#brazil can’t fucking close!!!!!!’ like always!!!!

[micamicster]

(Noa don’t read this post it’s crude) but brazil is giving FUCKING blue balls it’s all they have to give

[melanieph321]

You and Jude met a few days before going to SGP for international duty in a club or something.

You guys click right away and there’s so much chemistry and you end up spending the whoooooole night together, you have breakfast in bed the morning after and off he goes to SGP. You start texting and there’s more attraction between you two and he keep saying that he can’t stop thinking about you and it’s the same for you.

He invites you to the first friendly with Brazil and you don’t know if it’s appropriate going as families and partners will be there and ofc his parents.

You end up going and he introduces you as his friend but most of the guys know each one of his friends and they had never heard of you so they know there’s more, same for his parents as they catch you talking deep and they notice his soft look for you.

This is so good! 😭

SEVEN DAYS OF REQUESTS (DAY 4)

Jude Bellingham x Reader - Capture Me Part 1/2

Part 2

Enjoy!

You had always been passionate about photography, and as a photography student, you were always on the lookout for opportunities to hone your skills and earn some extra money. So when your teacher asked you to help her out with a shoot, you did not hesitate to take the job. However, when she gave you the adress to where the shoot would be happening, you had to read the text message twice, one time out loud,  just to make sure that you hadn't gotten it wrong.

"Wembley Stadium?" You frowned. "What the fuck am I doing at Wembley Stadium?"

Turns out that your teacher had a life outside of teaching university kids how to adjust their lenses. Apparently she owned her own model agency that specialized in Sports photography, hence today's job - shooting England's national men's football team ahead of their fixture against Brazil.

You were a bit nervous at first. You had never photographed for a sporting event before. Thankfully your teacher put you on portrait duty whilst she took care of capturing the players in action. It turned out to be a really fun shoot. One of the best gigs you've ever gotten. The football players were a fun and energetic bunch, and they were eager to show off their skills and personalities to your camera. Some of them were constantly moving around, striking poses even though you didn't ask them to. It was helpful at times but not always.

Despite the chaos, the football players were incredibly friendly and curious about you and your job. You found yourself laughing and joking with the players, all of them except for one.

"Is this gonna take all day, or what?" Said Jude Bellingham. He was called in to stand behind your camera but seemed a bit on the edge to.

"Just chill out, Jude, she'll just be a minute." Said one of his teamsmates, telling him off. Jude took it as a joke, though. "Yeah, but you lot get to go to lunch already whilst I'm still stuck here."

You had just gotten to readjusting the lighting but was immediately struck by his confidence and charisma. However, you were determined to focus on your work rather than letting his cocky demeanor distract you.

You snapped a shot.

"Hey?"

Jude had his eyes closed in that one so you snapped another shot.

"Hey, I wasn't ready."

You snapped another shot. And another.

"For fuck sakes...Now I know you're joking with me."

You ignored him, eyes narrowed at your laptop screen.

"Fascinating." You muttered.

Jude frowned.  "What is?" 

Looking at your computer screen you couldn't help but notice the way the light reflected off his muscles and the way Judes smile lit up his entire face.

"Is something wrong?"

You looked up. Jude was looking at you with a bit of concern in his eyes. Heat rose to your face. "No. Of course not."

"Oh. Okay." He nodded. "So am I done?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. It's just..." You were blushing now. Blushing like a fool. "I meant to say that you are really photogenic."

"And what does that mean. That I'm hot?"

"No, and yes." You laughed, avoiding snorting like a pig. "I guess you can say that you're photos are good looking, but it's more about the fact that you are totally made to be behind the camera." You said, cringing internally.

"Aren't you the one behind the camera?" Jude smirked.

You shook your head. A sign to hold back on the compliments towards a guy who probably gets them everyday.

"But you are." He said, still with his eyes curiously checking you out.

"I am what?"

"Technically you are the one behind the camera not me."

You sighed. "Yes, maybe I am."

He smiled, having proven his point.

It was a sweet moment. A brief moment that you share with Jude, where the two of you were shyly glancing at each other, not really saying anything. Nevertheless, the shoot continued with Jude posing behind the camera, showing of the men's football kit for this year.

Despite his initial arrogance, Jude turned out to be a lot of fun to work with, and you found yourself enjoying the shoot more than you expected. Perhaps that's what led you to take up his offer when he asked....

"So are you having lunch with us or...?"

"Um...I don't know?" You said, not sure if your teacher mentioned that lunch would be included today.

"Come on." Jude waved. "I'm sure the guys can spare you a sausage."

"Thanks Jude, that's really sweet of you." But you had yet packed away all of your photography tools. They were supposed to be loaded onto your teachers van and taken back to her agency. "I don't think I'm gonna make it to lunch, I still have a job to do."

"Okay." He said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the door frame. "If not lunch, how about dinner?"

"Pardon?"

He smiled at your reaction. "I'm asking you to dinner. Are you free tonight?"

You frowned. "Do you even know my name?"

"Do I have to?"

You rolled your eyes.

"Fine." He sighed. "I'm Jude Bellingham, what's your name?" He offered you a hand.

You took it and shook it firmly. "It's Y/N."

His eyes widened in suprise, a slight twitch in the corner of his lips. "Hello Y/N, are you free to go out to dinner with me tonight?"

"No."

"Oh, come on."

You laughed. "Fine. But nothing fancy."

"Why not?" He frowned.

"Why not? Don't people follow you with cameras everywhere you go? I don't want to be a part of that."

"Too bad." He shrugged. "I've been told that that I'm very photogenic."

"Shut up." You laughed and shoved him out of the room, shouting: "I'll leave my number with the people at the ticket outlet!"

"Alright, talk to you later Y/N."

"Bye, Jude."

Part 2

[graneymar]

hate fuck with richy

#1. RICHARLISON: "SHUT UP" - "MAKE ME"

SUMMARY: above

WARNINGS: smut

PAIRING: Richarlison x fem!reader

"What? What are you saying? I can’t hear you", I shouted back at my best friend, who was trying to tell me something. The music was too loud, I couldn’t hear anything but the loud, brazilian funk beats. "Ney and I are leaving for a minute, we'll be back soon", she screamed right into my ear. I rolled my eyes at her in annoyance, "Do you really have to do this now?" She shrugged and laughed, Neymar was already standing beside her and tried to drag her away from me by grabbing her waist. "Just go talk to… I don't know, Rafaella maybe? I'll hurry up", she said and was gone in a matter of seconds. I knew exactly what those two dirty little freaks were about to do and I was nothing but mad at her for leaving me alone at a party I barely knew anyone at.

My best friend and Neymar have been dating for a while now. It was his birthday and he decided to celebrate it in Brazil. I got invited as well and of course I was super happy and grateful about being there since it wasn’t my first time in Brazil with them, so I knew most of Neymars close friends, but looking around now, I didn’t see one similar face. The house was absolutely crowded and I simply stood there, looking around and sipping on my drink.

"Y/N, come here”, I heard someone exclaim behind me. I turned around to see Antony sitting on a couch, waving me over to him. "Thank God", I thought to myself and quickly walked up to him, a sigh of relief escaping my lips. Thanks to Neymar I already met all the Brazilian national players; Antony was one of them that I got greatly along with. I sat down next to him and greeted the rest of the team. I looked up to see Richarlison standing right in front of us. "Okay, I have another one", he dragged all the attention on himself and started telling a joke. While everyone was laughing, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at him. I honestly didn’t like Richarlison that much, he seemed full of himself and was an attention seeker. His jokes weren’t even funny to be honest. But he felt the same way about me. We didn’t like each other and we never tried to hide it. He noticed I wasn’t as amused as the others were and his face froze. "Are you here to drag everyone’s mood down again?", he asked. I provocatively smiled at him and tilted my head to the side. "Nice to see you again too. How’s life going?"

"Better when you’re not in it", he said, raising his eyebrows at me. "What a kind and beautiful soul you are", I replied before the faked smiled disappeared from my face. He repeatedly shook his head from left to right before placing himself next to Paquetá again. I tried to distract myself by talking to Antony, but Richarlisons simple presence was enough to annoy the hell out of me. When I heard him keep making jokes and his laugh echoing through the room, I felt like I needed to slap someone’s face. I threw him one pissed look before I got up and walked out of the house. I was alone on the terrace, most of the guests went inside or have been in the backyard at the other side of the house. "Why do you always have to act like that?", I heard that maddening voice from right behind me. "Are you following me now?", I asked as I was turning around. "Surely not, but if I'm being honest, I'm wondering why you dislike me so much", Richarlison answered. "Hm, maybe because you are damn conceited and an attention whore?"

"Oh and you’re not seeking for attention every time you're acting like a little bitch, like in this very moment?" I gasped. He slowly made some moves towards me, my eyes going up and down his body. "Did you just call me a bitch?"

"There’s a difference between being a bitch and acting like one", he tried to explain, "Or are you on your period everytime we happen to see each other? Everyone’s enjoying my jokes, people love to be around me. It’s always only you thats behaving so disgustingly." Now that he was standing just a few centimetres away from me, I felt a weird unknown tingle building up in me. "I'm not laughing because you're not funny. They all are being polite while you are embarrassing yourself with senseless jokes." Richarlison shook his head at my response, taking two steps away from me again. "Oh shut up", he said. "Make me", I sassed. He looked me directly in the eyes for a short second, that felt like an eternity though, before he quickly walked up to me, cupped my head in his large hands and placed a long kiss onto my lips. Not even thinking about it that much, I returned the kiss, quickly realising who it was that I was kissing. "What the fuck do you think you’re doing?", I shouted as I pushed him away from me. A wide grin formed in his face. "Don’t act like you didn’t like it", he smirked before crashing his lips onto mine once more. Sadly, he was right. Feeling his lips on my skin felt too fucking good, even though the anger at myself was building up in my body as well. I couldn’t believe what I was doing, but our little make out session started getting wilder and more heated while our tongues found their own rhythm. His hands were on my butt, giving it a soft squeeze. "Let’s go inside", he whispered as he pulled away. I waited for him to go in first hoping no one would notice what was going on. Following him, we entered Neymars guest bedroom. As soon as I locked the door, Richarlison turned me around, pushing my back against the door, finally locking his lips with mine once again. I wrapped my legs around his waist and let out a few noises of pleasure the moment his lips found their way to my neck. He picked me up and carefully threw me onto the bed, quickly getting his shirt off before he got on top me. I bit my lip when he massaged my breasts and placed another few kisses on my neck. I threw my head back, my breath getting heavier as I felt his fingertips on my thighs underneath my tight black dress. I watched his hands roaming up and down my body, feeling myself getting wetter by feeling his hot breath on my thighs while he was placing sloppy kisses onto them. "Fuck", I groaned and slightly pushed him down from me before getting myself on top of him. His surprised face quickly turned into a wide smirk, he tilted his head up to give me another kiss, one of his hands squeezing my butt - the other one making my body twitch by slapping it every now and then. I kissed his neck, my hands going down, tugging on his joggers. He quickly got out of them, throwing them onto the floor together with his shorts. I gasped, the excitement and nervousness rising realising how big he actually is. Richarlison laid on his back again, the massive grin on his face not disappearing for a second. I instantly climbed on top, kissing his lips and grinding on to him. His hands ran up and down my back until he softly started pulling on my hair while we were groaning into each other mouths. I pulled away to pull my panties to the side, not even bothering to take them off, I just needed to feel him now. Richarlison watched me take action, his hands cupping my breasts that were still covered by my dress. I lift myself up, my brows furrowed as I grabbed him and teased the two of us by taking the tip in a little too slowly. Once I lowered myself onto him, I let out a loud whine, needing a moment to adjust him. His lust filled eyes observed me losing all control of my body as I gently moved my hips up and down, crying out every time I fully took him in. "Shut the fuck up or they’ll hear you", he said inbetween his moans. I completely ignored him, I couldn’t stay silent even if I wanted to. "Shut up I said", he hissed, grabbing my waist. "I- I can’t", I somehow managed to answer.

He lift my hip up and sat straight up so we were face to face, repeatedly thrusting his huge hard cock in and out my throbbing pussy. I gasped for air while my moans got even louder than they’ve been before. "Oh fuck I hate you so much", I shouted out before his hand covered my mouth attempting to diminish my whines. His facial expression started changing the moment I felt his thrusts got out of rhythm, letting me know he was close. I threw my head back, the tingling sensation also happening in my body as he placed some wet kisses on my neck. We couldn’t stop ourselves from meaning out loudly while riding out our climax. I climbed off his sweaty body, fixing my hair and outfit. Turning around, I saw Richarlison still laying in bed naked, out of breath and watching me. I looked at him questioning, earning a chuckle from him. "What are you laughing at? This never happened, okay?", I jokingly, yet seriously threatened him. He jumped out of the bed, picking up his clothes and quickly got into them. "Didn’t know having sex with someone you hate from the bottom of your heart would be that good", he snickered as I finally opened the bedroom door to get out of there. My eyes widened as I saw my best friend and Neymar getting out of the opposite room. "What the- Y/N, what the fuck? Richarlison?", she shouted out while Neymar bursted out into laughter. "I don’t know. I don’t know how it happened. Forget about it", I hissed back. Neymar raised his eyebrows, the enormous smile still on his face, "I knew this would happen sooner or later." I begged them to not talk about it for the rest of the night. Richarlison, though, couldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear and - what a surprise - immediately told a joke the moment we sat inbetween the Brazilian national team again. My best friend stared at me in shock, realising that I was actually laughing about Richarlisons joke. Something I have indeed never done before. "So, either you’ve been sexually frustrated whenever you’ve seen him before or you’re now developing a crush on him", she whispered to me, making me laugh out even louder.

[new-berry]

Berryyyyy pls send me a wip to get stuck into Im scared there’s no writing left in my soul

What tickles you?

They are more “openings” than WIP I guess.

I think this was going to be Iris Law /Trent /Jude before that morphed. This would be ANY threesome. This would be Mickey so long last name and Cuti and Son. Or two kids trying to seduce some other kid (for kid I mean early twenties adults).

———

Come watch the game.’ There’s ‘with us’ implied in there. There usually is these days. There’s a beat, enough time to blink your eyes, take a breath, have a knee jerk response. And the “please” comes a second later. The well raised boy, or the reminder from someone off-screen.

Jude looks at his phone. Like if he turns it over he will see the “us”. Like a second face will be superimposed on the screen. “What game?” He sends back.

“Duh.” Is the reply. Trent isn’t texting then. There is an image of a dark skinned chest, it’s not a selfie, taken from too far away, Trent posed in an angle of sunshine, his face isn’t in the picture. That doesn’t stop Jude’s instant identification.

“Game of life?” Is written under it. A close up of the waist band of England issue sweat pants, Trent’s cock pushing up against them. “Spin the bottle.”

“Ok” Jude sends back before he can talk himself out of it.

It’s embrassing being so helpless around him. Around them both.

———

This is my Bruno and Sven but cut and paste those names to whatever works.

“This was a bad idea.” Bruno says. Which is nothing new, but he’s wrong. It’s was a good idea, it’s always been a good idea.

“We can’t do this again.” Bruno always sounds so very very sure when he says things like that. Once he’s come over Sven or inside him. Once the alcohol has worn off, or the winner’s triumph has burned away

But then he’s always sounded very sure when he’s talking his way into Sven’s bed as well.

Sven doesn’t flinch when Bruno makes his announcement. He doesn’t flinch when Bruno turns away from his hand. It’s not like he didn’t know exactly how this was going to end when he agreed. Again.

Sven is an expert at not reacting. No twitching or flinching or begging. Not that Bruno would see in the dark they always do this in. He’s gone by the time that Sven gets out of the shower.

( And then I wrote a bit for the next part …)

“Yeah actually no.” Bruno goes instantly still. “What?” Sven can’t see him. And he doesn’t know that tone of voice he’s using, something like talking to the media after a loss.

“This is a bad idea. You can stay if you want? There’s a spare room. Or stay in here it’s fine. Or the couch it’s comfortable. “ Sven jams his lips shut on the babble.

“I can go if you want.” Bruno says.

“No” Sven thinks. “Fuck no fuck no fuck no.”

“I only want you to stay if you stay the night.”

Bruno’s voice is, genuinely kind. Sven thinks that’s probably the worse than when he says. “I don’t want to stay the night.”

Sven thanks god for inventing night time and darkness and blackout curtains. And curses him for inventing love and Brazil.

Good thing Bruno has so much experience, getting re-dressed in the dark. After he leaves Sven stumbles to the couch and sleeps there. It doesn’t smell like Bruno’s cologne.

———-

Fabian Anthony. This was actually the first thing I wrote with Anthony but I never finished it. So any older defender younger forward.

Fabian was actually not up becuase of insomnia, although he had carefully put that myth out when he started at the club.

He was just visiting an old friend. A new old friend. A discrete new friend. From an app. Discretion something that is not even in the same time zone as Anthony right now.

Insomnia and late night walks. If you go out often enough in training clothes and come back looking like you actually went for a walk not one notices the times you come back looking like a night out. Not that a night out on the road is common for him anymore But then he is far from 21, and he’s not the one is about the show himself to be an almighty fuck up.

And Anthony doesn’t know he’s fucked up of course. Because by any metric- that isn’t Eddie Howe and the desperate desire of Geordies to win anything shiny - he hasn’t fucked up. He’s 21 and pretty fucking normal. Fabian takes in the face of the person dropping him down the road from the team hotel and getting pretty enthusiastically snogged goodbye. Well he’s normal for about ten percent of the population.

I’m sure I have pages more of that. Pages!

The rest are just porn probably.

