#but he tries really hard to do the right thing and always stands up for others

[lolxdswag123]

Just friends?

Percy Jackson x reader

Warnings: making out, I think that’s it tbh

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My brain was fried. I had been working on homework and studying for hours all week. I had just about isolated myself in the library, and even managed to get on a first-name basis with the librarian.

I regretted my decision to take so many credits this semester, but I just got so excited when I got into New Rome University that I went a little overboard. The only person who was taking more classes than me was Annabeth- of course. She had spent some time with me in the library this week, but other than that I hadn't gotten any social interaction outside of my classes. I knew my best friend Percy was probably wondering where I was.

I submitted a paper that I didn't even have the energy to proofread. I just was hoping for the best at that point. Just as I clicked submit, I got a text notification on my computer. It was such a relief to be able to use normal technology at school. It was so hard in the mortal world to constantly explain why I couldn't have phone.

The text was from Percy.

Where have you been? Haven't seen you all week

I smiled, immediately pulling out my phone to text him back.

Library. So much work :(

I glanced over at the window, seeing that the sun had begun setting. I sighed, pulling out some of my notes to begin studying. I only got a few minutes in before my brain couldn’t take in any more, and I checked my phone once again. Percy had responded.

Got any free time tonight?

I rolled my eyes. ‘Only for you’ I thought, although I decided not to text it.

What do you have in mind?

After I sent that text, I tried my best to give my attention to my notes. Again, I failed. I wasn’t sure my brain could take in another ounce of information without giving up on me.

I slowly packed up my belongings, deciding it would be best for me to just go back to my dorm. When I exited the library, it was dark. I quickly walked back to my room. As soon as I got there, I dropped my backpack, changing into comfortable clothes. My phone buzzed again.

Want to come over?

I yawned, considering it, then deciding I didn’t have the energy to leave my dorm tonight.

Can you come here?

I hadn’t even finished putting my hair up when he responded.

On my way

I smiled, unlocking the door and turning on my tv before getting comfortable on my bed.

I was relieved to be seeing him again after my extremely long week. When we were growing up, we had gotten used to only seeing each other in the summer. At college however, we saw each other at least four times a week. Even when it’s doing small things— walking to class, going to the dining hall— we had really gotten used to eachother’s presence this year. It felt weird to go a week without seeing him.

I also was slightly relieved that it would just be the two of us tonight. I loved Annabeth so much, but I honestly didn’t have the social battery to interact with more than one person after my mental exhaustion. Plus, Annabeth would be doing homework all weekend anyways.

A few minutes after I’d gotten comfortable, I heard a knock on the door. “Come in!” I called.

A moment later, my best friend came walking through the door with a plastic bag and a cup carrier in his hand. I smiled, standing to close and lock the door behind him.

“Hey,” he said, setting the drinks on my desk.

“What’s this?” I asked, gesturing to the bag.

He shrugged, holding it up slightly, “I just assumed you’d be too busy to think about eating, so I picked up some take out for us.”

I beamed up at him, gratefully taking the bag and thanking him.

After being best friends with someone for almost ten years, you really get to learn how they work. Percy always was one that hit the nail on the head when it came to my habits. He was right, I probably would have forgotten about dinner if he hadn’t brought it.

He kicked his shoes off, jumping onto my bed and pointing to the drinks, “I also got some hot chocolate, I wasn’t sure if you wanted any, but I was stopping anyway.”

I nodded, smiling at him, “Thank you, Percy. You’re the best.”

We both sat on my bed, watching the new season of Outerbanks together as we ate our dinner. I tried my best to pay attention to the show, but I couldn’t stop myself from yawning and zoning out.

When we both finished our food, Percy stood, taking the trash from my bed and throwing it into my trash can. I yawned again.

“You okay? I can go if you want to just go to bed,” he said.

I shook my head, “I’m okay,” I said, patting the spot next to me, “stay a little.”

I knew that I needed sleep, but I missed his presence. It felt weird that this was the first time seeing him in days.

I layed down on my bed, getting comfortable and yawning again. Percy paused the show, taking his place next to me again and laying on his side to face me.

“My mom called today,” he said quietly.

“Yeah?” I said, “how is she doing?”

He chuckled, “she’s good, she said she’s happy you and Annabeth are here to ‘keep me in check’,” he said, using air quotes on the last bit.

I laughed, “seems like it’s the other way around right now, I wouldn’t have even remembered dinner if you didn’t bring it to me.”

He paused, rolling onto his back and fiddling with the edge of his sweatshirt sleeve. He didn’t say anything, and I could immediately tell that something was off.

“What’s up?” I said, still facing him. I found myself staring at his pretty face, and thinking about what Annabeth had been saying to me earlier that week. She always said that Percy and I should ‘stop pretending and just get together.’

It definitely wasn’t something that I could say I’ve never considered, I just couldn’t risk ruining the friendship. I’d seen several of my college friends lose their friends by taking it a step too far. I would never recover if I made things awkward between us.

He interrupted my thoughts, when he spoke again. “Paul and my mom asked about you.”

I smiled, moving slightly closer to him to get more comfortable, “Oh yeah? What did they say?”

He looked back down at his sleeve, fiddling with it again. He paused for another moment, before saying, “Just like— they keep asking about us…”

I hesitated, having an idea of what he meant, but I decided to push, “What do you mean?”

He sighed, tossing his arms down to his sides and staring back at the ceiling, “They like… make assumptions— just because we hangout so much.”

I nodded, deciding to question him further, “We hangout with Annabeth too most of the time.”

He glanced over at me, opening his mouth like he was about to say something, but turned back to the ceiling and began playing with his sleeve again.

I leaned forward to rest a hand on his arm, which he glanced at, before looking back at the ceiling.

I took a deep breath, realizing that he wasn’t going to speak up, so I did. “So they’re inquiring into the nature of our relationship?”

He snapped his head over to me, brows furrowing in confusion.

I laughed, “They are asking if we’re really just friends?”

He turned his head back to face the ceiling, “Ohhhh, yeah. Pretty much.”

I nodded, removing my hand from his arm and propping myself up slightly to get a better look at his face.

“And what did you say?” I asked.

He turned on his side, fully facing me now, and propped himself up on his arm so we were looking at eachother.

He breathed in, before saying, “I said I’m not really sure.”

I nodded, looking into his eyes and knowing where this conversation was leading. We’d been putting it off for years. It scared me. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, but looking into his sea-green eyes I knew that I couldn’t keep pretending.

“You’re not really sure?” I asked, cocking my head slightly to the side.

“I mean…” he started, and I watched his eyes scan my face before continuing, “I don’t know. It felt weird not seeing you this week. Like… I missed you.”

I laughed at his awkwardness, but said, “I missed you too, Percy.”

I swore I could see his gaze flicker down to my lips for a millisecond, but I chose to ignore it. It made me feel tense and my heart started racing.

He sighed, nodding, but sounding confident when he said,“What should I say then, next time they ask?”

I could feel my face heat up. I can’t keep dodging this. I can’t avoid it forever.

“What do you want to say?” I asked, trying to stall so that I wouldn’t have to make any decisions.

He pursed his lips, but didn’t lose his confidence, “I think it’d be fair to say that we’re not really just friends. And that we should have had this conversation a while ago.”

I nodded. Of course he knew what I was thinking. How could he not? We know each other almost as well as we know ourselves.

I swallowed, and my voice came out as a whisper, “I think that’d be fair to say.”

He nodded, and his gaze flickered down to my lips again, only slightly more noticeably this time.

I cleared my throat, my heart racing, “So if not friends, then what?” I asked quietly.

He searched my face, and I could feel his breath now. I wasn’t sure when we had gotten so close, but we were really close.

It’s not that I had never kissed a guy, I had. They’d all just been with people I never really cared about. I knew somewhere deep down that I would never really like anyone else. He was always in the back of my mind. And now with his breath on my face, I was nervous. We’d never crossed the line in our friendship beyond the occasional cuddle, but even that was rare.

“What do you want us to be?” He flipped the question on me, and his lip quirked into a small grin.

I paused, not knowing what to say. I searched his face, eyes focusing on his lips for a second longer than they should’ve.

“Can I be honest?” I whispered, eyes falling to his lips again before meeting his eyes.

He nodded, his eyes falling to my lips too. I could hear his breath quicken as the distance between us seemed to shrink.

“I’ve known we should’ve had this conversation for a long time, but now that we’re having it I don’t really know what to say,” I said, and his gaze returned to my eyes, “I really care about you, Percy.”

He nodded, “I really care about you, too.”

We stared at eachother, neither of us knowing what to do. Neither of us had ever been in a real relationship before. It was new territory for both of us. But of course Percy always knows exactly what to say.

“Will you go out with me? Tomorrow night?” He asked, before quickly saying, “Unless you have too much work, I mean.”

I smiled, feeling a fluttery sensation in my stomach before saying, “I’d love to.”

He nodded, scooting closer to me, “Yeah?”

I nodded, biting my lip and smiling, “Yeah.”

Our faces were inches from each other now. I let my gaze fall to his lips, and his hand reached out to rest on my jaw.

Slowly, he finally leaned in. His lips touched mine, softly at first, like he was scared that if he moved too fast, he might break me. I let out a soft exhale through my mode, and he pulled me closer, deepening the kiss. I could feel his hand slide from my jaw to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair.

We pulled away for a moment, both of us breathing heavy, and looking deeply into eachothers eyes. We both had massive grins painted on our face. Without a second thought, our lips were on eachothers again.

The room suddenly felt hot. My hands made their way to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my finger tips. All I can think is— why did we wait so long? I let my fingers curl in his shirt, bringing him closer, as the kiss quickly grows more urgent, more intense.

He held me tightly, like he was afraid I might slip away. I felt his hand slide down to my waist, pressing me against him. I let out a quiet gasp as he pulled me onto his lap, firmly guiding me until I straddled him. Nothing else mattered. Just him, our lips, the feeling of our bodies so close together after so many years.

His fingers hesitantly trailed up under my shirt, the touch sending shivers through me as he let his fingertips move along my bare skin. I could feel my breathing pick up, my hands sliding up to his shoulders. I found the courage to tug at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up. He pulled away, breaking the kiss just long enough to let me lift it over his head, revealing the warm skin beneath. My hands explored his chest, his shoulders, feeling every inch of him as he watched me with that soft, intense gaze, like he’s waiting for my every move.

He slowly pushed my shirt up, and I shakily lifted my arms, letting him slide it off. When it was off, we locked eyes, still smiling like idiots. His hands quickly found my waist again, his fingers splaying across my back as he pulled me close, his lips finding mine once more. I could feel the warmth of his skin against mine, the slight brush of his chest as I pressed myself against him, feeling his heart racing just as fast as mine.

He grabbed my hips, encouraging me to move back and forth. I gasped into the kiss, and began grinding with his grip. We moved together, the friction between us heavy, and I let out a quiet moan. I couldn’t believe we were really doing this. I felt him shiver at the sound, his breath catching as he presses his forehead to mine, pulling away from the kiss but not stopping his movements.

“Gods,” he whispered, his voice rough, barely more than a breath. “I’ve wanted us for so long.”

I could almost feel tears prickle in my eyes, as I breathlessly replied, “Me too.”

He leaned down, kissing my neck with an intensity that I never knew he was capable of. He nipped and kissed, only pausing to mumble, “Since we were 15.”

His confession sent a surge of warmth through me, my hands moving to explore his back, tracing the muscles there. The muscles that I was so familiar with. That I’d seen in battle countless times.

I felt him shudder, his grip on my waist tightening as he lifted his head from my neck, pressing me against him with a need that matched my own. I rolled my hips, feeling the heat build, and he let out a low, breathless groan, his fingers digging into my skin as he joined our lips together again.

Our kiss was electric, heavy, and full of everything we wanted to say and do to each other for years. I leaned into him, pressing my forehead to his, feeling the warmth of his skin. My eyes welled when he stopped moving our hips together, and I saw the soft, vulnerable smile that played at his lips as he whispered my name like a promise.

I whispered his back, feeling my heart fill with an affection that I’d been holding back all these years.

We stayed like that for a while, embracing each other with a few soft, stolen kisses every now and then. We whispered to each other about how happy we were, and he suggested a few dinner places for tomorrow night.

Eventually, we decided to lay down together, but when I finally got comfortable he sat up, saying it’s late and he should probably let me sleep.

I shook my head, rolling my eyes, “Stay, dummy.”

He smiled brightly, and layed back down, embracing me again. We fell asleep like that, only to be woken up the next morning by a knock on my door. I hadn’t been expecting anyone, but I nudged Percy awake.

We looked at each other, wide eyed, and scrambled to find our shirts and fix our appearances.

The knock came again.

“Just a second!” I called out, combing through my hair with my fingers as Percy carefully straightened out my blankets. He gave me a thumbs up when it looked satisfactory.

I nodded, turning to open the door. There stood Annabeth, open notebook in hand, not looking up yet but saying, “Gods, what took you so long?”

I looked at Percy for help, before hesitantly saying, “Sorry, my room was a mess.”

She furrowed her eyebrows, looking up suspiciously, when her eyes caught on Percy. She smirked, closing her book and looking between us.

She checked her watch with a knowing smirk, “Wow, Percy, what are you doing here so early?”

I could feel my face heat up, as Percy struggled to find his words.

“I- uhhh… yeah…” he so eloquently said.

Annabeth shook her head, smiling at us. “It’s about time. I’m going to the library, was just going to see if you wanted to come, but obviously you’re already occupied.” She said, turning and walking back down the hall.

I closed the door as she walked away, and Percy’s face was just as bright red as mine felt.

We stared at eachother for a moment, both of us unsure of what to do.

“Wanna get back in bed?” Percy asked, scratching the back of his neck.

I smiled, taking his hand and dragging him back up to my bed. “I’d love to.”

[teencopandthesourwolf]

read on ao3 HERE

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“I'm good, Stiles.”

Stiles thinks about the times when, all too often, he himself says I'm good in that particular way, and thinks about how it actually means everything in his life is currently lighting up like a dropped match landing in a trail of gasoline.

In the space of a single heartbeat, he knows he would somehow harness the contents of an entire fucking lake to dampen down that metaphorical trail for Derek, murdering the thought of that lost little boy playing Hide-Go-Seek in Derek's pale eyes.

Only he isn't about to start talking about things being on fire. Not to Derek, not ever.

Instead he says, “I always had this rule, you know, where I’d flat out ignore a problem and wait for it to—and I used to swear to myself that this would actually happen—” His lips drag themselves up one side of his face as he sweeps an arm dramatically through the drizzling rain and the pressing twilight. “—just go away.”

He then allows his arm to fall unceremoniously to his side, and the sound of hand slapping khakis rings out through the sparse and quiet branches of the preserve's stripped bare trees.

“Okay.” Derek says the word with an infinitesimal shake of his head, looking as if he wants Stiles to stop talking.

Thing is, if Derek wanted Stiles to stop talking he would say Stiles, stop talking.

So, Stiles troops on.

“And it kind of worked, a little bit. For a little while, at least. ” He takes a hit of chilly November air. Releases it slowly, enjoying the crazy plume of breath-smoke it creates. “Until I met you,” he shrugs.

Derek blinks and it's a betrayal, giving away his hard-won secrets.

Stiles briefly wonders who else—who left in the world—would know this about the werewolf standing opposite of him. Stiles doesn't need to be a ʼwolf to know this stuff, not when it comes to Derek Hale.

He tries not to look at Derek's lips when Derek licks them before asking, “What are you talking about, Stiles?”

“Magick,” he answers, his feelings and other things shifting underneath the layers of his skin, crackling away like a hundred tiny Roman Candles traversing his bloodstream and manifesting as gooseflesh.

Rolling his hoodie sleeve, he lifts a cold hand between the two of them and allows a miniscule fraction of whatever beats like a heart at the earth's core to flow up through the ground and into his feet and up his legs and down an arm, warm and thrilling, to then spring free out of his right palm.

A small sphere of pure light around the size of a tennis ball now glows about an inch above his hand, kind of like an oversized firefly—and just as alive.

“Cool as fuck, huh?” Stiles mutters, basking in its incandescence, super-proud of himself. Then he gets to his point. “Deaton showed me how to harness my spark, yeah? But I would never have found it in the first place, if you hadn't followed Scott and I into the woods that day.”

Derek blinks again. His jaw ticks like a clock.

“Stiles, that's a little like saying one, two miss a few, ninety-nine, a hundred,” he deadpans, and Stiles can't help but bark out a laugh.

Then he steels himself for one anticipatory moment before daring himself to take a step closer to Derek.

Derek stays put.

“Doesn't make it any less true,” Stiles shrugs.

Derek just stares at him for a moment, before peering down properly at Stiles's little orb, for the first time since Stiles summoned it.

“You've been practising,” he says simply, his eyebrows doing their thing.

He's now staring at Stiles's effort as if he wants to sink his fangs into it, like you would a quarter to test if it's real.

“Is it freaking you out?” Stiles asks.

“No,” he answers flatly. “I think it's cool as fuck,” and he looks up at Stiles like he might want to keep looking.

Stiles wants him to never stop.

“Then here, you can have it,” he says.

He takes another step closer to Derek.

They are toe to toe, now, and still Derek doesn't bolt, nor pounce, nor warn Stiles off.

So, Stiles—really slowly—reaches for Derek's hand.

Derek lets him.

Stiles then transfers the light to Derek's palm, cupping his hand around Derek's to ensure it keeps hovering there. He directs their hands to Derek's chest, stopping right over his heart and flattening them both there, he and Derek watching as Stiles's spark dissipates into Derek's body, leaving behind a few wispy tendrils of light that Stiles guides back into himself with a couple of waves of his free hand.

“Now, whenever you're good, I can be right there being good with you, even if I'm not around,” Stiles says, and then he hopes and hopes when he asks, “Is that okay?”

Derek smiles, and it's the first truly happy-looking smile that Stiles has been privileged enough to witness blooming on that beautiful, beautiful face of his.

“It's better than okay, Stiles,” he says. “It's magick.”

