenowrld]

They were having sex when her water broke. ?? Excuse me????

(How I love and miss these freaks)

you’re restless, belly massive, every inch of your body throbbing with late-pregnancy ache, heat simmering under your skin. contractions have been rolling through you on and off all day, low, deep, not quite painful yet, but sharp enough to remind you the baby’s close, so close you can feel it in your bones. you’re pacing the bedroom, hands rubbing your back, trying to breathe through the tension, but nothing helps, nothing soothes the pressure or the gnawing need crawling up your spine except jeno, who keeps fussing, hovering at your side, trying to get you to lie down, breathe, relax.

you finally drop onto the bed with a frustrated sigh, glaring up at him, laughter bubbling up between winces. “jeno, you’re making me crazy. stop hovering and fuck me,” you say, biting your lip, grinning through the discomfort. he freezes, wide-eyed, half-scandalized, half-aroused, looking at your belly like he’s afraid you might burst right there. “babe, are you sure? you’re… you’re literally having contractions—”

you cut him off, grabbing his shirt and dragging him down until he’s kneeling between your thighs, your legs sprawled around his hips, swollen belly rising between you, skin tight and glowing, nipples aching, cunt already slick and needy. “i’m serious. i need you. now. please, jeno. you know what i like. just—make it feel good.”

he can’t resist you, never could, never will. his hands settle on your hips, fingertips tracing the stretch of your thighs, thumbs gliding over your mound, dipping to spread you open, gaze dark and hungry as he looks at you, all swollen, needy, wet for him. he bends and kisses you, slow and teasing, breath hot against your cheek, then drops lower, mouth trailing over your belly, pressing reverent kisses across the curve, whispering, “look at you, so fucking beautiful, so close to giving me everything,” before sliding down to settle between your legs.

jeno’s tongue is wicked, practiced, and he eats you out like it’s all he’s ever wanted, big hands spreading your thighs wide, mouth buried in your cunt, licking slow at first, then faster when you whimper, pressure building so fast you almost forget the pain, lost in the drag of his tongue, the roughness of his palm over your belly, holding you still. “fuck, jeno, i need you inside me—” you gasp, hips rolling up, desperate.

he looks up, mouth glistening, grin lazy and bright, “so greedy, mama, even now?”

he doesn’t make you wait. he strips quickly, lets you guide him, lets you decide how you want him, you shift onto your side, one leg over his hip, swollen belly pressed against his abs, everything awkward and messy but perfect, him behind you, cock sliding inside slow, careful, your walls already pulsing, contracting around him. he moans into your neck, kissing your shoulder, hands stroking your stomach, “so full for me, so ready, fuck—feels so different, so tight, can you feel how close they are? our baby right there, and you still take me so well.”

you giggle, half-moan, half-breathless, rocking back against him as another contraction grips you, stronger this time, stealing your words, making your thighs shake. he holds you, crooning praise and filth in your ear, rolling your nipple between his fingers, moving in you deep and slow, never rough, never rushed, just filling you over and over, gasping with you, both of you giddy with nerves and lust and the promise of what’s coming.

then suddenly, a sharp, wet rush of heat, a pop inside you, and your whole body tenses, your cunt gripping him hard as you let out a gasp, “jeno—oh my god—” and you feel it, the hot gush flooding the sheets, soaking both of you, the bed instantly drenched. for a second you freeze, half-panicked, half-hysterical, staring down at the mess, then you both break into breathless, wild laughter, his cock still buried inside you, your bodies tangled, water everywhere.

“was that—?” he chokes, voice rough with shock and excitement.

you nod, laughing, tears streaming, heart pounding. “my water just broke. you literally fucked my water out of me.” and he just kisses you, wild and giddy, still thrusting slow and deep as contractions start to pulse harder, both of you shaking with adrenaline, heat, and a love so big it almost hurts.

“guess it’s really time, mama,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours, his hand splayed over your belly, your baby kicking between you, everything sticky, messy, breathless and perfect. you cling to him, still giggling through the pain, and let him fuck you through the last wild minutes of being just the two of you, desperate and happy and already so impossibly in love.

[winteringdream]

LOVE. ──── kim leehan

✩ ⋅ pairing. kim leehan x fem!reader ✩ ⋅ genre. the whole plot is just leehan being fully devoted to you ✩ ⋅ warnings. none! ✩ ⋅ wc. 548

Leehan loves you. From the moment he laid his eyes on you he couldn’t believe you were real. The sunlight shone from behind you, lighting up your hair as if it was glowing. You smiled at him, eyes crinkling into half crescent moons. 

Angels are real, and you are living proof of it according to him. He swears nothing can compare to you. 

“Leehan,” Jaehyun teased him the day he first met you. “You’re completely out of it today.” 

“Even more than usual.” Riwoo joked, “Did you forget to feed your fish today?” 

Leehan didn’t reply as he continued to stare out of the window, the window you had sat at a few hours ago. Where the sun had illuminated you as if to as if the universe itself was trying to show Leehan that angels truly existed. 

How could his first encounter be described other than with the word love? 

ㅤㅤ⠀ㅤ 𓇼ㅤ ㅤ𓂂ㅤㅤ ˚ㅤㅤ ◌ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏

The day you agreed to be his, Leehan couldn’t have been happier. It was like a dream he’d never want to wake up from. That day he pinched himself so many times he lost count, desperate to confirm he wasn’t dreaming. 

Leehan loves you, completely, unconditionally. He loves everything about you, your hair when you just woke up, your face without makeup, all your imperfections. To him, nothing about you is imperfect, you are his definition of perfect. 

Leehan could never believe in something like a “honeymoon phase”. How could he, when every day with you is the best day of his life. The happiness he felt from dating you could never be a phase. The joy of being with you isn’t a temporary high, it’s his reality, he’d be stupid to believe otherwise. ㅤㅤ

⠀ㅤ 𓇼ㅤ ㅤ𓂂ㅤㅤ ˚ㅤㅤ ◌ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏

“Ya, Leehan. What’s going on in your head?” Sungho says, waving his hand in front of his face to snap him out of his thoughts.

“You’re thinking about your girlfriend again?” Woonhak chuckles, throwing a pillow in his direction. “When do we get to meet her? Is she pretty?”

Leehan’s lips curl into a faint smile, at the thought of you. 

“The most beautiful woman.” Leehan utters, more to himself than to reply to Woonhak. 

ㅤㅤ⠀ㅤ 𓇼ㅤ ㅤ𓂂ㅤㅤ ˚ㅤㅤ ◌ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏

“Donghyun, do you think we’re going to have a future together?” You ask him one night when the two of you are getting ready to sleep. 

“Why would you think otherwise?” Leehan replies, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. How could he not have a future with you if that’s all he wants?

“I mean, we’re still young. I’m not saying that I don’t love you, but do you think we’ll last? Do you think you’ll still like me when I’m older, when we’re not this young anymore? When things have changed?” You mumble, turning your head to look at him. 

Leehan’s hands reach out to stroke your cheek, brushing the hair that’s in the way gently to the side. 

“Of course I will.” He says, his voice soft and careful. “You’re all I ever want and need, no matter what happens to the two of us. No matter what changes, no matter what life throws at us, I’ll always love you and I plan on spending forever to prove it.” 

“Really?” 

“Really. I’ll always love you.” 

“I’ll always love you too, Donghyun.”

bonedo: @tanghuyuj @ihruaz @tmrwsuns @lakoya @canheavenwait @hyeinsveil

[lheslie]

Sinister Mark; Devotion

Final Chapter: Hunger

Third Chapter: Insanity

Second Chapter: Broken Glass

First Chapter: It Only Reminds me of you...

- This was split into 4 chapters. One Chapter each day.

- This is my first time writing smut...

- I had paid people to proofread and help me write the smut parts-

This is Sinister Mark we're talking about chat-

Of course it's fucked up.

>Fem Reader<

Warning: Hardcore Freaky Smut on the dining table, to the bedroom, Oral, PIV, Female and Male Body Characteristics Mentioned, Blood as lube mentioned, Freaky Sinister Mark, Freaky Female Reader, Stockholm Syndrome, Blood, Gore, Therapy, Decapitation, Anxiety, Depression, and Death threats...

PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS FIRST!!!

Days after what had happened yesterday, instead of being afraid of the man who kidnapped you, you're both currently lying on his bed as he slept behind you; hugging you to sleep, you turned around to look at him. 

He was sleeping peacefully as those decapitated heads were hidden in the room below your feet. He looked beautiful in your eyes, beautiful as the day you lost him. Although he looks like the man who left you, he is different; you know that this man in front of you is not him and he has been giving you mixed feelings.

He was kind, yet cruel. He was loving, but also obsessed. Here he was, holding you right on your neck, and he had you where he wanted you to be. Right now, you don't want to be anywhere else, as his warmth gave you comfort, from the ones you've lost, maybe even stronger a comfort as you knew he'll go insane if you ever left him, knowing this made you feel loved, special even. 