[safetycar-restart]

brazil 2022. definitely…. something? already.

and i’m so fucking mad. like. idk. it’s entertaining dont get me wrong but after ferrari did that to poor baby boy bunny in q3. like im a ferrari fan but mate, poor charles.

like i feel if he were in the mood to do anything sexual (i mean he’s only human) he’d think he deserves nothing more than harsh treatment (or bunny harsh because we all know actual harsh would kill him), edging and tears. he doesn’t believe he deserves anything else. but no. thats not right. because he shouldnt punish himself for his strategists idiotic decisions. so instead, he’s lay on pierre’s chest, with pierre holding him and whispering in his ear and kissing his neck and jaw. whilst you slowly (but hard) take him apart. letting him feel the intense pleasure of being taken apart and loved at once. and he cries when he cums, because it’s bunny and he can’t control how his emotions work. but the whole time it’s a constant reminder how amazing he is and how he deserves the world.

🍁

One day we’re gonna be able to write a happy post race vibes ask for poly!piarles but today is not that day and tomorrow isn’t looking good either.

He really would think he deserves punishment. Maybe because he doesn’t know what else to do anymore? He’s been comforted by you or Pierre or both every time ferrari has fucked with him this season and it’s never helped. It’s made him feel better of course, but it’s never changed the outcome of the next race.

So now he just…. Maybe he needs to be punished? Maybe if he’s punished then things will start to go well again? Maybe it’s him. Maybe he’s the problem and therefore if he’s punished… maybe things will start to get better?

Except punishment would break him. It would send him straight into subdrop for days and he would feel the worst he's ever felt. So no. No you will not punish your bunny.

You will NEVER punish your bunny, and Pierre would burn down the entire world if someone suggested punishing his bunny.

Absolutely not.

What Charles needs, and deserves, is to be treated softly and taken apart gently, allowed to feel good and safe and understand that he is ALWAYS your good bunny, no matter what happens on track.

He feels so good cuddled up against Pierre’s chest, with Pierre kissing and cuddling him and whispering paise. And you opening him? Brilliant.

Of course pierre could fuck him nice and hard, but that’s not what Charles needs. Sometimes Charles needs his mommy and only his mommy.

Pierre is never offended by this. He gets it. You’re Charles’s Dom. Me times he needs a comfort only his Dom can provide.

And when that’s the case, Pierre is more than happy to simply hold Charles and praise him, to play a supporting role because Charles needs you to be the one in charge.

He hides in Pierre’s chest when the pleasure gets overwhelming, clinging to Pierre’s neck and sobbing because he’s so close and it’s so much and he feels so good.

And of course when it’s over, he can suck Pierre to his heart’s content.

[yesterdayiwrote]

It’s that time of the year again I guess 🤣

I know Lewis and Nalu have been associated before, but haven’t they been linked to other people too, this year?

(Lewis with Shakira I seem to recall?)

And yeah, Nalu was also seen with other controversial people around, I think she had some beef because she was dating her friend’s ex or something (?)

I just can’t put my finger on what is going on honestly, I knew Lewis was going to be in Brazil because he’d mentioned he’d be in a recent interview, but him hanging out with Nalu seems more like PR press (maybe with some benefits, I mean good for him) to me.

What seems strange to me is how, with the certain image he’s always very careful to present himself with, his entourage can’t pair him up with less shady or controversial people, just my thoughts.

I mean, let's be blunt here, Lewis fucks. He might not be loudly proclaiming it to the world everytime he does it, or going Instagram Official with everyone he gets close with for more than a few months, but it's unlikely he's completely chaste just because he doesn't have a public, visible significant other... and for someone with his fame and bank balance and control over his public image, it absolutely makes sense that that might casually be the same person because it gives him a certain level of trust... and I can definitely see that arrangements like that could be mutually beneficial, especially in this Instagram age where any vague association to a celebrity brings followers and followers bring financial benefits.

Lewis' love life has always been speculated about, and I know there's a lot of rumours about certain individuals he's seen with regularly. Some of them I can buy into, some of them I think are just PR or wishful thinking. Honestly... I don't think there was ever anything between him and Shakira 🤫

She's definitely been linked to a few scandals, and looking at it as purely a PR arrangement then it definitely does make it seem weird, but then again taking a step back from it, it's entirely possible that he just... genuinely likes her. There's a weird sanitation of Lewis's character that goes on, like he's incapable of error and bad judgement. Lewis associates with ALOT of questionable people despite his publicised ethics and I think he largely gets a pass for a lot of it, but then I think it's part of a larger and much more complex discussion for our terminally online times about what makes a 'good person' and who exactly gets to decide who that applies to, and can you associate with 'bad people' and still be a good person..? (this is getting heavy, ill bring it back to the idle gossip 🤣)

So yeah, I'm guessing it's more of a casual hook up thing, at the most a soft launch. Lewis has always had a messy side so it shouldn't really be a surprise that he hangs around with other messy people and I think people only get shocked by it because he's put on a bit of a pedestal at times? I think a lot of the drama comes from the weird societal expectations that everyone should be in committed long term relationships and that platonic friendship is gender specific. Maybe they're just friends and he caught up with her cos he was in the area?!

[m0mmyxsuckyxsucky2]

Yandere saiki Kusuo

—————————————————————

Genre: fluff!

Trigger warnings: none... maybe depression??

-These are headcanons!

—————————————————————

↳ This man..

↳ THIS MAN.

↳ he can be a troublesome dude.

↳ as soon as you catch his attention, either due to your ordinariness or helped him get rid of a bug.

↳ he will NEVER-

↳ I’m gonna tell you, EVER forget you.

↳ he’ll be so clingy, it’ll kinda annoy the fuck outta ya.

↳ he can be nice tho <3 at least he is aware of his yandere behavior and has some manners.

↳ and those are, not watching you when you’re taking a shower, not watching you when you’re changing (when it’s not needed), and when you’re on the toilet (BECAUSE NOBODY WOULD EVER WANNA SEE THAT).

↳ he will help you, A LOT tho.

↳ you forgot to bring lunch? He has a double lunch with him.

↳ your phone is almost dying? Don’t worry babe, he got a charger with him.

↳ you forgot to lock your front door? do not worry, he got you <3

↳ he’ll basically have things you need ‘coincidentally’.

↳ if you insist to buy him coffee jelly as a thank you, oh boi.

↳ you make him fall for you WAY harder.

↳ if he ever gets jealous, he’ll keep it inside of him as long as it’s needed.

↳ but will smother you with affection in the end, or just ignore you to show you he’s mad at you. In the end you’ll have to give a lot of affection back.

↳ he doesn’t look like the type to touch you, but will do small things like holding hands privately, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, etc. small things.

↳ but right instantly he gets used to it, he’ll ask for more and more. Hug you frequently, kiss you, rest his head on your head or your shoulder, etc.

↳ he won’t mind of how you would look like, but he would be happy if you aren’t near beautiful like teruhashi. He wouldn’t want to make people ‘disappear’.

↳ you’re chubby? Awesome! A human pillow!

↳ body hair? here is something I imagine him thinking😭 ‘good, now you can scare the men away.’ “You look great!” he’d smile and would thumbs up(and that smile isn’t even fake).

↳ if you have any disorders, like adhd, maladaptive daydreaming, anxiety and any other disorders. He’ll try and help you as much as he can.

↳ he would 100% fly with you across countries.

↳ if you wanna teleport/fly to your own country, whether it be America, uk, turkey, Greece, Germany, Netherlands, brazil, Finland, Canada, Italy, it doesn’t matter. He will do it for you.

↳ you have allergies? He will make sure to not get it close to you regardless if it’s food or a animal.

↳ I just realized he would be very jealous of animals or humans, when you give them more attention than him💀

↳ he’s giving big simp vibes tbh.

↳ if you need pills, he’ll always remind you.

↳ he would love to take things from you, just small things you’ll probably won’t notice being gone.

↳ he’s the type of guy to stare at you all day, no matter how you look or what you are doing. And would probably use his Clairvoyance if needed.

↳ hmm... punishments? I would like to shut my mouth but his punishments are TORTURE. it’s even more hell if you’re easy to be manipulated or get jealous.

↳ he would either hang out with his fangirls (Maybe even making a small move) in front of you, OR he would teleport you to a island, making you sad and lonely, maybe even depressed. But he will bring you food and water if he keeps you there long, but the limit is 1 month because he can’t live without you.

↳ and the thing that makes me mad. is that he would hug and give you affection WHILE HES PUNISHING YOU, in front of his fangirls Or in the island you’re in.

↳ he’ll probably threaten toritsuka to act like you in the meantime you’re gone(poor dude LMFAO).

He’s a nice guy, but this relationship *could* get unhealthy if he kills or teleports people to a island.

And not only them, it is Especially for you. Since it can make you depressed when you’re 1 month in a unknown island.

Not so a nice guy, is he?

[hornime]

Ngl 👀 kinda want Brazil Hinata to hold me up against the shower tiles and fuck up into me till I’m out of breath and the steam from the shower makes my brain all foggy like the bathroom mirror 🤤

CRAVE | HINATA SHOUYOU X F!READER

warnings: 18+, brazil!hinata, f!reader, shower sex

a/n: god this one was so so so much fun to write ohm yg od there’s nothing like hot-n-sticky summer sex w hinata. nothing.

hinata and you have made it a routine to go down to the beach right when the sun meets the horizon, giggling and dancing drunkenly in the orange light. it’s also become a routine to get sand everywhere—something that he’s confessed to you that he still doesn’t know how to avoid even after all his time in brazil—and the two of you always end up in the shower of your apartment, washing off specks of dust and salt as night falls.

tonight, it starts out innocent, like it always does, just gentle caresses of skin on skin. murmurs and hums are stark against the incessant rush of water from the showerhead, which fills the bathroom with a staticky white noise.

hinata's busy rubbing soap suds along your shoulders and down your chest, licking his lips as bubbles gather along the slope of your breasts before sliding down towards your tummy. 

you’re doing the same, scrubbing away at the tan and freckled flesh of his chest and collarbone, occasionally rising onto your tippy toes to give him a playful kiss on the nose.

there’s tension; it’s as thick as a bar of soap. but instead of cutting it with a knife, the two of you are letting it dissolve into nothing under the spray of the shower, something that’s gradual and floral-smelling.

and that tension is dissolving quick, yielding something that’s hungry.

something that craves.

you notice that he’s getting handsier, tender touches turning into greedy gropes as his fingers flicker along your tits, your thighs, your ass. and you can’t deny that you’re doing it too: fingers pinching at his nipples, fluttering over his thighs, teasing his cock. the two of you are stuck in this trance, reaching out but not holding tight.

that is, until hinata has enough of this haphazard mating ritual and pulls you towards him with a hand on your waist so you’re chest-to-chest, inhaling nothing but shared breaths from the oxygen pooling between your mouths. and then that oxygen goes too as you shorten the distance, threading your fingers through the fiery strands of his hair along the nape of his neck and ushering his lips towards yours.

from there, it’s a mess, a wet and soapy tangle of limbs and tongue and teeth. it’s slippery and it’s sexy and you can’t get enough, almost falling into him as you chase his lips while he leans back.

“baby, wait, mmph, wait, wait,” he holds you back with a hand on your breastbone and you futilely try to fight against his strength—it’d be comical if you weren’t so damn desperate to feel him, for him to feel you, right fucking now. 

“what, sho?” your voice is laced with need, and it should be embarrassing just how whiny you sound, but you just can’t bring yourself to care. “just lemme touch you, lemme feel you. i want it so bad, please just let me feel you, god i need it—”

he groans at your words, immediately moving forward to close the gap he’d created, hands roaming everywhere at once as if to make up for lost time. his mouth finds your neck and he licks and laps at your sweat and scent like he needs it to survive. “gimme your legs, baby. lemme—there we go.”

he wraps a hand around the back of each of your thighs and hoists you up so that your knees are straddled around his waist, arms thrown around his shoulders. 

“fuck!” you yelp as you’re lifted like a sack of rice—even after all this time, you’re shocked by just how strong he is, how easily he can throw you around like you’re nothing at all.

and god, you love it.

his palms shift to comfortably rest on your ass cheeks, gripping the plushy muscle and fat as he pins you against the tiles of the shower wall. they’re so cold—you have half a mind to impulsively arch your back away from the freezing ceramic—but then he presses his body against yours and suddenly the temperature in the room gets so much hotter.

his tongue sucks on yours and vice versa and the noises of slurping and squelching are so loud that you’re glad the water is still running, otherwise half of your floor would know what you’re up to.

“can i fuck you?” his eyes, big, brown, and beautiful, gaze at yours in a way that can’t be described as anything but pleading—you almost want to laugh at the absurdity of his question because why would you ever say no?

you silently answer by gripping his length and lining him up with your hole, your linked heels behind his back urging him to move forward. “i dunno why you act like i’m not gonna say yes,” you whisper, digging your nails into his back. “because i’ll always say yes. i fucking need you, shouyou. i crave you.”

his head falls into the junction of your neck as he pushes in while simultaneously pressing you against the wall, his moan muffled as he sucks your flesh. hinata never understands how you’re always so wet, so soft, so good—the pillowy flesh of your pussy squeezes and clenches around him like it yearns to be filled like this all the time.

he pulls back and forth, thrusting into you as if he’s trying to hammer you into the shower, as if he’s trying to make you, with your legs spread open wide, a permanent fixture. he rolls his hips over and over again, making your thighs shake in his grasp and forcing your hands to grab helplessly at his neck, his shoulders, his hair—anything you have the mental capacity to hold onto to keep you grounded.

“god, this pussy is paradise,” hinata mumbles, eyes hazy and lips wet with spit. a line of drool falls from the corner of his mouth as he rocks into you, completely high on the way you make him feel. he feels like his limbs are jelly, his brain swishing around every which way, making his thoughts all jumbled up until all he can focus on is pounding into you and relieving the unceasing ache in his cock. “this pussy is fucking heaven. i never wanna leave it.”

“then don’t,” you whine, head lolling against the wall. you too are drunk on the way his cock fills you and fucks you and makes you feel like you’re ascending to euphoria. nothing, absolutely nothing, can compare to the drug that is hinata, something that floods your senses and rushes through your veins until you’re addicted to it, constantly wanting more. “stay ‘nside forever.”

you grab his chin and initiate a sloppy kiss, suddenly driven by the desire to get closer, closer, closer. you’re getting saliva everywhere—on your tits, on his chest, on your faces—and it should disgust you, but the pleasure makes everything fade into the background as it envelops you whole. 

you’re panting, stupidly trying to breath in from each other’s mouths, as if you’re each other’s life sources, each other’s means of survival. the hot droplets of steam from the showerhead make you dizzier and dizzier, but it’s okay because as long as you’re clinging to your axis, hinata, it doesn’t matter if you spin out of control.

“mm, i will,” he slurs into your mouth before lapping at your tongue. “gonna stay in this sweet fucking cunt ‘til i die.”

the two of you stay in that shower until the orange light returns, this time a sunrise instead of a sunset, just biding your time by swaying in the tides of one another. you know that the new day calls for work and the dread of society—as well as the promise of another beach visit and the inevitable shower—but you stay as still as you can as if you can meld together into one. 

it’s hopeless, like trying to stop the flow of the sea, but it’s enough to put the desire on hold, at least for a few hours.

after all, you know that after those few hours, you’ll be back again. because, while you may be able to handle a craving, you can never truly stop it.

and if there’s anything you crave, it’s each other.

if you enjoyed, reblogs + comments are appreciated!

© property of hornime 2021. do not plagiarize any of my writing and do not repost/copy my writing onto any other sites.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Hello Wendy!

How are you?

Sorry to bother you and for my bad English (After all, it's not my first language and it's well addressed), but i would like to place an request if they are open.

Benkei, Muto or Mochi discovering they are going to be first-time parents after a little disagreement (due to hormones).

XOXO from Brazil

Of course! So sorry it took us so long to get to this, things have been wild lately.

Minor Causes: Keizo Arashi x Fem!Reader

You and Keizo never fight. Disagreements always end one of two ways: you talk it out, or you whisper apologies between chaste kisses and light touches that feel like feathers. You'd lay on the couch and encourage the movements with your hips, every inch of your skin crying out for his gentle grasp and measured responses. But this evening hardly feels like the time for a healthy dose of disagreement talks and make-up sex.

“Babe!” Your high pitched yell pierces through his headphones, and he takes them off before shouting,

“Yeah?” He hears you begin to thump up the stairs. There’s a soft sigh and then you appear in his office, face screwed up in frustration.

“You left your shoes out, again.”

“Oh,” he starts, standing up and placing his headphones on his desk. “My bad.”

“Why can’t you just put them in the cubbies? I bought it so you could just slide them in there; I can smell your shoes from a mile away now!”

“Sorry,” Keizo murmurs, walking down the stairs. “I’ll try to remember.”

“And have you cleaned out the fridge lately? Something really stinks in there, too.”

“Not yet,” Keizo replies, taking his shoes to the cubbies by the garage door. “I will tonight.”

“Can you do it before dinner? I felt super sick last time I opened it and I don’t think—“

“I’ll do it before dinner,” he repeats tenderly, standing up straight.

“But, Kei—“

“I still have some work to finish,” he confirms, pulling you close and kissing your forehead. “The fridge will get done though.”

“Babe, really; I’ll just have to order takeout—“

“That’s okay.”

“But I planned on cooking!”

“Then feel free to cook, sweetheart,” he urges you.

“I can’t when the fridge smells so bad!”

“Hey,” Keizo frowns at you, turning around on the staircase. “Don’t yell at me like that. I said I’d get it done after work—“ And just like that, you burst into tears. Keizo stops in his tracks, feeling his body slump at the sign of your sorrow.

“I… I… I just wanted you to see…”

Keizo comes down the stairs, coping at you softly and wiping your face with his shirt. “Why are you crying?” he wonders. “Is everything alright?”