.

unedited, soz! this is for @dontcallpanic (pip knows why) <3

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...edited version now found HERE on ao3 :)

[vitalverstappen]

To Be Your Muse - G. Russell

summary: as you and George navigate your relationship, you do the one thing you know how to: write a song.

pairing: George Russell x singer!reader

warnings: none

word count: 5.5k

masterlist

The lights dimmed. The crowd’s energy swelled, a crescendo of anticipation, and you could feel it in your chest - the electric hum that ran through Wembley Stadium. It was the last night of the European leg of your world tour. The opener had just wrapped up, and now, with every second that ticked by, the air was charged with an almost unbearable energy. 

You took a moment backstage, standing in the silence before the storm. It was always like that right before you stepped on stage - the strange, almost sacred pause between worlds. The rehearsals, the travel, the soundchecks, the fans, all of it building to your performances. You knew you’d be leaving Europe behind for a while, but that night? That night it felt like the whole continent was there, in that moment, ready to explode. 

The intro started, the low hum of the synth, the heartbeat of the drum pulled you forward, drawing the crowd closer to the edge. The lights flashed - blue, purple, white - and then, just like that, you stepped out onto the stage. The roar of the crowd hit you like a wave, the sea of faces illuminated by the lights, their arms raised, their voices joined together in that one collective sound. It was overwhelming in the best way. 

The second George saw you step onto stage, he felt it - the shift. The crowd exploded, and even though he wasn't entirely sure what to expect, there was an undeniable pull to the moment. It was all so big, so charged, like the buildup before the lights go out on the racetrack, and the engines start revving. He couldn’t help but be caught up in it. 

Lando and Alex, along with their girlfriends, had dragged him out to the concert. He wasn’t too familiar with your discography - only the songs that were played on loop on the garage playlist. Sure they were good. Really good. But here? In the stadium, with thousands of fans around him, George started to understand what all the fuss was about. It was something different. There was something real about it, about you. 

There was something about the way you moved, the way you owned the stage. Your presence was effortless, but you had this force about you, this intensity that pulled everyone in, making it impossible not to watch. 

As the night went on, he found himself not just lost in the music, but lost in you. There was a moment during one of the slower tracks, you were sat on a stool facing in George’s direction. The entire stadium was so quiet, so still, and all he could think about was how, for a moment, it felt like you weren’t just singing to the audience. It felt like you were singing to him - like there was something connecting the two of you in the darkness. 

Stop it he told himself You don’t even know her. 

But no matter how hard he tried to focus on anything else, he couldn’t pull his eyes away. His mind wandered to thoughts of the next time you’d be in town, or if there was any chance you might ever meet backstage, or what it would be like to talk to you for just five minutes, to really talk - not just about music, but about life, about anything. His heart skipped a beat at the thought. 

At the end of the night, you disappeared under the stage, along with any hope George had that he’d see you again. Wembley Stadium was still buzzing with energy, the echo of your last song reverberated in George’s chest like a memory he couldn’t shake. 

Lando was already tugging at George’s sleeve, urging him towards the exit. “Come on, mate, let’s go grab a drink. We’re all heading out to the after-party.” 

But George wasn’t listening. His thoughts were elsewhere. He stood still, rooted to the spot, surrounded by people filing out, but all he could see in his mind was you. How you commanded the room without ever seeming to try, how your eyes locked with his for just a brief, electric moment. The way you sang, like you meant every word. Like you were telling a story that only the crowd could understand. And George, somehow, felt like you were telling it to him.

Stop it. 

He tried to shake the thought from his head. You were just another performer. He was a racecar driver. There was no world where those two things overlapped. But as he moved toward the backstage area with the others, a strange sense of yearning crept over him. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t let go of the image of you on that stool, looking out at the crowd, as if searching for something. 

“George, you okay?” Lando’s voice broke through his thoughts. George looked up, blinking as if he’d just woken up. 

“Yea, just - just thinking” 

Lando raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything more, Alex chimed in. “Mate, you were loving it. We all were. Don’t tell me you’re getting all soft on us”

George managed a weak smile and nodded. They made their way through the backstage area, the sound of laughter and chatter filled the hallway, but George barely heard it. His eyes scanned the shadows, hoping to catch a glimpse of you - anything, really. It felt ridiculous. What was he even hoping for? That you’d be just standing there, waiting to talk to him? He wasn’t that naive. But still, he couldn’t help himself. 

He caught a few of the crew members milling around, but no sign of you. 

Lando shot him a look, as if sensing something was off. “You sure you’re good?” 

“Yeah, just-” George stopped. He was about to say something, but the words felt hollow. How could he explain that a moment of music, a few glances exchanged in the middle of a stadium, had left him feeling like he was on the verge of something that he couldn’t quite touch?

But then, just as he was about to leave, it happened.

The door at the end of the hall opened, and out you walked - head down, talking to one of the crew members, your expression still glowing with the afterglow of the performance. You donned an oversized hoodie now, but George still recognized the spark in your eyes. You looked tired, but content. The kind of tiredness only a performance like that could bring. 

George froze. His heart did that weird skip thing again. His mind blanked, the rush of adrenaline from the concert still flooding his veins. He felt completely out of place, like an imposter in a world he didn’t belong to. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. 

It wasn’t until you looked up and your eyes met his that everything stopped. For a moment, everything else in the room faded away. Your gaze lingered on him for a beat too long, and for that split second, he swore he saw a flicker of recognition, maybe even something warmer in your expression. 

He had to say something, but the usual charm and confidence he had behind the wheel, the jokes he’d throw around with Lando, had all vanished. All that remained was a sense of awkwardness that made him want to disappear. 

“Hey” he managed to say, his voice a little breathier than he intended. You stopped walking, your brow raising slightly as if surprised, but not displeased. 

“Hey” you said, your voice soft, but warm. “You’re uh, George, right? George Russell?” 

She knows who I am? George’s heart hammered in his chest. He nodded, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah, that’s me.” He let out a nervous laugh.

“It’s so nice to meet you. I’m a big fan” you said with a genuine smile, stepping a little closer

George felt his heart race, a mix of disbelief and excitement running through him. A big fan? Of him? The thought barely had time to register before he found himself stumbling over his words, trying to find a way to sound cool, relaxed - anything but the nervous mess he was. 

“Oh, uh, thank you! That’s… I mean, wow, I’m flattered,” he chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as if it might help him gather his thoughts. His mind was still reeling from the fact that you knew who he was. And you weren’t just being polite; you seemed genuinely pleased to meet him. 

“Of course, I’ve been watching for years” you continued, your voice light and friendly “I’ll actually be at Silverstone next week. Mercedes invited me.” 

George’s mind nearly short-circuited. Silverstone? He tried to play it cool, but the news hit him like a bolt of lightning. The last place he expected to run into someone like you was in the pit lane at one of the biggest events on the racing calendar. 

“Really?” he asked, his voice coming out a little higher than usual “That’s awesome. I’ll be there too” 

You chuckled, “I would sure hope so. But it’ll be fun, I think. I’ve been to a few races before in a few different garages, but this is my first time at Silverstone. The energy there is insane.” 

George nodded, his mind racing. You were already deep into motorsport culture, and for some reason, that made George feel a little more grounded in this bizarre situation. There was a connection, however small, that had nothing to do with the stage lights, or the cheering fans. It was shared experiences - racing, the adrenaline, the crowds, the atmosphere. 

“Yeah” George said, his tone settling as he found his rhythm again “It’s one of the best tracks in the world. It’s… home for us. The crowd there, the history, it’s electric.” 

“Sounds incredible.” you said, nodding. “I can’t wait to see it all in person. Your eyes sparkled. 

The crew member you had been walking with approached you, muttering something to you. Your eyes glanced down the hall, then to George, and back down the hall as you talked. When the crew member disappeared again, you turned to face him. 

“I am so sorry to cut this short, but I have to go.” you said 

George’s heart sank for a moment, the sudden realization that the conversation was ending hit him harder than expected. He’d only just found his footing, and now you were about to leave. But he quickly forced a smile, not wanting to let any awkwardness creep in. 

“No, no, of course. I get it” he said “You’ve got your hands full with everything. I didn’t want to keep you” 

You smiled, the warmth of your eyes lingering as you met his gaze. “Thanks for understanding, George. It’s been nice talking to you” The genuine sincerity made a reappearance in your voice, making George feel a little lighter. 

“Yeah, same here.” he replied, his lips curving into a grin “And hey, I’ll see you at Silverstone, yeah?” 

“Definitely,” you said, your smile widening just as much “Take care, George.”

You stepped back, turning toward the backstage exit, but not before giving him one last look - your eyes locking for just a minute longer, as though there was something unspoken between the two of you. Then, you disappeared down the hall, leaving George standing there, still a little stunned. 

Lando, having been watching the entire exchange from a distance, couldn’t help but nudge George with an amused grin. “Well, well, well. I didn’t know you had it in you” 

George blinked, coming out of his daze, and shot Lando a half-hearted glare. “Shut up.” 

Alex, who had been casually scrolling through his phone, finally looked up. “Mate, you’re definitely gonna need to find a way to talk to her again. That was smooth.” 

George rolled his eyes “Stop it. It was nothing.” 

Lando grinned wider. “That was definitely something, dude. You’re telling me you’re not gonna try to catch up with her at Silverstone? You know, maybe grab a coffee or something?” he teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

George sighed, already feeling his face heat up. “I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. Not like I’ve got anything planned, right?” He tried to sound casual, but the excitement was bubbling under the surface. His mind was racing, replaying every word you’d just said, every glance, every moment of the conversation. 

“You two were practically flirting. “Alex said with a smirk, glancing at George from the corner of his eye

“Alex” George groaned, but he couldn’t stop the grin that crept onto his face “Just - let it go” 

Lando clapped George on the back “Nah, mate. It’s all good. You know you’re gonna be walking around Silverstone looking for her now.” 

======

The next week crept by, but before you knew it, you had just arrived at Silverstone. There was a palatable energy in the air, something that only equaled the moments before you stepped on stage. 

You walked through the narrow corridor between team garages, your eyes caught the branded uniforms of mechanics and engineers as they hustled to make final adjustments. The smell of fresh tire rubber mixed with the sharp scent of fuel made your pulse quicken. It was a whole new world, one you could only ever dream of getting a glimpse into. 

As you made your way to the Mercedes garage, you passed some familiar faces, including Lando and Alex, who waved at you with smiles. You smiled  and waved back, feeling a little less like an outsider there, a little more at home. You had spent time in the McLaren’s and Williams’ garages before, but today, you were headed to Mercedes. 

Lando caught up with you as you slowed your pace. “I was wondering if you were actually gonna show up” he joked with a grin 

“Yeah, I’ve just been getting my bearings. It’s always a little overwhelming first coming in” you admitted, taking in the busy paddock around you.

Alex, who had been with Lando, nodded in agreement. “It’s a lot to take in at first. You’ll get used to it.” His gaze flickered over your shoulder, a mischievous gleam in your eye “But you’re in for a treat. Wait until you see the cars on track” 

The chatter around you died down as you bid the drivers goodbye and good luck before stepping into the Mercedes garage. You immediately recognized some of the team members, their sharp focus evident as they worked. The garage itself felt like a well-oiled machine - every mechanic, every engineer, every piece of equipment working in perfect harmony toward one goal. It was like watching a live performance of a different kind. No stage, but the stakes are just as high. 

Your heart raced as you moved deeper into the space, finally spotting George near one of the cars. He was talking to an engineer, his hands gesturing as he made a point, his focus unwavering. Even in the middle of all the technical chaos, he seemed entirely calm, as if this was where he belonged. His helmet was resting on the table in front of him, and he was clad in his Mercedes team gear - sweat beading on his forehead from the heat of the garage, but there was a kind of coolness about him. 

He glanced up, his eyes immediately locking with yours. A brief flash of recognition passed over his features before his face broke into a smile, making your heart skip a few more beats than it should’ve. 

“Hey” he said, walking towards you, his steps purposeful but easy. “Glad you could make it. How’s everything going so far?” 

Your lips parted into a smile as you spoke “It’s been unreal. You said last week that Silverstone was on another level, it’s insane.” 

George nodded, his hands slipping into his pockets “I know exactly what you mean. It’s all part of the thrill though. The preparation, the team effort, the moments before you get in the car and the moment you step out of it. That's why I do this.” 

You couldn’t help but admire how passionate he was about it. It was the same kind of passion you felt for your own craft, but this was on a whole different scale. His eyes shined with an unmistaken fire, that made him seem so much more than just a racecar driver. 

For a moment, it felt like the madness of the paddock had paused. There was just you and George, sharing a quiet understanding. Then, the moment was broken by the sound of an engine firing up, the roar of a nearby car cutting through the air, and George’s eyes flickered to the noise. 

“Looks like that’s my cue,” he said, a little regret in his voice, though he smiled “I’ve got to head out for the last few checks before practice. But I’ll catch you later, yeah?” 

You nodded, your heart unexpectedly heavy. “Yeah, I’ll be around. Good luck out there George. I’m sure you’ll do great.” 

He gave you a quick wink and a thumbs up before heading toward the wall of computers on the side of the garage, and as you watched him go, you felt a rush of something - maybe admiration, maybe curiosity. 

======

 The day had been a whirlwind - so much to take in, so many new faces, and so much buzzing energy in the paddock. Most of your time was spent in Mercedes, watching the drivers as they sped on track, but took some time to wander the area, meeting with fans as you did so. It had been everything you hoped for, but there was one thing that had stuck in your head throughout the day. One person. 

George. 

You hadn’t expected to feel this drawn to him. Maybe it was the way he spoke to you like a normal person, or how passionate he was about racing, or the way his smile seemed to cut through the chaos. He was a racer, yes - but there was a depth to him that made you think there was so much more than what the cameras saw. 

As the day drew to a close, and the buzz of the paddock began to quiet, you found yourself in Mercedes hospitality. Your mind was still in awe of everything that you’ve seen. And then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted him. 

George was walking toward you, having traded his race suit for team gear. He looked tired, but there was something about the way he moved that told you he was never truly off the clock. 

He approached, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. There was a pause, as if the noise had all faded away, leaving just the two of you in the quiet. 

“Hey” he said, offering a smile that made your stomach flip. “I was looking for you earlier. Hope the practices were fun.” 

You smiled back, trying to ignore how your heart was suddenly beating a little bit faster. “It’s been incredible. Honestly exceeded all of my expectations.” 

“That’s good to hear,” he said, his eyes wandering out to the track below. Then, after a beat, he turned to face you again. His eyes locked with yours, a slight hesitation in his movements before he spoke again, as if he was weighing his words carefully. 

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask you…” his voice softened, and you could hear the slight edge of nerves creeping in - something you weren’t expecting from him. 

Your heart gave a little jolt at his words, that nervous edge in his voice making everything feel a little more real. He hesitated for a moment, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes flicking between you and the track as if he was gathering his thoughts. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you…” he repeated, drawing out the words as if they were a weight he had to work up to. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a half-step closer to you. “Since you’re sticking around for a few days, and, you know, it’s not often I get to ask… I was wondering if maybe… you’d want to grab dinner?” 

Your pulse quickened. You hadn’t expected him to ask you out - certainly not like this. Not so casually, with that slight edge of hesitation. But there it was, clear as day. 

You found yourself smiling before you even realized it. “I’d like that” you said, your voice feeling steady despite the rush of excitement. 

His face lit up with a grin you’d seen earlier - a little crooked, but so full of warmth. “Yeah? I wasn’t sure if I was being too forward…”

“Not at all” you reassured “I’m kind of relieved, to be honest.” You let out a small laugh, feeling a little less nervous now that he seemed equally uncertain. 

“Relieved?” he raised an eyebrow, a playful note returning to his voice

“Yeah, I didn’t know if you were just being polite or if you really wanted to spend time together” you admitted, suddenly a little shy under his gaze “But it sounds like you really meant it.” 

“I did” he said, his voice soft again, his expression more sincere now ‘I’ve wanted to ask you out since the first time I saw you at the concert. I just didn’t know if you’d be into it. I just didn’t want to make a fool of myself” 

You couldn’t help but to feel a swell of warmth at his honesty. There was something about the way he was laying it all out - no masks, no guard up - that made you like him even more.

“Well,” you said, taking a step closer and giving him a teasing smile, “you’re not a fool, George. I’m definitely interested” 

His grin widened, and there was a twinkle in his eyes that made your heart flutter just a little. “I’ll take that as a win then” he replied, his tone light but with an underlying sincerity “Alright, so… dinner after all this? I’ll be finished by eight?” 

“Perfect, I’ll be there” you replied, your stomach fluttering as you spoke, the anticipation filling the air. 

======

The relationship had blossomed into something you hadn’t expected, a mix of racing circuits and late-night songwriting sessions. With every date, every stolen moment, you felt a connection that went deeper than you could have imagined. George was everything you’d hoped for and more - kind, thoughtful, and passionate. You two balanced each other out, like two pieces of a puzzle. 

You’d always used music as an outlet, a way to process your emotions, your thoughts, your life. Fans always said your music was like a peek into your diary, so it wasn’t long until George found his way into your songs, though you were sure not to make it too obvious. You’d learned to weave little details into your lyrics - the way his eyes lit up, his passions, his love for the quiet moments with you.

George was sprawled on the couch, his legs hanging off the edge as he absently flipped through a magazine. The soft strum of your guitar filled the space between you two, the notes gentle but steady, like a heartbeat. You weren’t playing anything in particular - just letting your fingers wander across the strings as your mind drifted. 

You looked up at him, your fingers pausing on the strings as you met his gaze. His eyes were warm, those quiet depths that always seemed to be watching you with such focus, like he was trying to understand every part of you, even parts you hadn’t figured out yet. 

“You know” you began, your voice soft, but with that undercurrent of thoughtfulness you had come to expect from these late-night moments, “I wrote a song today”

“About me?” he raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued 

“Maybe…” you trailed off, biting your lip as you returned your gaze to the guitar, strumming a few notes absentmindedly 

“Yeah?” his voice had that playful edge, but there was something deeper in there too, like he knew what you meant. “Let me hear it” 

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you wanted to share it just yet, but then you’d remembered how he’d always support your music, how he’d never made you feel like you had to explain yourself. Slowly, you played the opening chords, the melody coming together easily, flowing out like it had been waiting for the right moment.