You liked this feeling, even though you knew this was so wrong in many ways. You looked at him as you slowly drifted off to sleep. He was awake this whole time. He was observing you.

He still believed that you still loved that other version of himself; the more you avoided him, the more he wanted to rip that other version of himself apart

He wanted your full love and attention, but he thinks it still belongs to the other version of him; he wanted you fully body, mind, and spirit.

He wonders how he could fully get you to be his, as he tries to break you slowly, getting you to be dependent on him.

He holds you near him as he looks at your sleeping face. "I don't want to break you even further, so don't make this harder for me." He whispered.

He didn't sleep; he wasn't tired; what happened earlier was just a ruse to get your affection, your sympathy, something that he craves. 

He wanted to fully break you, make you reliant on him and him alone. His eyes were twitching at the fact that the other version of him was still inside your heart; what did that version of him do to receive this much love from you? He had already abandoned you to be with Eve.

Eve, that woman, already killed all the GDA members in this dimension; they were weak; in the circle of life, the weak get eaten by the strong. 

How would you react if you knew that he had already killed all the GDA members? That all of humanity bows to him and begs for his mercy every day, and yet you have the gall to ignore his grace. Don't you know millions of humans beg for this grace? Something that you fully reject and ignore?

He looks at you as you squirm in your sleep.

"Mark..." Were you finally calling for him? He looked at you; he was about to wake you up from your nightmare as tears flowed from your eyes.

"Please don't leave me..." you continued to whisper as you slept. This made his blood boil.

That version of him had already left you months ago, yet he was still the one you longed for; he stood up and went through his closet, changing his normal clothing into his super suit. 

He flew away; he was going to find him... Angstrom...

You woke up a bit later, and you found Mark gone and nowhere to be seen; you had already gone to different parts of the house, so you thought that maybe he needed to save the world again.

You sighed as you cooked lunch in two portions, waiting for him as you munched on your food. You felt alone again without his presence, and you started to miss his presence; even though he was very weird in showing his affection to you, he kept licking your face like a starved animal.

Hours went by, and he still didn't come home; you were getting worried as he had never gone out this late; even when you were locked in the basement, he still visited you to give you breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Did he leave you? Did he finally see how worthless you were to him? Did he give up on his thoughts of pursuing you? The insecurities filled your mind as you lay down on the bed you had shared with him last night, as his body heat gave you warmth and solace. 

He made you feel loved, seen, and somewhat understood. And now, because you kept pushing him away, he had finally given up on the two of you. 

You wished, hoping, and begging he hadn't and if he were to come back to you. You'll never ever let him go again; it doesn't matter who he is or what he did.

What's important is that he loves you; that's the only thing that matters to you. Your head started to hurt as you started to feel anxious as it was getting later in the night, and he hadn't come back. Leaving you shaking.

You started to breathe heavily, but you tried to calm yourself down by falling asleep.

Tomorrow morning, you woke up again, and you stood up, running all over the house trying to find him, anything about him, even signs.

Why did he even leave in the first place? Did you do something wrong? He should at least give you the chance to apologize for what you did.

This happened for the next few days, as you woke up trying to search the house again and again.

You were starting to go insane as you tried to open the doors to escape the house; you even tried to break the doors by throwing chairs at the doorknob.

"What the fuck is this door even made of?" You breathe heavily as more tears fall down from your eyes.

"I'm sorry… Please come back to me, Mark… Please come back, don't leave me too." You sniffled as you punched the wall, making your hands bleed. You were begging again, but this time, it wasn't for the Mark from your dimension; you were begging for the Mark who took you away.

Even though he was insane, he still held you close; he loved you, and he promised he wouldn't leave you, and yet you rejected him. You hated yourself; if you didn't push him away, you would've been together right now, happy, holding each other dearly.

"AH!" you yelled as you started to bleed; this time, you think that it is now your fault. 

Right now, you were sitting on the floor, bleeding, as you held his shirt that you took from the laundry; it smelled like him as you hugged it for comfort, still hoping for him to come back.

You stayed like this on the floor, waiting for him like a dog. You were starting to lose hope on his return, and now you stand on the second floor of the house, and you are standing on the ledge of the terrace. 

You gave up hope as he didn't come back; you didn't want to live anymore as you heard the ceiling creak. You slowly got down from the ledge, as you ran to the noise, hoping it was him.

And it was him, and he was covered in blood. 

Overwhelmed by relief, you failed to notice the corpse he was dragging along the floor. The instinct you had was to pounce on him, giving him a kiss of longing, his warmth and affection.

"Where have you been?!" you exclaimed as you wrapped your arms and legs around him, dropping the corpse on the floor, placing his hands on you, holding you close to him. 

"I killed the bastard that's been keeping you from me." He breathes, leaning in to kiss you again. He longed for this, your attention, and you're finally giving it to him, after he killed his alternate self. 

Although, you did not notice the corpse he was dragging along was the body of your ex-boyfriend Mark, the one from your dimension; the one who left you for Eve. 

You started to burst into tears; holding him close, tightly fearing he might leave you again.

"I knew it… killing him was the only option to gain your attention." He smirks; you're confused by what he said. “What did you mean by "that was the only option?"” you asked.

He looked at the corpse lying on the floor; you also looked at it. He still held you in his arms, you clung to him like a koala.

"Is that Mark?" You asked as he smiled smugly. He expected you to cry and mourn for the man. Instead of paying attention to the lying corpse of your ex... you kept hugging him, which shocked him, as he never expected this reaction.

"I don't care about him," you admitted. "Not anymore."

To which he chuckled, patting your head softly, like a man would comfort a little girl. "That's good, attagirl..."

You only hummed into his chest; your legs were still wrapped around his waist. He felt your smile against his skin. "Can I kiss you?"

Wordlessly he initiated the kiss, one long and with force. The two of you pressing against each other. The blood of your dead ex started to scatter on your body as you bumped against the wall, tongues gliding and hands roaming around your bodies. 

He pulls back from the kiss, his lips pressing against the corner of my mouth and then my jaw before slowly trailing down to my neck and he starts licking, sucking, making you moan. 

He slowly bit on to your neck's sweet spot, making you yelp in pleasure while his lower half started to grind on your pants, pushing him forward with your legs. 

He moved to the dining table and placed you on top of it; he ripped off your clothing, his bloodied hands pinching and pulling on your nipples while his tongue licking on your belly, biting and sucking making you moan flustered his hand you hid your face behind your hand, he noticed this and he grabbed your hands placing it on top of you.

"Don't hide your pretty face." He groans, rubbing his clothed dick on to your clothed pussy, making you yelp in pleasure, holding your mouth to stop yourself from moaning. 

"Why are you so shy? You wanted this." He grunted; he tore off your pants and your underwear. He grabbed your legs, spreading them wide for him, but before he dove in, he said. "Thank you for the meal." As he laps up your clit like a hungry beast finally feasting on its meal, the blood from his face sticks to your thighs, staining your skin with the proof of his crime. 

You arched your back from the pleasure he was giving you, making you want him more. You held on to the tablecloth, gripping it. "P-please." You breathed as he stopped what he was doing to look at you. Losing the sense of pleasure that he was giving you, making you beg for more friction from his tongue. "Please what? you have to tell me, beautiful." He smirked. Your pussy started to get wet, and he played with your clit with your hand, circling around it, giving it attention.

You started to squirm in pleasure. You were losing your sense of sanity with the only thing in mind being wanting him to take you for himself. "I-I want you, please." You managed to squirm. "We're getting there, sweetheart. I just have to prep your pretty pussy up." He chuckled, getting back to your pussy, giving it attention again, licking it, sucking it, making you feel a knot in your stomach. "I-I'm cumming ngh-" You cried. "Cum for me, baby, give yourself to me." He groans as you come in his mouth, licking your juices, swallowing your cum. 

You panted, breathing heavily after cumming. Mark then started to remove his bloodied super suit, along with his mask, revealing his amazing pecs. You looked at him, appreciating his body structure. He noticed your gaze upon him. "Like what you see, sweetheart?" He smirked as you slowly nodded at him. 

He removed his pants, showing his hardened dick with pre-cum licking out of it; you were shocked in awe at how veiny his dick was. It was harder and veinier than your Ex Mark's dick.

"This little fella has been wanting to meet you for a while now." He laughs; his hardened veiny dick it really showed you how much he was craving for you. 

He grabbed your legs, spreading it wider for him; he positioned himself at the entrance of your pussy, slowly sliding it in, making you grip the table sheets even harder. You can feel his dick throbbing. He groaned as you slowly tightened around him. Thankfully, the blood of your ex was helping as a lube for an easy slip inside of you. 