“The fridge.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” he replies, walking with you toward the fridge. When the doors open, he looks at the semi-cluttered space, then sniffs. “Nothing smells bad, sweetheart.”

“Look.” You point at the second to last shelf, and Keizo bends down a little more. A lonely, wrapped-up diaper sits on the shelf.

“What the—“ he hesitantly pulls the item out and placed it on the kitchen island, staring at it for a while. “Why is there a diaper in the fridge?”

“Is it…”

“It doesn’t stink, but that doesn’t mean anything.” He opens the item, and once Keizo spots a hint of brown, he yanks his hand away. “Fuck. Who the hell out a damn diaper in the fucking fridge?”

You burst out laughing, reaching for the diaper and opening it fully. Keizo turns away, gagging and covering his nose.

“Mmm,” you muse, and Keizo turns around just in time to see you swipe at the brown stuff and place it in your mouth.

“Holy shit, I’m gonna head out,” he chokes out, I’m king for the garage doorknob.

“Babe, it’s just chocolate sauce,” you call out. He stops yanking on the door. “It was supposed to be funny!”

“There is nothing funny about a diaper full of shit,” he gripes, scrunching up his nose. “That’s gross! Why would you—“

“Read it,” you urge him. “Read it.” Keizo steps closer, still grossed out but curious.

UR GONNA B A DAD

He suspends his disbelief for a moment as the message sinks in.

“A d-dad?” he murmurs. “Like a…”

“A real dad,” you reply. All of thoughts in Keizo’s head come to a stop. A dad. A father. Another chance to get it right.

And a diaper full of chocolate syrup.

“I don’t know what to say,” he whispers, grabbing you in a tight hug and kissing your face.

“Just say you’ll be on diaper duty,” you joke, and he laughs, shoulders shaking.

“I’ll be on whatever duty from now on.”

[seijorhi]

insidious

Hinata Shoyo x female reader (+ Miya Atsumu x female reader)

tw dub-con/non-con, yandere, voyeurism, nsfw, smut but like just a sprinkle

Atsumu’s never considered himself much of a relationship guru, but surely he can’t be the only one who notices there’s something real fuckin’ weird about your relationship with Hinata.

Admittedly, the first few times he met you, he wasn’t paying all that much attention. Sure, you were hot, and he’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t snuck a peek every now and then; but his focus has always been on the game, on his teammates. On himself as a setter. It’s why he’s got a strict no girlfriends policy during the season. Atsumu doesn’t do distractions.

And he likes Hinata. On the court, the little dude’s a monster for him to unleash and he’d love him for that alone, but somehow despite being a 5’7” excitable ball of crazy intensity off the court as well, the redhead’s impossible not to get along with. 

There’s a few guys on the team that have partners – fuck, Meian’s even married, his wife five months pregnant with their second kid. But it doesn’t hit him until maybe three or so weeks after Hinata joins the team that he’s never seen any of them (or the ones that came before them) show up at every single training session. 

You do. 

Rain, hail or shine, no matter how early Hinata starts or how late he stays, you’re there, sitting in the stands, just… watching. It’s not a bad thing exactly. He knows Bo thinks it’s cute, gets all moony eyed and sappy about it and Hinata certainly doesn’t seem bothered by it, beaming up at you after every point scored, every successful spike, every receive. 

But it’s just– they train six days a week. It’s long hours and a lot of it’s just drills and exercising till they’re dead on the floor, and even hardcore volleyball fans would find it boring to sit through day in and day out. You don’t take a book or sit there on your phone; you just watch idly as they train. 

Day in, day out. 

There ain’t a rule against it; their practices are closed to the public but the team have a few passes they can hand around on the odd occasion. It’s more of an unspoken understanding; you can invite who you want, so long as you’re focused and they don’t make a fuss.

You never do though, quiet as a mouse as you wait for Hinata to finish up. 

“Don’tcha think it’s weird though?” he asks Sakusa one afternoon, wiping the sweat from his brow as he watches Hinata slump down beside you after practice wraps up, pulling you into a nuzzling embrace.

Sakusa makes a noncommittal noise, but dark eyes regard the two of you nonetheless. “She moved with him from Brazil, didn’t she?” 

Atsumu shrugs, “And?”

“She doesn’t have any friends or family here, no roots, no job, just Hinata,” he says – slowly, like Atsumu’s an idiot. 

And he tries to put himself in your shoes for a minute, imagine what it would be like to follow someone halfway across the world (further actually, because he’s pretty sure you weren’t from Brazil to begin with) but it’s not the same. Even without Samu, or his friends or his family, even in a country with weird customs and a language that wasn’t his own, Atsumu’s always been good at finding his feet. 

But he supposes he can understand why you cling to Hinata. Though it’s really more a case of Hinata clinging to you, ‘cause whenever he turns around, it’s the redhead who’s the one all over you, pulling you into cuddles, twining his fingers with yours, peppering your face with butterfly kisses. Like he’ll just die if he’s not touching you every second you’re together.

It’s either sickeningly cute or revoltingly excessive, and for the life of him Atsumu can’t figure out which. 

You’d think it’s his first relationship or something, that he’s stuck in some weird puppy love honeymoon phase, but from what he’s heard the two of you have been together for years now – that’s just the way Hinata is, apparently.

He shouldn’t be too surprised; the guy’s always first in line to jump on his back or try and tackle him to the floor after any successful play. Between him and Bokuto, he’s got more bruises littered over his body than a linebacker, but they’re a tactile team, and he usually gives as good as he gets. 

You’re not one for excessive PDA though. You never fight against the overbearing affection, don’t shrug it off or shrink away – at least, not from what he’s noticed – but Atsumu hasn’t seen you initiate anything more than a quick peck to his cheek when Hinata’s got you all bundled up in his arms.

And he gets that not every relationship has to be equal in that sense, different love languages and all that crap, but while you don’t fight it, you never seem… entirely comfortable with it either. Not in the ‘stop, we’re in public, please don’t’ kinda way, but–

He can’t put a finger on it. 

You smile at Hinata, cheer when he scores, let him pet and kiss and pull you around wherever he wants, but you never seem to relax properly, and it bothers him. He doesn’t know why it bothers him.

If he hadn’t met you, hadn’t known that you’d been with Hinata since he was dirt poor and moonlighting as a delivery boy in Brazil, he’d be tempted to think that you were only in it for the money. It’s not a bad plan, as far as these things go – find some up and coming athlete to place all your bets on, get him wrapped around your finger before success goes to his head. And he doesn’t know you all that well and has absolutely zero fucking justification to back it up, but you don’t strike him as the money hungry type.

You don’t strike him as anything, and maybe that’s part of the issue.

Hinata’s like a sun; he’s gonna eclipse anyone standing too close. That’s normal. The team; him and Sakusa, Bokuto, the others – they have their own talents to stand on, to push through and shine on their own, but you… 

Fuck, why does it even matter?

Why does it bother him? It ain’t his relationship. You never complain, you make Hinata happy – he’d have to be blind not to see how much that guy loves you – and he dotes on you, spoils the shit out of you, so why can’t he shake this feeling in his gut that something ain’t right there?

It ain’t his relationship, and Atsumu’s not stupid enough to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.

It ain’t his relationship.

It’s not, and he has more important things to focus his time and energy on.

You aren’t his problem. Fuck, you’ve barely spoken more than a few sentences to him! There’s no reason for why he can’t get you and your stupid relationship with his wing spiker outta his mind. 

“Just admit ya wanna fuck her and stop bitchin’ about it,” Samu groans one night when Atsumu stops by the restaurant after training. “Yer looking for a problem between the two of them so ya don’t feel guilty about it.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Shut yer trap, wouldja, Samu? I said it ain’t like that!”

He’s not gonna stand there and deny that he thinks you’re hot, but that’s not what this is about. Never has been. 

It’s quiet between them for a moment, Atsumu angrily stabbing at the onigiri on his plate, but he feels it when Osamu looks at him. Really looks, dark eyes flickering across his face, reading him like an open book. Samu might enjoy giving him shit and winding him up just for the sake of it, but there’s nobody on earth who knows him better. 

Eventually he sighs, and the air feels different between them. Heavier, somehow. “What’re ya saying, Tsumu? Ya think Hinata’s hurting her or somethin’?”

Yes. 

No.

He knows Hinata. Well, for a few months at least, but peripherally for years. Ever since high school. And Atsumu’s had the displeasure of knowing guys like that, guys who liked to feel big and tough and strong and would gladly slap around some pretty thing just to feel all manly and shit, and Hinata’s not– 

He doesn’t treat you like you’re made of glass or anything, but every time he touches you, so much as looks at you with those bright eyes, it’s with this kind of intense, burning love that Atsumu just doesn’t understand, that honestly freaks him out a little. He’s never seen bruises littering your skin – at least, not the kind that Samu’s worried about. You don’t flinch away from Hinata’s touch. 

(You never look comfortable though. Never happy – not like Hinata is.)

No. He’s a good guy, he wouldn’t hurt a fly, and despite the lingering unease Atsumu has about the two of you, he doesn’t doubt for a second that Hinata is head over fucking heels in love with you. He wouldn’t hurt you.

He wouldn’t.

“No, ‘course not! I just…” he breaks off, shaking his head. And he chews on his lip for a moment, debating with himself whether he should actually admit what he’s been thinking the past few weeks or whether Samu’s just gonna call him a pussy or something and tell him to knock it off. “I get the feeling she doesn’t wanna be there. She’s smiling and sitting there all pretty, but it’s just… I dunno, it’s just weird.”

Osamu doesn’t say much after that, but he doesn’t really need to. He knows what his brother’s thinking. If you weren’t happy, you’d leave. If Hinata wasn’t treating you right, you’d leave. You’d tell someone. But it ain’t that simple, is it? 

Atsumu’s always had a problem sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. 

The first game of the season’s a slam dunk, and while they’re usually pretty tame during the season, beating Kageyama and Ushijima, last year's undefeated champs is cause for celebration. He’s not surprised to see you there at the club, tucked under Hinata’s arm in some little black dress, all dolled up. You smile at him, a hollow, fleeting thing, and Atsumu hates how the sight of it makes his stomach clench. 

Sakusa, Bokuto and Inunaki arrive moments later, a drink’s shoved into his hands and he forces himself to think of other things. You aren’t his problem, you aren’t his girl, and he’s definitely not watching you dance, your back flush with Hinata’s front, the wing spiker’s hands splayed across your hips, his mouth trailing greedily along your neck. 

And for the first time since this whole stupid thing started, Atsumu recognises the ugly feeling stirring in the pit of his gut. It’s jealousy.

He’s played one of the best games of his life today, his team’s fucking amazing, the music’s good and the alcohol is free flowing – he should be happy. And there’s absolutely no reason he should be watching you out of the corner of his eye, waiting for an opening.

It shouldn’t make his heart skip a beat when Hinata leans down to whisper something in your ear, passing you his glass as he heads off to find the men’s. He’s midway through a conversation of his own with Adriah and Bokuto that he’s barely paying attention to, and there’s a voice in his head (one that sounds suspiciously like Samu’s) that tells him to just let it go, but his feet are already moving, a half hearted excuse spilling from his lips as he slips past them both to make his way over to you.

“Hey,” he says. His voice is too quiet, too breathless to carry across over the music, but he’s taller than you, taking up your space and he isn’t imagining the way that your eyes widen, a flicker of something passing your face before you school your features back into that same fake, pleasant smile. 

He doesn’t imagine the nervous look you dart over his shoulder in the direction Hinata walked off in. 

You take a delicate sip from your glass, the very same one you’ve been nursing since you arrived and he watches – watches – as you force yourself to relax, the tension easing from your shoulders, your posture softening. “Miya,” you greet, raising your voice just enough to be heard. “Congratulations on the win.”

It’s so polite, so fucking fake that it makes him wanna hurl. 

“Atsumu,” he corrects before he can help himself. Sakusa calls him Miya, but nobody else – nobody who knows him – does. He can’t bear the sound of it on your lips, like you’re nothing more than strangers. 

He’s talked to you before, right? Surely. 

You’re just standing there, perfectly at ease around him and the others – if not for the finger tapping anxiously against the stem of your glass, a tic he wonders if you’re even aware of. You might be able to fool the others – admittedly, they’re probably not paying you too much attention – but he’s used to picking up on the smallest details. 

And he’s become real good at reading you these past few weeks.

“So tell me, how’d the two of ya meet?” he asks instead, because he’s rushed in here with no game plan and it’s the first thing that comes to mind. He doesn’t even care about the answer; now that he’s finally here, finally has you to himself for a moment, he just wants to hear you talk. 

“Oh, um,” you swallow, ducking your head so you’re not meeting his gaze anymore. “It’s a little embarrassing–”

A familiar, bright laugh cuts you off, and Atsumu’s heart hammers when Hinata slaps him on the shoulder, “It’s not embarrassing, babe, it’s cute!” 

Deep brown eyes meet his; wide, glittering and freakishly intense and he fights the urge to recoil. He’s done nothing wrong, he knows that, but Hinata’s staring at him like every thought he’s ever had about you is written right across his face, plain as day.

And you – you look like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, like Hinata’s stumbled on you shoving your tongue down his throat rather than just having an innocent, friendly conversation with his teammate. It’s a split second that stretches a lifetime, but when he dares to look over, you’re rigid, eyes wide and full of panic and he knows, he fucking knows that he’s right. 

“Tell him,” Hinata urges, wasting no time in slipping past Atsumu to take his place by your side.

His arm wraps around your waist, squeezing you gently, and after a single, tense beat, you comply. “O-on the first week of my trip to Brazil, I was mugged. Shoyo saw it all happen and chased after them – got my purse back for me, even walked me back home to make sure I was okay, patched me up and everything.” You pause, nibbling on your bottom lip as you gaze up at Hinata, “He was my knight in shining armour.”

Hinata preens as you smile, but it’s still wrong. Atsumu’s seen what hero worship looks like, what real love looks like, and he’ll hand it to you; you have the basics down pat, but you can’t fake everything. 

With bitterness and disgust eating away at his gut, it becomes suffocating, standing there trying to carry a conversation and pretending that whatever there is between the two of you is in any way fucking romantic–

It’s too much, like somebody has a grip on his lungs, viciously squeezing out the last of his breath, and he barely remembers to excuse himself before he’s shoving his way through the crowd, knocking Meian’s concerned hand away as he flees for the balcony.

The late summer night air’s warm and humid, but he gulps it down in big, gasping heaves, clinging to the rail like it’s a lifeline. 

You’re fucking with his head and he hates it. He hates that he can’t let this go, can’t get you out of his goddamn head no matter how hard he tries. Atsumu’s always been a selfish, arrogant bastard, why should he give two shits about some girl whose last name he doesn’t even know?

He wants to despise you. He wants to forget you, to shove you aside like he has every other distraction in his life. It’s not his problem you’ve found yourself in some fucked up relationship.

But he squeezes his eyes shut, and all Atsumu can see is your face. 

He stays out on that balcony until his body stops shaking, until the sweat on his forehead cools and he no longer feels like he’s gonna throw up. The beat of the music, spilling muted from the glass doors, wraps around him now that the pounding in his head’s subsided, tempting him back inside. Any other night, and he’d follow it, get absolutely shitfaced and party till he doesn’t remember his own name.

And as he stands there alone, staring up at the Tokyo city skyline, part of him almost wants to give in – to drink himself to oblivion. Because at least that’d be easier.

But he won’t.

Instead, Atsumu shoves his feelings down, musters up a lazy smirk and walks back inside. He has every intention of saying goodbye to at least a few of his teammates before heading back to the hotel room to crash, but as his eyes scan the crowded floor, he catches sight of something that stops him cold in his tracks.

Hinata has you pinned to the wall, his face buried in the crook of your neck, but that’s not what makes his heart skip a beat. It’s the way your dress is hiked up, your panties shoved to the side, Hinata’s hand between your thighs, fucking you on his fingers.

It’s the look on your face, screwed up in pleasure – or pain – biting down on your lip to stifle your cries. It wouldn’t make a difference. Nobody would be able to hear you over the music, and even if they could he doubts anyone would give a fuck.

His mouth dries out, every thought eddying from his head as he watches you cling to Hinata, your hands gripping his arms tight. Your makeup’s smudged, a tear spilling down your cheek catches the glittering lights of the club, but when your head tilts back he knows it’s a moan that leaves your lips. He can almost hear it, picture it in his mind. You’re shuddering, shaking your head even as your eyes are squeezed shut and the only sound Atsumu can hear is the restless thumping of his own heart.

And then your eyes flutter open and find his. He watches, frozen in place, transfixed in the worst possible way as mortification flashes across your features and your lips move–

Whatever you say to him, Hinata doesn’t stop. He just shifts a little, angles his body in a way that gives Atsumu a better view of your pussy and the attention he’s paying it. He can’t look away even if he desperately wants to, utterly enthralled by the slickness coating the digits, the way your thighs tremble and quake as those fingers curl inside of you, the little jolt you give when Hinata’s thumb rubs at your puffy clit.

Atsumu watches, equal parts horrified and mesmerised as he pushes you over the edge and you cum for him, a pleasured cry drowned out by the music, shaking and breathless and beautifully wrecked in his teammate’s arms. And as you all but collapse against him, Hinata finally turns to glance over his shoulder, meeting Atsumu’s stare.

And with his eyes fixed on the blonde, he whispers something into your ear that Atsumu doesn’t have a hope in hell of hearing, presses a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek and grins.

It’s enough to rip him out of his stupor, stumbling back with a gasp as his blood runs cold. Hinata knew, he knew he was watching – put on a fucking show for him, and suddenly the nausea returns, bile creeping up his throat and Atsumu can’t do a single thing but turn and flee.