The lyrics were simple, but meaningful. You’d written about finding someone who felt like home, even in the midst of a fast-paced, unpredictable world. About how, amongst the chaos and drama that both of your lives brought, you found someone who made it all fade into the background. 

When you finished, the room was still. George didn’t say anything and for a long moment, his expression thoughtful as he let the words settle between you two. 

“That’s… that’s really beautiful.” he finally said, his voice low, and for a second, you weren’t sure if he was talking about the song or about what it represented “Are you planning on releasing it?” 

“I mean, if that’s okay with you?” you asked

George’s eyes softened, and for a second, he just watched you, taking in the vulnerability in your question. The way you hesitated, as if unsure how much of yourself you were willing to share. It wasn’t lost on him. He knew how personal your music was to you, how every song was like a little piece of your soul, laid bare for the world to hear. 

He didn’t hesitate long before answering, his voice steady but filled with that quiet sincerity you’d come to adore. 

“Of course,” he said, his gaze never leaving yours “If that’s what you want. I trust you.” 

A wave of relief washed over you, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The idea of sharing something so intimate, especially something that felt so much like him, was scary. But George was different. 

You smiled, a soft, genuine smile that reached to your eyes “Thanks” you murmured, feeling the weight of his trust settle between you two. 

“Do you ever think of going public?” 

The question caught you off guard. You had been lost in the quiet, comforting silence of his trust, and now, just like that, he was pulling you back into a reality you hadn’t fully faced. The thought of going public - of letting everyone know about the two of you - was daunting. You had always been protective of your private life, and this felt like a whole new level of vulnerability. 

The question hung in the air, but there was no pressure in George’s gaze. It was clear he was leaving the decision up to you, giving you the space to think it through. 

“I don’t know.” You shook your head slightly, the uncertainty creeping in. “I guess I’ve always been protective of the things that matter most. When I have let the world in, they’ve torn it to shreds” 

George’s expression softened. He nodded, a small, understanding smile forming on his lips “I get that. I do.” His voice was steady, and there was an honesty in the way he spoke, as if he had been thinking about this too. “I guess what I’m asking is do we want to go public? Not just the world, but us?” 

“I guess that’s the question, isn’t it?” you said “Is it worth the risk?” 

“I think it is” George said without hesitation. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering. “Because whatever happens, we have something real. I’d rather go public with you than keep pretending that we don’t exist. But only if you’re ready, and if you want that too.” 

You felt a lump form in your throat at his words. He was right. What you had was real. It wasn’t a fleeting romance or something built on a facade. It was a connection you both had worked for, nurtured, and built in a world that often didn’t leave space for things like that. 

“I think we should do it when the moment feels right.” you finally answered “We shouldn’t plan anything. Almost a spur of the moment, when you know you know instance.” 

That moment came a few weeks later. The song had been released the weekend prior, and the buzz around it hit hard, like a wave, sweeping through social media and radio stations. Fans were left decoding the lyrics, trying to find who the muse was. The lyrics weren’t directly about George, but anyone who listened closely could see the thread of a connection, a quiet love that couldn’t be ignored. 

But amidst all the attention, you and George remained under the radar. You both carried on, your lives unfolding between race tracks, concerts, late night phone calls, and stolen moments that felt both intensely private and fiercely treasured. 

You were a guest on a radio show when you were finally confronted about the song. Most of the conversation was focused on your upcoming album, sharing tidbits behind the new songs and how your sound had changed over the years. But you knew deep down that the question was coming. It was only a matter of time. 

“So, there’s been a lot of buzz around your new song, ‘Call It What You Want’. Fans are already digging into the lyrics, trying to figure out who the song is really about. Care to share any insight?” 

There was a slight shift in the air, the pressure rising slightly. You glanced at the host, trying to maintain a calm demeanor. “Honestly, the song is more about a feeling than it is a specific person. It’s about finding someone who feels like home, someone who makes everything else fade into the background when you’re with them” You let the words linger, hoping they were vague enough to redirect the conversation. 

But the host wasn’t satisfied. She leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “Right, but you’ve been pretty open about your private life in your music before. And let’s be honest, we’ve all heard rumors. Is there anyone in particular?” 

The moment arrived. You could keep dancing around it, stay guarded, and continue to play the game, but something inside you pushed back against that instinct. 

You thought about George. About your relationship. A relationship formed in the shadows, not because you were ashamed, but because you both needed space to grow. You had needed time to see if what you had was something that could withstand the outside world. And now, it felt right. It was now about embracing what you had, regardless of the consequences. 

“I guess it's no secret that the song is inspired by someone in my life. I’ve been seeing him for a while now, and he’s definitely had an impact on the way I’ve been feeling lately.” 

The host’s smile widened, sensing the shift in the room. “Anyone we might know?” 

Your gaze softened, and you gave the slightest nod. “Yeah” you said quietly, your voice carrying the weight of the truth “It’s George Russell.” 

The host’s eyes widened, but she quickly masked her excitement with a professional grin. “Well, that’s a big revelation! George Russell, Formula 1 driver and now your muse. I think the world will have a lot to say about this.”

You chuckled softly, “Yeah, probably” 

Little did you know, across the world, George had the exact same pressure. It was media day in Singapore, and he was stuck in the media pen, surrounded by microphones and cameras. All of them were focused on him as he answered questions about his performance, the race ahead, and of course, the usual speculations about his personal life. But today felt different. There was a certain tension in the air that George couldn’t quite shake off. His mind kept drifting back to the interview you had done a few hours ago, and the confession you had made to the world.

“So George,” the reporter began, leaning in a little “We’ve heard there’s a new song out that’s got some pretty… intimate lyrics. Any comment?” 

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck “Yeah, that’s true. I’m very proud of her. She’s an amazing artist. It’s funny, because when she writes, it’s like she captures all the things I didn’t know how to say. The song… Call It What You Want… it’s definitely got me in it, but I think she’s explained how she feels about it.” 

“So it’s about you?” 

George shrugged, his grin a little shy, but playful “I think it’s more about us, the journey. We’re both in fast paced worlds, but managed to slow down and figure things out.” 

The reporter raised an eyebrow, “And you’re okay with that? Your relationship being a part of her music?” 

The grin broke into a full smile. “I think it’s beautiful, actually. I mean, it’s her art, her expression. And if I get to be a part of it, well, I think I’m lucky” 

You watched his interview the morning after, as you had long gone to bed when it was posted. But hearing him speak about your music like that made your heart swell with pride. It was one thing to write the songs, to pour your heart into them, but hearing George - your George - speak so openly about them, and about you, made it feel like it was all worth it.

[loverafey]

fake dating rafe ! kook bsf!reader

ꕀ warnings - none, sfw, gn terms! wc - 748

upon realising that rafe had to keep up his appearances in the business meetings he had to reluctantly attend ever since the death of his father, going all alone in those meeties and especially the parties after felt so, so wrong with no one clinging to his arm. not that he cared, really. but it did irl him that everyone had a partner in these overly fancy meets and he was just there, new and incapable in other’s eyes probably.

so he sought you out, his best friend. you being a kook and the next to inherit your father’s business made things better, some people in the meetings would already know you as well. easy work.

“c’mon, it’s just temporary.” he had coaxed you in so sweetly, a smug grin always playing along his lips, as if he knew you’d give up. how couldn’t he? he knew you better than anyone, having been your friend for years. “after all, who would not wanna be my partner, yeah?” you had playfully smacked his arm at that, attempting to ignore the heat crawling onto your face.

now at some boring event consisting of only business owners having come up to discuss deals and all that stuff you could care less about, your arm was hooked around his, wearing an outfit he had picked just for you. it matched his suit — a shade of dark blue. it was hard not to acknowledge how this little idea of his made your heart flutter. but hey, it was all simply for the sake of appearances, right? just a temporary fake dating, maybe only till he finds a real partner.

that thought made your heart feel heavy for whatever reason.

“want a drink, baby?” rafe’s eyes were focused on you for most of the time as he purposefully called you that, not interested in whatever deals people tried to brief him about this evening. you just looked so stunning that it hurt, and all he wanted was to swoop you up and give you a big kiss — but what if that were to ruin the friendship between you both? fuck it.

“too into this role, aren’t you?” you retorted as an attempt to tease him, unable to hold in a smile as you nodded at his offer, following him.

“don’t have anything else to do here after all.” he scoffed, fetching you a drink before leading you away from the hall, fingers gently holding onto yours as he tugged you away from all the people inside and towards the balcony of the cruise you all were riding, a sense of relief overflowing you both at the natural breeze, so much better than the sheer suffocation within.

“boring business, yeah?”

that night was rather uneventful after that, except the occasional banter between you both. you didn’t know what you were expecting. he might have been your ‘boyfriend’, but it only lasted till the event ended.

or so you thought.

you were startled awake by the noise of little rocks hitting your window in the middle of the night a few days after that. still in a state of sleep, you hesitantly walked over to your window, catching the sight of rafe standing down there, grinning.

“rafe, what the hell?” you spoke as quietly as you could, not wanting to wake anyone else up.

“what? can’t even visit you anymore?” he sounded bummed out to say the least, a somewhat grumpy pout present on his face. rolling your eyes, you muttered something under your breath and silently wandered down the stairs until you met him at the porch, instantly tugged by his hand, pulled closer to him.

“what’s up?” you sighed, a hand instinctively reaching up to cup the side of his face. he was quick to lean into your touch, as if desperate, eyes fluttering shut.

“couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you after the party…” he huffed, his hands slowly coming to rest on your sides, keeping you there.

“yeah?” you smiled, failing to suppress a giggle as he nodded and tilted his head to press a kiss on your wrist.

“c’mon, we gotta be sleeping together to make our fake dating more effective.” he persisted, not giving you a chance to speak as he dragged you over to his truck, and you let him, still in your pajamas.

“and maybe try kissing too?” he snickered, looking at you eagerly. of course you gave in, once again. after all, he sure did know you better than anyone else.

[luvergirl-866]

fair game

word count - 2.8k

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

c/w - language, smut (kinda filthy but i know yall freaky)(also, i’m a firm believer in vocal!azzi)

a/n - two posts in one day, who am i?? anyway this is completely unedited, i haven’t even read it over once lol, so i will come back and edit later. also written in like an hour. anyway i hope yall like!! goodnight 🙏🏻🙏🏻 (also, sorry i didn’t make them rly fight. the best i can do is tickle fighting lol)

Basketball has always been Paige’s thing.

She knew it the minute she first picked up a ball when she was five. Her dad asked her to try other things, and she did: softball, soccer, tennis. And she was good at all of them—but at the end of the day, she always found herself back in her driveway with a ball in her hands, shooting into the lowered hoop her dad had bought for her.

There are plenty of people who play basketball, who love the game as much as she does. But there are few people who can win against her and even fewer who know the game like her.

Apparently, Azzi Fudd is trying really hard to take that spot.

“Bro, first to 11 wins! That was the rules the whole time!”

“First to 11, win by 2,” Azzi says, rolling her eyes. She’s repeated this a few times now, but Paige still isn’t having it.

“Nah, we never said that,” she says, dribbling between her legs.

“Okay, now you’re just lying.”

To be fair, she is lying. She knows damn well that those were the rules they made up before they started this 1v1. But she refuses to let this win go, considering she’s lost the last two 1v1s and the game of HORSE she and her best friend have played this past week. Honestly, Azzi should just give her the win.

Instead, Azzi sighs, refusing to let this go. “C’mon, Paige. You need one more point to win, just play it.”

“I already won!” Paige insists. But there’s that little voice nagging at her, telling her this isn’t as satisfying as a real win.

The voice sounds suspiciously like a certain curly-haired, caramel-skinned basketball player.

“You know it’s not a good win,” Azzi says, almost echoing the voice in Paige’s head.

Paige falters.

“What,” Azzi continues, “too scared you can’t get another point against me?”

“No,” Paige says, then clears her throat and spins the ball on her finger, “I mean, nah.”

“What is it, then?” Azzi takes a few steps forward, looking a little too distracting in her sports bra and basketball shorts. “You need me to stroke your ego a little bit? Let you win the game even though we both know it’s not fair?”

Paige has half a mind to make a joke about Azzi stroking her, but Azzi’s too close now for her to think straight. (Ironically.)

“I’on know what you’re talking about,” Paige shrugs. The ball on her finger tips, and Azzi catches it at lighting speed, spinning around when Paige tries to grab for it.

“Yo, gimme my ball!” Paige says, reaching around Azzi.

Azzi giggles, dribbling up the court and dodging Paige’s dirty grab for the ball.

“Hey, tech!” Azzi yells, and Paige laughs, right up on her back.

They stop beyond the three-point line, and instead of defending, Paige stands behind her, arms wrapping tight around her bare waist.

Azzi looks over her shoulder and grins, which is sort of the opposite of how Paige wanted her to react. And then, slowly, she lifts her hand to touch Paige’s jaw, tipping their faces together. They’re so close that Paige can feel Azzi’s breath on her lips.

Azzi’s grin changes, becoming a little devious, and then she blinks and looks up at Paige through her lashes, brown eyes all big and innocent all of a sudden, which makes Paige kind of blank out. So when Azzi licks her lips and says, “I make this three, I win,” Paige nods, her imagination elsewhere.

And just like that, Azzi steps out of her grasp, dribbles a few times, and shoots. The shot is beautiful, tear-drop, just kissing the back of the rim before it goes in.

Azzi whoops, turning around to flex at Paige. “Hell yeah!”

“Wha—“ Paige stutters, then shakes her head vehemently. “No, that don’t count. That’s not—you played dirty, I wasn’t even defending, I—!”

“I drained a deep three, in your face,” Azzi says smugly. She brushes past Paige as she heads toward the door leading to the locker rooms. “Once again, I win. 13-11.”

Paige watches her hips sway as she walks before running to catch up with her. “That didn’t count. It wasn’t part of the game.”

“Was, too.” Azzi waits by the door, and Paige doesn’t even think about it before pushing it open for her. Azzi smiles at her like the spoiled princess she is, but Paige can’t really blame anybody but herself for that.

“Bruh, you cheated!” Paige follows Azzi to her locker. “That’s the only way you can win against me, apparently. You just cheat every time.”

Azzi seems too unbothered by this, which just makes Paige more bothered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Paige shoves her shoulder. “This why you don’t like us to compete with an audience!”

“Ow!” Azzi says, rubbing her shoulder and pouting dramatically.

“You know if anyone watched us play, they’d call you out,” Paige continues. “So you make sure it’s only us.”

Azzi shoves her back. “I have other reasons for making sure it’s only us,” she says teasingly, before turning back toward her locker, pulling a t-shirt out and making to put it on.

Before she can, though, Paige grabs her and spins her around, shoving her against her locker and staring at her intensely for a few moments before…

Tickling her.

“Ow, Paige!” Azzi yelps, dropping the shirt in her hands to defend herself against Paige’s attack to her rib cage. The onslaught of giggles come within seconds, uncontainable, the best friends having known each other long enough to have learned all their most ticklish spots.

“You cheated!” Paige says, biting back a smile at Azzi’s infectious laughter, even as she tries to fight her off.

“Did…” she gasps for air, “not!”

“You did too!” Paige replies, fingers moving to jab at the pressure points on her waist, making her screech. “I won that game and you know it!”

“Paige!” Azzi giggles, and Paige moves even closer to pull them flush together, moving her hands lower to tickle the backs of Azzi’s thighs, her most secret ticklish spot. And as Paige bends down slightly to reach, Azzi’s hands automatically go to her shoulders, and then Paige isn’t even tickling her anymore because Azzi’s hot breath is fanning right over her ear.

The strangest thing is, Azzi doesn’t push her away when she freezes. Instead—and Paige might be imagining it—she pulls her just that much closer.

They’re like that for maybe a second, Paige’s arms wrapped around the backs of Azzi’s thighs, Azzi’s arms snaking around Paige’s neck, before Azzi whispers her name right in her ear and that does it.

Without thinking about things like the consequences of her actions, Paige straightens up, takes Azzi’s waist, and closes the gap between them.

Their first kiss is how she always imagined it would be—and yes, she’s not ashamed to say she has definitely imagined it. It is electric and butterflies in her tummy and the first drop on a really big rollercoaster.

And those butterflies might be something a little less innocent because when Azzi makes this little noise against her mouth, Paige burns. She burns and she thinks Azzi might be burning, too, so she licks up against Azzi’s lips to test that theory and it’s confirmed when Azzi opens right up for her.

“Fuck, Paige,” Azzi mumbles against her lips before going back in for more, their tongues clashing in the filthiest way. It sends wet heat straight to Paige’s core.

Boldened by the wet sounds of their kisses, Paige moves away, basking in the whine Azzi lets out when she starts trailing open-mouthed kisses down her jaw.

“Paige, Paige, fuck,” she whimpers. Paige sucks at her earlobe and she keens, and Paige is glad they’re alone in this locker room because these noises are only for her to hear.

“This was what you wanted, huh?” Paige asks gruffly, biting at the shell of Azzi’s ear. “This what you were acting so fuckin’ bratty for?”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi whines shamelessly, holding Paige’s head to her neck. But Paige won’t have it. She pulls her head away from her best friend at the same time as she trails her hands down to her ass and squeezes, Azzi looking her right in the eyes as she whines again.

“How you want me, mama?” Paige asks, leaning in close enough that their lips brush.

“Tongue,” Azzi breathes automatically, and it sends a surge of something sweet and hot through Paige at the knowledge that Azzi has thought of this, too.

But Azzi was far too cocky out there. And for that, Paige needs to remind her who’s in control.

“Too fuckin’ bad,” Paige whispers, and she only has time to see Azzi’s eyes fly open in confusion before she’s spinning her around and pressing her up against the lockers, her ass all up against Paige’s crotch.

“Paige,” Azzi moans when Paige attaches to neck again, and if she keeps saying her name like that Paige might just come on the spot. “Paige, stop teasing, I need you.”

“Yeah?” Paige asks, sucking a mark into the skin of Azzi’s shoulder, knowing she won’t be able to wear her slutty little tanks for at least a week after this. “Ask nicely, pretty girl.”

“I don’t…” Azzi sighs when Paige licks over one of the many marks she’s created. “Don’t wanna.”