He looked at you, kissing your neck leading up to your lips he slipped in his tongue, your mouth again; tasting you, he started to move slowly and roughly. While your nails raked through his back moaning into the kiss, your voice made Mark crazy as he started to go faster, pounding harder into you, giving you shock all over your body, locking him with your legs allowing him to fuck you even deeper.

From your first knot, you were already overstimulated from the feeling, but you craved more. You wanted more of him inside of you; he broke out of your sweet kiss, saliva leaking out of each other's mouth. The more he pounded into you, the more you got tighter around him, making you gasp for breaths.

"See this darling? this is what you do to me." He groaned in your ear as he kept pounding on you. "P-please please please." You started to cry, closing your eyes from the feeling. "Eyes open, keep looking at me while I fuck into you, tell me what is it that you want?." He groans. 

"F-faster, h-harder please- ngh-" you begged, making him go faster than ever before. You felt like you were going to break underneath him and this might be the best feeling you've ever received. Even though he was painfully pounding hard into you like a dog in heat, it all turned into pleasure you've never experienced before.

"Open your mouth." He taunts, but lost in pleasure, you couldn't comprehend what he was saying, so he used one of his hands to make you open; he spit on your mouth. "Swallow." He ordered, and you did, "Fuck yeah, you're mine, you're mine fuck-"He moans, as you felt another knot in your stomach. "You cumming baby? Cum with me, pretty baby." He moans cumming together with him, and he comes deep inside of you feeling all of his hot juice filling you up. You were exhausted, breathing heavily. 

He picked you up from the table and flew you up into the bedroom at super speed. Your eyes were getting heavy. "Don't sleep yet, we're not done. You’re such a pretty mess for me." He whispered, chuckling, caressing your face and licking your tears, waking you up. You tried standing up, shaking, as your mixed juices in your pussy were dripping out of you. He sat down, as you slowly crawled towards him, kneeling in front of him, looking at his dick that got hard so fast again after seeing his juice leak out of your pussy. "Suck it." He ordered you as you gulped, wondering how you were going to suck such a throbbing dick. You slowly grabbed his dick, kissing it while you looked at him. "F-fuck did you do this with him too? Doesn't matter, from now on I'll be the only person who you'll be doing this with from now on." He groaned as you started to take him in.

You moved up and down, taking him, making you choke for a bit because he was so big to handle. "Heh, you're doing good fuck." he praises you as you felt your pussy clench on nothing, empty, making you want him inside you again.

He was almost near climax, and he wanted to cum in your mouth, so he grabbed your head, helping you move faster. "F-fuck, that's it, you needy whore. You're mine, fuck… Fuck, I'm the only one who can do this." He shuddered at the feeling; the way he moaned made you feel a knot in your stomach as he was close into cumming. You were sure you were too, He cums inside your mouth, as you came on the bed. "Swallow." He ordered again. You opened your mouth to him, showing him as you swallowed all of his cum, seeing that made him harder again, which startled you again, making your pussy ache and clench at the sight.

'Is this the stamina of a Viltrumite?' You questioned yourself, flustered at the sight, drooling. "Lay down, open your legs… shit, you are a whore, you just came untouched… you like it when I praise you?" He panted as you laid down, spreading your legs to him, cum dripping down, shaking. He positioned himself onto you again, entering you, but instead of giving you some time to adjust, he started desperately pounding himself onto you again, gripping at your legs, making sure it stayed open for him. You wrapped yourself around him even harder. He leans into you kissing your neck nibbling it, making sure he left hickies around you as a sign of territorial claim. 

"MMmhph Ngh- Mark!." You stuttered, crying for him to go even faster and rougher; your voice made him go insane. He was like a starving beast, hungry for you and your pussy.

"That's it. Tell me who owns you." He groaned "You, you, you, I belong to you." Tears streaming down your face, as you squirt onto him breathing heavily, he didn't stop even though you came "You came without me, you enjoy this dick so much, baby?" He breathed lightly. It was unfair if you were the only one having fun, right? He felt a knot inside of him again, once again made sure to cum deep inside of you, making you feel the heat of his juices filling you up, claiming territory inside of you, overwhelmed with the feeling you got knocked out unconscious.

Tomorrow morning you woke up, throat sore, still sweaty from what happened yesterday. It felt like what happened yesterday had happened for hours. You looked at your body filled with hickey and bite marks.

'Looks like Mark didn't stop last night.' You thought as you still felt his dick inside of you, cum still seeping out of your pussy, still fresh. 'Did he just fall asleep a few minutes ago?' You wondered, your body ached from what happened, so you decided to sleep again, but wrapping your legs around him, cockwarming him as you both slept, but he jolted awake. "Ready for another round?" He smiles, kissing you. 

[porty]

hotties reunion tour

lovestruck!oikawa x f!reader

summary: six years after oikawa left to argentina - he found out he’s going back to japan to play for the official team for the 2024 olympics. today he’s meeting with repsentives of the JVA, his new coach, and trainer(s) (efficiently through a zoom call). he’s excited to see his favorite snuggle pookiekins, iwaizumi. unexpectedly, he sees someone else too…

contents: fluff | time skip!oikawa | kawa is feeling things... I idk... I red string of fate trope | lowercase is intentional | someone help iwaizumi... | lmao kageyama mentioned

word count: 1.8k words

AN: iwaizumi loves LMFAO, he plays them often while working out. tbh he's thrilled because is is going to play them all the time and no one better not say a word to him. lalala is oikawa's favorite song and dedicating it to you.

masterlist | part 1

oikawa sighed, he didn't even start packing to go back to japan. he just got the news the day before and just wanted to soak it in. also, despite him agreeing to the offer in a matter of seconds. to the point the representatives of the jva jumped.

he wasn't nervous, no, but he just had a strange feeling. knowing iwa would be there was great. this is going to be fun, it’s going to be great, his one and only, his pookiekins. Going home for a while and a summer in paris, this is going to be good for him.

but he didn't tell his team. well, he was expected to play for japan, but he was accustomed to playing with these guys. to play with new people... oh god, playing with that bum kageyama. he rolled his eyes just thinking about that bowl cut germ coming up to him all like, “hi oikawa…” like the nerd he was...

what a sickening thought. he shook his head and started to set up his laptop for this zoom meeting, before iwaizumi starts to text the poor boy. he crossed his legs and propped his laptop. he found it strange that he had to be in this meeting two hours before he would have to leave for japan. when he asked iwaizumi, he only responded with: “don't ask me questions…” how rude of him… oikawa rested his hand on his cheek. he was like this for about two minutes, but to oikawa, timing really felt like 18 years and 7 kids later. he looked down at his string that was tied around his pinky, that dimmed pink string… he didn't know why he needed to look down at it. but his heart started to race. that strange feeling heightened, now feeling it in his chest and stomach.

at this point, it's been about 6 years since he last saw her, the girl that his string glowed for. he doesn't remember your face, but he knows you're beautiful. probably a great person too… oikawa sighed while rubbing his pinky. also strange, he hasn't thought about that night much. it would come and go in waves… with the dreaded ‘what if?’ a question came up. before he got completely lost in his thought process, his screen lit up and another person came into view.

tetsurou kuroo…

“glad you could make it, oikawa,” kuroo said, still distracted while letting in the others. “how you’ve been?”

oikawa's eyes widened, almost embarrassed to even speak. he just prayed to the heavens above that he wasn't caught thinking about some girl he is never going to see again. he cleared his throat and fisted his hands, “i'm doing well. how are you, cat boy?”

“pretending i didn't hear that last part, but i'm good.” kuroo smiled while peeking at his camera. “alright, everyone should be here shortly. but this meeting is for you to introduce your coaches and your athletic trainers. i will be here as a representative for the jva and for marketing purposes. hope you don't mind?”

oikawa shook his head, and kuroo continued, “alright, with that being said, i'll let everyone in.”

slowly, everyone started coming into the call. everyone was visible besides one square that was still blacked out and labeled ‘ln’. oikawa just stared at that small section of the screen while everyone was greeting each other and going on with their idle chatter. he tapped on his lap, his heart racing, he felt his face getting hot.

why is this happening? he wasn't feeling sick… what is he feeling right now?

before you know it, you turned your camera on and waved. it was you, the girl he saw all those years ago. the one that brought some life back to his string. poor oikawa just froze. he couldn't say anything. the only thing he could do was look at iwaizumi, just for iwaizumi to look away. which made oikawa bite the inside of his cheek really hard. oh iwaizumi, honey, you got a big storm coming when you pick oikawa up.

after a few seconds, you finally spoke. which made oikawa swoon. that soft tone he gets to hear again. remember, professionalism… “hi, sorry, i was trying to find a quiet place. the boys are in mid-practice right now. it’s a bit challenging getting away.” you chuckled.