Alone in his hotel room and not nearly drunk enough, he falls into a fitful sleep, the image of your face, tear stricken and beautiful as you fell to pieces on Hinata’s fingers, burned into the back of his eyelids. 

—

He doesn’t utter a word about it when Boktuo gives him shit for ducking out early the next day at training. He doesn’t so much as meet Hinata’s eye, though the redhead seems no different than usual, all but bouncing on his heels when the Coach runs through the game against the Adlers set by set.

He still gushes when Atsumu gives him a perfect set, beaming up at him with that thousand watt smile. He still offers to be paired off with him when they run two-on-two games, isn’t ruffled when Atsumu instead grabs Sakusa and goes up against Adriah and Barnes.

And you’re still sitting in the stands, fingers twined on your lap, smiling dutifully whenever your boyfriend glances up.

Atsumu tries his best to ignore you and focus on training. He can’t afford to let you distract him any more than you already have, but in the quiet moments between sets, on their breaks, every second he’s not thinking about the game and his performance and his team his thoughts drift back to you. The way you’d bitten down on your bottom lip. Your eyes, pupils blown wide as pleasure crashed through you. Your glistening cunt, swallowing up Hinata’s fingers. The cute little noises you made – the ones he couldn’t hear but spent all fucking night imagining.

And the moment those thoughts enter his head, he can’t stop himself from darting a quick glance towards you, like he’s making sure you’re still there, that you’re okay. Even if you stiffen almost imperceptibly every time he does.

He can’t help himself, and he’s not the only one who notices. 

“Dude, you good?” Bokuto asks, pulling him aside a week or so later during one of their water breaks. And for a second there, there’s a flicker of indignation – whatever’s going on with his head, his performance is beyond question; he’s killing it. 

It’s not until the wing spiker’s attention shifts, risking a glance over his shoulder to where he knows you’re sitting that he realises that’s not what Bokkun’s worried about.

“Look, I get it, she’s cute and all, but…” Bokuto trails off, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck. Every ounce of discomfort is written clear as day across his face. “You might wanna tone it down a bit, you know? For everyone’s sake.”

The irony of it all doesn’t escape him. And he probably should feel some kinda shame, because if Bokuto’s noticed then that means every goddamn one of the others has too and they’re all just too uncomfortable to say anything, but he can’t seem to muster it. 

“Yeah,” he croaks out instead.

Two days later he’s halfway through a shower when the stall beside his bursts open and he hears that familiar, sunny laugh, the sound of two bodies clambering into a space too small, and his heart stutters in his chest.

“Sho, no. I-I don’t wanna–”

“Shh, be good for me, alright baby? Please?” 

A drawn out hiss followed by a breathy moan, and Atsumu’s bracing himself against the tiled wall squeezing his eyes shut.

The spray of the shower isn’t loud enough to drown out the sounds of you swallowing down Hinata’s cock. And he can’t move, can’t make a sound for fear of making this worse, but with every lewd, messy gluck from your throat, every obnoxious moan that spills from his teammate’s lips, Atsumu feels that telltale stirring in his gut.

His eyes are closed and the image comes unbidden to his mind.

You on your knees, looking up at him with those big, wide innocent eyes. You, pressing soft, teasing kisses to his cock, your tongue slowly trailing along the thick vein that runs along the underside of his shaft. The way it’d swirl around his flushed head, eagerly lapping at his precum. Fuck, his cock’s already throbbing, aching. 

He’s only human, he thinks as he wraps a hand around his member, teeth sinking into the flesh of his forearm to stifle his groan. You’re making a mess of him, he wants it so fucking bad. Wants you; to fuck you, have you, hold you, he doesn’t give a shit anymore, you’re driving him to the brink and he’s helpless to stop this.

He can see it so perfectly in his head, how you’d look with those soft lips wrapped around him, the way you’d massage his balls as he fucked your face, how you’d choke on it. You’d be good, so fucking perfect as you sucked him off–

Hinata’s chanting your name and Atsumu picks up his pace, strokes turning into pumps, his fist tightening as he hisses with pleasure. Distantly he wonders whether they can hear it too; his heavy breathing, the slick, wet sound of him jerking off less than a foot away.

He doesn’t care anymore, can’t hold himself back. It’s blinding, the pleasure that rips through him, shaking him to his very core as spurt after spurt of thick, hot cum paints the shower walls.

His knees buckle, his cock still twitching as aftershocks jolt through him, stealing his breath. For a blissful moment, Atsumu lets himself sag against the tiles, a lazy smirk coating his face as he basks in the afterglow, his heartbeat slowly coming down from it’s racing high. 

And yet as the warm water of the shower cascades down his toned body, his breathing returning to normal something unpleasant begins to unfurl in his stomach, toxic and cloying, seeping through his veins. All that bliss, that heady, addictive pleasure fades away and Atsumu’s left with the weight of what he’s just done.

Distantly, he registers that it’s quieter now in the stall next to his. Hinata’s murmuring something to you, but Atsumu can’t make sense of it over the dull roar in his head, the disgust and shame that coils like a noose around his throat.

He should hate himself. 

He just might, actually.

And it’s not enough to scrub until his skin’s raw and he doesn’t feel it crawling anymore, doesn’t matter that he stays in the shower until the two of you leave, until the water runs ice cold and it physically hurts to stand under the spray.

Hinata’s still in the locker room when he gets out, slowly gathering the last of his things and shoving them into his duffle bag. For once you’re not by his side, and Atsumu can only thank whatever godly beings might be out there for this one, tiny mercy, because he doesn’t think he can bear to see you after what he’s just done.

But Hinata just smiles, bright and cheerful and all too knowing, “Seeya tomorrow, Atsumu!”

And he feels filthy all over again.

[finelinevogue]

hi :) could you do something where the reader is brazilian? please :)

hello!! it’s going to be a blurb about them cooking feijoada together, hope this is okay for you;

It was date night and the kitchen smelt amazing.

Every last Friday of the month you and Harry have date night, where you devote the entire evening to one another and then the next morning too - normally. It didn’t matter what you were doing as long as you were both together.

Last month it had been skinny dipping in the ocean, whilst also being drunk off your tits. The month before that it had been a simple movie date night, because you were desperate to see the new Black Widow movie. The dates were always different and special, mainly because Harry was always with you. This month, or rather today, you were having a night in making Brazilian food and watching movies.

“Amor, can you season the sausages and pork shoulder please?” You asked Harry, from where he finishing frying the bacon in the oily pan.

He was a sight to look at, in his Nike running shorts, odd-matching socks and an apron which was titled ‘Sous Chef Styles’. Harry knew you were the Queen of the kitchen and was happy to wear his apron with pride. He looked funny with his apron and bare chest, but you weren’t complaining because he looked as delicious as this feijoada was going to be. It was your favourite dish and also the most popular dish to be made in Brazil. Your mum had taught you how to make it when you were only 14, letting you in on the family’s secret ingredient too. Once you’d moved halfway across the world to follow your dreams and live your life with your amor, Harry, you took that recipe with you.

Harry was obsessed with your cooking. You could make anything and so well too. He was even more obsessed with your Brazilian cooking, thanks to your family history. He was always excited to be trying new foods from your culture, his favourite probably being moqueca because he was a fish lover - considering he was pescatarian. He loved that you could bring a bit of Florianópolis to London, knowing how hard it was for you sometimes to be away from your homeland. He knew you loved him so much that you’d move anywhere to be with him, same as he would for you.

“Salt and pepper?” Harry asked, wanting to make sure he was getting this right. He’d been helping you more and more with cooking and it was slowly becoming his favourite activity with you, second best to the sex.

“Mhm. You’re getting good at this.” You praised him, getting along with chopping up some chilli.

“Only because i’ve been taught by the best.” Harry chuckled, making you raises you eyebrows teasingly.

“I’m the boss of the kitchen.” You proudly stated, walking over to near Harry to add the chilli to the hot pan along with onions and other spices.

“Just as i’m the boss of the bedroom.” Harry leaned down to whisper in your ear and kiss the side of your head afterwards, making you hum in happiness as the tingles of love erupted throughout your body - made visible by the goosebumps on your soft skin.

“You think you are.” You teased him, stirring the pan as it sizzled as loudly as a firecracker on bonfire night - something that you had invested in since living in the UK.

“I know I am.” Harry slunk one of his arms around your waist and tried to turn you to kiss your lips, but you were quick with your spatula and held it up to his face before he could get close. He furrowed his eyebrows and smiled brightly at you.

“As boss of the kitchen I order you to keep seasoning the meat, otherwise you can be the boss of the bedroom alone tonight.”

“Yes ma’am.” Harry went along with your superior, bossy, act and went back to his job. He didn’t miss the opportunity to bop your arse with this foot as you walked past him, making you shoot him a playful glare.

The next half an hour was spent cooking, laughing and listening to some Bob Marley as you finished off the stew. Harry and you ended up dancing to ‘One Love / People Get Ready’ as you let the meat sizzle away for a few minutes, laughing as Harry tried to spin you out but accidentally letting you go so you span off across the room. With practice you got the move perfect, but cut it there before you ended up attempting the Dirty Dancing lift.

“Okay, amor, we need to leave this for 2 hours now to stew away.” You told him, giving the pot of all the goodness - which smelt just like you grans home - a quick stir before leaving the spatula on the side and lidding the pot.

“So can I take the boss of the kitchen to my territory now?” Harry asked, scooping his arms around your waist which made you squeal at the coldness of his freshly washed hands.

“I thought you wanted to watch Nemo again?”

“Fuck Nemo. I want you.” Harry groaned as you pushed your ass over his clothed cock, feeling it harden at the push.

“Amor, you can’t use ‘fuck’ and ‘Nemo’ in the same sentence. That’s actually a crime.” You laughed, still trapped in his hold.

“My deepest apologies to Nemo, but I need you baby. Please?”

“Let’s see what the boss of the bedroom’s got then.” You teased him and he carried you off upstairs as your dinner was left bubbling away downstairs, not going to be touched for the next 2 hours as Harry loved on every inch of your beautiful body.

[elleaftermidnight]

i have not been able to stop thinking about being double teamed by oikawa and hinata in brazil. i just feel like, even though hinata definitely seems like the softer of the two, he’d be so rough in the best way. he’d deny you and mark you and he’d make sure you felt it all in the morning so you can’t forget how fucking good he was. oikawa would be much gentler. barely there kisses down your neck. sweet nothings in your ears. curling his fingers in the most attentive ways, watching your face to make sure he hits all of your sweet spots. and afterwards, they’re both super good at aftercare, too.

elle’s feeling thirsty. mdni. or else you’ll always have that annoying feeling of wanting to sneeze but can’t. 

okay but honestly...big same. i literally can't stop thinking about this either, like the two of them would definitely make sure to give you a night you'll never forget ;-;

hinata’s grip on your hips would definitely be tight enough to leave bruises, and you can’t tell me he’s not the type to sit back for a few seconds to admire his own handiwork on your exposed skin -- smirking to himself as his eyes trail over every single mark he made on your body. 

meanwhile oikawa’s eating you out like a man starved, eyes closed in complete bliss, his tongue lapping up every single drop of your juices. his long and slender fingers curl, tease, and are pumped in and out of you as he groans at how tight you feel around him. one of his hands would have made its way to his cock, giving himself a few strokes in an attempt to chase down both of your highs. 

hinata would have already had your back against his chest, pinching and pulling at your nipples, watching with complete delight as your features contort into one of pure pleasure -- admiring the way your mouth parted, wiping away the drool that dribbled out the corner of your lips with his thumb. he would grab your jaw and pull your face towards his, teeth and tongue clash but neither of you minded as hinata swallows up your moans with a smile. 

“sweet as you imagined?” hinata asks as oikawa pulls up for air, his mouth glistening with your slick. oikawa takes two fingers and lazily drags it along your folds, trying to gather as much of your cum as he can. 

he brings his fingers up to hinata’s lips, “try it for yourself.”

oh and i just know they would never shut up about how full you must feel about having two of them inside you -- and they’re definitely not above taking a few photos for remembrance either.

“smile for the camera, angel” oikawa grins, combing his hands through your hair as you tried not to choke on his length. 

hinata’s hand would just land on your ass, giving it a couple of slaps before mercilessly pounding into you once more. “so naughty,” he’d mumble to himself, “and all for us.”

but when all is said and done, hinata and oikawa would have nothing but praises for you. telling you how perfect you are, how good you were for them. hinata would carry you to the bathroom and help you clean yourself up whilst oikawa changes the sheets. 

hundred percent sure that they’d cuddle you until you fell asleep and would make you breakfast in the morning. though they aren’t really the best chefs and everything was either undercooked or overcooked so they opted for some coffee and pastries at a nearby bakery. they left a note by the bedside table just in case you woke up before they got back. 

would also ask for your number in case you were down for another round...or two. but would also just be down to hang out too. 

was definitely not expecting rough!hinata and gentle!oikawa while reading this ask but woah...definitely a welcome surprise :> for real though, i really wanna meet the two of them at a bar/club in brazil ;-; 

[new-berry]

Lost steam but I gave writing flirting a go and I’m amazed I ever hooked up with anyone I’m terrible at it.

Work of fiction, utterly untrue etc etc. they used to play at Everton together, swapped shirts after the Newcastle -Spurs game that had an…. Uncomfortable first twenty odd minutes for Spurs fans to watch.

Anthony Gordon / Richarlison NSFW but nothing kinky. Also elected to use the nickname Rich. Goggle suggested pigeon, can’t do it.

Anthony was waiting for him after the game. Leaning back against the wall, looking like he belongs there. Which he does now of course. When he looks up from his phone, not trying to hide a smile, makes Richarlison want to grin back. Probably get shit from the press for that. Just grimaces trying to control his face.

Anthony’s smiles drops and Rich shakes his head slightly. “It’s not you babe, can’t be seen to be happy.”

Anthony is going to get that. The spiralling last months at Everton proved he has no poker face. Can’t hide the sympathy now. Hasn’t tipped over into pity yet, but he’s growing up. Don’t see each other as much as they used to. May have learned all kinds of new things up here.

Rich admits to himself he may not be seeing Newcastle at its best. He saw some of it at its best, up close and way too personal. But he’s staring out the window at Anthony’s garden and giving the overgrown grass way more attention than it deserves.

Watches Anthony walk up to him in the window. He rests his hands hands on Rich’s hips, props his chin on his shoulder.

“So. I have no idea what to say.”

Rich laughs, feels half way to a sob. “Better not to say anything babe. This was supposed to be a booty call, not a wake.”

Anthony huffs behind him. Rich pulls his arms around his middle hard enough it’s almost difficult to breath in a fucked up unspoken apology then lets go. Anthony keeps his arms wrapped around him, stacked on top of each other, but holding more gently.

“Booty call. You asshole, I’m at least friends with benefits.” Anthony turns his head to the side rubs his cheek on Rich’s shoulder.

Richarlison shakes his head and leans back. “Guilty secret.” He says finally. Normally he likes to flirt, likes when he gets Anthony all twisted up at his words.

Can remember the first time, he forgot to even speak English, so turned on at the fact that Anthony was lying back, looking up at him, agreeing to everything he could and couldn’t understand just cause Rich was asking him to do it.

Anthony only a little younger than he is now, kept licking his lips, didn’t even notice his legs were slipping open to let Rich in.

Keep telling him to take his shirt off, yanked it off himself then realised he’d been talking to him in Portuguese.

He could bullshit, not like Anthony has learned any more Portuguese than swearing, but he wants the intent between the words to match what he’s saying. Likes it when Anthony tries to flirt back, terrible at dirty talk but he’s getting better. Likes the way Anthony’ll throw his hands up and then grin at him. Likes the way he’ll always say “you win, you win.”

How he’ll lean back so Richarlison can slither up his body. Tease him to ‘use his words’, swallow anything he says in a kiss. How he gets all easy and loose, every line of his body letting Richarlison in.

Anthony turns his head slightly into Rich’s neck, holds on tighter. “I am literally your friend though, we don’t have to do anything else but stand here if you want.”

“Might get bored of the view of your neighbour’s fence.” Can feel Anthony’s smile against his shirt. “Guess baby boy is all grown up. He wants to stand here and look at the landscaping.”

“It’s a rental don’t blame me for the grass.” Anthony says back. Richarlison folds their fingers together on one hand. Feels like he’s shaking off the loss a little, could maybe tease Anthony about living in someone else’s taste.

“Well we could also play fifa. I’ll… ‘let you win’ he was going to say, Rich winces, “let you play as Brazil?” Anthony tries to cover. Richarlison wants to tell him, this is why he does the talking and Anthony does the adoring. Doesn’t quite want to put a name around things yet. They should, they should soon, but not with the memory of the loss hanging in the air.

Squeezes their fingers together harder. “Might be easier if you were a dick about the game.” Anthony shrugs, “I didn’t score any of the goals either.”

Presses a kiss against Rich’s shirt “I mean, I’m English. I can make fun of you if you like?”

Rich laughs and he can see how pleased Anthony looks at making him smile in the window.

“I don’t mind it a bit kinky,” Rich says, drops his voice, “but I don’t know if I’m into humiliation or ready to call you master or anything.”

Rich can feel Anthony twitch in surprise. “I didn’t mean that? I meant…”

“Meant what?” Richarlison thinks he might have to bite his lip so Anthony won’t see his grin. “Collars and chains? What kind of porn have they got you watching up here?”

“Normal porn!” Anthony blurts out, body tense against him. And Rich does laugh then.

Anthony relaxes against him and play bites at him through his shirt. “You are an asshole for that.”

Rich turns around. “Now come on, I want to hear more about this normal porn. Girls? Boys? Anywhere I shouldn’t touch?”

Anthony mock glares. “You’ve touched my actual dick, I wouldn’t be too concerned about the remote.”

Rich laughs again “The tv? 4K porn?”