“No?” Paige asks, not at all shocked at Azzi’s stubbornness. “Mm.” She detaches her lips, appreciating her handiwork, dark marks forming over Azzi’s shoulder trailing to the back of her neck. “That’s too bad, then.” She runs her hands over Azzi’s bare stomach, playing with the band of her basketball shorts. “I really wanted to fuck you.”

And just as her hand dips under her waistband, Paige moves away from her best friend, smiling smugly when Azzi glares at her over her shoulder. “Paige.”

Paige just raises her eyebrows.

“Fuck, even now you need to be annoying,” Azzi sighs, and Paige gets the strong urge to slap her ass, but she gets the feeling Azzi would take more pleasure from that than anything.

“If you won’t use your manners,” Paige says slowly, “I’m gonna go home. I needa shower, for real.”

“Shit,” Azzi says under her breath, leaning her forehead against the lockers. And Paige enjoys the view, the bare expanse of her back, the curve of her back, before Azzi is looking back at her once again and those innocent doe eyes are out for her. “Please, Paige. Please, God, please fuck me.” For good measure, Azzi throws in an adorable little pout. “Need you so bad.”

Paige is back up against her in a second.

Before Azzi can properly react, she’s shoving her hand down the front of Azzi’s shorts and underneath her panties to drag her fingers through her folds, gasping at the slick that’s accumulated there.

“Fuck,” she breathes despite herself, kissing against Azzi’s jaw. “So fuckin’ wet for me, mama.”

Azzi whines out a little hum, and Paige is finding that she really loves how bratty Azzi sounds even as Paige is running her fingers through her pussy.

Paige finds her clit and pulls away to watch Azzi’s face when she starts rubbing tight little circle there. Azzi doesn’t disappoint, pressing her hands up against the lockers to brace herself, jaw dropping open. Paige presses against her hard, and Azzi’s head falls back onto Paige’s shoulder.

Azzi starts grinding against Paige’s hand when Paige abruptly pulls away, fingers leaving Azzi’s slick and underwear as she brings them up to her own mouth.

Azzi looks both turned on by the sight of Paige tasting her and frustrated at the lack of stimulation. “Paige, baby, please, I need more.”

The use of the nickname has Paige like putty in Azzi’s hands, even though she’s supposed to be the one in control here. “I know,” she says once she’s done cleaning Azzi’s arousal off her own fingers. “Be patient.”

Azzi grumbles something about that, and this time Paige does smack her ass, smirking when Azzi bites her lip to contain a noise that’s borderline pornographic. “You little freak,” she teases, yanking Azzi’s shorts and underwear down. “You like to be spanked.”

“Shut up, P,” Azzi breathes, looking back over her shoulder. Paige is too busy staring at her ass to care, though, and then she’s running her hands over it, squeezing it, and Azzi chuckles breathily. “I knew you liked my ass.”

“Fuck,” is all Paige can manage.

And then, without warning, she’s plunging two fingers directly into Azzi’s dripping cunt.

Azzi moans, loud, and Paige brings her free hand up to her neck, pulling her close as she lets her adjust to the stretch. “Good?”

“Yeah, uh-huh,” Azzi whimpers, turning her head for a kiss that Paige really can’t resist.

They make out for a second before Paige starts moving, slowly, in and out, scrunching her eyebrows at the feel of Azzi’s hot walls clenching around her fingers.

Paige pulls away from her lips to watch her hand move between them, mesmerized at the way Azzi sucks her in. “Fuck, takin’ me so well, being so fucking good for me,” she murmurs, speeding up her pace. “You like this, huh? Like me fuckin’ you from behind like the little brat you are?”

Azzi’s moving against her now, gyrating her hips to keep in time with Paige’s hand, the sight of her ass moving back and forth soaking Paige’s own underwear.

“Answer me, mama,” she replies, punctuating it with an extra hard thrust.

“Yes,” Azzi moans, all high-pitched and pretty-sounding. “Fuck, fuck, wanna be so fucking good for you, P, fuck.”

Paige may be in the middle of fucking her long-time best friend, but that statement still gives her some satisfaction. “Yeah? Wanna admit I won that game?”

Azzi throws it back against her hand and shakes her head. “Can’t believe you’re—uh!—talking about that…oh my god…right now.”

Paige starts ramming into her, arm moving fast enough that she thanks God she hits the gym so often. “I want you to admit it, Az.” She slides her hand down from her throat to hold her by the stomach.

“Oh, fuckkkk,” Azzi groans when Paige massages that spongy spot deep inside her. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby, right fucking there.”

“Admit that I won,” Paige says, “and I’ll let you come.”

“You wouldn’t—fucking edge me,” Azzi says, trying to glare at her but it falls a little flat considering she’s being fucked into oblivion.

“You wanna find out?” Paige dares.

She’s fucking her hard now, taking her from the back like she’s always wanted, and Azzi is making all sorts of noises that Paige has only ever heard in her filthiest dreams.

Paige slams into her particularly hard and Azzi gushes over her fingers, her slick trailing down Paige’s wrist, which is just so fucking hot. And that seems to convince Azzi that she doesn’t want to test Paige on this because she says, “Okay, fine, you—mm, fuck—you won. You won, now please just let me cum, please, baby.”

Paige smiles at hearing her beg. She scissors her fingers inside as she leans close to her ear to whisper, “Good girl, Az. Sound so pretty begging for me.”

Azzi is so close now, stomach tensing under Paige’s hand as she lets out little ah ah ah’s in time with each thrust.

“You can come, mama,” Paige says, pressing her lips to Azzi’s. “Come all over my fucking fingers, hm? Wanna feel you so bad.”

There are tears streaming down Azzi’s cheeks at this point, and she nods vehemently against Paige. “Uh-huh, uh-huh, so fucking close,” she whines. “Fuck, love your fingers so much. Love you so much.”

Of course, they have said I love you to each other before. They are best friends. But they have never quite said it while one was knuckles-deep inside the other.

Still, Paige is lost in this insane haze of fucking, and so she presses her lips to Azzi’s cheek and says, “I love you, pretty girl,” and then Azzi is crying out, knees nearly buckling as she comes hard.

Paige fucks her through it, holding her tight so she doesn’t fall, pumping her fingers slowly even after Azzi slumps against her, breathing heavy.

“Fuck, P,” she says after a minute. Paige laughs, halting her movements but staying firmly inside her best friend. “Yeah,” she agrees. “Fuck.”

Azzi looks at her through hooded eyes. “You’re really good at that.”

Paige hums, pressing a gentle kiss to Azzi’s shoulder. “So I’ve been told.”

“Shut up,” Azzi teases, voice all scratchy. “God,” she says as Paige finally pulls out, “we actually did that.”

“Yeah,” Paige laughs, a little nervously. “We did.”

Finally, Azzi turns around in Paige’s arms, hiking her bottoms back up as she does, and she wraps her arms around Paige’s neck, resting against her chest. After a minute she says, “Paige?”

“Hm?”

Azzi looks up at her, giving her those damn eyes once again. “Take me home.”

Neither of them sleeps that night.

Okkk I have a one shot prompt for pazzi! So we all know they are super competitive so I was thinking they were playing some type of game and they both think they are right and end up arguing and then like physically fighting with eachother until one of them ends up on top of the other. This basically leads to their first kiss and ya….

i love this, super cute idea! are you thinking fluff, smut, both…?

[cervinelich]

So yesterday this song came on my random playlist in the car. It makes me cry every single time I hear it but my partner didn't know that.

When it first started playing, my partner was like, "Oh, did I ever tell you that I think of this song as your theme song?" Cue immediate crying.

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[kurooh]

TOUCH, TOUCH, TOUCH ☆ JUJUTSU KAISEN

⊹₊˚. featuring gojo satoru, geto suguru, ino takuma, fushiguro toji, & kamo choso when their girl finds their weak spot.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, f! reader, erogenous zones, biting, hair pulling, sensitive men, lots of cumming even though it’s november, overstimulation, oral (f&m rec), kissing, nipple play. | 3k words of sluttery

GOJO SATORU # thighs

“ugh, fuck,” satoru laughs shakily, swallowing down a groan, “really, baby, ‘s like you were made to take my cock.”

“hm, really?” you pull off his cock with a pop, savoring the way his diamond blue eyes squeeze shut, crystalline tears poking at the corners.

satoru’s got his legs spread like a whore, with you between them, nails raking up and down his thighs while you lavish his cock with attention. he’s painfully hard, cock standing up straight and covered in a sheen of your spit.

to think that this all stemmed from a tickle fight, of all things—he’d thrashed around the bed, whining and giggling when you’d gone after his thighs. once you’d finally gotten between them to brush your fingers over the tender skin, his playful giggles had unintentionally shifted into breathy moans which he’d tried to cover up by coughing.

“you should’ve told me these were this sensitive,” you breathe, pinching at his inner thigh. satoru jerks in his seat on the edge of the bed, blushing harder when he looks at the mirror across from the bed.

“riiight. and that would’ve opened the door to me waking up to you chewing on them in the mornings? nuh uh.”

“you’re so annoying, satoru,” you roll your eyes, the happy smile dropping from your lips. for good measure, you grip his cock more loosely, and he silently panics. “maybe you should suck yourself off then.”

“no no no,” satoru backtracks, spreading his thighs and slyly bucking his hips toward you. his cock bobs, fully flushed and desperate to be taken care of properly. “baby, i was joking! let’s rewind to the part where i was saying you were made to take my cock, heh.”

slowly, so as to make it as painful as possible, you take his cock into your mouth inch by inch until you’re swallowing around it. satoru moans loudly, cupping the back of your head to ease the rest of his length down your throat. he was right—he fits inside as easily as two puzzle pieces connect.

his voice shakes and he looks down at you gratefully, thighs tensing as your nails scrape a little harder. “c-can’t believe you’re all mine, baby. goddamn, you’re always so fuckin’ good to me.”

you let out a muffled moan around his thick cock, the vibrations resonating through the entirety of his lower body. spit races down to his balls from the base of his cock, making his skin sticky. this is always his favorite way to cum—somewhere inside you after you’ve made a mess together.

you bob your head on his cock, which only seems to thicken and twitch against your tongue, the first signs of his inescapable high. satoru chews on his lower lip, his breath coming in wheezy puffs while his hips rock into your mouth.

“ngh, t-take it all,” he directs you, his voice strained as the first spurts of cum spill into your throat. “be a good girl f’me and swallow, baby.”

the muscles in his thighs jump beneath your palms as his cock finally finishes emptying all the cum into your mouth—satoru’s breath audibly hitches in his throat as you swallow a few times around him. before his hazy brain can fully register, you’re no longer on his cock, instead kissing up the tender skin of his thighs.

“toru, what do you think’ll happen if i bite you?”

“it’ll hurt,” satoru pouts in reply, the expression on his face only encouraging you to do so. “ow!” he exclaims, but he doesn’t make any move to close his legs or push you away.

“what if i mark up your thighs?”

he quirks a brow, as if to dare you to. “do what you want, babe . . but it’s my turn next.”

GETO SUGURU # scalp

“so weak, baby. is that really the best you can do?” suguru teases, sticking his tongue out at you. “i mean, come on . . there’s no way.”

your fingers twist tightly in his hair and you yank, the dark tresses soft against your skin, smelling of the best shampoo and conditioner. suguru lets out a hiss, savoring the sting of his scalp with a smile that has a pleased smirk playing on his lips.

“how’s that, suguru?”

“if you keep doing that, i might just give you what you want,” he replies breezily, balmy breath fanning over your sticky cunt. “heh, you’re not even pulling hard enough, that’s—”

you interrupt suguru with a vengeful yank of his hair that pulls a groan from the depths of his chest. you raise an eyebrow, looking at him and then between your legs expectantly.

without any more protest, suguru finally presses a kiss to your swollen clit. the little smack of his lips and the preface to what’s coming soon elicits a desperate whine from your bitten lips. “sugu, jus’ spank it, please.”

a hushed chuckle follows the sharp slap to your cunt and your resulting cries of bliss. “someone’s needy today, hm?”

“yeah,” you whimper, nails scratching lightly against his scalp while your fingers tremble in his hair. the bed creaks beneath you as suguru adjusts his position between your legs, tongue lapping up your slick with a primal urgency. his nails dig crescents into your thighs as he spreads you further inch by inch—even with all your squirming, you’re unable to close your thighs.

you’re tugging at his hair insistently, impatiently, and he pins you with an unserious glare. “if you wanna be like that, you can just use my tongue, sweet thing.”

you groan, biting down on your lower lip as suguru slips his tongue inside you. it’s silky soft, hot, and the biggest tease, faintly curling as the tip of it drags against the walls of your cunt. here he is, offering himself up so you can use him; there’s no way you could possibly turn this down.

without any semblance of hesitation, you experimentally jerk your hips forward, and his nose bumps into your clit. he lets out a muffled groan, losing himself in your pussy—your slick covers his skin and makes it shine. it mixes with his spit and drips from his chin, soaking the sheets.

suguru’s scalp stings with overstimulation, shockwaves resonating through his body and shooting straight to his fully hard cock. he can’t help but hump himself against the bed in an attempt to alleviate the wild need for friction.

all too quickly, suguru gets pussydrunk, eyes rolling back while your hips roll forward sloppily. it doesn’t take long for that familiar quake to settle in your thighs, cunt squeezing and fluttering around his tongue.

“s-sugu,” you whine, and he’s sure he’s in heaven, “‘m gonna—gonna cum!”

“lemme taste it, sweetheart,” is the most you can make out from his muffled words. his fingers squeeze your thighs as they twitch beneath his palms, threatening to lock around his head. your orgasm rips through you and your cunt spasms, hips bucking as you ride out the high on his tongue. a broken whine leaves your lips as your thighs overpower his hands and squeeze around him, the soft strands of his hair tickling your skin.

he carefully moves backwards, clicking his tongue and sighing as he scoots off the bed to take off his wet boxers.

“sugu—”

“i don’t want to hear it,” he waves his hand in the air and tosses the boxers into the laundry basket. “it’s your fault anyway, you were the one ripping my hair out.”

“you encouraged me—”

“me? encourage you to pull my hairline back? never, honey.”

INO TAKUMA # neck

“takuma . . i missed you so much,” the words are mumbled against his soft, plush lips. ino smiles against your mouth, a strong arm tugging you into his chest.

he’s got you seated on his lap, for the first time in weeks—he’d been away accompanying nanami on a lengthy mission. the bed softly creaks as he adjusts himself beneath you, inadvertently grinding you down on his hardening cock.

you pull back, face hot with excitement and surprise. “hehe, sorry. was an accident,” ino leans in, pouting at you when you ignore his kiss. instead, bracing yourself with both hands on his shoulders, you start to sloppily bounce up and down in his lap. although there’s no particular rhythm or smoothness behind it, it feels amazing. ino’s face has crumbled into an expression of unadulterated bliss, and he forces his glassy eyes to focus on you rather than let them close.

“ugh, baby,” he whines as your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders, the sting a garbled mix of pain and pleasure. “f-fuck, keep doin’ that.”

without slowing your frantic movements, you toss an arm around him, fingers haphazardly twisting into the feathery hairs at the nape of his neck. you give them a light tug, forcing his head back and eliciting a sudden moan from him.

ino gasps sharply when he feels your nose nudge at his jaw, tipping his head to the side in order to expose the slope of his neck and the tender skin there. although he moved without hesitation, he still wonders what you’re doing. “huh? babe, what’re you—”

“jus’ kissing your neck, takuma,” you coo, inhaling his scent deeply. he smells faintly of his favorite soap (he bought a bar that smells the same as your body wash) and clean laundry. ino seems to tremble beneath your touch, hips jolting upwards as your own begin to slow, your focus on his neck.

truthfully, ino is afraid.

he’s afraid of what he might do or say when you inevitably discover just how sensitive his neck is. and god, the way you’re still moving on his cock has his heart swelling in his chest as he starts to forget about his initial fear. it would be insulting to even consider thinking about anything besides you when you’re on his lap like this and spoiling him with your touch.

“hah—baby,” he adjusts his hands so that they sit tightly on your hips, bouncing you up and down so you won’t get so tired. the drag of your lips against his adam’s apple has him gasping out, eyes rolling back shamelessly. “i-if you’re not careful, i swear you’ll make me cum in my pants.”

this is supposed to be a warning, one that makes you pull off him and shimmy off all the layers of clothes together, but you simply ignore him. he knows you heard what he said, feeling that little smile of yours grow against his skin. ino’s breath hitches in his throat and he loses himself in the almost-euphoria that the friction of his cock against your cunt brings. he’s been starved of you for so long that he’s hyper aware of everything—the stickiness that seeps through your panties and shorts, the scent of your body, and the unstoppable heat that courses through his limbs.

you can feel his cock throbbing against your clit in the moments between each desperate movement, and you only moan into his neck, teeth sinking into the supple skin. your kisses are flirty and teasing, peppered up and down his neck with the occasional nip every now and then.

“a-a little faster, takuma,” you beg, voice tight. “god, you feel so fucking good.” a startled gasp leaves your lips when you feel his fingers slip into your panties, heading towards your clit.

something both hot and cold races down ino’s spine after a few more bites, the double stimulation becoming too much too quickly. the way your slick sticks to his fingers doesn’t help his inescapable high to slow down. fuck, this’ll be messy . .

“b-babe,” he groans into your ear, insides twisting as he slumps against you weakly. “‘m gonna cum, baby—you’re gonna make me..” ino’s voice drifts off into a loud whine as his cock shoots white in his boxers. his face burns and he looks up at you adoringly as you sweep the stray hairs away from his eyes.

“you came, takuma?”

“yeah,” he huffs, the wetness in his underwear making him shift beneath you. a sly smile plays on his lips. “would you . . mind cleaning me up?”

FUSHIGURO TOJI # nipples

toji swears up and down he doesn’t have a single spot on his body that’s hypersensitive, besides his cock. so one night when you’re gesturing for him to lie back, propped up by all the pillows and entirely shirtless, he fixes you with a defiant scowl.

“really? you’re gonna suck my nipples? do i look like a fuckin’ girl to you?”

“toji, it’s not at all like that,” you reply calmly, taking a seat directly on top of his flaccid cock. “jus’ wanna try something, if it’s okay with you.”