“you’re fine, everyone just got here. we can get started.”

kuroo went down the line and introduced him to everyone, leaving iwaizumi and you last. this has to be set up by kuroo. he knows something that oikawa doesn’t, and right now he's feeling bothered by the cat boy. “well, you obviously know hajime iwaizumi. he will be one of the athletic trainers. this is also ln yn… she will be the other athletic trainer.” you just looked at him and smiled softly.

oh god, this is going to be rough. oikawa nearly exploded when you smiled at him. oikawa made the dumbest mistake and looked down at that damn pinky, and that glow came back. that healthy red glow was present.

the butterflies were making him want to throw up. all he could do was smile and nod, “hope we can get along…” he somehow managed to muster out. iwaizumi looked at oikawa and raised an eyebrow. he knew something was wrong, in which he let out a small sigh. but someone else picked up too, mr. tetsurou kuroo. he was expecting this meeting to have more flare to it. besides, it was just oikawa looking like he just saw a ghost.

this meeting was not going as planned… one of their star players just seemed off. kind of annoyed kuroo. how is he supposed to work if this guy is giving them nothing? “so oikawa, when are you leaving for japan?” one of the coaches asked, breaking the silence and oikawa’s 17th crash-out.

“in a couple of hours actually, my ride should be here soon.”

“are you excited to come back home?” you spoke up, leaning. oh god, you are interested in what he has to say… fucking sick. but also aww…

“uh, yeah i am. i love it here in argentina, but i do miss home. i can see my friends again and work with one of them. plus, i know iwaizumi missed me, like a lot.” he said, a little nervously. which was odd. he knew how to talk to girls… but you… you were different. you nodded attentively while letting out a soft giggle. oikawa didn't know how much he could handle this. he's going to throw up and possibly do a backflip at the same time if you say one more thing to him. you're a horrible person for doing this to him.

then iwaizumi finally spoke, “i don't actually…”

kuroo laughed along with everyone. damn that stupid cat. “well, it’ll be nice seeing the two of you in action,” kuroo added. “speaking of, have you and yn thought about how the two of you are going to handle this? this is a big group.”

iwaizumi nodded, “yeah, we’re just going to do everything together. it’ll lessen the confusion with the coaches and, more importantly, the players.”

that wasn't a question for oikawa, so he just drifted into his thoughts. to avoid looking at his pinky, he subconsciously looked at you in that tiny square in the corner of his laptop, pretty sure he thought he looked inconspicuous. you spoke up once again, “fortunately, most of the players have either played on the same team or played against each other at one point in their lives, so it wouldn't really make sense to do this separately. we will have our breaks, but we just want to make sure the boys are in tip-top shape and obviously come back with something.”

at this point, oikawa just wanted to rip his hair out. he needed a way out. from the corner of his eye, his string was glowing. the butterflies in his chest and stomach were going crazy, too much blood was rushing to his head, and his cheeks were turning red. he couldn't breathe. he needed to go. he raised his hand and spoke quickly, “um hi so my ride is here… sorry but i have to go now.”

thankfully, everyone understood. they all said their goodbyes, not that oikawa was taking in what they said. until he heard you, “can't wait to work with you, oikawa. have a safe trip.”

“bye…” he spat out while quickly trying to leave the call. he slammed his laptop shut and shoved it in his bag. while booking for his uber, he couldn't help himself but to pant… he's panting like he just ran a half marathon. he wasn't panicking. or maybe he was, but this was a bad panic. but he was panicking. everything just felt so confusing. he’s about a day away from seeing the potential love of his life and he needs to get it together.

ding!

oikawa looked at his phone and saw his notification:

your driver is coming in 2 minutes.

oh god. the poor thing felt his heart drop. it’s time. he was going to japan and had to face the girl… just the girl. his everything? he does not even think about the olympics nor his friends. he was going to meet his inevitable doom: being rejected by the girl that made his string glow. not once, but twice. while grabbing his things and heading outside, the stupid butterflies came back. he didn't know if he was excited or shitting his pants. whatever it was… it needed to stop.

“this is a work trip… remember professionalism… professionalism.” oikawa kept mumbling to himself. praying it would work… and it wasn't, but he’s still going to do it.

mission abort!!! mission abort!!! it’s not working!!!

oikawa just stood there waiting for his taxi and was just smiling to himself. it was a smile of bliss. no, unfortunately, his smile was defeat. he didn't know what else to do. better yet, how else to compose himself. so he just smiled, regretting saying yes to this opportunity of a lifetime. he shut his eyes for a few moments. hoping that his guardian angel will just swoop him up… his guardian angel that was in the yellow car aggressively honking his horn…

nope. it was just his uber driver rushing to get in… a fate worse than death itself.

he got in his taxi. he’s off to japan. he’s off to see you and be around you for like the next six months. he for sure will throw up at one point, so he should apologize to you in advance.

oh and also, iwaizumi is going to hear his mouth. that stupid gym rat… and that cat boy too… throw it in there, that germ kageyama… but mainly iwaizumi.

divider credit: @/saradika-graphics

@porty || do not plagiarise or translate any of my work. I do not own any of the Haikyuu characters all rights goes to Haruichi Furudate.

[itadoraki]

Cotton-Colored Shrimpy

—————————————————————————

Floyd Leech x R.femele. ( Extremely kind and sweet )

—————————————————————————

.

.

The soft noise of the waves of the NRC lake echoed between Octavinelle's stone arches. It was late afternoon, and the orange sky was reflected in the waters like dyed glass. Azul had already closed the Monster Lounge, and Jade had disappeared with some weird plan to pick mushrooms. The dormitory was silent. Almost calm.

Floyd? He was lying on his stomach on the couch in the lobby, throwing a basketball up and taking it back... until he felt the presence.

"Hmm~ that sweet smell... Shrimpy~?"

You were there - long hair falling down your back, bright eyes and a smile so soft that it could heal a war. His presence was like a sun-filled candy: impossible to ignore.

- Hi, Floyd~! I brought melon juice! I made it for you, with a lot of ice, okay? - you offered the glass with enthusiasm, with flushed cheeks.

He smiled. Slow. Predatory. And he dropped the ball.

"Hee~? Are you trying to please me today, Shrimpy Cotton Color?"

"Tsc, now I'm going to have to squeeze you, right?"

You laughed, and he went to you in three wide steps, grabbing you by the waist with long arms and turning you in the air with ease. You screamed, laughing, hitting his back lightly.

- Floyd!! Put me on the floor, otherwise I'll... I'll... give you a forced kiss!

"Hi~? How scary you are, Shrimpy!" - he teased, eyes shining.

And then you really kissed him - a sweet and unexpected kiss, but so warm that it made Floyd literally stop moving for a few seconds.

"...Heh."

"You're so sweet today that I'm even going to get sick~"

But the truth? He had hot skin. Red ears. Look slightly lost. He didn't understand how someone could be so kind to him, so loving, without being afraid. He was unpredictable, intense, weird - and you... just smiled. You cried easily, praised everything about him, even when he was in a bad mood.

It was strange. And it was addictive.

————

That day, you walked around the campus. He held your hand tightly, his fingers intertwined, while you told about a student who praised your outfit.

"Who? Who was the funny guy?" - he asked, stopping walking.

"I'm kidding~... or not."

You laughed, stopping in front of him, and with that exaggerated affection that only you knew how to do, you touched his face with both hands.

- Floyd... I just look at you. I only have eyes for my Floydzão! Even when you have a sullen face and want to crush the world!

"...Shrimpy..."

"You're not afraid of me, are you?"

You denied with your head, firm, still with a smile on your lips.

- Never. I see your scary side, but also your affectionate side. You protect me, listen to me... And even when you pretend not to call, I know you care.

Floyd was silent for a few seconds. A rare silence. His look softened. The shoulders relaxed. And for the first time that day, he pulled you close, but not violently. It was careful.

"...Today I don't want to crush you."

"I just want to stay here... with you."

You laughed, moved, and hugged him tightly, head on his chest.

- So stay. Do you promise that you will always stay, even when I'm too silly?

"I promise, if you promise to keep calling me beautiful when I'm grumpy."

- Beautiful, cute, strong, smelly... - you answered quickly, like a machine gun of compliments.

Floyd laughed loudly, happy. It was the kind of laugh that only you could get from him.

————

Later, he took you to a secret place at the bottom of the Monster Lounge, where the light was blue, and the decorative corals seemed to float. He lay on the couch, with his head on your lap, watching you touch his hair with affection.

"You're strong like me, Shrimpy. But inside, it's like jelly... full of emotion."

- And you are like a deep sea: mysterious, dangerous... but full of beautiful life inside.

He closed his eyes. I was... at peace.

And for the first time, Floyd murmured softly:

"If you leave someday... I swear I'll get really mad."

You smiled, kissing his forehead sweetly.

- I'll never leave, Floyd. Even if you try to crush me.