Anthony has a bit of pink across the top of his cheeks, but says back; “I’m 22 and I live alone and my best booty call is in London. Don’t touch the tissue box either.”

Rich tugs him tight into a hug, unbearably fond suddenly. “The kitchen is boring unless you’re hungry.” Anthony says, half turns to the doorway but lets himself be pulled back. Opens his mouth but Rich looks through the door to the living room, goes from fond to thinking about Anthony jerking off. Leans up and kisses Anthony hard.

Anthony kisses back, twists his hands at Rich’s side into the bottom of his shirt and opens his mouth under Rich’s.

Rich gets his hands in Anthony’s head, gets his tongue in his mouth, feels like Anthony is meting against him, feels liquid against him. Shifts his hips slightly and Anthony pulls back.

“Nah I’m not giving you a blow job the kitchen, come on.” Yanks him through to the living room and pushes him down on the couch.

“The porn couch?” Rich asks and Anthony just rolls his eyes. “You want me to suck you off or you want to watch porn? “

Rich doesn’t even try to stop himself for a second before he says “both?”

“Asshole.” Anthony says back. “Such an asshole.” Starts to tug down Rich’s pants before Rich says, “ hey you guys won I should…” Anthony gets a hand on his dick and leans forward to lick the head. “Look im not going to stop you if you want to, but mostly if it’s an option wanna let me suck your cock?”

Rich wonders what he’s even fighting about lifts his hips up enough to get his pants down to his thighs and puts his hand on Anthony’s shoulder he goes slow and a little shallow at first. Just getting the head in his mouth.

Rich knows there are plenty of things he need to think about before tomorrow, knows there is a shitshow brewing at the club. Knows the media are going to be out for blood. Knows he and Anthony will eventually have to talk. Makes eye contact with Anthony, always looks so serious at first, always takes a minutes to remember how good this can feel, a game he wants to be good at. Feels it again, unbearable fondness, smiles at him like he wishes now he had when he first saw him waiting.

[crescentsteel]

When in Brazil - Sunshine

pairing: Hinata x f!reader genre: SMUT wc: 6.6k warnings: fingering, oral, body worship, praise kink, hinata with big dik

[a/n]

I said to myself, lets make this quick and short. lol yea sure

No beta. This is Spartaaaaa 

My brain went bzzt bzzt after this. 

Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist for this mini series

Beach || masterlist

  “Are there any more deliveries for me, y/n?” The ginger asks while beaming at you like he hasn’t been delivering orders under the heat of the sun across Rio the whole afternoon. 

“We’re all good, Shoyo.” You smile back. He’s such an earnest part-timer that your mood just lifts up whenever you see him. You rarely find anyone like him. Even though he’s just delivering orders for the diner, he’s so dedicated to it. He’s not like one of your previous delivery guys who grumbles before and after work as if they’re not getting paid. Shoyo is different. His eyes are full of life, full of purpose.

You like seeing him around because his sincerity and politeness makes you feel like you’re not just some dumb waitress in some small diner. Aside from pleasing to talk to, he’s also pleasing to look at. He’s like a cute boy-next-door kind of guy.

“I’ll be going ahead then!”

“Wait!” He turns around with an inquisitive look on his face. You want to keep him around longer for tonight. It’s been a rough day for you and you could use some sunshine. “Actually, I’d appreciate some help closing up. I’ll serve you something for dinner in return.” His face brightens up at your request. There it is. Mr. Sunshine, indeed. 

“Sure, y/n! Just tell me what to do.” 

He’s an efficient help to have. What you usually do in 40 minutes or so was done in just 20. 

“Wow, I should ask you to help out more often,” you say jokingly. “No problem, y/n! I can help out after deliveries.” 

You wave your hand frantically. “Oh no no no. I was just kidding, Shoyo. I can’t always give you dinner. The owner would notice when we do inventory.” You laugh apprehensively.

“You don’t have to! I don’t mind staying for a few minutes to help out after deliveries.”

You stare at him with an appreciative smile on your face. Bless his pure heart. Boys in Brazil could learn from him. “Alright. I’ll be in the kitchen to prepare your food real quick.”

He seats himself in one of the vacant lounges, grinning at you as you enter the kitchen. Since it was just him, you get it done in ten minutes or less. When you get out of the tiny room, he’s like a puppy salivating at the tray you’re holding. 

“Here you go, sir.” You jokingly say.

He doesn’t respond as his eyes twinkle at the food you laid out in front of him. Poor Shoyo. He must have been starving or maybe he’s just glad for the free food.

You decide to clean up the kitchen and the counter while you wait for him to finish, but he ate so fast that he’s done before you are. 

When he sees you still occupied, he takes it upon himself to get his used cutleries and wash it. He easily finds where to put them and he even wipes the table he sat on. If ever he asks you for another job, you’d instantly recommend him to the owner to replace one of the staff who’s basically a sloth. 

You two almost finish at the same time. 

“Thank you so much for the dinner, y/n.” He bows. You’re thrown off at first, but you remember that he’s from Japan. 

“Thank you, Shoyo. Seriously. The help is nothing compared to the food.” You get out of the cashier and get your bag. You remove your apron and shove it there before leading him out of the diner as you lock it up. 

“I’ll walk you home, y/n.” 

You wave your hand dismissively. He’s done so much already. “No, it’s fine. You must be tired.” 

He shakes his head in disagreement. “Not really! I wanna walk a bit too, but if you’re uncomfortable with it, I-”

“It’s okay!” You interrupt him. You do appreciate it if he’d accompany you home. You just thought he’s doing it to be kind and polite. “It’d be nice to chat with someone on the way home.” You tell him. He keeps his bicycle at his right while you’re at his left. 

Even as the night is fully settled in, Shoyo’s energy is still soaring as he narrates why he’s here in Rio. No wonder his eyes are always gleaming vividly. He wants to accomplish something badly that he traveled halfway across the world in a foreign country. And as you get sucked in his story, you don’t notice you’re at your apartment already. 

“I live right here. Do you wanna come in for tea or beer or whatever?” You invite him, wanting to hear more of his Volleyball journey. He seems glad from your invitation. Maybe he wanted someone to talk about it too.

“I’m okay with just water.”

You open your door and hold it out open for him. “You sure?”

He nods sprightly which makes you smile at the pure innocence he exudes. He eyes your whole place when he gets inside. “Wow. You live all alone, y/n?”

“Uh huh. I don’t like having roommates.”

“I think I’d get more homesick if I lived all alone,” he remarks.

From being awed, you begin to feel bad for him. It must be really tough to be so far away. “Well, you can always come here if you feel like talking or stuff,” you offer earnestly. You don’t mind him visiting every now and then. He’s such a positive energy amongst the dread of your everyday routine that’s constantly draining you. Also, You can’t imagine him being one of those guys who just hang out to get a slice of action. 

Since then, he frequently came over. 

On the days when he had deliveries for your diner, he’d help you close up. Instead of getting him dinner from the small diner, you two would get something on the way to your apartment or you’d fix him a quick meal when you get there.

He’s a comfortable company. Because he’s quite the talker, he never runs out of things to say. He not only talks about his life in Japan, but also here in Rio. You practically know all his friends here just from his stories.

“Didn’t they say anything when you wanted to leave?” You prod when he opened up missing his family. “They did, but they still pushed me to do it. They know what’s it for, and they know I’ll be back.”

“What about your girlfriend?”

A soft blush surfaces on his cheeks as he chuckles nervously. “I don’t have one.”

“Oh? Who’s the cute girl in your wallpaper then?” You’ve seen it several times when he looks at the time with his phone.

“She’s our Volleyball manager and a really good friend,” he explains as he gets his phone to show you something. “She’s been with the team since I was a first year.” He shows you a photo of him, a black-haired guy who’s probably Kageyama, and the cute blonde girl. 

Your attention all goes to him, his innocent beam at the camera while his arms are sprawled in the air. “Oh my God,” you exclaim while staring at the photo.

“You were so skinny!”

You look back and forth from the screen of his phone to him, comparing how he looked like then and how he looks like now. You pull your chair closer to him so you can scrutinize him more. He looked so young and pure back then. Literally, just a kid.  

“Wow.”

You gape at him, marveling at how his features have changed so much. Even if he still has that baby face, his face has definitely gained structure. And the scrawny boy in the photo? You can’t find that anymore with the Shoyo in front of you right now. He even has a nice tan going on that suits him so well. 

Without thinking, your hands fly to his shoulders to grasp the muscle he’s built after high school, squeezing them firmly before trailing down to his well-defined chest. Damn, he really put some nice work to achieve this. You drag your hands down to see how his abs are and holy crap, he’s fucking lean. 

Your gaze drops further just below where your hands are and see a faint outline of what he’s hiding beneath his shorts. 

“Ah!”

You immediately remove your hands off of him and raise your palms in mid air. “I’m so sorry! That was so perv- I mean rude of me to do that all of a sudden.” You apologize in a panicked tone, hoping that he didn’t think you were being handsy, even if you really were. 

“I was just amazed because you looked so different from the photo and uh..” you laugh to make up for the missing excuses you were supposed to say. 

He laughs with you, a timid smile gracing his face.

“It’s okay, y/n. You can continue touching me if you want.”

You squirm as you put your hands to your lap, clutching your shorts from the sudden thick air that engulfs the room. He sounded harmless. Even his face is his usual good-natured facade. But those words meant something else to you, an invitation to touch him more.

You let out a tense tither before turning to him. “No no! Haha. I’m fine. It was just on impulse.”

In an attempt to hide the awkwardness, you gather his used dishes and cutleries. “Let me get these washed up.” You stand up and hurriedly get to the sink. 

What was that weird sexual tension? That over there in your dining table is just your nice delivery boy, Shoyo. You’re nothing but co-workers who are just friendly to each other.

You let the cold water run on your fingers and wrists while you wash the dishes. You need to get back to him composed and cooled off. You want your relationship as it is now. You don’t want to feel awkward and bothered.

So what if you just realized that he’s hot and nice and completely alone with you?

“Do you need help with anything, y/n?

You yelp at the sound of his voice so close behind you. You can feel his warm breath fanning your neck and his body hovering at your back. He’s barely pressing against your back but you can already feel the ends of your hairs prickling your skin. 

“Wah! Why are you having goosebumps, y/n? Are you cold??”

“Yeah. It is a bit windy tonight.” You lie with a tense chuckle as you hasten your task so you could escape the situation. To worsen things for you, he places both hands on your bare shoulders and caresses them up and down to create heat. 

“I hope this is warm enough,” he says concernedly. 

It’s more than just warm. He’s supposed to create friction by rubbing your shoulders, but he’s skimming so gently on your skin that it’s fueling a different kind of heat stemming from your core from the supposed friendly gesture he’s doing to you. You fight off the urge to clench your thighs together for he might notice it since he’s just a hair away behind you. 

You saw him as a nice guy but his hands are making you feel otherwise. You had to bite your lower lip to suppress a whimper that was at the tip of your tongue. You can pass it off as a groan of relief, but with your current state, it might sound sexual. Since when were you this sensitive?

“Do you want me to prepare your green tea?” he kindly offers. 

“Yes, please,” you answer weakly. 

He takes his hands off you and gets you your green tea as he suggested to. You breathe a sigh of relief when he leaves. You feel like you’re about to break from how heavy his sexual pull is on you. Is he even aware? 

You dry your hands and saunter back to your dining table to take a seat and give your legs a break. Shoyo places the cup of tea in front of you and sits beside you. 

“Why do you always drink that, y/n? It doesn’t taste good.” 

“It’s to help me lose weight.” You draw the cup to your lips and take a sip. 

“Ehh? But you already look hot as you are.”

You almost choked on your tea from what he just said. You weren’t expecting such an adjective from him. With trembling fingers, you return the cup to the table. “You okay, y/n?” He asks worriedly. 

You clear your throat. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

He can’t help but notice that you’ve been on the edge since you felt him up. He believes that you did it with no malicious intent, so he really didn’t mind. He knows that all you think of him is a good help to the diner. That’s why you comfortably invited him to your home, but he can see right now that he’s made you uncomfortable for some reason.

Maybe you’re really embarrassed with what just happened even if he did say it was fine. He really was okay with you touching him, even if it was something more than just touching. But it’s not like you see him like that.

He likes you a lot, so he should just go so he doesn’t make you any more uneasy. “It’s getting late, so I’ll go now, y/n.” 

When he stands up, you immediately follow. “Oh? Already?” You ask with a hint of disappointment in your voice, which makes him a bit confused. Did you not want him to? 

“Do you want me to stay for a bit longer?”

You look at him hesitantly before shaking your head. He smiles amicably at you for the usual hospitality you’ve given him. “Thanks for the dinner, y/n.” He looks at the time and heads for the door. 

“Shoyo!”

He shifts his body to your direction while he waits for what you’re going to say “I- uhhh. Sorry about a while ago.”

He strides back to where you are and grabs your hand, slowly leading it to his chest with a faint grin playing on the corners of his lips. “It really is okay, y/n.” When your palm lands on his pecs, you just let it stay in one spot as you look at him differently than usual. You regard him with doe eyes gleaming with baffled curiosity.

With his grip still on your wrist, he does the work for you and guides your hand down to where you touched him just a while ago. Your line of sight follows your hand while his is completely focused on you, anticipating your reaction if you’re satisfied with just this.

He lets go of your wrist, allowing you to do as you please. You raise your gaze to meet his, your eyes asking him for permission.

“I really don’t mind, y/n.” 

Your other hand goes to his bicep, firmly grasping it before you take one step closer to him. Both 

your hands travel to his midsection, the feel of your delicate caress making his thoughts not as friendly as it used to be. Especially with how impressed you look with your hands all over him.

“Can I touch you too?” He blurts out without thinking. 

He instantly regrets it when he sees the surprised look on your face as you pull your hands away.

“No! I didn’t mean t-“

You silence him instantly by putting a hand over his mouth. “I didn’t say anything,” you mutter as you usher his one hand to your waist.

You remove your hand from his mouth and use it to lead his other hand on your neck. You don’t know what you’re doing. You keep your eyes on his neck while he languidly roams his left hand on the small of your back until his arm is wrapped around you. He doesn’t move his right hand away from your neck. He only strokes it tenderly with his thumb. 

“Y/n.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as you raise your gaze to him. “Can we do more than just touching?”

Instead of answering him, you yield to the heavy sensual pull that you’ve been trying to ignore earlier. You slowly reach for his lips, wanting to gradually settle yourself in the present situation.

But when your lips touched his, he didn’t share the same idea you had as he wastes no time exploring your mouth with his. All the hesitation he had is gone with his hand dropping down to your ass to give it a firm squeeze which draws you even closer to him, letting you feel his erection against your core. 

He doesn’t take his mouth off of yours as he leads you to the dining table, taking both of your ass cheeks in his hands and carrying your weight as he guides you to sit at the edge of the table. 

When you’re comfortably seated, he tugs the flank of your shirt and hurriedly takes it off you. You want to look at him to see what he looks like when he’s not being the nice Shoyo you used to see him as. But he gets back to your mouth in just a second, sticking his tongue out to let it wander inside your warm cavern. 

His hands immediately find the clasp of your bra and unhooks it with ease. That’s when he pulled away. His eyes are glued to your body as he removes the undergarment slowly, as if he’s unwrapping his gift with the slow reveal of your breasts.

His eyes glimmer with delight when he completely slides the clothing off your arms. It kinda makes you conscious with the way he’s staring at you, like his eyes are burning through your skin. You use one arm to cover your boobs, but he instantly sees through your plan. 

As soon as you lift your arm, soft panic sets off in his eyes. He immediately grips your wrist and slams your hand against the table.

“Don’t!” 

“But you were staring too much.”

His gaze drops down again to your unclad breasts with reverence. “Cause you’re pretty.” He leans down on you again, his plush lips just within an easy reach from yours. “So pretty that I can’t stop staring.” 

You expect him to kiss you again, but his mouth latches on your jaw instead, nipping the sensitive skin beneath it. A soft sigh comes out of your already parted lips while his palms trace the length of both your arms up to your shoulders. He kisses his way down to your collar bones, savoring any skin that his lips graze upon until he reaches one soft mound. 

His hands follow the trails of his lips, one finding its way on the curve of your hip while the other stops on your breast where his mouth isn’t latched onto.

He delivers sloppy kisses, sucking on your perk nipple and swirling his tongue on it like it was a treat. The other bud isn’t left out as he plays with it, tweaking it between his thumb and index finger. 

Your breathing starts to become shallow from the surge of desire spreading throughout your body. 

He cups both sides of your boobs and pushes them together before he continues on, letting his tongue toy with your nipples almost simultaneously. He’s so into it that his teeth accidentally scrape one bud.

“Ah!”

He immediately stops and looks at you apologetically, misunderstanding the moan that came from you.

“Sorry...”

“No. It felt good,” you feebly tell him.

His eyes brighten up and gets back to what he’s doing. He takes the hard bud in between his teeth, tugging it lightly as he looks up to you, his orbs eager for your approval. It spurs you on even more. You give him one nod as you feel your cunt throbbing from how your arousal is heightening by the minute. 

“Shoyo,” you call him weakly which he didn’t seem to hear. 

He lets go of your breasts and licks his way down right on top of your shorts, leaving a trail of saliva on your skin. He unbuttons your shorts, the sound of your zipper being rolled down letting you know what he’s planning. 

“Shoyo.” You call out louder this time, causing his hand to rest on your groin. “Let’s go to my room already.” You expect him to be glad, but he frowns. “But I want to taste you already. Please, y/n? I want to eat you out here.”

Your legs quiver from how much he wants you, his eagerness affecting you as you yourself get impatient and wonder how his tongue would feel on your pussy. 