“fine, i guess. if this makes you stop whining about sucking my ti—nipples,” he grunts, the corners of his lips curving to the side in annoyance. toji’s thighs are loosely spread, his body entirely relaxed. you give him a chaste kiss with a playful sweep of your tongue against his lower lip before leaning toward his strong chest.

toji’s muscles gleam with the water from his shower, a few droplets racing down the slopes and curves of his pecs. although he’s trying his hardest to act uninterested and offended, a small part of him is strangely curious to see if you’ll prove him wrong. whenever you’re messing around together, you end up playing his body like an instrument—knowing all the places he wants to be touched, how he likes it, and so on.

he covers up the hitch of his breath with a cough into his palm, and your eyes flick up to his.

“what?” he asks accusingly. “fuckin’ throat’s dry.”

“nothing, toj,” you reply, eyes twinkling in a way that has his heart kicking against his ribcage. he expects you to say more, but you don’t.

his body’s cooled substantially since the shower, and the second your lips wrap around his nipple, hot tongue flicking over the hardened bud, toji’s letting out a choked groan. the dichotomy between the temperatures is the first thing that gets him going, but then the way you start to suck—you’re about to seriously humble him.

you look up at him, asking a silent question.

“‘s not bad,” toji huffs dismissively, “just not enough stimulation.”

you nod, fingers finding his other nipple and pinching it lightly. his leg twitches and his abs clench, but he plays it off with a small shrug. you know that toji has always been too prideful, writing things off without giving them a chance. heat sparks through his body, settling in his cock, and you feel him growing rock hard beneath you.

instead of saying something cocky to piss him off, you only let out a small giggle, teeth catching on his nipple. toji hisses, unconsciously cupping the back of your head to push you into his chest.

“doll, no need to be so gentle,” he drawls, gasping sharply when you bite down. it hurts a little, but toji’s something of a masochist—he spurs you on with a weak groan. pleased with your handiwork, you switch nipples, fingers growing sticky with your spit as you spread it around his pectoral.

pressed up against your cunt, his cock throbs, desperate for attention. just as you’re thinking about touching him to alleviate the pressure, toji beats you to it, large hand pushing you to sit on his abs. he grips his cock firmly and his body shudders, jade eyes squeezing shut as he sets up a lazy pace.

“h-holy fuck,” he bites out, head tipping back onto all the pillows as puffs of breath leave his flushed lips. “‘s good, just keep doin’ that . . yeah, right there, doll.”

KAMO CHOSO # ears

“baby, i—oh, fuck,” choso swallows, fingers lightly ghosting along the slope of your bouncing ass. “i can’t hold it anymore, ‘specially not with you riding me like this.”

“i know, i know,” you huff out, voice trembling. your chest presses against his and it’s a clamor of teeth and impatience as your lips meet, tongues pushing against one another. choso has always fought off his orgasm in favor of your own, too focused on you before himself. today, it’s no different, but this time you’re drawing it out to see just how long he can last.

his eyes are closed as he loses himself in the kiss, too focused to notice you pulling away; his lips drag against your cheek when you tuck your face into his neck. confused, he asks breathily, “h-huh? is everything okay?”

“of course, cho,” you say sweetly, pressing kisses against the flushed shell of his ear. almost immediately, choso tenses beneath you, arms wrapping around your midsection tightly. he gasps when you take it a step further, nipping at his earlobe in a way that’s not so gentle.

“what’re you doing? i wanted you to cum first—then i could too.”

“‘s okay, i want you to be selfish this time,” you giggle, “cum for me, ‘kay? can you do that, cho?”

“of course i can,” choso mumbles, “jus’ look at the way you’re fucking me . . hah, ‘m gonna cum.”

he leans into you, letting you tongue and bite at his ears. choso’s on the precipice of euphoria, walking the edge and ready to fall, but you keep teasing his ears in a way that drags it out of him. he cums deep, his cock spilling against your cervix and inspiring your own high. choso’s shuddering beneath you, teeth clicking together from the overwhelming strength of it all. he whispers a few incoherent things, fingers splaying over your back as you cum around him with a loud whine.

choso’s holding you closely, pressing a few kisses to your shoulder and hissing as your riding finally comes to a stop. you can feel the heat of his cum inside you, slipping because of gravity, pouring out of you and pooling at his base.

“pull my hair next time,” he says softly, sounding embarrassed. “and i want you to bite a bit harder.”

“‘m not trying to give you an ear piercing,” you laugh, kissing over the flushed skin your teeth sunk into. “but next time can be right now, if you want it, cho.”

your hips lift upwards, and he stifles a groan, watching his cum drip from your sloppy cunt. “yeah,” he bites his lip, looking at you with rosy cheeks, “i need a minute, so before we go again . . wanna taste her, if that’s alright?”

[gothgoblinbabe]

Belt Buckle

Logan Howelett x fem reader

A/N: okay, so this. Uh. Hear me out - I can’t be the only one who’s thought about this. It’s exactly what you think it is. Also it’s not very long just cause I’m still working on requests but it’s been collecting dust in google docs

Warnings: NSFW 18+

Word count: 840

divider credit

You couldn’t quite place where the fascination began.

Maybe it was because it sat right above the bulge in his jeans or because you were always yanking the stupid thing out of the way to get his pants down his thighs, but your eyes were always on the buckle of Logan’s belt lately. He had a couple different ones - all obnoxiously big - and of course you teased him, calling him a cowboy or a show off.

Lately, though, you’d been struggling to keep your mouth shut. Every time he’d stand in front of you now, you couldn’t tear your eyes from whatever chunky adornment was attached to the front of his belt.

“What are you lookin’ at, sweetheart?”

Your eyes flickered back up to his and you shrugged.

“Nothin’.”

He titled his head, “really?”

“Mhm.”

“Why’re you starin’ like that, then?”

Shit.

You swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. You’d been together plenty of times, admitted almost everything to each other, but you still found yourself too embarrassed to admit what it was that had you staring so much.

You finally had to tell Logan while sitting on his lap in bed, his hands kneading your hips to pull you back and forth over his hard cock beneath his jeans. With his eyes closed, lost in the feeling of your tongue in his mouth, he dragged your hips forward a little farther than intended, inadvertently dragging your thinly clad pussy right over his belt buckle. Usually he’d pick up on the little things like that - how loud you whined when he pulled you forward - but you tried not to make the noise again, embarrassed.

He did, anyway.

He pulled your lips from his with his hold on your face, his thumb and fingers gripping your cheeks to the point that your lips were squished into a pout.

“You got somethin’ you wanna tell me, pretty girl?”

You knew you could tell him anything, but this felt far too humiliating - as if you were positive he’d scoff at the idea and tell you that you were gross for even thinking it.

You tried to shake your head, but he knew you far too well.

He grabbed you by your hips and lifted you off his lap.

“Spit it out, princess.”

You sharply inhaled, eyes dropping to his belt.

“I…um, I was thinking…” you tried to say something, anything to even hint at what you wanted, but it seemed stuck in your throat.

Logan clicked his tongue, “Baby. If you want somethin’ you gotta say it.”

You hated that he was right. You had to just get it out, say it all at once like ripping off a bandaid. 

“I wanna ride your belt buckle. It’s big, I think it’d feel good.”

Your words hung in the air, met with deafening silence. 

You watched his parted lips curl up into a smug grin, his eyebrows raised in mild disbelief.

“Jesus, that’s filthy. You really think about that?”

Your face burned. You opened your lips to speak but nothing came out. He was definitely going to call you weird, tell you that’s gross and get up from the bed.

Instead, he wordlessly leaned forward and hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties to pull them down your legs. He threw them to the floor and leaned back with his hands behind his head, leaving you sitting in front of him in only one of his t-shirts with nothing underneath. You looked at him curiously, eyes flickering between his face and his lap.

“C’mon, you want it or what?”

You hastily climbed back onto his lap, positioning yourself so that his erection was behind you and your bare pussy was against the cold metal of his belt buckle. You weren’t sure exactly what to do at first. He usually held your hips when you were in his lap, helping you grind down onto him. Now, though, they were locked behind his head as his eyes bore into yours.

“You asked for it so you gotta do the work, baby.”

You huffed, placing your hands on his chest so you could lean forward and roll your hips. You slid your swollen pussy across the ridges of the cool metal of the buckle, your slick already coating the front of it and the top of his jeans.

You looked up to see Logan’s stare glued to his lap, watching hungrily with his bottom lip caught between his teeth as you rocked yourself back and forth.

“Feels good?” He asked, already breathing heavily from the way your ass grazed the tip of his cock when you dragged your hips back.

You nodded, nearly slack jawed with your eyes closed.

“Use your words,” he demanded, eyebrows furrowing.

You groaned in annoyance at the familiar phrase, one he loved to use when you were too turned on to speak.

“Yeah, feels good - fuck,” you cursed when he lifted his hips a little, pushing against you as you continued to grind yourself down. 

“So you guessed right, then, huh?” 

A/N: short and sweet but ya idk I couldn't get it out of my head <3

[slvttyplum]

how hard could it be to keep a vibrator inside of you? that's what you thought after watching all these raunchy videos of these girls buckling at the knees and getting controlled by their partner, who held a tiny remote or their phone to control the waves of the vibrations. even though the videos themselves were hot, they just made you laugh at the dramatics of what was happening.

that was your thought process; that was exactly what you thought a few weeks prior before suguru brought home a vibrator for you to have and for him to control, and with him there was always a catch, and this time it was doing whatever you wanted if you could go an hour in public with it inside of you.

of course, you took on this ridiculous challenge because you had faith you were going to win, but the opposite happened, and it threw you for a loop.

once it was inside of you, that was when you felt your heart drop. the way it buzzed against your walls and hit your sweet spot just right as you tried to stand up straight was when you knew you were fucked. you thought that the way suguru overstimulated and stretched you out all the time would be light work, but this was the worst.

suguru knew what he was doing; he knew you couldn't even make it out of the parking lot, yet he still made you believe that there was a chance for you to win. a smirk on his face as he watches you put in the vibrator and the one piece that pushes against your clit.

double stimulation was your weakness; it had you squirting all over the sheets and losing your mind, so he was very curious to see what would happen with you trying to act "normal."

at first, the pleasure was bearable—a little lightheaded and your chest rising and falling at great speed—but it was nothing too bad. suguru didn't like that you weren't giving much of a reaction, so he decided to up the tempo, pushing the slider up more and watching you stop in your tracks.

public play wasn't really his thing, but the way you were looking and acting had his dick pressed against his sweatpants, almost a little too noticeable.

he wanted to give you a chance to actually walk around and feel it out first before he embarrassed you, so he turned it back down and let you go on about your day. you thought it was the end until you felt a sharp wave of pleasure shoot through you, almost stumbling and falling until suguru caught you in his arm, a light chuckle slipping past his lips.

it was at this moment that you realized that this wasn't for you, and the women in the videos were, in fact, not being dramatic, but suguru made sure to get use out of this vibrator. making every excuse in the book for you to wear it.

it was hell on earth, even though it felt so fucking good. you just couldn't handle the sharp waves of the vibrator, not only against the most sensitive part of the body, your clit but also your sweet spot.

the sight of you moaning and squirming was something he wished could be engraved inside of his mind. this was something much sexier than the things he did to you; it was just the fact that you tried to hold back and failed every time. drool slipping out the corner of your mouth and your eyes rolling to the top of your eyes lids as you tired to hold in every bit of groan and whimper.

regret on your mind every time he convinced you to put it in.

sometimes he would just watch you; it turned him on so much that he would just cum in his pants. he loved watching you when he knew that you couldn't handle something because it was so cute to see shock cross your face when you realized you couldn't.

sliding his hands over your body as it jolts and shakes from the extreme pleasure.

this was just a lesson on putting too much on your plate. you were greedy with pleasure, so he taught you better than words could, and fortunately for him, it paid off.

[mommypieck]

⌗︙・jjk men waking up after a wet dream about you ⸜⸜・

gojo

a small chuckle leaves his mouth when he wakes up from a pleasant dream about you. his cock is aching for attention, precum already building at the top. it's the first time he had a dream about you. not to lie, he fantasized about your cute little body before but never in a dream. he wraps his hand around his cock and tries to remember little details about the dream. the way you would bounce on his cock or your little hand wrapped around it. he's not ashamed, you're a pretty girl after all. but from your behavior, he can see that you're shy and timid. maybe he can ask you out to turn his dream true. he speeds his hand around his cock, bringing himself closer to his orgasm. he thinks about a specific scene from his dream - you spread in front of him with your fingers in your cunt. he cums at the thought, covering his hand with his cock. he giggles, gojo hopes he will have similar dream soon.

geto

he wakes up with sweat on his forehead, groaning when he notices his hard on. the girl in his dream was too similar to you, same hair, eyes, body type. he can't believe he had this kind of dream about you. it was a good dream, he has to say. geto can't decide if he should take a cold shower and forget about everything or take care of his little problem. after all, he's gonna see you today and he doesn't wanna be awkward. his lips turn into a little smile as he thinks about what would happen if you saw what he is about to do. or what if you had the same dream? mmm, you took his cock so well in his dream, would you be able to do that in real life? he's seen your tiny ass move in your little skirts, you would have problem taking him for sure. fuck it, he thinks as he wraps his hand around his cock. he softly massages his shaft, imagining that it's your tiny hand stroking him. all problems leave him in that moment, he's gonna relive that dream now and hopefully later today when he invites you over.

nanami

he groans when he finally opens his eyes to meet a familiar decor of his room. he doesn't wanna think about it, he doesn't wanna think about how hard his cock is right now. he throws his arm around his eyes, trying to breathe deeply to forget all about the dream. he hasn't had a wet dream since he was a teenager and now someone like you is gonna make them pop up again? he thought you were cute when he first met you but he never thought you would be capable of doing such a slutty things. it was just a dream, he has to remind himself, maybe you are innocent. he taps his fingers on his cock, he really doesn't wanna do this. nanami tries to think of different porn starts he's seen online but his thoughts come back to you. his hand finally grips his cock and he squeezes it until it's painful. it's all your fault, maybe it you weren't so cute, he wouldn't have to do this.

toji

she's even haunting me in my dream, toji thinks when he wakes up. his cock is already standing proudly, just begging for him to take it in his hand. he doesn't waste any time wrapping his hand around it. he always thought you were pretty, your body is basically all he ever dreamed about. it's not the first time you appeared in his dream but this time, he is certain that it was you. all of the other dreams were blurry but this one was way more vivid. he strokes his cock slowly, thinking about the way you bended for him in that dream. the only thing that's pissing him off is that you're not here with him right now, that you can't use your mouth or your little pussy on him. he feels himself getting close as he thinks about all the things he would do to you if he could. he cums on his hand, surprising himself how strong this orgasm was. there's something about you and he has to find out what it is.

[badbtssmut]

Magic Stick

Jungkook is kinda sad because he has never been with a girl who could take him balls deep because of his size, reader doesn't believe him and she wants to see, but he tells her that he can't atm bc he's not hard. She is wearing this kinda halter top style with no bra so she looses the top and shows her tits to him and let's him touch them. After he's hard he shows her his dick and she says she's willing to try to take it all and she rides him into the sunset

Admin note: idea by anon

Contains: Big dick JK, handjob, some boobplay, missionary, riding, reader expresses that she is uncertain if it will fit, it takes some time getting it fully in ;), reader whimpers a bit, JK’s ex cheated on him, jk cums a lot

—

“What’s wrong with you?” You glanced over to your best friend, he has been in a horrible mood for a week and no one knew why. Not even your mutual friends knew what was up with Jungkook.

”It’s nothing.” He mumbled in response.

“Come on, I can tell something is bothering you.” You pushed.

"Fine. My girlfriend broke up with me.” He finally cracked.

"Wait, what?” You stood from the dining table, and inched closer to Jungkook who was sitting on the sofa. “Why’d she do that?" You question, shocked by the sudden news. "You two seemed so happy. What happened?"

"She… she was cheating on me.” He confessed.

"Are you fucking kidding me? What a bitch." You really couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Don’t blame her, I guess.” Jungkook said and shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't be silly. You’re too forgiving." You sighed.

"It's not that. The sex, my size— it just never worked out in bed. It was never a good fit." Jungkook confessed, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

"So, you're saying, she dumped you ‘cause of your dick size? The fuck? That's just shallow. Why would she do that?" You sat next to him.

"Yeah, it didn’t fit, literally. I’d hurt her, it wasn’t going to work out from the start. We tried a few times, but the whole experience was just awful. I guess she couldn't stand it anymore." He said, defeated.

“That doesn't make any sense, surely you aren’t that big? Are you sure she’s not just making excuses?” You couldn’t believe his ex would end things with him over his size.

"No, I am that big." Jungkook replied.

"Really?" You were skeptical.

"I've always had a big dick." He added.

"Show me."

"What?"

"Show me." You repeated. “I just want to know if you’re bullshitting or not.”

"No." He declined, looking at you as if you said the most ridiculous thing ever, clearly embarrassed by your request.

"Oh, come oooon, we are best friends. It’s not like I’ve never seen a dick before in my life." You rolled your eyes. "I'm not going to judge you, I promise. Just let me see."

"Fine." Jungkook sighed. "But… I’m not hard now.” He muttered.

“Will my boobs make you hard?“

“Hell yeah. You got great tits." He said, a bit too enthusiastic, as if he had been dreaming of the day you’d offer your tits in return to see his cock. You stood right in front of him, loosening the straps of your halter top. His mouth was slightly open, as he looked at you, completely mesmerized. You removed the straps from your shoulders and let the shirt fall to your tummy, revealing your breasts.

"Like what you see?" You teased.

"Yeah. Very much." He was nearly drooling at the sight.

"Want to touch them?"

"Fuck, yeah." He nodded, eager. You stepped closer and his hands were instantly on you. Squeezing your breasts, rubbing his thumbs on your nipples, taking it all in. When he was done caressing your tits with his hands, he started to suck and lick on them, at which you moaned softly, and the sound of it made him rock hard. He was definitely huge, you could see the tent forming on his pants.

"Are you sure you want to see it? It's… quite big." He was almost apologetic, as if his huge dick was some sort of inconvenience for others.

“I do, show me already.” You chuckled, not sure what he was being shy for.

"Okay." He nodded, unbuckling his belt, and lowering his jeans, together with his boxers.

Holy shit.