"Heh~ so you'll have to put up with a sticky boyfriend forever, Cotton Color."

———— That night

The blue half-light of the secret aquarium in Octavinelle reflected on the curved walls, creating a slow dance of liquid shadows. It was almost dawn, and the world seemed to be suspended.

Floyd still had his head on his lap, but now, his eyes were fixed on his chest.

You wore a light shirt, open at the top, and your generous breasts seemed even more inviting to that magical light. The fabric barely disguised the high and firm curve that went up and down according to his calm breathing. They pressed against the fabric, heavy and sensitive, too hot for that cold place.

"...Heeeeeeh."

"Shrimpy... you're trying to provoke me, aren't you?"

Floyd's eyes, usually playful, were slow and dark now. He got up slowly, with his hands going directly to his waist. I need it. As if he was playing something that he believed belonged only to him.

You smiled, a little shy.

- Provoke you? Never... although you seem very interested in mine... - his voice decreased when he ran a slow finger through the curve of the neckline.

"They're so big... how do you walk with all this in your chest, huh, Shrimpy?"

"It's distracting me... I can't even think straight..."

He lowered his face until he almost touched his nose at you. The warm breath on the skin of your collarbone made you shudder. The breasts weighed so much that they seemed to pulsate, swollen with silent desire, almost painful with the slow attention he gave.

"They're so soft..." - he murmured, pressing one of them with one of his big hands, over the clothes.

"So... flashy. I think I'm going to bite."

- Floyd...!

But the sound of his voice failed when he slowly licked his skin just above the curve of a breast, his eyes fixed on his own like a predator.

You tried to laugh, but got goosebumps all over.

- You're a perverted eel...

"Heeh~? Did you just find out now?"

He pulled you to sit on his lap, with ease. The breasts were crushed against his chest, and Floyd let out a guttural sigh, his fingers running down his back.

"You know what's more fun, Shrimpy...?"

"It's just that you have such an indecent body, and yet you look at me with those innocent eyes..."

He lightly bit the exposed shoulder, and then pressed his lips on one of the soft mounds, right over the clothes, making a deep sound in the throat.

"I could spend hours just touching you here..."

"Squeezing, sucking, leaving your skin all marked just for no one else to dare to look..."

You gasped, holding his shoulders tightly. The heat rose from her womb to her breasts, which seemed to throb under the fabric.

Floyd was smiling, but it wasn't the joke smile. It was the smile of someone hungry for affection, for desire, and for total control over that body that he thought was too perfect to be real.

"You're going to let me play more, right?" - he asked with a deep voice, brushing his lips in the middle of his breasts.

"Will you let me prove you... everything?"

You nodded, red, shaking between his arms.

And Floyd, with pleasure and fascination, took you to the bottom of the secret room, where no one else would hear your low moans, or the wet sound of his hands loving every curve of yours - especially that part of your body

—————————————————————————

[applepiiex]

NOT MY DOCTOR ! ! ! ✃𓄧꒷꒦

Frank Langdon x FTM!Reader

When Frank Langdon watches someone recover, he sees lab results, fluid levels, healing rates. But when it’s his husband, bruised and bandaged from top surgery, he forgets how to see anything but risk. Y/N just wants comfort. A hand to hold. Someone to tell him he’s still strong, still his. He doesn’t need his chest examined. He needs to feel seen. And loved. And whole.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈-ˋˏ✄

You’d never been one to resent help, especially not from Frank. He was built to be caring, precise in every way, wired to protect and serve and soothe.

But four days post-op, nestled in a mountain of pillows on the couch, drains tugging gently at your skin, your tolerance was running low.

Which meant still sore, still swollen, still taped up like a fragile art piece, and absolutely sick of hearing Frank say the words “incision site.”

You were curled up on the couch, blanket over your legs, binder long discarded in the closet, drains tucked beside you like awkward little accessories you hated, when Frank came in with the med schedule, wearing the same concerned furrowed brow he wore at work. His gray scrubs were half-wrinkled, his stethoscope still looped around his neck even though he was off shift, like some part of him couldn’t un-be a doctor. Even for you.

"Time for meds," he said softly, crouching at your side. "You’re due for Tylenol and the antibiotic. Want water or juice?"

You sighed, not answering at first.

Frank looked up. His voice dipped into concern. "Are you in more pain today?"

“Frank,” you said, trying to keep your tone neutral. “Can we not do this like you’re on rounds?”

He blinked.

You met his eyes, dark, worried, gentle, but all physician. “I’m not your patient. I’m your husband.”

The room went quiet.

He set the clipboard down slowly, something in his posture crumbling a little. He didn’t look offended, he looked... lost. Like you’d knocked something loose in him he hadn’t realized was holding him upright.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low.

You shifted slightly, wincing a bit as the tape across your chest pulled, and reached out to touch his knee. “I know you’re trying. And I love you for it. But I didn’t go through this surgery just to be handled like I’m breakable. I need you. Just... you.”

Frank let out a breath, dropping down fully to sit on the floor beside the couch. He ran a hand down his face, then looked up at you, really looked. Not assessing vitals. Not measuring swelling. Just taking you in.

Your hoodie was unzipped and hanging off your shoulders, your chest flat beneath the thick surgical binder. There were faint bruises still fading across your ribs, and the gauze peeked out a little from the bandage line. It wasn’t neat or beautiful yet. But it was yours. Finally.

And his heart hurt, seeing you like this, but not because of the pain. Because you looked... real. More yourself than he’d ever seen you. And he realized, in that moment, he’d been so busy making sure you healed, he’d forgotten to celebrate the becoming.

“You’re right,” he murmured. “I haven’t been treating you like my husband.”

You shrugged slightly. “You’ve been treating me like someone who might fall apart.”

Frank gently lifted your hand and brought it to his lips. “You’ve never fallen apart. You just took yourself back, piece by piece. I’m sorry I forgot that.”

Those words hanged in the air for a moment, quiet, but warm. You both sat there, the television murmuring something in the background neither of you heard. He let you lean your head on his shoulder, mindful of your chest, mindful of your space but offering his full weight, finally, as your partner, not your physician.

After a few minutes, you murmured, “I still need the meds though.”

He chuckled into your hair. “Yeah. But this time I’ll give them to you like a husband, not a resident.”

You pulled back and gave him a tired smile. “Good. Because if you ask me to rate my pain on a scale of one to ten again, I’m hiding your ID badge.”

“Noted.” He kissed your temple. “But I’m still fluffing your pillows later. That’s not medical, that’s husband tax.”

You rolled your eyes. But your hand never left his.

And this time, when he gave you your meds, he did it with one hand and held your face in the other, brushing your cheek softly with his thumb.

[gothicfied]

I SLIT MY OWN THROAT JUST TO SEE IF YOU'D MOURN ME

Pairing: Héctor Fort x fem!reader, toxic situationship

Summary: While Héctor keeps you on your toes about your relationship, telling you that he loves you, amongst other things, he can't quite seem to commit to you. To him, it's all no-strings-attached, but you want more and you end up hurting your own feelings in the process.

Word Count: ~4.3k (oops, not again)

Reading Time: ~17 Minutes

Warnings: Slightly suggestive, mentions of sex and hooking up, mentions of alcohol and drinking, heavy swearing, Héctor turns into a real asshole at the end, he makes reader cry, reader knows something has to change but doesn't try to change anything, complicated mess of feelings on both sides, no hopeful ending, not proof read (english isn't my first language)

A/N: BOAHHHHH we lowkey gotta execute all of portugal rn. GERMANY WTF????? Wie kann man so eine BESCHISSENE PISS ZWEITE HALBZEIT SPIELEN🫩 I already kinda knew we were losing when I saw 3-4-3 and Waldemar Anton with Robin Koch in the defense. WE LET A GRANDPA SHOOT A GOAL WHAT IS WRONG WITH US (yes, Ronaldo is not my goat)???? This was finished in rage, so excuse any angry spelling mistakes, but we just lost in the most embarrassing way. Word Cup, here we come (we'll still win, of course)! On a diffrent note tho: It was really fun writing for Héctor. He's probably one of the prettiest men I've ever seen in my life. Also, I'm 100% sure he's a very sweet guy who wouldn't do something like in this fic lmao lmk if y'all want a part 2 with a happier ending! Inspiration for this was this song👇

Those beautiful eyes. Big, tantalizing, brown eyes that you seemed to get lost in every time you saw them. And, it didn't matter that you were just looking at a picture of him. You could stare at him for hours and not get bored of it. If he would let you.

You and Héctor met just a couple months ago in the streets of Barcelona. To be honest, you didn't know who he was — And he didn't expect you to. The minute he layed his eyes on you he knew you were perfect: Mostly because your biggest interest wasn't football. You were a fresh breeze in his life, finally someone who wasn't connected to his career. To you, though, it was probably the coolest thing to have a professional football player like you. Héctor is tall, talented, easy to talk to... You like the fact that he works out and surrounds himself with good people. His first impression was perfect, it was natural to fall in love with him.