“Do it.” He smiles at your approval as you lift your ass off the table to help him get your shorts off. You aren’t surprised that he tugs your underwear together with it as he peels it off you. You’re starting to get an idea how he is at bed - impatient, excitable, and eager to please.

A subtly smirk tugs up your lips when you realize you’re in for a fun night. 

He doesn’t notice it though. He takes a step back to relish the vision that you are. His eyes are completely focused on your bare body with keen hunger as he traces every curve in sight. You indulge him a bit by spreading your legs apart for him to see.

“Wow.”

His eyes don’t leave your cunt while he drags the chair he’s previously sitting on. He spreads your legs even further as he sits down. He places his thumbs on your inner thighs, gently caressing them before he stripes one thumb on your slit.

“You’re so wet, y/n,” he says right before dipping down and tracing his tongue where his thumb just did earlier. He continues doing so, licking up and down the length of your opening as you lean your head back to enjoy what he’s giving you. He eagerly slurps on your juices, lapping on your slit with his hot tongue.

He uses his thumbs to spread your folds that surround your clit, exposing the swollen bud for him to taste. When he gives it a delicate, languid lick, your one hand frantically grips his hair. He takes it up a notch and inserts his middle finger inside .

“Haaa,” you moan out loud which urges him on even more. He pumps his finger inside you, gradually picking up the pace when you start squirming within his hold. 

“Another,” you tell him breathlessly.

“Another what?” He asks cluelessly while his mouth continues ravaging your clit. “Add another finger,” you answer to which he complies immediately. He stretches you even more with the addition of one thick, calloused finger inside.

He looks up at you, parting his mouth away from your pussy to show you his two digits that are half inside you. “Like this?” 

You nod. “Yeah. Like,” He suddenly shoves the two fingers knuckles deep into you. “thathnnnnggg.” You clutch his hair tighter while your mouth gapes at the instant fullness you feel down in your center. His eyes don't leave your face anymore as he latches his mouth back on your hardened clit. 

You’re whining while grinding on his face, getting wetter even as he relentlessly drinks your lewd essence. He loves the look on your face, blissed out and completely lost in the moment. He loves how you keep trying to close your legs together even with his arm not allowing you to do so. He loves the desire glimmering clearly in your eyes as you meet his gaze while he feasts on your pussy. 

He already got aroused the first time you touched him. Seeing you unravel before him gets his cock throbbing painfully within his shorts. He’s so tempted to remove his arm and let you crush him between your thighs so he can palm his cock.

He doesn’t even know if you’d let him go any further than this. What if after you cum you change your mind and ask him to go home? There wouldn’t be anything wrong with that. He’ll just replay the scene before him as he jacks off in his own room. 

His one hand goes inside his shorts and takes out his cock, causing your thigh to waver without his support. He grasps the base of his dick, squeezing it firmly, easily distracting himself with his own pleasure as he moans in your cunt. 

You immediately notice. You see him firmly gripping his member, pumping it steadily up and down with eyes closed as he slows down his ministrations with you. You cup his face, forcing him to open his eyes and look at you again. “Stop fucking yourself. I’ll do it with my mouth after you make me cum.”

He stops like you asked him to. “Really?” His eyes pleading with lust to uphold your erotic promise. “Yeah. So make cum already,” you brazenly order him. He tucks his cock back in his shorts right away, using his arm once again to spread you wide. His mouth, lips, and fingers pick up the pace, thrusting swiftly in and out of your while flicking and sucking at your clit.

“Ooohhh fuck.” You claw on your wooden table from the rapid build up of pleasure. You can feel the heat in your groin, spreading quickly through your body. “Yes, yesss. Don’t stop,” you mindlessly whine. Everything he’s doing is pushing you further to your release - the friction and fullness provided by his fingers and the wild strokes of his tongue on your clit. He suddenly curves his fingers, hitting just the right spot that blurred your vision from how good it feels. 

“Cumming... am cumming, Shoyo!!” You trash helplessly on his face as the pleasure floods your senses, but he doesn’t stop. He only slows down, matching your post-orgasm state as you come down from your high. 

You tug his hair up while panting to catch your breath. “Come here.” He stands up and you reach for the back of his head to cover his mouth with yours, tasting your own fluids in his lips. “Help me get down,” you whisper to him. 

He effortlessly grabs the back of your thighs to get you to stand again. Once your feet reach the floor, you release his lips and drag him to your room. 

Once inside, you lock lips with him again as you scurry towards your bed. You get him to lie down as you straddle him, your wetness rubbing on the bulge of his shorts. You hurriedly remove his clothes, itching to see the delicious muscles you touched only with his shirt on. He helps you as he tugs down his shorts and underwear, his last piece of clothing thrown somewhere on the floor. 

You bite your lower lip as your eyes roam on his body. He should thank beach volleyball for the tan and the jaw-dropping build. Your gaze falls on his naked bulge that you saw a glimpse of earlier. Damn. You weren’t seeing things earlier. He really is packing down there. 

“Is something wrong?” He asks with a worried look, returning your gaze back at him. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s,” Your eyes get distracted with how he gulps, your gaze lingering down again on his gorgeous chest. “..fine.”  

You return the favor, starting on his neck. You plant your arms on his shoulder as you move your hips up, resting your cunt on his toned abs. You deliver soft kisses on the delicate skin of his neck, letting your tongue sneak a few licks as you go down on him until his cock is within the reach of your mouth. 

You position yourself in between his legs as you grip his shaft. His hips lift up from the contact. You watch his reactions as you start to drag your palm around his member up and down. He’s already heaving with lips parted as he takes the pleasure you’re giving him with eyes closed. You find it cute - how he’s this sensitive when you’re barely done anything yet. 

You gather your spit and let it drool at his cock, the translucent liquid glazing the tip down to the base. You trace his length with your index finger, from the tiny slit of his tip down to his balls. You go back up to the head of his cock, but you do it with your tongue instead of your finger. 

You peek at him again. He’s semi sitting up with his elbows on the cushion as he glues his eyes on your tongue on his dick. You grip him again, tighter this time before pressing one digit firmly on his tip. He throws his head back from the pressure and you use that chance to take his thick girth in your mouth

His thighs tremble as he lets out a euphoric moan while you sink lower and lower on his dick. “Your mouth -aahhh so gooood.” 

He really likes you and thinks you’re fun to talk to, but sometimes he’d catch himself fantasizing about you when he gets home and ends up masturbating at the thought of you sucking him off. But his right hand doesn’t even compare to the actual warmth of your lips wrapped around his dick at present.

He keeps his eyes on you, which is a bad idea for him since it’s only quickening the pleasure that was boiling at the pit of his stomach. But he can’t help but stare at you. You look so good, so pretty, with your ass up as you suck him even faster.

He can feel his cum threatening to explode already. He feels so lame, but your mouth just feels so magnificent that he can’t hold it in any further. “Stop, y/n. Please~ aah ahhh gonna cum already.” He doesn’t want you to be disappointed with him, but it’s as if you didn’t hear him. You even go deeper while quickening your pace.

He gives in to it, gripping your hair as the peak of his pleasure takes over. He expects you to pull away, but you continue sucking, letting him shoot his load at the back of your throat. 

You take all of it, swallowing every drop he let out in your mouth. You did hear him say stop, but the lascivious delight on his face contradicted his words. You had to let him finish even if that meant you won’t get to feel how his cock feels inside your already sopping pussy. 

You sit up as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. As for Shoyo, he covers his eyes with his forearm while he pants. You start to get up and head for your drawers when you feel him grab your wrist before you can even leave the bed

“Where are you going?” He asks. 

“To get dressed.”

“But we’re not done yet?”

You appreciate the thought. He really is such a generous guy, but.. “It’s fine, Shoyo. You don’t have to force it. You’re already soft??” Your statement becomes a question when you see his arousal still erect. 

You don’t know whether to be amused or amazed at that, so you end up staring dumbfounded at him who’s still lying on his back.

He grins at you as he sits up straight and goes for your lips. It wasn’t soft and gentle like you expect from someone who just came. He seems even hungrier, more eager for you. 

He guides your hand to his shaft, confirming that he’s hard and ready to continue with what you have in mind. You smile into the kiss, curious and excited as to how he feels inside your pussy. Horny as you are, you throw yourself at him which causes him to lie back down again with you on top of him. 

As your tongues clash against one another, you rub your moist slit against his erection, teasing both yourself and him while doing so. He’s groaning in your mouth while he keeps one hand on the back of your head and the other firmly gripping your waist. “Y/n, can I put in already?” He asks with hazy eyes even though his hand on your waist goes down to his cock and aligns it on your folds.

“Mmm, wait.” You lift yourself off of him and reach for your purse that was hanging on one of the metal bed frames. You quickly get a condom and throw your purse somewhere. You tear the packet and remove his hand from his shaft to unroll the rubber on it while he watches. You take over his previous attempt and position the tip on your entrance. You place a palm on his stomach to anchor yourself as you lower yourself on him. 

He stares at you mesmerized while you wince from how his cock is spreading you open. You ball your fist that was still on his abdomen, trying to get used to the discomfort even if he’s still not fully inside you. He recovers first and glances back on how you’re doing. 

“Shoyo, you’re-ughhh-big,” you tell him with a pained expression. “I- I am?” He asks with pink streak surfacing on his cheeks, flattered from what you said. You nod while sinking lower until you finally cover the last inch, taking him entirely inside you.

He whips his head back on to the pillow with his cock completely sheathed inside the tight warmth of your pussy. He thought your mouth was already marvelous, but the way your walls deliciously envelop his cock is way beyond his wet dreams. 

Your hand joins the other, supporting yourself as you slowly lift your hips up and descend back down with the same agonizing tempo. While you adjust to his size, he keeps his eyes on his cock disappearing each bob of your hip. 

From your pussy, he rakes his eyes up to your naked body glimmering with sweat. You look so beautiful with your eyes shut, gaping lips, and tits bouncing altogether as you speed up. “You look so fucking pretty, y/n.” Your eyes flutter open from the unexpected vulgarity he uttered. It wasn’t like him, but it wasn’t forced either. He regards you with lust swimming in his orbs, the courteous friendship you two have totally erased as of this moment. 

You still for a second before you remove your hands off him and place them on his thighs as you lean back. You spread your thighs and plant the soles of your feet on your bed. You see his eyes widen because of the view. Rather bouncing up and down, you gyrate on his cock. It’s supposed to be a show for him, but with his size, you feel his cock gloriously scrape your insides with the circular movement of your hips. 

“Shit!” You curse before you close your eyes again as you start grinding on him. You don’t start slow this time. You impatiently roll your hips against his, driving his cock deep inside you each plunge. You didn’t think it would get any better than this until you feel his thumb on your neglected cit.

“Oh ffffuuuck.” You can’t even open your eyes anymore while his two fingers replace his thumb and rub the sensitive bud frantically. You could feel the pleasure escalating faster and faster with every salacious thrust of your hip and his every flick of your clit..

“Are you gonna cum, y/n?” You hear him ask. 

“Yesss. Am gonna cuuuuuummmm.” You clutched his legs tighter when your orgasm hits, your vision blurry when you open your eyes as you ride it out. He pulls your panting self to his chest and tenderly caresses your back.

He sweeps your hair behind your ear and whispers. “Did that feel nice?” 

You nod weakly. “Did you cum?” You ask in return. You were so occupied in your own pleasure that you lost awareness of his. He chuckles lowly. “No.”

“Oh..” You lift yourself up a bit to meet his gaze and apologize. 

“Why are you saying sorry? We aren’t done yet.”

What he said as a question earlier became a statement. Something changed in his eyes, a spark of determination that isn’t there earlier.

“Let’s just continue next time, Shoyo. I’m kind of tired,” you explain.

“There’s a next time?!” His eyes shine with enthusiasm which makes you laugh softly.

“Sure. Why not?” You lift your hips up but his hands quickly go down your ass and crash you back down, shoving his dick back in you hard and deep.

“Gaah!” 

“Thanks, y/n. But don’t worry about being tired. I’ll move instead,” he hums on your ear as he spreads your ass cheeks and pummels his cock wildly into your sensitive pussy.

You moan on his neck at the savage pace he starts with. “Shoyo, pleaseee. Sloweer mmmmm.”

“But why?” He whines. You can’t answer with how ferociously he’s rutting against you, his dick consistent with its swift thrusts. “Shit, your pussy feels amazing. So good, fuck.” His crude words of praise fan your pleasure that was rapidly filling your senses again. 

He rams your hips down to meet one sharp thrust. You gasp from how deep his cock went inside you. “Aaah!” 

“Do I make you feel good, y/n?”

You nod weakly as you grind slowly on his cock, desperate to chase your pleasure but too tired from your earlier stunt.

“Please, move,” you whisper with exhaustion.

“Tell me first. I want to hear it,” he demands.

“Too good, Shoyo. Your cock feels too good. So please, fuck me again already,” you shamelessly beg as his cock throbs inside you. 

Instead of granting your plea, he takes his cock out and pulls you to lie underneath him. He parts your legs apart for him and jams his dick right back inside. That’s when he indulges you, thrusting his size in and out of you at an unforgiving pace. 

He leans down on you, intertwining his fingers with yours as he pins both your hands on the bed. “Do you like this, y/n?” 

“I love it. Please please pleaaaaseee. Don’t stop mmmmmm,” you babble messily as your impending orgasm overwhelms you.

He clumsily kisses you, his teeth grazing your lips as slips his tongue in before covering his mouth with yours. He’s groaning relentlessly on your mouth while drilling his dick in your cunt. “You gonna cum?” 

“Yeaass haaa.” Your moans become louder and louder each thrust. “Gonna cum like this? With-ugh-my cock inside you?”

His obscene words make you writhe beneath him. You arch your back from the intense pleasure. He dips down on one nipple and fervidly sucks it. “Gonna c-aahhhhhhh.” You thrash violently beneath him as your hands clench his to ground yourself from the explosive orgasm that he caused.

“Fuck, yes. Cum on my cock, uhhh. Like that. Shit.”

His thrusts become erratic as he goes after his own orgasm while he milks yours. You hazily open your eyes and watch him chase his high with eyes shut and parted lips, animalistic pleasure taking over his features. He delivers one swift thrust and stays completely still, his dick twitching inside you as he cums.

You both pant heavily with him on top of you.

— 

You open the door for him and bid him goodnight. Your legs feel like crap but you don’t want to just drive him away on his own.

“Thanks for tonight, Shoyo.”

You’re not sure what you’re thanking him for, the company or the sex. Maybe both. 

“Um, y/n?” 

“Yeah?”

“Will there really be a next time?” He asks apprehensively, totally different from his demeanor from your last moments in bed. It’s kinda amusing. You didn’t think he had that in him.

“You’ll still help me close up the diner, right?” You ask meaningfully.

He beams at you. “Of course.”

Beach || masterlist

taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem​ @akaashisslavee @tsumurai  @celestialarchiveshq​ @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @crescenttooru @yashuaaa @liberhoe​

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 18

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 7.6k

Abu Dhabi holds a special place in Pierre's heart. The food is great, the views are spectacular, and there is always plenty to do to keep him busy. Night races are some of the more exciting races too and Pierre appreciated the variety.

Coming into the final race of the season, Pierre holds on to seventh in the championship by a few points. Perez sensed the usurper creeping up on his seat and had cranked it up to eleven. 

Exams had kept you in London for the race in Brazil, where Pierre had finished sixth and Checo DNF'd. You had managed to fly out for the weekend in Saudi Arabia, where Perez had finished fifth and closed the gap to Pierre to only four points behind. 

If Pierre didn't finish ahead of Perez this weekend, he was fucked. And he was at the distinct disadvantage of his good luck charm being absent, stuck in London finishing up your final few exams of the semester. Two weeks without seeing you coupled with barely hearing from you had worn on him. It wasn't purposeful on your part but Pierre's stress was already compressed like the suspension on his car. Stray an inch too far over the racing line, hit a curb too hard and it was liable to snap, sending bits and pieces flying.

Pierre checks his phone for the millionth time as he waits to check in to the hotel. Wednesday was late for this many crew members to be arriving. His main concern though was that you hadn't responded to the text he'd sent you upon landing.

"Look lively, will you?" Max claps Pierre on the shoulder and he slides his phone into his pocket. "It's the last race of the season. We get to go balls to the wall and leave it all out in the track. And here you are looking like a kicked puppy."

"Easy for you to say," Pierre starts, grinning at his friend. "You clinched the title weeks ago. You don't even have to race this weekend if you don't want to and you'd still win."

"Doesn't mean I won't be shooting for a podium."

Pierre rolls his eyes. "Yeah well we can't all be so lucky, can we?"

"Next year you'll be playing with the big dogs." Max hands the receptionist his ID, says a few words and turns back to Pierre. "Looking forward to having you as a teammate again. It was fun for those couple races and I'm sure you'll be a challenge now that you've found your groove."

"You're gonna jinx it if you keep talking." Pierre laughs, praying that it covers up the old wound Max's statement picked open. Pierre hated the idea of moving back to Red Bull but he didn't have much choice. He was still contracted to one of four Red Bull branded seats for next season. A promotion, at the very least, would help him showcase his talent and further cement his value. If he had to spend any longer than that with the team, ripping out his hair was a real possibility.

"Wasn't someone supposed to be with you this weekend?" Max quirks a brow. "Where is she?"

"In London." Max bringing you up doesn't help the pit forming in Pierre's stomach. Win or lose, seventh or eighth, Red Bull or Alpha Tauri, come Sunday Pierre wanted you at his side. Interview requests were bound to roll in either way and Pierre would need someone to ground him, a task much easier to accomplish if you were physically at his side.

"Too bad." Max clicks his tongue and takes his room keys from the receptionist. "It's gonna be a fun weekend."

"I don't think-"

Pierre's vision goes dark at the same time someone whispers, "Guess who?"