How was a dick that big even possible? You didn't even think that dicks like that actually existed. And it wasn't just long, but also thick. No wonder his ex broke up with him. You were pretty sure that dick wouldn't fit anywhere.

"Wow." You couldn't believe your eyes.

"Told you. It's big. You wouldn’t believe me." He shrugged.

"Can I touch it?" You asked, still unable to avert your eyes.

"If you want." He agreed, a little surprised but not put off by the idea.

You grabbed his dick and slowly moved your hand up and down his length, marveling at how big and heavy it was, how thick. His cock was truly impressive, and it seemed to get even bigger as you stroked him. You wondered what it would be like to take him.

“Wow. This is amazing. How can you fit this inside a girl?" You were truly impressed, and couldn't help but keep stroking his cock.

"I can't." He admitted, his breathing starting to quicken. “No girl can take it, they always start out confident but when it’s actually in… they can't take it. Not even halfway through. I have never met a girl that can take me all the way, even the ones that brag about having experience are not able to." He sounded dejected.

"I bet I can." You challenged him.

"No. You can't. There's no way." He scoffed. All of the girls said the exact same thing, and it never worked out, ever.

“Want to bet? If I can’t take it, I’ll give you 200 bucks.” You said, not convinced by his pessimism.

"200 dollars? That's a lot of money." He said, surprised by your proposal, but he shrugged. “But alright, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

—

"Are you sure about this?" He asked, for what seemed to be the hundredth time.

“If you ask me one more time… I will leave." You said, annoyed.

"Sorry. Just don’t want to hurt you." He apologized with a defeated sigh. It made you feel bad for getting annoyed, but Jungkook really had nothing to worry about.

You got this.

Jungkook held onto his cock as he pushed the head of it against your slick pussy lips. Your body tensed a bit, but he took his time, working on you slowly. You breathed deeply and relaxed, spreading your legs further as his shaft dragged against your sensitive skin. His cock was so hard and thick that it rubbed against every single inch of your folds.

Jungkook continued to move his hips back and forth, his errection dragging against your clit with each thrust. The sensation was amazing, and your body was trembling in pleasure, and he wasn’t even in yet.

The tip poked against your lower belly as he continued to rub the shaft against your pussy, his hips moving slow and steady.

“Want it.” You whined.

“Yeah?” He whispered.

"Yeah."

He lined himself up with your entrance, pressing the head against it. You tilted your head back, fuck, that was only the head, how could you feel this full already?

Jungkook began to slide his cock into your wet, aching pussy. His cock was stretching you out so wide, it felt incredible. He stopped when the head was all the way in, giving you a moment to adjust. Jungkook slowly pushed his cock deeper inside you, inch by inch. You could feel his cock filling up every inch of you, the stretch and pressure so intense, it was almost too much.

"Shit, you’re stretching me so good…” You moaned, as his cock kept going deeper.

"How are you taking it so well? I can't believe you can take it this far, pussy takes big cock so good, baby." He pushed in more, eager to fill you with every inch.

You couldn't speak, the sensations were overwhelming. It felt like your pussy was being stretched to its limits, and there was a pressure deep inside you that made your mind go blank.

Jungkook's cock was buried all the way inside you now. You were filled up completely, and it was the most amazing feeling you'd ever experienced.

"Don’t move,” It felt as if he would rip you in two if he pulled out even a little bit. "Not yet. Give me a minute." You whimpered, as you adjusted to his length and girth.

Jungkook nodded, kissing your neck, his hands cupping your breasts.

“This is how pussy feels, huh? Fuck, this is amazing. So tight, warm, perfect." He whispered against your ear, as he kept his dick deep inside. “It’s like my cock is being choked and squeezed, so good.”

“Told you… I could take it.” You said in a shaky breath, sitting up only to peek at where your bodies were joined, impressed to see how your body managed to take that monster cock in.

“You can move now." You gave him permission.

Jungkook started to move his hips back and forth.

The pressure from his dick was too intense, it felt like you were being split open, and you thought you were going to pass out from how good it felt. You held in your breath, unable to moan as you tilted your head back and closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his cock stretching you wide.

Whereas you were silent, Jungkook was grunting, groaning, panting, moaning, he couldn’t contain his pleasure. Jungkook was overwhelmed by the feeling of being buried deep inside you. His thrusts were slow and deep, his cock pushing against your inner walls, massaging them.

You opened your eyes and glanced at his face, he looked like he was in ecstasy, his mouth was open and he was moaning with every thrust.

His cock felt incredible, so big, so deep.

You had never felt anything like it before.

"I can't believe I'm fucking a pussy that can take my whole cock. Shit, it feels amazing. Pussy is so tight and wet. So fucking good. Never felt anything like it. Fuck!” Jungkook licked his bottom lip, picking up the pace.

Jungkook was pounding you now, his cock thrusting in and out of your dripping pussy, hitting all the right spots. Fuck, you were seeing stars, your whole body was on fire.

You couldn't stop yourself from screaming in pleasure. You spread your legs as far as you possible could, allowing him to thrust even deeper into you. Jungkook continued his relentless rhythm, his thrusts were hard and fast, the sounds of his cock slamming into your pussy filled the room.

The feeling of his dick filling you up was indescribable, it was pure bliss.

“Want to ride you, want to sit on that cock." You needed to feel in control, and you wanted him to watch you as you sat on his massive dick.

Jungkook pulled out and laid down on the bed, his dick standing straight up, and you couldn’t wait to take it all again.

You straddled his hips, hovering above his erection and you slowly lowered yourself down onto his cock, gasping as it slid into you, the pressure and friction sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Jungkook's hands were on your ass, helping you move up and down on his cock. He was thrusting his hips upward, matching your rhythm, driving his dick even deeper into you.

"God, you look so hot riding my cock. Never would’ve thought to see this.” He bit his lip, his eyes roaming over your body.

"So big…” All you could think of was how his cock felt inside of you, how shallow it might sound… you couldn’t even think of the person attached to it.

Jungkook was now holding onto your hips, pulling you down harder onto his dick. His thrusts were strong, and fast, and it felt so fucking good.

"Fuck, I can't last any longer. Gonna cum soon." His thrusts became erratic and he was moaning loudly, his whole body shaking. You rested your hands on his chest, grinding against him, trying to match his rhythm.

"Y/N… like that, love it just like that." He moaned, his breathing unsteady, his fingers now gripping into your thighs.

“Yes, yes…” You whispered, riding his cock, feeling your own orgasm build up inside of you.

“Ah!” Jungkook beat you to it, his body stiffened as his cum spurted inside of you, filling you up. He was gasping for air, his face was flushed, and his grip on your hips loosened, he ran his fingers through his hair as he squirted his cum deep inside of you. It was as if he had a never ending supply of cum, shooting spurt after spurt, his cock throbbing as it emptied its load inside you.

“Keep going, y/n, you didn’t come yet, I’ll stay hard, take what you need, keep going." He encouraged, his breathing still shaky, his dick was still hard, and it was pulsating inside you.

"Yeah." You whispered, continuing to bounce on his dick, the feeling of his cum inside of you and the sight of him beneath you, sweaty, breathing hard, his hair sticking to his forehead, was so incredibly sexy. The sound of your drenched in cum pussy sucking him back in was loud, his cock coated in your juices and the cum that was spilling out of you was bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

You leaned back, resting your hands on his thighs as you moved up and down, faster, deeper, until you were finally climaxing, your orgasm taking over your body. Your body shook and your eyes fluttered open and shut as the warmth spread through your whole body, you had never felt anything like it before. You could feel the hot cum leaking out of you, and it just kept coming.

Your hips slowed as you rode out your orgasm, and when it was over, you collapsed onto the bed, panting.

“Jungkook?”

“Yeah?”

“You owe me 200 bucks.”

[iceunhie]

— PUSH AND PULL : honkai star rail.

premise. as someone who's always believed in the term “try and try again,” (peak delusion, you know) rooting yourself in their heart has always been your goal, no matter the cold rejections and curt declines you receive. however, even you have your limits; perhaps this little push and pull you two have going isn't worth your time after all... but what happens then, if the chaser becomes the chased? (oh, how the turns have tabled.)

...or, when you play hard to get with them.

— ft. sunday, aventurine, jing yuan.

warnings: angst n fluff, messy messy, these boys are in love but are wayyy too chicken to admit they actually adore you, genderless reader.

a/n. inspired by @/xiaowhore's playing hard to get headcanons! my holy trinity 😇 n MY FAVES RAHHH

NEXT : BACK TO MASTERLIST || ASKBOX

SUNDAY is perplexed. very much aware of his qualities which enlists him as one of the finer (finest) bachelors of Penacony (he was the Robin's one and only blood, and was also the head of one of the main guiding forces of the Family, after all), sunday isn't sure he's ever come across someone as.... tenacious as you.

foolish, to be more precise, for he cannot for the life of him comprehend exactly why you are the way you are with... him.

no matter his respectful declines of your invitations to promenade around Penacony (re: going on dates), you really didn't know how to leave him be. though he hasn't exactly said he hated it, sunday was, admittedly, rather... affronted. your gifts, in particular, were your loud declarations of your affection (that make his wings flutter more rapidly than he'd like); but sunday was rather inconvenienced at the whole thing.

nonetheless, he does still accept them. reluctantly, mind you. not because he was fond of your constant shower of affections, which seemed so permanent that he began to look forward to them got used to it. to your credit, your gifts were very much to his tastes. (Robin once gave him a rather soul-searching look when he found himself wearing the gloves you gifted, light blue and white in color. he still uses it, just not when his sister is in the vicinity.)

in fact, perhaps he may have gotten too comfortable. little by little, your constant intrusions on his time have thawed a way to his heart; making sunday look forward to your jovial greetings and grandeur elaborations on your day, and such a thing makes him feel scared sunday needed to nip this in the bud, and fast.

so he confronts you, abruptly one day as you give him his newest gift—a jewelry box for his earrings. (surely, the rapid thumping of his heart was due to his irritation at your constant persistence, right?) “i'm afraid this can no longer continue. i am flattered by your... fancy for me, but i do not wish to enter a relationship in the near future.”

the utter silence that follows is torture to him—but he endures. he tries not to look at the momentary flash of hurt on your face. you seemed to quickly recover, though. giving him a simple smile (it didn't reach your eyes. it shocks him how his chest ached at the realization) and shaking your head when he returns the gift to you.

“i understand, mr. sunday.” the formal usage of his name instead of your chipper ‘sunday!’ makes his face twitch. “but please, keep the gift. think of this as my last declaration. it... would do me a great comfort, just this last time, if you accepted it instead.”

(if he had grabbed your hand at that moment as you left for the door, would he regret it?)

when you leave, sunday thought it would put the conflicting feelings in his mind at ease—but it doesn't. a week and two days counting, true to your word, sunday receives no flagrant gifts, nor little messages on his phone that tell him to take care of himself, to eat, and to make sure to remember to check up on Robin.

instead, contrary to the feeling of ease, regret follows him instead.

it's at two weeks and five days counting when sunday could no longer stand the sight of papers that stacked atop his desk and the image of you leaving for the door replaying in his head far too many times for him to count, that he contacts Robin.

and she, once hearing about the situation, gives him a very, very enlightening talk. (of course, not without giving her brother a lecture of the lifetime. part of him felt shame to know that his sister knew of his... turbulent love life, but she was the only one who he could trust, anyway).

“absence makes the heart grow fonder,” she says. “but in your case, brother, your heart has already decided it's course, right?”

sunday eyes the smooth velvet of the jewelry box you gifted, ruminating. his earrings lie there, carefully pristine and beautiful, gold and silver intertwined. he has worn them without fail, clean and spotless. (of course it was. such a design so intricate was only chosen by you. the thought makes his ears warm).

the next days are agonizing. vigor renewed and epiphanies well-spent, sunday spends the rest of his time after finishing his duties researching and painstakingly finding the best jeweller he can find (even employing the suggestions of a certain gambler, much to his dislike), and spending a god awful amount of time revisiting and rechecking which spots you like, which places you enjoy, to the point it comes up in Penacony's headlines that sunday is interested in someone.

surely, it should've reached your ears by now, yes? sunday panics. your preferences are well-accounted for, and he's sure the Bloodhound family members that report to him have to tell you that the person he had in mind was you. even Robin, who was your closest friend, has probably told you already.

it's embarrassing to admit, but; to hell with it, the day he meets you after three weeks and sees you having a pleasant chat with aventurine, of all people, sunday thinks his heart had shattered into little pieces and stabbed themselves into his body. not so much as sparing him a glance, moreso.

so when, finally at his wits end, sunday chooses to corner you at the dewlight pavilion and spills out how he has royally screwed up in the worst way possible, no one is surprised. at this rate, you would be swept up in the charms of that wretched gambler, and what sunday lacked in, aventurine more than made up for.

“wait, don't go to that gambler just yet.” he's breathless, he's chaotic—and something in his heart squeezes when you finally look at him. “i... i wish to take up your time now, if that's possible.” (he wishes he would take up your time forever, really, but that was still too early).

you eye his getup. all of your gifts, lined on the man you spent so long chasing after—you see the gloves you gifted, the tie with not so much as a single crease, and the earrings that shine more brightly in the light of the pavilion. (it suits him. like you) it was as if sunday had completely surrendered himself to you, had all but decided to proclaim that he was yours, and this was nothing short of a plea for you to hear him.

“please.” he says. almost begs. “i can't bear not seeing you anymore. allow me to correct such a damning mistake.”

and if you were skeptical, the way sunday looks at you would dispel any doubt you could ever have. (his wings, they were fluttering.)

(months later, after a nerve-ending confession, many days of dinners, shared gifts involving matching jewelry and promenading to your wishes, it dawns on sunday he was absolutely dancing to your tune. did he regret it, though?

....no, most certainly not.)

if AVENTURINE were to be honest with himself, he saw you as a useful “friend” rather than a romantic interest. was it bad of him? of a sort. but risk cutting himself open and letting someone he might grow to care for know about all the ugliness that follows his life? no, he's fine as it is, thanks.

the first thing he notices is that you're kind—though he distrusted most of his colleagues and preferred none to get close to him, aventurine, in some morbid moment of curiosity, instead allowed himself to bask in your attention. instead of curtly disparaging you, he flirts back at your compliments (the way your face heated up in return was far too endearing that he can't help but want to kiss you he finds it amusing) and consistently texts you a “did you get home safe” or a “i bought you this because it reminded me of you”; at this point, it was like you two were dating.

was it leading you on? yes, but he supposes it was a win-win; he could send you those tiny bits of validation that was enough for you to stay respectfully at a distance while he probed at your intentions. unlike others who attempt to garner his favor, you're genuine, and you seriously take the time to know him. because you always text back with hearts, always reassure him, tell him to stay safe and wish him luck at every gamble, every high stakes bet he finds himself in. you even complimented his perfume once (and, if he had to be honest, he could not stop thinking about it all day—because that perfume he commissioned exclusively was based off of your own favorite scents and it was extremely embarrassing that he loved hugging you knowing that you loved the way he smelled and that it felt extremely domestic).

(sometimes, he doesn't reply. for months on end. suddenly the golden-haired man you love goes cold and you know then that aventurine ghosts you and then returns when he's in need of a friend—never a lover. it hurts you, but at the very least, you know he cares in his own way.)

and, if aventurine had to be honest, it was killing him from the inside bit by bit. as if to drive the knife deeper, you never danced around what exactly was going on with you two. you never ask why he ghosts you, then sends you a bundle of gifts all of a sudden and then rapidly spends time with you and repeating the cycle. no, you were consistently by his side, so warm and so caring—so unlike him—that aventurine wonders if it's really all right to open his heart to you.

if, by some chance, he actually wanted to be with you, would you treat him even more sweetly than before? aventurine thinks you would—you were beautiful in your entirety, and he was practically undeserving of you. he imagines himself kissing your hand and having you in his arms—and that feels like ice cold water being dumped onto his head, because you could do so much better and yet, why him?

so when aventurine hears about how a certain doctor was visiting you for some unknown reason, his already fragile sense of security in this little will-they, won't they crumbles.

and when he finds out that you were staying over with ratio? something twisted lodges itself in the little brushes of his heart, coiling and coiling—making him feel green. aventurine is aware you and the doctor are good friends, and ratio was the one who even told you to make a move on him! how could he just—suddenly interrupt?!

(was it dramatic? extremely. but knowing his friend and the person he secretly adores might end up together? you can't really blame him.)

he supposes this can be attributed to him. it was an egregious mistake, a blunder aventurine made—he never gave you a clear sight of whether he truly loved you or not and now you're slipping away from him.

so, he does something very unexpected.

at 3:00 AM in the wee early morning hours, aventurine practically barges into one Dr. veritas ratio's home, demanding what the hell was going on between you. and as if he had expected it, his doctor friend merely gives him a shrug in return.

“perhaps they were simply getting fed up by a certain IPC member—who is clearly head over heels in love with them—giving them mixed signals.” ratio's tone is stern, and aventurine definitely knows that the look he gives him is the one he gives only to fools.

you idiot, the doctor seems to say. yeah, yeah, he is; aventurine ignores the clear pinprick at his dignity.

yes, he supposes he is the fool here. “ah.”

“yes, ‘ah,’ indeed. now, let me propose a question.” the purple-haired man says. “will you react in such a way when i tell you that in order for my friend to stop their anguish, i managed to get them to fraternize with one of my colleagues?”

“...what?”

“they will be having a meet-up seven system hours from now.” ratio shrugs. eyes aventurine, who's looking at him like a gaping, stupid fish. “i can only hope that no one would dare to disrupt.”

...it doesn't take him long to be rid of the gambler by then.

(a few hours later, you stop by the Intelligentsia Guild to see one veritas ratio with a smug smile, eyeing the fur coat draped around your shoulders, and the flushed and happy expression written on your face.

“did it work?” he asks.

you laugh, “splendidly.”

indeed, that gambler was a fool, and there's nothing more than dr. ratio loved than to educate such fools to shape.