If things could've stayed that way, you wouldn't be here right now. You'd be beside him, in his bed, looking at the real thing. As the situationship progressed, you realized that Héctor was different deep down. He wasn't this charming young man social media makes him out to be (because, of course, the first thing you did was stalk him on the internet to see what people had to say about him).

Soon enough, you took notice that he treats hou more like a side piece than a girl he's interested in. You're good enough to take out, mostly to parties, and for sex, but that was kind of it. Then, when you were back home, you'd watch tiktoks of fan interactions Héctor had and wondered why he didn't treat you with the same amount of respect.

There's phases of love bombing, meaning he'll send you flowers to your doorstep, invite you over to his house to cook together or buys you expensive things you wouldn't ask for, but those are followed by weeks of silence. Like right now. All you can do is stare at the screen, pictures of you two together and text messages from two days ago:

"You're so beautiful, mi amor."

"I want to take you to training with me."

"I love you."

He loves you. You hold onto those three little words for a long time.

...

"Oh my god, seriously, you need to get a grip girl." Your best friends voice rung out of your phone. "What do you mean?"

You were currently sitting at your vanity, getting ready for... something. You didn't know what it was yet, but something was telling you that Héctor would text you.

"What I mean? Are you crazy?" Calling Mia for advice on this situation always gave you a reality check. She'd never lie to you or coddle you and that's exactly what you needed. You wanted to not care about his attention so much, but it was like your body yearned for it. "That boy has you wrapped around his finger and he didn't even need to do anything." Carefully, you curled your eyelashes while listening to Mia go on and on about your situationship. "And still, he won't respect you."

"How is he not respecting me?"

"Girl..."

"What?"

"All this hanging out and hooking up and he still hasn't asked you to be his girlfriend? You know he meets up with other girls too, right?"

Of course you knew. Hearing that out of somebody else's mouth hit a bit too hard, though. You sighed and stared at yourself in the mirror, a weird feeling suddenly settling in your stomach. That was, until you heard a ping from your phone. With a gasp, you quickly grabbed it and heard Mia groan in annoyance on the other end of the line.

"I'll pick you up in 15, be ready."

"See, I told you he'd text!" You continued to do your makeup gingerly and all giggly. Even if your best friend didn't like what Héctor was doing with you and thought that you were a bit too naïve, she let it slide. This time. At no point you thought Mia was jealous of you, though. Other friends always made it sound like she was trying to get in between of your relationship with Héctor, mostly because he's a footballer bla bla bla, but, the truth is, you know. You know that the dynamic between you and the boy isn't ideal, you know that he's probably just toying with your feelings and you know that you should call this thing off. But you can't. And you won't.

Héctor, even if his feelings were bipolar towards you, never made you feel used. Whenever he's take you out to one of his friend's functions he'd introduce you properly and keep his arm around your waist. He made it all seem very normal and that was perhaps what made you so attached.

There's been nights where you cried yourself to sleep over rumors in your friendgroup about a new girl he's seeing or over the fact that he wouldn't text you. You'd never dare to double text, so if he left you on delivered, you were of course being petty. You ask yourself: Am I not good enough? What do other girls have that I don't? Why would he go for her and not me? What you didn't see was, that you were never the problem in the first place.

Teenage love is hard to swallow. Especially when considering that you both were almost 20. Mia thought this was highschool drama, but to you it was very real. Héctor would never deny your feelings whenever you opened up to him (which has happened like two times only), but he'd also never change. He gave you the feeling of being loved unconditionally. And it was addicting admittedly.

...

Like many times before in the last ten minutes, you were checking yourself out in your mirror. Mia had hung up just a few minutes before and your room felt cold and alone. Why were you sulking now? Did her words really hit home that close? You should be happy Héctor's coming over!

You were lying to yourself and you knew that. If only you could—

The sound of your doorbell ripped you out of your thoughts. The heavy feeling on your chest was lifted immediately when you grabbed your bag and ran down the stairs. Luckily, your parents were away for the weekend, which means if anything else would happen at your place...

Carefully, you opened the front door as to not seem so excited at Héctor's presence. Your eyes immediately fell to his hands which held a bouquet of your favorite flowers. He looked rather nonchalant about it, but the second his eyes found your face, they lit up like firework.

"Hey, princesa." He grinned as he called you the nickname, immediately pulling you in for a hug. His arms rested on your waist when he did so. It took you a moment to reciprocate the gesture, your hands resting on his chest. When pulling away, Héctor pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, which left you absolutely breathless... even though nothing had happened yet.

"These.. are your favorites, right?" Holding out the bouquet, you took it from his hands and grinned. "Yes.. yes they are. They're beautiful, thank you!" This wasn't anything new. After a long period of not meeting up, he's always have some sort of gift with him. Either your favorite snack, jewelry you mentioned liking before or, well, flowers. Héctor payed attention to detail, which made it harder for you to believe he didn't love you. There had to be something behind all of this, right?

On the way to your favorite stargazing spot, the footballer couldn't help but compliment you every minute.

"You look really pretty tonight."

"You've said that like five times by now."

"What? I can't compliment my girl no more?"

While you guys laughed about the situation, your brain couldn't help but replay Héctor's words in your mind. His girl. He called you his girl. If this wasn't a clear sign, then what is?

"I'm really sorry I couldn't make more time for you, by the way." Héctor sighed, absentmindedly skipping some songs on the playlist he put on. "Yeah, don't worry about it, I know you're busy." Obviously, you couldn't expect him to make time for you during the busiest time of the season. The last few games were on the horizon and you knew how important the sport was to him. "I shouldn't be too busy for you, tho! Like... ugh." You giggled at his frustration.

For the remainder of time, a comfortable silence settled between the two of you. You just watched him drive, which was really attractive in your mind. Héctor has called you his passenger princess before. Oh, seriously, how could this guy not be in love with you. It was almost impossible, especially with the way you put so much work into your appearance, or the way you behave around him (you know, not to seem so obsessed) and stuff. Unfortunately, you'd do anything for quiet moments like these as long as they're with him.

And a night out stargazing spot with Héctor always meant making out on the hood of his car.

...

Quietness. Warmth. Comfort. Those were all things you felt while laying next to him right now. Nothing happened tonight — Meaning no sex, that is. Héctor said, this wasn't the type of meet up for that. He wanted to savor the time he had with you tonight, that's all. He wanted to talk about everything, god and the world and maybe also why he's mad at the world right now.

It was natural to let him sleep over, especially when that meant he's hold you close while you slept. Héctor's arms around you always made you feel safe, like you didn't need anything else in the universe.

On one hand, it did make you extremely happy that this seemed to be more meaningful to him, on the other hand you didn't know why. You were suspicious... suspicious if he was feeling guilty about something and felt like he needed to make it up to you. Cheating, maybe. But, would it really be cheating if you weren't officially a thing? No, you had no right to call it that.

Héctors breath on your neck grounded you in reality again. Your hand was interlaced with his and all of this felt so domestic. The thing you were looking at on your phone cancelled all of that out in a minute. A mutual friend of yours and Héctor had sent you a screenshot of a snapchat story just 20 minutes ago.

Just as you had suspected, it was from a girl you didn't like anyway. She posted a picture with her on what seemed to be Héctor's lap. Oh, how much you wanted to beat the shit out of him right now. Perfect opportunity even: He's right beside you.

And then it hits you again.

You're not his girlfriend. What are you doing? Why are you so mad? He didn't cheat. He didn't do anything. It was in his right to pursue othrr girls but... wow, the things you'd do to be the only one. You bit down on your cheek to hold yourself back from crying as you just slid your phone under your pillow.

Héctor slightly shifted against you, making his presence apparent again. Your thoughts were half empty as you tried to make sense of the conversation you had earlier this night:

"Are you free on Saturday next week?" You turned your head to him and nodded, curious as to what Héctor had in mind this time. "Great, I want you as my plus one." Satisfied, he propped himself up with one arm and leaned down to press a chaste kiss on your lips. "What do you mean? Plus one to what?" He proceeded to explain how one of his guy friends was throwing this huge house party, but obviously it was still exclusive. Somehow boys in Barcelona seemed to be plugged in everywhere, because you did in fact also recognize the name of that friend. "Uhhh... okay, fine, I'll come." Instead of saying thank you, Héctor pressed another kiss on your lips, leaving you no time to kiss him back. "We'll have a good time, you'll see."

Aha, why didn't he ask one of his other girls then if he loves them so mu—

"Mhm.. princesa, are you okay?" The sudden rumbling of his voice startled you. Confused you turned your head around, to find Héctor, half awake, already staring at you. "Yes? Why? Are you okay?" You whispered back. The boy yawned in response and nodded, looking like he was about to fall asleep again. "Yeah.. you just... squeezed my hand so hard, I thought you wanted me to wake up." Aaaaand he was knocked out again.