Pierre sucks in a breath, spins on his heel and wraps you in a hug in one smooth motion. You laugh as he lifts you off your feet and presses kisses to your cheeks. 

"What are you doing here?" He grabs both suitcases and tugs you aside. His room can wait.

"Tost asked me to come." Your grin is contagious, its twin appearing on Pierre's own cheeks. "He said that since you were flying out from Milan on your own there was an extra seat on the jet, so if I got myself to Nice I could fly out with the Red Bull boys."

"Seven hours trapped in a tin can with Max, Yuki and Checo?" Pierre rubs his chest. "I've got heartburn just thinking about that."

"It wasn't so bad," you say, finally giving him a proper kiss. "Yuki and I just played games on our phones the whole time. And I beat Max at Scrabble."

"How many Dutch words did he try to use?"

"Mmm, about half the words he tried were definitely not English."

"Yep, sounds about right." Pierre throws an arm around your shoulders and leads you back to the reception desk. He pays for an upgraded room when you aren't looking- though when you're assigned a suite there's not much higher you can go- and slips the woman behind the counter an extra bill for good measure.

"I could use a nap," you note, leaning against Pierre like you'd otherwise fall over. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

Pierre checks his watch. "We've got time for a nap."

"We?" Your raised eyebrow is question enough. Pierre smiles and swipes his key card once you're in the elevator with him. He hadn't looked at the price of the room but he was positive it was more than he'd spent on a single night in his entire career, considering it occupies an entire floor of the swanky hotel.

"It's date night," Pierre says simply. Initially his plan had been to invite Charles over for a game of Fifa but the Monegasque wouldn’t fault him for cancelling at the last minute. "We're in one of the most luxurious cities in the world and I'm going to show you off every chance I get. The restaurant down stairs is to die for."

Your attempt at nodding along with what he says is thwarted by a yawn. "Sleep first, eat later." Seeing as it was impossible to deny you, Pierre simply drops a kiss to the crown of your head.

"Wait until you see our room." The way your eyes light up when he says our room makes him want to say it again and again just to see you sparkle.

"I know you upgraded it, Mr. I-think-I'm-sneaky." You uncurl yourself from against his arm when the elevator chimes. "How much did it cost?"

"A few extra pennies."

The stainless steel doors open directly into the suite. The living space is dominated by a curving crescent of full length windows overlooking the cerulean harbor and the jagged steel of the city skyline beyond. Suitcase forgotten, your jaw drags along the floor as you toe off your shoes in favor of sinking onto one of the half moon couches situated around a low coffee table.

"Did you get some sort of bonus you didn't tell me about?" Pierre sees your inner engineer cataloging the chandelier dripping crystals over the carved dining table and the pattern of the black veined marble flooring. "This cost more than a few pennies."

"I didn't really look at the price so it's possible," he admits. In the end it was worth it to see you like this, happy as a pig in mud. Pierre was in his element at the track you were in yours in beautiful buildings. For all Pierre cared you could be sharing a dingy room at a motel; it would still be five star worthy with you there. 

Every once in a while though, you deserve a bit of pampering for all you put up with. Late nights and months apart wasn’t easy on either of you, but you stuck by him. And when the day comes that Pierre retires or loses his seat, you would be the one there to comfort him. Spending frivolous amounts of money to see you smile was nothing in the grand scheme of things. 

In Pierre’s world, money is temporary, you are forever.

"Well I have half a mind to tear into you for spending so much on a room we won't spend all that much time in," you start, your star-speckled gaze landing on Pierre, "the view is too pretty to be upset about."

"Mine isn't half bad either." You laugh, tucking an errant hair behind your ear. You both know he isn’t referring to the glittering bay or the expensive furnishings.

"Up," Pierre demands softly, holding out his hand. Your hand is warm and dwarfed by his long fingers but you barely seem to notice. The heart in his chest pounds for no discernable reason as he leads you down the narrow hall past doors leading to what he can only assume are bedrooms and bathrooms, to the one at the end of the hall. Based on his mental floor plan this one has the best view, if he's guessed correctly.

Your breezy oh confirms his hunch. You stutter at the threshold, coming up short behind him to bathe in the beauty of the sea, dotted through with white sails. Sunlight twinkles off the waves and if he breathes deep enough, he can almost smell the salt.

"Come on," Pierre says with a chuckle, urging you to fall into the fluffy down of the bed with him. You follow reluctantly, too enamored by the sights to pay any real attention to how Pierre arranges your limbs to his liking, your head resting on his chest and your joined hands laying atop his stomach.

"How about that nap?" He murmurs, running the fingers of his free hand through your unbound hair. 

You sigh and snuggle in closer. It was rare that Pierre had the opportunity to steal moments like this during a race week, when he had nothing better to do than tangle himself in you.

"I'll tell you a story." 

Just as he expected, you leap at the offer. "Can you tell me the one about the time you and Charles got in trouble when you were karting?"

Normally he opts for something fictional that allows him to embellish the details to fit his narrative. Pierre loved spinning tales rife with laughter and intrigue but he also didn't mind indulging your curiosity.

"Yeah, I can tell that one. Let me set the scene. It's midnight on a Friday at a little track outside Rouen. Two gangly teenage boys, one French and one definitely, positively not French, have nothing better to do than get themselves in trouble…"

**********

Fans began whispering when Pierre set foot in the lobby. The price of stardom was high and had taken years to get used to. Some days the bombardment of people asking for photos and autographs overwhelmed him to the point he was desperate for an out. Most people respected his boundaries and when they sensed it was too much, they backed off. Other days it was simply too much and he would mumble excuses and book it out the door.

The pressure increases tenfold when he steps into the lobby with you on his arm, the pair of you dressed to the nines. He clocks a group of women- clearly tourists based on their body language- perched on a sofa the minute their low murmurs turn into excited squeals.

Pierre mentally braces for you to stiffen or stop altogether but you do neither. You carry on unaffected, either ignoring them or completely oblivious to the women who do nothing to hide their pointed stares.

"Table for two please." You smile at the restaurant host and then at Pierre. You must not have noticed the fans then. You were getting better at coping with the photos and whispers, although your smile usually became forced the longer it dragged on, the polar opposite of you currently beaming at him.

Pierre's shoulders sag a bit when you're led to a secluded table towards the rear of the dining space. Privacy wasn't a luxury he was often afforded. With his back to a wall of windows, there were fewer angles for people to approach from which was a small comfort.

Apparently you find sitting across from Pierre unacceptable because you shuffle your chair to his side of the table before plopping down in it. Pierre shoots you a questioning look but keeps his mouth shut. Inquiring after your motives didn't tend to end well for him.

Instead he leans over to kiss your cheek, relishing the blush his lips coax to the surface.

“It all sounds good,” you say, scanning the menu. “You’ve been here before, I take it?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah I have. It’s all wonderful.” 

The fans from the lobby remain in the blurred fringes of his vision. Pierre does his best to focus on the waitress explaining the specials. He tunes in automatically to the fan’s heavily accented English as they argue with the host, vying for a table as close to Pierre as possible.

Their phones remain out as an annoyed waiter tries and fails to coax the gaggle of girls into ordering something. Pierre drags a hand through his hair.

Being the center of attention usually doesn't bother him. Coping with the spotlight and the scrutiny that accompanies it is second nature; if the press conferences at Spa in 2019 had taught him anything, it was the importance of a solid poker face. Fame is new to you though and interactions with polite fans make you nervous. Having your picture taken without permission and splashed on social media? Forget about it. Pierre didn't care to find out how you'd react.

"Don't be nervous." You lay a hand on Pierre's thigh. The touch is enough to temporarily pause his bouncing leg. "You're going to do amazing this weekend. All you have to do is finish in front of Checo and you're golden."

How you haven't noticed the girls giggling mere yards away is beyond him. The last thing he wants to do is ruin this perfect, beautiful moment of bliss. You look gorgeous with your painted lips and that sinful black dress that he doubts can be comfortable based on how it hugs your curves like water. To top it off, the pride in your gaze is something to behold, making it impossible to doubt himself when you so clearly and openly believe he can conquer the world.

But it's better to tell you now versus you finding out on social media later. "That's not what's bothering me."

"Oh?" You sit straighter and set the menu down. "What is it then? Because if it's Horner, I have no problem marching in there and chewing him out. Birdy will back me up."

Despite himself, Pierre can't hold back his smile. "Where did all this confidence come from, hmm?"

"I'm learning," you insist, nodding your head firmly. "I'm growing as a person and you should be proud."

"I never said I wasn't." Maybe you'd spent the last month at university interacting with racing fans on campus. Perhaps being exposed to endless questions in a setting you controlled was the key. "Did you take a course in confidence at university?"

You scrunch up your nose and laugh in the most adorable way. Pierre's heart lurches at the sight, regardless if it was him you were laughing at.

"No, but I did make a few new friends that have a habit of pestering me about you." You jab a finger in his side for good measure. "It helped, I think. I don't look for cameras as much anymore. You're my focus now, not paps that may or may not be lurking in bushes."

"I knew it." Pierre is slightly impressed that he'd hit the nail squarely on the head. "I figured there had to be someone at uni responsible for helping you out."

You shrug and purse your lips. "I guess we'll have to see how I handle this weekend. I mean, there's bound to be press trying to corner me, what with the stakes and all. But I think I can take them." You raise your fists in front of your face and Pierre has to laugh. 

“Throw a punch like that and you’ll break a finger.” He takes one of your clenched fists in his and untucks your thumb from under your fingers. “That’s how you make a proper fist. And you hit with these knuckles here- make sure you distribute the blow across all four, or you’ll be hurting.”

“Regardless,” you say, jabbing the air a few times, “The shock factor of having little old me in their face ought to be enough to earn me an advantage.”

Pierre finishes the lap to circle back to the topic at hand. "How about we test your confidence?” 

"Okay," you say, dragging out the 'a' until it hangs in the air between you like a spider's web. 

Pierre rakes a hand through his hair and nods to the girls a few tables away. "They've been taking pictures since we sat down. I'm sure they'll be all over Instagram in an hour, if they aren't already."

You steal a glance at the table in question under the guise of grabbing something from your purse. You hum, contemplating how to go about responding. Pierre is almost certain you'll ask to head back upstairs where it's just the two of you, no cameras or outside influence to ruin your night. His wallet is already out under the table, ready to leave a hefty tip for putting up with your drink-and-dash.

“We aren’t doing anything interesting,” you point out, swirling the knuckle’s worth of whiskey in your glass. “Why do they feel the need to document every passing second?”

Pierre lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “It’s just what some people do. If you’re uncomfortable we can go.”

“Who said anything about leaving?” You scoff, the corners of your lips turned up in a teasing smile. “I figure the best course of action is to give them something worth photographing.”

“What do you-”

Pierre’s yelp is decidedly unsexy when you yank him forward by his tie and attach your lips to his. Caught entirely off guard, he flounders for a moment before he catches himself and sinks into you. One hand on your cheek and the other creeping up your thigh, Pierre slides his tongue over the seam of your lips. You don't hesitate to obey the silent command.

He should be embarrassed. He should be contemplating the consequences of this kiss being splashed across tabloids the world over. He can’t bring himself to care, not when you’re the only release he needs and something as simple as a kiss sets his skin alight and causes any sane thoughts to trickle from his head.

Nothing matters. You're kissing him and your hand is a few inches below his hip on his right thigh, burning a brand that he prays leaves a puckered pink scar. Your scent and your mouth and your unmistakable hiss of pleasure saps the worry from his limbs. He's floating up off his chair, lungs filling with helium as you steal every last molecule of oxygen from the room.

Just like that, Pierre is the one that's roaring to leave for an entirely different reason.

Your hand on his jaw keeps your lips a hair's breadth apart as you whisper, "Are they staring?"

A blissed out nod is all he manages. Thoughts evade him and speaking is utterly out of the question when your lips are within striking distance. He surges forward for another kiss, heavier on teeth than on tongue. He makes sure to hold your lower lip between his teeth longer than necessary, putting on a show now that you've given him permission.

"Pierre," you murmur, using the hand splayed on his chest to push him away. The whine that escapes him is wholly unintentional. Thankfully it's low enough that only you hear, pressing a finger to your sinful lips.

"Down, boy." You extricate his hand from the dimpled flesh of your hip and place it chastely in his own lap. "We've accomplished what I wanted to."

Saying you tossing a wink over your shoulder at the intrusive fans isn't the hottest thing he's ever seen would be a lie. Pierre needed to be sure to thank Daniel's girlfriend the next time he saw her for whatever the hell she said to finally bestow you with a healthy serving of self-assurance because this new you is an entirely different entity, one Pierre intends to explore at the next opportunity.

"Problem solved." You brush your hands together and Pierre half expects to see dust clouds in the air like you'd just finished a woodshop project. 

Pierre's brain is operating on a ten second delay. So really, normal operating procedure when he was in your vicinity. "I don't think we've accomplished everything I'd like to get done."

"We have a dinner to finish first." You pick up your menu and resume browsing like you hadn't just forcibly ripped his appetite for anything other than you right out of him. "The salmon sounds good, don't you think?"

"You sound good," Pierre mumbles under his breath and picks up his own menu. God, he'd love to let his fingers drift to the apex of your thighs. You’re always cute when you squirm. It was so simple to do too, all you needed was a brush of his knuckle to your center and you'd be gasping.

"Are you ready to order?"

The soft-spoken waitress bursts Pierre's bubble. She brings fresh drinks and jots down an order of two salmon fillets and leaves with a smile. 

How Pierre has managed to make it this long without fucking you is beyond him. From the moment you surprised him in the lobby, his limbs have been thrumming with energy. And now your surprise kiss had been the pebble that preceded an avalanche of feverish longing. Those red painted lips would look better wrapped around his-

The pointed toe of your shoe digs into his calf. "Quit staring."

"Either you let me daydream or you let me take you upstairs,” Pierre quips back, licking his lips before he can catch himself.

"Can we get through one date without you mentally undressing me?"

Pierre dips his grin in a vat of lust, his words dripping with waxy promise. "No. Not when I know that as soon as we're alone, you'll let me do what I want."

"And what about what I want?" Your pouted lip does absolutely nothing but push his mind further in the gutter. 

"Your wish is my command." His hand floats under the hem of your dress to graze along your core. And there it is, that sound he would swim across oceans to hear, your chastizing gasp of surprise. 

The cross way you whisper his name is a thing of dreams. No one else's name sounded like that on your tongue, that honor is reserved solely for Pierre. The two breathless syllables are more exhilarating than standing on the top step. The rush of adrenaline that accompanies them is ten times what he is rewarded with when passing a world champion on track. He'll give it all up to hear you repeat it when you're pissed or lonely or tired- he just wants your voice echoing in his ears like a broken record.

You move his hand a safe distance down your thigh, nearly at your knee. Pierre gives your leg a sharp squeeze. "Can we please get our dinner to go?"

"Not tonight. You can wait, mon amour."

The French rolls off your tongue awkwardly but Pierre will be the last to complain. Your encyclopedic knowledge of which buttons to press when had come back to bite him in the ass.

"That's not fair." His pout is a mirror image of the one you turned on him earlier. "You can't use my own language against me."

You pat your pockets as if searching for something and shrug when you come up empty. "I don't see a rulebook anywhere."

Reminding you what happens when you tease him shoots to the top of his to do list. "I'll play if you wanna play, ma chérie. Don't bite off more than you can chew."

"I think you're forgetting who usually wins off track."

Pierre can't help it. He takes advantage of his superior reflexes and surges forward to claim another searing kiss. You did normally win and it wasn't for lack of trying on his end. No matter the tactic he employed, you generally got the better of him. Not that he minded.

"Why don't you come here?" He purposely grazes his lips to your ear as he speaks and grins when a shiver runs down your spine. 

"Because we are in public," you hiss back, though the way your head tips to the side betrays you. Pierre's nose touches the underside of your jaw and you struggle to find your breath.

"We should eat." A self satisfied smile splits his face when he notices your heaving chest and wild eyes. 

"When did our food get here?" Pierre did that. He got you so worked up that you blocked out your surroundings so thoroughly that you hadn't heard the clink of plates. Pierre wears that fact like a badge of honor.

"A minute or so ago. Remind me again who's winning?"

"We may be even," you relent, adjusting the skirt of your dress. Yeah, even isn't the word he would pick, considering how flustered you are. It's a good thing Pierre has learned to eat with one hand because he doesn't plan on moving the arm currently slung over the back of your chair anytime soon. His finger traces the letters of his name on the bare skin of your shoulder. Whether you realize what he's writing or not you lean into him as you eat, falling in closer with each lemon-scented bite.

"Excuse me?"

You don't bother to look up but Pierre does. Disappointment washes over him when he is met by one of the fans, apparently deeming now to be the appropriate time to approach him, while clearly on a date, in the middle of a meal.

"I'll be happy to take a photo once I'm done." Sometimes passive aggressiveness works best with people like this, who have no regard for personal space. "Right now I would prefer to be alone, thanks."

"Oh, right." The blonde giggles, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "You two make a… cute couple?" The end of her sentence turns up and your fork falls to your plate.

Pierre tucks you a little closer to his side, both possessive and reassuring. "We know."

Your discomfort is plain, the way you curl in on yourself making his heart hurt. But you surprise him by taking a deep breath and turning to the woman with a smile. 

"If you'd let us finish our meal, I would appreciate it. We can stop by on our way out and chat with you." Sylvie would be proud of that answer. Diplomatically phrased and said with a smile that negates any negative connotations.

"Of course." The blonde's smile is sickly sweet. To Pierre she adds, "Good luck on Sunday."

Pierre nods. The woman's rude behavior didn't warrant a verbal response. She mumbles a feeble goodbye before slinking back to her friends. If nothing else at least their whispers died down, put out by his behavior. 