“that will teach him.”)

as a quote unquote ‘old man’ who knows that he's well up in his years for a relationship, JING YUAN finds you to be quite amusing.

it doesn't take a detailed analysis to know that you were smitten with him, really. you're a complete open book by his standards—if your heated face and slightly airy voice whenever you were even placed in the same vicinity with the Dozing General was anything to come by. while flattering, he also shares the similar mindset of being too old for any love his way—and he could be mara-struck at any given time, and jing yuan does not wish such a life filled with anguish and pain for the one who may steal his heart. but, worry not, brave suitor of the Arbiter General! unlike the other two above, this man has the experience of millenia, and is open-minded and aware that you truly wish to be perceived as a potential lover.

in fact, jing yuan's recent favorite habit is sneaking off the Seat of Divine Foresight purely to freak you out, watching you scramble up your words, seeing the heat crawl up your nape and bloom all across your face. adorable. you certainly knew how to appeal, that's for sure.

(“heh, it seems i've found a new place to stay in so that the Diviner Fu won't grill me alive when she sees me.”

and when he's rewarded with a bashful and speechless look in return, a smile and your, “i'm glad, general.” it surprisingly lightens up his mood by more than he expected.

that, in turn, gives him a frightening 30% energy boost; fu xuan was utterly shocked to see the languid man actually working and looking like he enjoyed it, for once.

“did something good happen today, jing yuan? why so enthusiastic?”

“i just felt like working more than usual, diviner Fu. i seem to have my energy levels at a high.”)

now, jing yuan is considerate and perceptive first and foremost, so there's a high chance that out of all the men here, he is the most open to giving you the chance to pursue him. he does inform you beforehand that he has no plans of accepting your confessions in the future, and that is where the ‘hard to get’ part comes in.

it's like playing a confusing romance visual novel with a fickle love interest—you never really know what you're doing, whether it's something jing yuan would like or not, and you don't know if he even thinks your attempts are moving his heart. (tldr: he friend zones you).

he maintains the same distance no matter his banters with you, no matter how many times you tell him that you'd help yanqing out with sword lessons. it's like he was just... treating you as he would a friend, and that you were basically stuck in the friend-zone forever.

(he keeps it to himself, but something warm stirs in his chest when he sees yanqing sleeping on your shoulder after training practice, with your arm protectively around the boy's side.

your sleeping face didn't make it easy to look away either; it's one of the few moments in which jing yuan shows just the slightest bit of reciprocating your pursuits; he brushes back the stray hairs covering your face, and drapes a blanket over the two of you.

of course, perhaps to tease yanqing, he also takes the calligraphy brush and makes a work out of his face, doodling all over it.

when you wake up, there's a lingering scent of ink and yellowed paper that fills your senses. when you turn to the boy beside you, you almost giggle out loud.)

it's a little disheartening—and while jing yuan did acknowledge that you were slowly, slowly burrowing yourself in his heart, he doesn't act on it fast enough, and instead lets the realization sit in his mind for a while.

it gets to the point where it feels as though he were preparing to distance himself, and even yanqing had asked if he was well. your visits with the Arbiter General also decrease, as he suddenly buried himself in his work even more than before.

he doesn't get to see you all that much afterwards, despite the lingering feeling of missing you filling his heart.

....that's until jing yuan hears word of a recent mara-struck incident involving the Sky-faring Commission; with your name listed among those heavily injured.

when he visits Bailu's clinic after yanqing urges him, jing yuan takes in the sight of you, littered in injuries from head to toe. your life, about to snap. he never even told you that you won; you did manage to steal his heart and for the first time in a long time, jing yuan allows himself to love.

so if, after three weeks later when you're finally healed up and ready to go, jing yuan brings you into his arms and drags you to let him sleep in your lap, you can't really blame him now, can you?

a/n: i love yearner hsr men,,, might do a pt 2 though. thinking of mayb ratio, jiaoqiu and f/heng next time...... sighs dreamily

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

[itneverendshere]

it's all you're good for, right? - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe

rafe knew you wouldn’t take his disrespect lightly.

you never did.  

he’d expected you to blow up the second he pulled that ignoring shit at the dinning. he was ready for it—your texts coming in hot, maybe you showing up at his house, ready to tear into him like you always did when he pushed too far. he'd never say it out loud, but a part of him almost liked it, the way you’d get all fired up, spitting mad. it was hot.

but you didn’t call. not a single text. you didn’t show up to the party that weekend, and when he tried to hit you up, just looking for a booty call—because fuck, he was so hard thinking about you—it went straight to voicemail. he stared at his phone like an idiot, calling again. blocked.

you? block him? nah, that wasn’t supposed to happen. rafe was the one with the power here, or at least, that’s how it used to be. it was always this push and pull, but he was the one pulling the strings, right? no fucking pogue was ever going to order him around. right?

wrong. the next weekend rolls around, and there you are at one of his parties, looking good as ever, laughing with your friends like nothing happened. and still, not even a glance his way. for two weeks now, you’ve been completely ignoring him, and it’s starting to get under his skin. more than it should.

he watches you from across the yard like a fucking creep, sipping his drink and trying to act like he doesn’t give a fuck, but inside, he’s low-key losing it. he half-expected you to walk right up to him and give him hell like you always do. but no, you’re just... doing your own thing. 

but what’s really making his head spin is what you're wearing. the outfit is pure trouble—skin-tight and leaving almost nothing to the imagination. a barely-there black mini skirt, riding up just enough to make his jaw clench, paired with a tiny top that’s more like a bralette than an actual shirt. it’s low-cut and clings to your curves, thin straps barely holding it in place, and the way it hugs your body?

yeah, he’s fucked. the way the skirt moves when you walk, teasing just enough thigh? it’s like you knew he’d be watching.

he hates how much it turns him on.

every guy at the party notices. he can see the way their eyes follow you as you move through the crowd, laughing, like you don’t even care. but it’s the way you’re ignoring him that’s really pushing him to the edge. normally, rafe loves the attention despite the look of disgust he always greets you with when you show up. loves knowing you’re secretly going to end up in his bed. but tonight? he’s not so sure and it’s killing him.

by the time he corners you, all he can think about is tearing that outfit off. the silent treatment? that shit was way worse than anything you could've said. 

“alrigh’, i get it,” he starts, throwing his hands up like he’s already done with this conversation. “jesus christ.”

you just blink up at him, completely unfazed, like he’s not even worth a reaction. his words might as well be bouncing off a wall. the fact that you’re standing there looking so fucking good, and acting like he doesn’t even exist, is messing with his head more than anything you could’ve said.

he’s pissed, yeah, but more than that, he’s desperate. desperate for a reaction. for anything. but you just brush past him, your body touching his for the briefest second, like you’re doing it on purpose just to make him snap.

rafe stands there for a second, blinking in disbelief. did you just really blow him off like that?

before he even realizes it, he's following after you, shoving through the crowd like a man possessed.

“are you serious right now?” he hisses when he catches up, grabbing your wrist lightly but firm enough to make you stop. the emotion in his voice is undeniable, and everyone nearby is pretending not to watch the little scene. “you're really just gonna walk past me like that?”

karma’s a bitch.

you finally turn to him, but the look in your eyes isn’t anger—it’s indifference. that cold, detached stare that fucks with his head more than any of the shouting matches you’ve had in the past. you pull your wrist free with ease, like his grip is nothing.

“’m over it,” you say coolly, like you’ve already moved on from the whole thing, “whatever this is? it’s not worth my time.”

that does it.

he’s used to the back and forth, the fire between you, but this, you acting like you don’t care at all—it’s new, and it pisses him off more than he thought possible. he steps closer, dropping his voice lower so no one else can hear.

“bullshit,” he says, eyes narrowing. “you’re pissed, i get it. but don’t act like you’re done with me. you aren’t.”

the smirk that curls on your lips is almost cruel.

“watch me.”

you turn and walk away, leaving rafe standing there. he knows he should let it go, but every time he tries to convince himself of that, the way your body looks in that outfit, the way you shut him down so easily, keeps replaying in his head.

and instead of walking away, he’s right back where he started, chasing after you like he can’t stand the idea of not having you anymore.

before you even get two steps away, he snaps.

his patience has run out, and all that pent-up frustration? yeah, it’s got him seeing red. he doesn’t even think about it—just moves. his hand wraps around your arm, and in one swift motion, he’s hoisting you up like you weigh nothing, slinging you over his shoulder.

“what the fuck, rafe!” you shout, your fists pounding on his muscular back, but he doesn’t stop. eyes burning, jaw clenched—he doesn’t give a shit who’s watching. not his friends, not anyone at the party. right now? he’s too pissed off and turned on to think straight. 

you wriggle in his grip, your legs kicking, but he holds you tight, marching through the party like it’s no big deal, even though everyone’s definitely staring. he’ll deal with the fallout later.

“put me down!” you’re practically growling, and maybe under any other circumstances, he would’ve listened. but not tonight. tonight, he’s done playing nice, done pretending like he’s not obsessed with you or your body, done trying to act like he’s got control over this situation when clearly, you’re the one pulling all the strings.

his grip on you is tight, and possessive, and you’re too furious to care about how turned on you secretly are. he doesn’t stop until he reaches his room, kicking the door shut behind him with one solid thud. the sound of the lock clicking is loud in the tense silence. then, he throws you onto his bed, like you're nothing more than a ragdoll.

you bounce once, staring at him with wide eyes.

“what the fuck is wrong with you!” you snap, sitting up on the bed, glaring at him.

he’s pacing now, running his hands through his hair, wild-eyed, like he’s trying to calm himself down but can’t. he turns to you, his face twisted in frustration, like he’s been holding something in for way too long. and when he speaks, his voice cracks just enough to show how on edge he really is.

“you!” he explodes, pointing at you like you're the only thing in the room. “you’re what’s wrong with me!”

his pacing slows down, and suddenly he stops. he turns back to you, both his hands shooting up to his temples, fingers pressing into his head.

“you get in my fucking head,” he admits through gritted teeth, jabbing his fingers into his temples like he’s blaming you for every thought he's had for weeks. “i can’t think straight because of you. every fucking time, you crawl into my head and just—won’t—leave.”

instead of letting his little meltdown get to you, you lean back on your hands, with a bratty scoff. “how is that my fucking problem?” you snap, crossing your arms like you couldn’t care less about his breakdown. “that’s on you, not me. maybe you should try, i don’t know, leaving me alone.”

rafe stares at you, his chest heaving, his jaw clenched tight, “you think this is a joke?” he growls, stepping closer, closing the gap between you two, his presence almost suffocating. “you think you can just sit there and act like none of this is your fault?”

you give him a fake sweet smile, leaning forward just enough to be in his face, “maybe you shouldn’t have fucked me in the first place, hmm? god forbid your friends find out you’ve been slumming it with a pogue.”

it’s the fake docility in your smile that makes him want to break something. he steps even closer, his breath hot and heavy as his eyes lock onto yours, blue and furious.

"that’s what this is?" His voice is low, almost a growl. “you seriously don’t get it, do you?" he leans in, his face inches from yours, his expression almost daring you to keep pushing. "this—whatever the fuck this is between us—this isn’t about them. it’s about you." his hand shoots out, gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. "don’t act like you didn’t know what you were getting into from the beginning."

you yank your chin free, rolling your eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he's getting to you. “right. you ignoring me at the dinner? guess i was supposed to just sit there and take it, huh? maybe you wanted me to be a good little bitch and not make any noise.” 

you might be pissed, but you're not just angry—you're hurt, and that fucks with his head more than he cares to admit.

rafe huffs, running a hand through his hair in frustration, looking away for a second before turning back to you. “what the fuck do you want from me? huh? you want me to call you my girlfriend? you want me to fucking introduce you like this is some kind of relationship? be fucking serious.”

"be fucking serious?" you repeat, "you gave me a 200$ tip, you fucking asshole!" you shove him hard in the chest, catching him off guard. “like ’m some kind of fucking whore!”

rafe's eyes widen as he stumbles back a step, “wait—what? no, no, no. that’s not what it meant.”

you glare at him, shaking your head in disbelief. “of course, it fucking was!” you shout, shoving him again, harder this time. “what else would it mean, huh? you throw money at me like it’s supposed to make everything okay, like ’m some kind of... some kind of pogue you can pay off and keep quiet.”

he looks stunned, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to figure out what to say. “that’s not—fuck, that’s not what i meant. i wasn’t thinking about it like that, okay? i was trying to help you!" he blurts out, his tone defensive, like he can’t believe you’re twisting his intentions into something they weren’t.

you laugh, but it’s sharp, biting. “help me?” you stare at him like he’s lost his mind. “oh, please. shut the fuck up. why would you ever want to help me, rafe? be real.” he tries to speak, but before he can you’re already stepping back. “if you want to fuck me, just get on with it. i need to leave. so, make it quick.”

what?

“is that what you think this is?” he doesn’t move to touch you, but the tension is strong enough to feel suffocating. “you think ’m just here to—”

“to fuck me? yeah. that’s what this has always been about,” you cut him off, “and you know what? it’s okay. let’s not drag it out. do what you do best—take what you want and leave me the fuck alone.”

he’s not ready to admit that this feels more than just a hookup. he’s not sure if he will ever get there. rafe’s chest heaves as he stares at you. he’s done trying to explain himself. 

“fine,” he snaps, stepping closer until his chest is almost brushing yours. “if that’s what you want.” 

your breath catches in your throat, but you don’t back down. not when you're this annoyed. “yeah, it is. stop wasting my time.”

in one swift motion, rafe pulls you to him by the waist, with his usual roughness that makes you drip between your thighs. his lips claim yours with a bruising force. it’s not soft or sweet—this is raw, messy, all tongue and teeth. his hands are everywhere, gripping your hair, your ass, pulling you flush against him like he can’t have any space between you. you’re both moving with frantic, desperate eagerness, like this is less about desire and more about proving a point.

“is this what you want?” rafe snarls against your lips, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank your top over your head, throwing it somewhere in the room. “to get fucked stupid and leave? that it?”

you let out a breathless laugh, but it’s overflowing with venom. “that’s all you’re good for, right?”

so much for making peace.

TAGLIST: @drewstarkeys-world @maibelitaaura @maybankslover @jkrafe @willowpains

[princessbellecerise]

The Sowing of Seeds

Summary ✩ Ulf the White was an imbecile in Jacaerys’ eyes. A drunk and an unworthy dragon rider. However, the Prince finds that his sweet daughter might not be so bad…

Warnings ✩ Smut, mean!Jace, Jace being an ass, classism, self doubt, loss of virginity, innocent!reader, creampie, oral sex, unequal power dynamics (reader is smallfolk and Jace is a Prince), slight mentions of blood

Despite your father’s sloth and drunkenness, you were a sweet little thing.

Jace could not help but to notice you. He tried not to, gods he really did, but with your innocent smile and kind laughter it was hard not to notice the girl who was the complete opposite of your dragon riding father.

You see, when Ulf the White answered the call to Dragonstone, he hadn’t been alone. You his daughter had come with him and it was only natural since you’d been taking care of your father all your life.

You weren’t sure who your mother was exactly, but Ulf always told you that she had long silver hair, purple eyes, and—depending on how many drinks he had that night—skin as pale as the moon or as dark as rich chocolates.

Whichever it was, your father was known for his embellishments, and often times his lack of manners. It wasn’t as if you’d had the most fancy of upbringings in Fleabottom, but you still liked to think that you had some class.

Your father, of course, had no care for such things. As long as he had a drink in hand and a listening ear, he could make himself comfortable anywhere. And unfortunately, right now he had both of those things.

You shook your head disapprovingly and frowned as you saw him seated at the war table, feet propped up and blabbering to Hugh about some tale or another.

You tried to warn him, you really did.

“This kind of behavior is not acceptable here,” You had hissed at him. Like always though, your father didn’t listen. He did as he pleased and now that he had a dragon, he felt entitled to do so.

So when the Prince Jacaerys marched in angrily and settled his fiery gaze onto your father, all you could do was wince and think,

I told you so.

“My Prince.”

You lowered your gaze and refused to make eye contact as he passed you. Suddenly, your worn down shoes became the most interesting thing in the room and you could feel Jacaerys’ stare on you briefly before it turned back to your father.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His accusing tone was not lost on you and your father quickly stood up, a grin on his face as he approached.

“Ah! There he is. Prince Jacaerys in the flesh!” He chuckled as he reached the Prince, not seeming to know or care that he was pissed.

“That’s my mothers’ seat you were sitting in,” Prince Jacaerys hissed, and the only thing he got from your father was a full-fledged laugh.

“Oh, it was just a bit of fun, my prince! I meant no harm,” Ulf waved him off. “You could use a bit of that round here, couldn’t you? All that handsome face is missing is a smile. Look at you—those lovely dark curls. I bet you get all the women with those looks eh?”

“Father!”

You sharply gasped as he carelessly ruffled the Prince’s hair, only stopping once Jace grabbed his arm and squeezed.

Your father winced, probably not expecting the Prince’s grip to be so tight. Briefly, you saw his fingers inch towards the sword that was seated on his hip, and the idea to cut in so that he wouldn’t cut off your father’s hand quickly reached you.

“Forgive him, my Prince. He is not familiar with the manners of court,” You quickly explained.

Jacaerys scoffed. “Or any manners at all, I’d say,” He said. His gaze once again traveled back to you, standing quietly as second hand embarrassment from your father washed over you.

You could tell that his actions irritated the prince more than he already was. He had a habit of looking down on you from the moment that you arrived, and now it seemed that his belief that none of you were good enough was validated.

“And you…” You flinched as Jacaerys’ amber gaze settled on you, breath quickening as a frown appeared on his face.

“How could you allow this? I thought you were better than this.”

The words stung more than anything you could’ve imagined. The implication that the Prince thought highly of you before this encounter made you both want to cry and strangle your father.

You opened your mouth to explain his behavior, to apologize for Ulf like you’d done so many times before. But suddenly,

“I’ll need a word with you to discuss the issue of this behavior,” The Prince suddenly said. You froze. “There is clearly a conversation needed to be held about how to behave yourselves at court.”

Your eyes widened. “But, my Prince—”

“Now.”

His harsh tone left no room for arguing. And neither did his glare. Quickly, you bowed your head in understanding and you tried not to cry as you locked eyes with your father.

Ulf stared at you as you followed the Prince, a hint of something that might have been guilt in his eyes. Whatever it was, you didn’t linger long enough to decipher it before you were gone, following Jacaerys and his guard until you reached another room.