With an irritated look on your face, you turned your head back. Did you actually get this frustrated? You must've.

Great, it's like you're digging your own grave here. You thought tonight would be a good night out, but now it seems to settle in your mind that this was in no way healthy. You should talk to him.. no, you needed to talk. It was long overdue and you knew it.

...

The next morning, you didn't really want to be mad at him anymore. Especially not when he woke you up by kissing you down your neck.

On monday, you also didn't have the mental capacity to call Héctor or text him that you needed to talk with him or that you didn't want to go to that party on Saturday.

Same thing on Tuesday, just then he had facetimed you, which seemed to make all your worries go away.

On Wednesday, you just said fuck it, and you went with. Maybe, if you didn't go, you'd ruin an opportunity for him to ask you to be his girlfriend. It definitely felt like an appropriate timing, like afterwards when leaving the party. And, if it didn't happen, you could make new friends, get yourself drunk and pick out a new guy to like. And that wouldn't be cheating, just like how him letting another girl onto his lap isn't cheating either.

After another, for you depressing, phone call with Mia and a few other things to do with studying and worrying about other things for once, Saturday rolls around. Héctor comes by fairly early just to see you get ready. He says it's one of his favorite things, especially because he gets to have a say in what you'll wear. Sometimes he wants it matching, too.

In a slightly uncomfortable way, most likely because of his presence which had never happened before, you pull at the dress you decided to put on — Short, not at all classy and defining all in one. Quickly, you stole a glance at the guy on your bed, watching him tap away at his phone through the mirror. You squinted, trying to make out who he was texting through his mimics. Eventually, Héctor just sighed and put his phone away, his eyes coming to rest on you.

"It's like you're doing it on purpose." Héctor said with a grin and slowly stood up from your bed. You basically felt the way he dragged his eyes over your body, a slight feeling of embarrassment creeping up your cheeks. You moved your gaze to your feet as you started feeling shy or some weird emotion you couldn't really register at all. It has never been like this before, so why are you sweating now?

"What am I doing on purpose?"

"Oh come on now."

You felt his hands come to rest on your hips, slowly dragging themselves over your ass and thighs. He was just eagerly watching your reaction in the mirror without a care in the world. "Hm? Ready to go?"

The minute you stepped into that place, you werr reminded why you didn't want to come in the first place. It's loud, filled with people you don't know and frankly don't want to know, and the smell of strong liquor, sweat and maybe other bodily fluids was in the air. Héctor haphazardly held your hand while dragging you through a crowd of people, trying to get to his friend. You felt watched, exposed and most definitely judged, even though most people were probably just doing their own thing. Or were staring at him and not at you.

"Hey, there you are!" You turned your head back to your date and the guy he was apparently invited in. Without so much as a "Hello" or "How are you?", he went in for a full hug to greet you. And when you tried shooting Héctor a look, he was already gone, off to somewhere else. Great. Now you were stuck with the host who doesn't know how to respect other's boundaries and his friends who are looking at you like they've never seen a woman before.

Twenty-or-so minutes later, you had randomly joined a mixed group of guys and girls who had dragged you in with the question "Oh my god, didn't you arrive with Héctor?" The drink in your hand was a badly mixed blend of what seemed to be cheap Vodka and Lemonade. Whoever made this must've been drunk out of their mind, but you started to get used to it the more you sipped to forget all that around you. You had gone completely non-verbal, another guy next to you was trying to flirt with you and one particular girl out of the bunch didn't seem to like this at all.

"And, you know, you're like the prettiest girl here, sooooo..." Matteo, the guy next to you, said waiting on a response from you. Apparently the appreciative nod you gave him was not enough, because he repeated himself again, trying to get just something out of you by placing his hand on your thigh. Quickly, you slapped it away with a serious expression this time: "Hey! None of that. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Matteo, a guy who had probably never gotten rejected in his life, was appalled. You couldn't care less, which he gathered by the way you rolled your eyes at him and continued to scan the area for Hèctor. "The fuck is your problem?" He sounded entitled when asking. "I'm just complimenting you. Don't you wanna have a good time? Jesus, women.."

You tried tuning him out by concentrating on the music rather his stupid voice, but it was hard ignoring this idiot who wouldn't stop speculating why you weren't interested. And then he blames it on women? You should've left the minute Héctor left you alone in this mess.

He was probably off somewhere with another girl, having the time of his life while you're stuck here with people who won't even talk to you. Except for Matteo, of course. Why be his stupid plus one of he was going to leave you anyway? What was the point of brining you here? In the end, you were stupid enough to even agree to this.

"Wait.. Are you his girlfriend?"

"Who's girlfriend?"

"Héctors! That's why you don't want me.. Man, sorry, I didn't know you guys were a thing now."

What and absolute idiot. But, the situation resolved itself. You just nodded and agreed, apologzing even for "not being available" or some bullshit. This, of course, made the others in the group listen up, too. Immediately, the girl next to you grabbed you by your shoulder and slightly shook you. "Holy shit! You're his girlfriend!"

Eventually, while you were getting knotted up in all the lies you tried to come up with to back this thing now, Matteo removed himself from the situation, making his rounds for a new drink and possibly a new girl to harass. This got interrupted, though, when he spotted your alleged boyfriend in the kitchen.

"Héctor."

"Matteo."

The latter got himself some water from the sink and drank it faster than he needed to.

"Dude, so sorry, I just tried hitting on your girlfriend. I wasn't trying to start anything so if she mentions that to you, just know I didn't mean it."

Héctor looked at him like he just said the stupidest thing in the world. He sniffled slightly and squinted his eyes, like that was going to help him understand this situation. "What do you mean my girlfriend?" Matteo seemed oblivious or simply too drunk to notice. "Huh? Yeah, the girl you left there."

"And.. she said she's my girlfriend? Only to you, or?" Héctor evidently got more and more irritated by this interaction and the information he had just attained. "No? She openly said you're her boyfriend. Aren't you? Like, bro, I really didn't mean to hit on her." No. You couldn't. Right? Why on earth would you? He thought you knew this was casual— What is your problem?

After a minute of angry silence, Héctor abandoned his drink by the other empty cups on the counter and made a beeline to you. "Awww, how cute! Can't believe you guys have been going steady now! I didn't even kno—" This... very challenging conversation with the girls in the group werr suddenly interrupted by Héctor grabbing your arm. Not in a forceful way, but definitely in a determined one. Yeah, determined to get you out of here. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt you," Héctor mumbled out, "but I need her for a moment."

The young footballer took the liberty to drag you all the way outside to his car, the cold wind of the night hitting you in the face pretty ungracefully. "Would you just tell me what's going on? Héctor?" And he wouldn't respond. He had wrapped his hand tightly around your wrist, shaking his head no everytime you asked him something. Eventually, when he reached for his car keys, you ripped your arm away from him: "What's wrong? What the fuck? That hurt, dude!"

"Get in." Héctor looked at you like you had just killed someone. "What?" You weren't going to lie, you were kind of scared of this now. "Get. In. I'm driving you home. This was a bad idea."

...

The whole car ride was quiet and cold. Not only would Héctor not talk to you, but he wouldn't even do anything to make this more bearable. Slowly, you realized that you had probably fucked it all up with this lie you came up with. To your defense: You needed it to get rid of Matteo and all the other guys trying to hit on you. But, Héctor didn't know that and you weren't ready to start this conversation just yet.

Without you realizing, he had pulled into your drive way and put the car in park. "Why are you telling others that you're my girlfriend?" Oh yeah. This was it, wasn't it? "Look, I had to okay? These guys wouldn't leave me alone and I just—"

"No. No! You.. you can't just go around and say stuff like that! Are you actually mental?" Héctor gradually raised his voice at you, which madr you shudder. Slowly, you turned your head in his direction, finding him already staring you down. His eyes were filled with an emotion you had never seen him with before. Especially not directed against you. "You have to be one crazy fucking woman to do that. I am not your boyfriend, okay? You should've just come to me.. god." You bit down on your cheek while he was clearly struggling to find words for this.

"Do you know what others will believe now? Huh? Do you know how fast this shit can spread? Huh? No! No you don't." Yes you did. You kept quiet as Héctor continued to yell at you about how this will effect rumors again, how this will make fan girls bring hell onto you and so on. You didn't care. The only thing you cared about was how he yelled at you. You heard you heart shatter into a million tiny pieces.

After a few minutes, you couldn't hold it in anymore: "Oh my god! Stop! Genuinely stop!" Héctor did stop, looking at you in an offended way. "Why can't you just be my boyfriend? Do you know how long you've been basically playing with me?" You yelling back at him with this sentiment only made him laugh. In frustration, sure, but he could already feel his blood boil at the choice of your words. "Nah, you can't be serious. Playing with you? I thought you knew what kind of thing this was!"