Pierre loves his fans. Without them he wouldn't have a sport to compete in, and of course he appreciated their endless support. Stopping for photos or autographs had gotten him in trouble with Marko multiple times for being late to meetings that usually turned out to be pointless anyway. As a whole, their enthusiasm gives him an extra boost on Sundays and lifts his spirits after a bad weekend.

And then sometimes there were people like the blonde woman that had interrupted his dinner. Those people he has far less tolerance for. Basic manners were imperative to Pierre giving someone the light of day, otherwise he saw no need to waste time and energy on them.

"All good, ma chérie?" Pierre rubs your shoulder, hoping it'll stave off any anxiety.

"I'm good," you confirm with a nod of your head. "Let's finish up and go to our room."

Pierre presses a kiss to your temple and scarfs down the remainder of his meal in record time. He flags down the waitress and hands her his card, leaving a substantial tip when she returns with the check.

“Can you distract that table?” Pierre asks, aware of how unusual the request likely is. “I’d like to get out of here without making a scene.”

“Of course,” the waitress says with a warm, sincere smile. Pierre waits until she loudly announces, “Excuse me? Your card has been declined, do you have another method of payment?”

Neither of you can contain your laughter as you stumble through the lobby. In the sanctity of the elevator, Pierre wraps his arms around your middle and molds himself against you. "You look especially gorgeous tonight."

"You're not too bad yourself." One of your hands finds the nape of his neck, guiding his face to the crook of your shoulder. Pierre takes the invitation at face value and nips at the sensitive skin. Your hum goes straight to his cock, twitching against the swell of your ass.

"I win," you purr, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging. 

For once Pierre is glad to be in the world's slowest elevator. Since he's already lost, he might as well lose in style. He spins you to face the mirrored wall. And because he knows it'll make you tremble, he trails his hand lazily over your throat to grip your jaw.

A low moan leaves your parted lips. Pierre studies your reflection, from your hands gripping the railing to the skin dimpling beneath his fingers. 

"Fine, you win this time. But I think you and I both know, I'll come out ahead in the end."

**********

Waking up to soft kisses will never get old. Thirty years from now when Pierre was retired and you fell asleep each night with his arms around you, you'd still yearn for the brush of his lips to your cheeks, neck, and shoulders to rouse you from the violet shores of sleep.

"Good morning," you mumble, a sentiment which Pierre echoes with his gruff, sleep tinged voice. "Sleep well?"

"Best sleep I've ever gotten. You tired me out last night." You both grin at the reminder. Fueled by a slight tinge of jealousy after the women at the restaurant made eyes at him, you had refused to let him tumble into bed until well past midnight, when you both were well and truly exhausted. Thursday is press day, nothing strenuous that he couldn't afford to be a little sore for.

Pierre rolls to straddle your hips, lips capturing yours for a proper kiss. The taste of freshly brushed mint makes your skin tingle when he tugs your lip between his teeth.

"It's too early for that." You throw your arms around his neck and urge him to bend his elbows until he falls atop you. It takes him a moment to snuggle in, his head on your chest and his arms sliding under your middle. 

You're convinced that ten minutes in this position can cure any ailments, physical or mental. The weight of your soulmate pressing into you, forcing you to focus on breathing instead of whatever might be bothering you. It's easy to forget about the outside world when everything you require to be happy is wrapped around you like a blanket.

You stroke a hand over Pierre's hair until his breathing evens out, only rousing him when the sun peeks over the harbor. Amiable silence fills the space as hues of orange and pink paint Pierre in swaths of color. Suddenly you're seeing him for the first time, completely enamored by the angles of his cheekbones and the sharp cut of his stubbled jaw. The golden hour of dawn shines on it's golden boy, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he turns towards the warmth calling him home.

"Pyry and I are going for a run soon if you'd like to come with us."

You cringe. Running used to be fun when you were in school, but seeing as you hadn't properly trained in years you doubted you could keep up with a pair of professionals. "How about you text me when you're back and I'll come to the gym with you? It looks fancy, if George's snaps are anything to go by."

Pierre trails kisses up your sternum, over your neck and only speaks once he's reached your lips. "Looking at other men, are you?"

"Shut up," you laugh, shoving him off you. "I'll have you know it was a rare shirt on picture, thank you very much. I don't need to see George shirtless ever again."

A satisfied, "Good," rumbles from Pierre's chest and he stands to stretch the lingering sleep from his limbs. Clad in nothing but a pair of white four inch inseam shorts and with his back to you, you grin as an idea forms. You scramble forward before he can process you moving and smack his ass so hard he yelps.

"Gotcha!" You devolve into a fit of giggles as he rubs the spot you hit, whining about you taking advantage of his distraction.

"You like it," you tease, and Pierre remains strictly pouty for two whole seconds before he breaks into a grin and nods. "Now put on a shirt and get downstairs before Pyry calls you and you get reamed for being late again."

Pierre leans down for one last kiss before rushing off to the lobby. Waking up before the sun leaves you plenty of time to laze about if you choose to. Kicking your butt into gear seems like the better option so you drag yourself out of the relative warmth of the sheets and shuffle to the kitchen in search of coffee. 

Apparently the suite came fully stocked with a handful of different freshly ground blends, and much to your delight you recognize one of your favorites. You scroll through the room service menu on your phone while it brews. Without a doubt Pyry would rope you in to whatever workout he had planned for Pierre, albeit giving you a watered down version of what he gave the driver. Regardless, it would still be grueling and you needed to fuel up.

A hearty breakfast of fresh fruit and cinnamon sugar oatmeal shows up at your door ten minutes later. You're just finishing up when Pierre's snapchat comes through and you nearly choke.

Come on down baby

The sweaty, shirtless selfie that accompanies the caption is wholly unnecessary. Pierre's stupid tongue sticks out and the fingers of one hand are tangled in his hair. The muscle of his bicep is perfectly flexed, an obvious but appreciated attempt to rile you up. You shamelessly screenshot the photo before it disappears to save it for later.

You change into a simple set of leggings and a loose t-shirt and head to the elevator, curating your music queue on the way down.

The outdoor gym overlooks a pool of the same crystalline blue as the sea not far beyond. A few Alpha Tauri and Red Bull team members you recognize occupy a handful of machines. You wave at the ones you recognize, including Alana- she was a sight for sore eyes. You make a mental note to catch up with her at some point today, as you're sure to cross paths again.

Pyry spots you before Pierre does and waves you over. "Start stretching," the fin orders, "I'm glad you dressed for the occasion this time."

"I've learned my lesson." You plop down next to Pierre and lean into a stretch to stage whisper, "He drives you this hard?"

"Get used to it." Pierre shoots you a grin that sets you on fire. He's got a shirt on now, which means he only took it off earlier to send you that snap. Tease.

Any other time you'd chide him for his behavior but this weekend you let it slide. Tension has been brewing since the moment you spotted him across the lobby; simple things tip you off to the stress winding up in him. If flirting could offer him a small amount of release, then so be it, even if it was torturous for you to see him like this and be unable to do anything about it.

"If you two can't get through this without making heart eyes at each other I'll separate you," Pyry warns, pushing at your shoulders and helping you stretch a few more inches. You hide your wince and laugh, leaning into the slight burn.

"Sorry coach," Pierre chimes in, "I'll keep my hands to myself, don't worry." He accepts Pyry's hand to be pulled to his feet. Bouncing on his toes he throws a few punches at the air and catches your gaze over his trainer's shoulder.

"Definitely not you I'm worried about."

As Pyry says it, you blow Pierre a kiss. You quickly tuck your hands behind your back when Pyry's head whips around. Your cheshire grin gets you off the hook and Pyry just points to the stationary bike in silent command. At least he was going easy on you.

Headphones pumping a Pierre curated playlist, you lose track of time as you cycle mile after mile. Pierre sparring on the fringes of your vision helps distract you from burning muscles. Sweat soaks his black tee and is absorbed by the waistband of his oddly patterned orange and white shorts. No matter how incessantly you tease him for his fashion choices, he never fails to amaze you for how well he pulls it all off.

Lost in the music and the incredible view, it takes you a moment to realize Pierre's lips aren't just moving silently. You yank out an ear bud and blubber, "What did you say?"

Pierre's breathless laugh is accompanied by a shake of his head. He half curls in on himself, hands on his hips and mouth agape as he tries to catch his breath. The image stirs memories of the last night, when he was panting just like that but with nothing obscuring you from drinking in his godlike muscled body.

"I said," Pierre starts, walking over to kiss your cheek, "I need a shower before press. I'm going upstairs. You can stay here and Pyry can take you through some more-"

"No thanks!" Pyry shrugs off your immediate refusal. Training top tier athletes and training you sat at polar opposite ends of the spectrum and often times the Fin pushed you farther than you thought capable. You'd like to be able to function tomorrow, thank you very much.

The elevator ride to the suite is filled with salted kisses and wet touches. A breadcrumb trail of clothing leads from the stainless steel doors to the glass encased shower. There's not enough time to worship Pierre like you'd wanted to but he sighs when you run a soapy cloth over his body. Your lips follow the suds, leaving light kisses to the tender muscles. By the time you pour shampoo in your palm and lightly scratch at his scalp to work it into a lather, he's practically purring.

Media appearances are a necessary part of being a driver. Pierre usually handled them well enough on his own and occasionally with Sylvie's help when she could be bothered to get off her phone for a few minutes, but having you with him is different. You pride yourself on reading him well enough to know exactly what he needs. Some days, when the press isn't a pack of rabid animals, he returns to his driver's room and needs nothing more than a quick kiss to have him righted. On days when the pack of piranhas descend to feast on the bones of a bad session or the whispering of drama, a delicate touch is required.

If your suspicion proves right, today would be the latter. Being ahead of the frenzy might take the edge off when Pierre got in the thick of it.

When the tap cuts off, you step out and wrap Pierre in a fluffy towel. His smile communicates how grateful he is- and that he knows what you're doing.

You hand him a stack of Alpha Tauri branded clothes and sit on the foot of the bed. "Do you want me to come to the paddock with you?"

Pierre pauses with his shirt half on. "If you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind." You pluck a few of his rings from the nightstand and hold out your hand. "You have to complete the look."

"What would I do without you," he murmurs, slipping one on his pinky and one on the thumb of his opposite hand.

"Probably be ridiculed for your lack of fashion sense."

**********

As a driver's girlfriend, you had come to grips with being relegated to a background role when it came to team events. You have to ask Sylvie to repeat herself twice before her words sink in.

"Come with me to the media pen," the woman grits out. Apparently Tost intended to have some fun torturing the woman before he fired her at the end of the season. Hopefully whoever Pierre got stuck with next was a bit more personable than Sylvie.

"Pierre told me to wait here," you say, gesturing to the garage buzzing around you. You were a rock and the mechanics were the stream, parting around you without a care in the world. You were barely a blip on their radar, everyone too honed in on their tasks to pay you any mind.

"And now I'm telling you to come with me. The other wives and girlfriends are in attendance and it'll look odd if you're not there too." Clearly, Sylvie didn't like the idea. And any idea that pissed Sylvie off sounded like a good one.

"I know the way," you say and breeze past her. Your feet follow the familiar path to the cluster of reporters crowded around metal gates, keeping the drivers in like caged animals. It was fitting, considering how often people referred to the sport as a traveling circus.

Pierre is already knee deep in an interview with one of the more popular journalists in the bunch, Will Buxton. Careful to stay out of the lens, you lean against the guardrail to listen in. So far it seems to be going well, Pierre's laugh brings a smile to your face.

"So, Pierre." Will shifts on his feet, pausing to create a sense of drama. "Your seat for next year. We know you'll be in Alpha Tauri or at Red Bull. Only a few points separate you from being demoted right back to eighth in the championship, which would officially relegate you to keep your seat at Alpha for the upcoming season. Are you worried about a mechanical problem or an accident stripping you of your chance to prove yourself and leaving you stuck where you are?"

Your stomach sinks. Buxton knew how to phrase a question, you had to give him that. Each word had been carefully chosen to elicit an emotional response from Pierre. You hate seeing him backed into a corner, forced to answer the same questions again and again, helpless to prevent it.

"Well first of all I'd like to stay that I'm not stuck at Alpha." Pierre shifts his weight and you exhale. Buxton's poisoned dart had missed its mark.

"Given a few years of development I know we could have a really competitive car. But it's more so that I'm ready to move up, fight with the leaders now instead of waiting. I'm in my prime and I don't want to let that pass me by.

"So no, I'm not worried about things that are out of my control. My team has given me an amazing car this year and I'm not concerned about mechanical problems. Things out of my control aren't worth my energy. There's nothing I can do about it so I don't even give it thought. I'll focus on my driving and pushing my limit- if an accident happens, I'm just a passenger."

"Well said." Buxton nods and turns away, effectively dismissing Pierre. As soon as he's out of the camera's view he's reaching for you and you meet him halfway. Sylvie trails after you as Pierre leads you through to the Alpha garage.

"Five minutes until your briefing," Alana says the second you enter. "And hey girl. Don't think I've forgotten about that sweater I loaned you. I still want it back!"

Your friend doesn't leave any room for rebuttal before heading for the conference room, presumably to set up whatever presentation she had created. Sylvie had disappeared too, leaving you as the only one for Pierre to focus on.

"You think I can do it?" He asks quietly, playing with your interlaced fingers.

"I don't think." You tilt his chin up so he's looking at you. "I know. And I'll be right here when you cross that line on Sunday and bring home points. You've got this, baby. Don't doubt yourself now."

"Pierre!"

Your grip on his chin prevents him from following the voice, not that he would if he could. You shoot him a raucous grin, "Red Bull colors would look pretty good on me, huh?"

Pierre's smile is brighter than all the stars in the sky. "Anything with my name on it will do.”

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[ultimatehorrorfanatic]

“I Typed For Miles”

̶naoreko week 2022 day 3 !! Writers Block|Art Block

before you read

-title is by Jets To Brazil

-non death game au

-i dont usually post my works so this is gonna be..uh..

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

“Hmmh. Fuck. Can’t think of shit…”

There Reko sat, near Nao's resting body. By near, she meant the same room. Reko was sitting at a desk, harshly gripping a mechanical pencil as she dug her nails into a piece of paper. It was easy to aggravate Reko Yabusame, but writer's block was always the one to dig into her mind and tear it to shreds. It felt like she wrote about everything there possibly was to write about! Atleast, something that fit her band's type. Maybe she should explore more than what would fit her band? Surely though, that would just be a waste of time. Unless Nao recommended it. She would do anything Nao recommended. 

…Aha! The perfect idea, Nao! She could ask Nao! Though, Nao was taking a nap. Would she mind? She would! No she wouldn’t. She didn’t want to bother her girlfriend, they’d only gotten together 2 weeks ago afterall. Reko wasn’t extraordinarily great with relationships, no matter how much of a flirt she was. Her relationships didn’t last long because neither of them were necessarily extra faithful. But this was different with Nao! Nao was different. Nao was caring, sweet, special. Nao was perfect. This relationship wasn’t a “go for a month get over in a week” type of thing that Reko wanted. Reko wasn’t used to it being like this way. Who would? It was hard to adjust, especially if you're a person like Reko Yabusame. 

After going through 3 minutes of debating with herself, Reko decided to awaken her poor girlfriend.

“Hey.. Uh, Nao?” 

Nao's eyes just barely moved as Reko nudged her arm. They were awfully close. Should she kiss her on the cheek? No Reko! That's moving too fast! You've been together for 2 weeks, damnit!

“Hmm.. Yes Reko?”

Nao's words were honeyed, her voice was slow and a little groggy. God, it was adorable. She hated how head over heels she was for this woman. Nao sat up from the bed, adjusting her pillow so she could still be comfortable. 

“Ah.. You know how I write my own songs? I’m going through writer's block.”

“Kinda like an art block, right? Have you ever written about a person before?”

Those words caused Rekos expression to harden. Alice. She wrote a scrapped song about Alice. It was still in the trash bin of her house. Alice, who went to jail and faced the consequences any murderer would. Alice wasn’t the types of guy to just murderer anyone, not so suddenly too. But that didn’t matter, did it? Wait, Reko! Your girlfriends sitting in front of you, get a grip!

“..Only once, why?”

This elicited a giggle from Nao, in turn making the opposing Rekos face to run a light shade of red and causing her eyebrows to furrow.

“Well, why not write about me?”

Nao winked, of course she was teasing. But why not tease back? Reko had been the victim of Naos teasing for what felt like ages, even before they were dating. So why not get her back for once? No better time to do it than now! “Pff, okay.”

“Eh?”

Reko rushed back to the desk on the other side of the room and took a normal grasp of her pen. She’d show Nao. She’d known Nao for two years, she knew enough about her to write a song. The words came to her simple and fast, unrecognizable to Reko who took a week or more to write a song.

She decided the song would be shorter than her average song, this would make it easier to provide the song to Nao quickly enough. Why was she so inlove with this woman?

Nao had no idea what a writer's block was like. She wrote one crappy song in her junior year of highschool and that was it, and maybe a few even worse ones in middle school. She wrote her fair share of poems, but they weren’t anything like Rekos poems. Reko didn’t publicly release her poems, because they weren’t similar enough to her songs. They were solemn yet screamed, sad yet excited. Actually, maybe they were pretty similar.. No matter that, Nao had no idea what Reko was going through. But in a way, they were both artists. When Nao hits an art block, she feels like physically and mentally exploding. She pieced this together in a way to fit Rekos thought process, though it didn’t exactly match up.

Nao's eyes drifted to Rekos everworking body. She loved her girlfriend. She reached up from the bed that she was sitting on to approach Reko. Once she finally stretched herself up, she walked over and leaned over her girlfriend's shoulder to read the words.

Only to find a blushing Reko covering the piece.