"Not until you said you loved me! Who does that to a person?" Your voice cracked when asking him that question. For months you've been dying to ask Héctor exactly this and now you know he wouldn't take you seriously. "You should've known this was casual! You know I go out with other girls, why can't you just leave things as they are! Now what will they think of me? As some kind of cheater?"

Tears started prickling down your face, quiet sobbing filling the dreaded silence. Héctor looked at you with a more remorseful expression, but still didn't do anything to comfort you. His head was reeling, as was yours.

You just unbuckled your seatbelt and bolted out of his car, slamming the door shut. You didn't look back, you didn't want to and you didn't need to. And Héctor just watched you go inside, back home again without stopping you, even though you really wanted him to.

You wanted him to realize what he did and come running to your front door to stop you, to hug you, to comfort you.

But those are all things you cannot expect from an immature teenager who doesn't even know when to correctly use the words "I love you".

[helloliriels]

LIRIELS SHORT FICS

Completed short works, one shots, prompt fics:

GIF by helloliriels

Keep Us From Falling (5,595) A very different conversation is had after Sherlock returns. All thanks to the remarkable Mrs. Hudson.

Remember Me (912) - When all is lost, your face I see ... Do you, still then, remember me? (for Remembrance Day).

I Can't Feel My Face When I'm With You (533) - Love is a powerful paralytic. (The Responder AU beginnings)

You Think It Would Look Better On You? (1,801) - Sherlock suddenly finds, he needs a beard. Badly.

I Will Try (To Fix You) (1,843) - He had collected everything he could pick up and find from the pavement outside of St. Bart's. The shattered remains of his genius.

The Genius Who Had No Heart In His Chest (835) - "I had feelings once ..." He says ... "I had feelings ... and that's why they took it away." (Clockworks, Library, Fantasy AU)

Kiss Me Now Before You Go (2,200) - John is getting ready to head overseas, and to war - but there may be one last chance for a kiss before he goes ... (wwii, memorial day, teenlock beginnings)

CATCH (1,690) - A month away from John was all it had taken to break him. (For Sherlock Challenge: December Prompt: Catch)

Sherlock Is A Girl's Name (2,772) - Sherlock said it on the tarmac to make John laugh. But then ... He keeps saying it. Often ... and John Watson has never felt so confused in his whole life ... (S3 fix-it)

Never Gonna Dance Again (1,895) - “You don’t understand!” John’s drink sloshed in his hand as he fell toward Lestrade, waggling his finger and fairly wailing with upset, “he’s never gonna dance again!”

The Years Keep Returning Me To You (4,815) - 58 Texts. John had counted. Before the woman died ... Now there were 77. Sherlock deserved to be happy. Why wouldn't he reply? It's not every day you get a second chance.

H.O.U.N.D. (987) - The Hound of Baskerville was looming before him, in all its glory! And it was stunning ... (THOB ficlet, FFF #129)

THIINK TWIICE (4,081) - Sherlock can't wait to surprise John ... he's back! He's alive! John will be so thrilled ... why didn't Mycroft warn him? ... maybe he tried ... (a short fix-it fic, post-TRF)

Hope Eternal (1,273) - Tea is at 4pm. Don't bother knocking. (John Watson has lost many friends, post-TRF regrets, hobbit reference)

Constellations (334) - 'Inspired by gorgeous fan art, and Yellow by Coldplay - turns into something beautiful. John glows, taking Sherlock's breath away ...

Bleeding Out (3,116) - Sherlock never meant to put John in this position; having to watch his best friend bleed out on the pavement. Again. One more for the Reichenbach... (accidental whump/comfort)

An Unexpected Letter (1,000) - Sometimes homesickness strikes ... when your sitting at home. Having your tea for the 111th time. Alone. (Bagginshield, tolkien, hobbit reference)

Come Closer (937) - Sherlock was always doing this. Leaning into John's personal space ... having to see something closer ...

The Highest Compliment (453) - “Well that’s certainly a compliment he has not tried on me y-yet? ... Have you, John?”

S.P.I.C.E. (518) - Dunelocked ofc ... with Art. For Sherlock Challenge: November Prompt: SPICE

The Limp You Gave Me (1,965) - Sherlock had been back for months. Everything was back to normal. Just the same as it was before … Only it wasn’t. (S3 fix-it, post-TRF)

Next Time (2,332) - "You know ... the NEXT time you tell me you love me, you could SHOW it too!!" Watson yells, before realizing that he has said it ... OUT LOUD ...

Upside | Down (714) - It seemed like forever. This moment. Forever. Falling. (TRF, alternate reality)

Do Bees Kiss? Or Just Sting? (2,082) - Q: Why do bees "kiss" A: When bees "kiss," they are actually passing nectar to other bees.

Experiments in Conductivity (955) - and consulting detectives in the rain ... (Flash Fic Friday Prompt #126 - 'Out in the Rain')

What To Give The Detective Who Has Everything (676) - Everyone's been invited over for a little bash. It's Sherlock's Birthday.

Speak For Me (574) - Mary’s research led her to be killed … A gruesome, bloody death, no one can explain. John Watson calls for a speaker.

After All (561) - Bit of an idiot this one, eh? (Love confessions)

Into Battle (335) - Sherlock and John made a plan ... the hard part will be carrying it out ... (tsot, s3 fix-it)

Three Little Words (304) - What do a consulting detective and an alien tree have in common? (Groot and John are talking)

Summer Calling (461) - John and Sherlock can't wait for the final bell to ring. Summer is calling ... (Teenlock)

PAYPHONE I, II, III (7,900) - If we're going to fix it ... this is where we begin ... ☎️📞💋 "I'm at a payphone ..." (a series of fix-its)

(Not So) Fake Fic Titles (35,551) - Series of prompt ficlets. 100% fake fics! Answering 100 asks! Celebrating 100 works on Ao3!

February: The Month of Love & Grief (12,687) a series of prompt fills originally posted for @ohlooktheresabee's 2021 challenge.

Okay, not a finished list but I honestly got so sleepy ...I give up lol. Nighto!

[dreamjoymemoir]

wow! i just thought of smth really cool! (i think..)

anaxa and the herta dating a reader who is very self-sacrificial of their limbs/organs (in a way anaxa is, with his heart and eye and all) and invents super cool and elegant prosthetics!

maybe they have the coolest golden-robot prosthetic leg, or the same thing for an arm (a robot arm that looks like garment maker's?) either way, self-sacrifice but make it FASHIONABLEE

hope youre having a great day!!

thank you!!! hope you enjoy this!

-anaxagoras is very impressed by your prosthetics, curious about the construction of them and nonchalant about body modifications in the way you can expect him to be. robot arms are an incredible technological advancement for amphoreus, and as the inventor of the shotgun he clearly needs to step up his game. he expects you to have blueprints he can look over.

-he's a little worried about your mind when you tell him of the various sacrifices you've made, hypocrite that he is, and the necessity behind your body mods suddenly seems more grim when he knows how willing you are to give up parts of yourself. still, he can't deny that you've invented beautiful and functional replacements to your lost body parts, and he admires your capabilities. whenever you two are physically affectionate, he runs his fingers over the metal idly.

-he's more open to telling you the story of how he lost his eye, knowing you'll understand the sacrifice he made. he can only hope that you haven't suffered the same kind of pain as he did. he might even help you improve your inventions with the help of alchemy, the way he's tattooed his arm to let him use magic! if you're going to be making new parts for yourself, they might as well be as useful as possible.

-herta is also interested in your body, but she appreciates your sense of aesthetics most of all. as someone VERY fashionable who has 281 puppets in her image, she cares very much about visuals and elegance in one's inventions.

-being privy to many of the wild and strange things geniuses will do to themselves, she is less concerned about the self-sacrifice at least initially. you seem to be able to replace your body parts with even better prosthetics just fine, so she won't fuss over you much, but she will be annoyed if you go around tossing your perfectly good limbs away on a whim. it's just making more work for yourself when your intelligence could be put to better use elsewhere! and you better not be taking needless risks, because if she finds out you beefed it by ripping out your own heart for a useless purpose, she's going to be pissed. you DON'T want herta to decide necromancy sounds like a fun idea it won't be good for anyone. actually that goes for anaxagoras too you already know what he's capable of.

-when you get a shiny new modification, she leans in close and taps her chin as she ponders over your creation. maybe commenting on things she would've done differently or asking about what you did to this leg to necessitate a new one. she tuts about the mischief you get into and asks why you don't just create whole robots of yourself to sacrifice instead. she may even find herself missing certain parts of you that she liked and thought were already beautiful but which are now gone. you are lovely to her no matter what happens to your body, but she also likes you the way you are.