You had to walk nearly halfway across the castle to get there. Briefly, you took in the sights of Dragonstone’s interior and figured that this must have been a place Dragonseeds were forbidden to enter.

Queen Rhaenyra had told you upon arrival that there were only three. The dragon pits without permission, the war council chambers, and the floor of their personal chambers.

Your eyes widened when you realized that this was latter.

“Leave us,” Jacaerys ordered that the two of you be left alone as soon as you walked into his room, making nerves practically explode in your belly.

You wondered if maybe this conversation was that serious to where he didn’t want anyone around to witness what he had to say. Again, your breath hitched as the thought of him bringing you here to privately tell you that you were being hanged or kicked off of Drgaonstone crossed your mind.

You prayed that neither would happen as fear struck your heart.

As the Prince Jacaerys turned to you with a disappointed gaze, you felt like you could hardly breathe. You tried so hard to avoid his gaze, but it was moot as Jacaerys placed a finger your chin and made you look at him.

“He cannot keep doing that,” Was the first thing the Prince said to you, and you were quick to agree as you nodded your head.

“I apologize, my prince. I really do! As I said, my father did not have the most civil of upbringings, and it is hard for him to adjust to all the new ways we must conduct ourselves.”

“And yet somehow, you’ve somehow grasped them just fine, despite being raised by him. Have you not?”Jacaerys mused.

You did not know what to say as you stared into his kind amber eyes. Compared to the look he had given your father, his gaze was considerably softer and you wondered why as you cleared your throat.

“I try…I try not behave as unruly as my upbringing, my prince,” You told him. Trying to ignore how your heart skipped a beat, noticing how handsome he was and how difficult it was to make eye contact with him because of it.

Jacaerys was easily the most attractive and the most important man you had ever met. With full lips, long lashes, and a dashing smile, he looked just like the prince’s you used to dream of rescuing you when you were a girl.

You had not been lying when you said that your childhood had been unruly. Often times, it consisted of taking care of your drunk father and working as soon as you were old enough.

You did little things here and there, enough to keep food on the table and afford shelter amongst others. But the streets of King’s Landing weren’t kind to any children, let alone little girls.

Often times, the only way to earn a decent living was either to leave or stay and sell your body.

No matter how hard times got, you vowed to yourself to never do the latter. No matter what, you just wanted to maintain your dignity and survive, which why you why you were so afraid of being kicked out.

Your father might’ve been too absorbed in his cups to remember what it was like, but you didn’t. You remembered every cold night, every threat of starvation and death.

Here on Dragonstone, those kinds of things didn’t exist. You could eat as much as you wanted, drink so much that your head didn’t throb from the lack of water.

You did everything right here to avoid going back to that place, but was your father really going to be the one to mess it up for you both?

“Hm.” Jacaerys let his eyes roam over you for a few seconds before responding. “You are different from them, you know. You are not like the other…mongrels my mother has invited into our home.”

You swallowed thickly as he took a few steps closer, trying to ignore the sting in your heart at the insult. “How so, Prince?” You managed to ask.

You were ever aware that the things you were thinking about could get you hanged. But gods, Prince Jacaerys was just so pretty that you almost wanted to be like your father and run your hands through his hair.

You wondered what it would feel like to touch a prince. To feel him on your fingertips, and the mere thought had you shivering as his eyes bore into you.

“Well for starters, none of them are as pretty as you,” The Prince smiled.

You reeled back at the compliment, not used to hearing any sort of praises from a man, let alone a Prince. His words had your cheeks growing hot, thankful he could not see the blush creeping on your skin as he continued.

“They are not smart like you are, nor courageous. When Vermithor released his rage you did not flee like the others, did you? You stood your ground to protect your father and it made the dragon deem you worthy. Now that is something I can admire. That is what makes you special.”

“M-My Prince. I—”

“Shh. Call me Jacaerys. Please?”

You shook lightly as he stepped forward, resting a hand on your face and stroking your cheek. You swore that you felt ready to pass out as the Prince rested his forehead against yours, his lips so close that you could feel his breath as his spoke.

“Tell me Dragonseed, and don’t lie. Have you thought of me the way that I’ve been thinking of you these past few weeks?”

“I…Jacaerys!” You let out a gasp, eyes wide as his lips brushed your ear. The sound was so sweet to Jace that he couldn’t help but to smile wider, liking the way that you shivered at his touch.

“I cannot get you from my mind, Y/N,” He confessed quietly. You tried to stop your heart from falling out of your chest as you stood there, stunned. “You plague me like a disease that will not go away. I’ve tired, but I’ve concluded that no remedy will rid me of this ache until I’ve tasted its cause. Until I’ve tasted you, sweetling.”

You stopped breathing momentarily as his pink lips brushed over your neck.

“M-My Prince, Jacaerys, we shouldn’t. I—”

“Do you not want to?” Jacaerys pulled away to stare at you quizzically, waiting for you to give any indication that you wanted him to stop.

While you didn’t, and while you couldn’t ignore the way your body lit on fire form his touch, you still couldn’t deny that a part of this wrong.

“I…You are a prince. I’m just a girl from Fleebottom. A bastard,” You told him weakly, reminding him of his position and your own. “I’m not…I’m not very worthy of you, my Prince. You said it so yourself.”

Quite ashamed, he remembered when you had accidentally walked in on a conversation with his mother and heard him call you that.

You had apologized to no ends for it, but even then Jace had felt guilty when he saw the hurt look on your face.

“I regret deeply what I have said, and I wish I never said it,” He confessed. “I admit, upon seeing strangers claim the birthright I’ve always been entitled to, I grew resentful. I did not think any of you were worthy enough but the dragons themselves have proven me wrong. You…” He shook his head as he smiled. “You are more than worthy of it Y/N, and I believe you are worthy of me. Do you accept this?”

It took only half a second for you to nod, and then giving into your desires, you allowed Jacaerys to kiss you again, feeling yourself getting lost as he guided you to his bed.

The sheets made of velvet and silk were the second softest thing that you had ever felt. The first was Jacaerys’ touch, feather light yet still intoxicating as he ran his hands down your body.

They roamed where no one else’s hands had roamed before, pinching and squeezing and clawing at the fabric that hid what he really wanted. All the while, his soft mouth moved against yours, urgency and desperation in his kiss.

You wondered how long he had desired this for. How long had the Prince laid in bed, thinking of having you like this while you simply had no clue. Had it been weeks? A month? The entire time you’d been here?

That thought alone had wetness pooling between your legs, the excitement of knowing a Prince desired you turning you on like no other.

Eagerly, you allowed Jacaerys to pull away in order to pull your dress down, the flimsy cotton easily giving away to his harsh pulling.

It wasn’t like you were a lady, so no corset or small clothes masked your body. Instead, your breasts sprang free the moment the fabric was pulled down, and Jace licked his lips hungrily as he dipped down.

“Oh!”

He started by taking one of your nipples into his mouth, and sucking like a babe desperate for milk. His soft lips wrapped around the bud until he was satisfied with the mark left on your skin, and the gasps that left your lips

Then, the prince carried on.

He kissed eagerly down your body, pulling and ripping at the fabric without a care in a world. Never mind that this was the only ‘nice’ dress you could afford, neither you or Jacaerys cared.

Your body was too busy reacting to the feel of his lips, jolting whenever he kissed a sensitive spot on your belly. The further down he got, the more it seemed like the pleasure and sensitivity increased.

Finally, the Prince managed to wiggle your dress completely off and you blushed as you were exposed.

Never before had you revealed yourself to a man, and Jacaerys’ reaction did not disappoint.

His amber eyes lit up as he spread your legs, using one hand to keep you from covering yourself. You were a bit shy about being on display in front of him, but Jacaerys shook his head every time you tried to curl away.

“Do not hide from your Prince, dragonseed,” He said firmly, running a finger over your most intimate parts. “That is an order.”

Fire licked at your body as the Prince smirked, liking the way you obediently nodded your head at him and moaned when he touched your cunt.

It was cute and painfully obvious at just how inexperienced you were. You whimpered nearly every time Jace’s finger teased you, gathering your wetness on his fingers and seeing how you reacted.

Every time you panted out his name, looking at him through your eyelashes, he swore he was going to make a mess in his pants.

The ache was nearly killing him, and he desired to feel some type of relief before he took you.

You looked at him, confused when the Prince pulled you up and made you get off the bed.

Naked and shy, you stood before him with your arms wrapped around your gorgeous body, unsure what to do until the Prince approached you and said,

“Get on your knees, bastard.”

You gasped at the foul name that had left his lips, not expecting him to be so…bold. His own status seemed to be forgotten in his mind, and his dark eyes peered down at you smugly as you did what he wished.

Shaking, you kneeled down in front of him and whimpered when Jace took ahold of you cheeks, squeezing them before lightly before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

When he got back up again, you could see him fumbling with the belt of his tunic, loosening it before stripping altogether.

The Prince stood before you, naked and aroused and you had never felt so unworthy of seeing such a beautiful sight. Your mouth drooled, your cunt throbbing at the idea of his pretty cock being inside of you.

“Open your mouth.”

Immediately, you did as he commanded though you weren’t sure why. You thought coupling was done a different way, but you were shocked when Prince Jacaerys rubbed the tip of his cock against your lips.

He teased you for a little bit, shoving the tip inside of your mouth before taking it out. He loved seeing the way you gasped lightly, obviously not used to this.

This foreign act had your heart hammering in your chest, no clue what to do as the Prince eased his cock in your mouth.

He went slow at first, giving you time to adjust to the new sensation but that didn’t mean he was all that nice. Once he felt the way your lips wrapped around him, so soft and so unsure, he couldn’t help but to thrust deeper, chuckling slightly as you mewled.

He grabbed your hair, and it took everything inside of you not to pull away as his cock slipped down your throat.

You gagged as his tip triggered your reflex. Almost instinctly, your hands came to grab his hips so you’d get better control, sniffling when his cock finally settled all the way in. You could taste his preseed combining with your own spit, making it easier to suck him off.

Though you were a novice at sucking cock—and he could tell—Jace still tried to guide you as best as he could. He used your hair as a way of telling you how you were doing. He squeezed to the point where you cried out if you did something wrong, and he stroked it lovingly if you did it right.

He loved seeing the way that you gagged, you cheeks puffed and wet with tears. In his mind, there was no better position for a bastard like yourself than on your knees, taking your Princes’ cock just the way he commanded.

It made Jace feel powerful to see you cry, obviously struggling but unwilling to disobey your beautiful Prince.

By the time he pulled out, your throat was raw and Jacaerys was on the brink of his peak. Surprisingly though, he held back, giving you moment to breathe before helping you up.

You had just barely caught your breath before the Prince’s lips were on yours again, and you melted into the kiss and tried to hold him tight.

The Prince allowed it, liking how desperate you were to feel him. Of course, it was your naïvety that lead you to act this way, the need to be held by the man who would be your first strong.

You were happy enough when Jace set you down on the bed again. This time, he wasn’t so mean to you as he laid down, grinning as he guided your hips towards him.

It was safe to say that you were confused all over again when he lined your cunt up to his mouth, not to mention, horrified.

“Jacaerys, I’ll…I’ll smuggle you,” You panicked as he grabbed your ass and guided you down, but the only response you got from the Prince was a chuckle.

It sent rippling vibrations against your cunt, making you gasp. You trembled as Jace’s tongue darted out to taste you, crying out as the Prince sucked on a spot you never even knew existed before.

The sheer amount ecstasy that filled your body couldn’t be described, only cherished as Jacaerys got to work.

He lapped at your cunt, making sure to pay attention to your pearl. He loved the way you squirmed as he did, out of breath and desperate as you rode his face.

Your previous worries about possibly suffocating him went away as the pleasure distracted you from caring. You grinded your cunt against the Prince’s sharp nose without a care in the world. Eagerly taking his mouth, and greedily chasing the sensation that was beginning to build in your belly.

It had your legs shaking and your frustrations at an all time high when Jacaerys suddenly pulled away.

He pushed you from his mouth and licked his lips, ignoring the way you whined and reached from him.

Gentle yet firmly, he wrapped an arm around you and flipped you in your back. Now, Jacaerys hovered over you with a hungry look in his amber eyes, smirking lightly as he saw the eager look on your face.

You must have known what was coming as he rubbed his aching tip along your folds, feeling that you were now well prepared enough for him to fuck you. It was with this thought that the Prince finally pushed in, keeping your hips steady and groaning as he sank in.

Instantly, you screwed your eyes shut as he pushed through your barriers. Jacaerys had no clue, no idea that a woman could have been this tight. You seemed to squeeze the very life out of him which threatened to made the Prince cum faster than he wanted to.

In order to savor it, he went slow and you were grateful for it. The pressure between your legs only seemed to grow the more that he pushed in, and finally Jacaerys was forced to acknowledge your maidenhood as you cried out.

He felt something break inside of you as you did, and when he looked down, he cursed at the redness that coated his cock.

“You’re a maiden?” He asked softly, looking more guilty than he ever had as a small yet subtle tear ran down your cheek.

You nodded, your cunt throbbing as you squeezed him desperately.

“Y-Yes,” You sniffled a slight pain spread through your body, wigging to alleviate some of the discomfort. “I’ve never even kissed a man before you, my Prince. I swear!”

Jacaerys moaned as he sunk further inside of you. Kissing both of your cheeks as if to soothe you, and allowing you to bury your sweet face into his neck as he held you. “Gods, how is this even possible? How can a mongrel like your father sire someone so perfect?”

You did not have an answer to that, too caught up in the feeling of being fucked for the first time to respond.

In the beginning, Jacaerys took it slow, letting you adjust to him whilst he peppered your neck with kisses and brushed any tears away. He let you decide when he moved, and once the sting in your lower regions faded away you gave him the okay to do so.

Slowly, he pulled out of you only to sink back in. You whimpered as Jacaerys filled you to the hilt, wrapping your legs around his back to keep him there and capturing his mouth.

As you kissed, you suddenly felt emotions overcome you like never before. Lust, passion, love—it was all too much. It made your head spin in the best ways possible, loving the way Jacaerys used your body, loving the way he fucked you.

It got better the more you began to relax, and eventually your cunt didn’t strain as much to take him. In fact, all of the wetness between your legs allowed Prince Jacaerys to slide in and out with ease, fucking you balls deep every time so that you could feel every thrust. Savor every vein and every inch of his delicious cock.

It had you moaning pathetically and tugging at his hair. Just like you predicted, it was soft underneath your fingertips; silky. The smell of his body and his gorgeous locks could be traced back to the oils he had used this morning, and his scent was just as intoxicating for you as yours was for him.

“Fuck. Tell your Prince how good his cock feels inside of you. Tell me,” Jacaerys demanded. You cried out as he pounded into you harder, feeling him repeatedly hit a spot inside of you that you didn’t even know existed.

It sent jolts of pleasure through your belly, making you squirm and cry out underneath him.

“It feels…it feels amazing! Gods, Jacaerys!” His lips captured yours in a bruising kiss, the sound of the bed creaking as he fucked you echoing through his room.

You held on for dear life, trying to chase that slow building, euphoric feeling in your belly. You weren’t sure what it was, but it had you seeing the stars the moment the tension snapped, wrapping you in a pleasure so hot it momentarily made your body go weak.

Soon enough, Jacaerys’ pace began to grow sloppy, and his hips stilled as he cursed. With the feeling of you cumming and squeezing around him, he couldn’t have lasted longer if he tried. Warm seed spilled inside of you as he also reached his high, muttering incoherent words as he fucked it into you.

You could feel it coating your walls, thick and heavy. It surprised you that he was so careless about finishing inside of you.

After all, he was admednet that all dragonseeds were nothing but bastards and mongrels. Unworthy of his sacred inheritance and bloodline, but now there was a possibility that he could have sired one of his own.

When he rolled off of you, you were afraid that he would kick you out and simply order a Maester to bring you tea. Never to speak of this again, never to hold you again.

Tears pricked your eyes at just the thought of being cast aside so easily, your heart aching. You sniffled as you watched him pull his trousers up, but to your surprise, he did not kick you out.

Still breathing heavily, the Prince poked his head out of the door and called for a maid to clean you up instead. When your dazed and slightly confused eyes met his, he merely smirked.

“I don’t intend to shun you, Y/N, only take reparations. You and your father have my dragons and now I have your maidenhead. I do believe it has been a fair exchange, ānogar hen issa ānogar. Don’t you agree?”

You were too distracted by his lips to respond, but even if you had, you would’ve agreed.

You had a dragon, and now you had the Prince. If that wasn’t enough to keep you satisfied and loyal, then the babe that grew belly certainly would.

Jacaerys thought about this as he pulled away. Quickly, his lips attached themselves to your cheeks, then your neck, and then playfully around your body. When you giggled at the ticklish sensation, pure joy filling your veins, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling as well.

I hope you’re proud, mother. The seeds of loyalty have been sowed tonight indeed.

—

tags 🏷️

@alyssa-dayne

@callsigncrushx

@smithieandy

[pearlzier]

────⠀ ⠀ oh to sit on dean winchester's face⠀ᥫ᭡

warnings 𓂅 ✶ face sitting, oral (f!recieving), softdom!dean, afab!reader, uhh implied oral(m!recieving) ending.

when dean saw how petulant you were getting, all pissy with him, he knew exactly what was going on. maybe you were feeling pent up, clearly, since every little thing was setting you off and he hated to see you so wound up. you'd been getting on his ass the entire hunt, even being snappy with witnesses—that wasn't like you at all. he'd tried to figure out what was up with you, a million times. it wasn't getting him fucking anywhere.

"you gonna tell me what's up now?" you'd simply frown and look away, and he knows he won't get it out of you in the usual ways of being gentle and comforting. "fine, be like that then," he'd grumble in return, looking back at the steering wheel as he drove around the backwater town you two had found yourself in.

it's getting on his nerves as much as something's definitely getting on yours. dean'll figure it out eventually. he's softer with you in moments like this, not teasing you as much as he usually does so he doesn't piss you off as much. it's like setting off a live wire and he sure as hell ain't in the business to be doing all that. there's a hunt at hand, but he's realising you need sorting out before anything in that regard can get done.

when the two of you get back to a motel you'd grabbed, the hunt still proving fruitless. sam was fuck knows where, having said he wanted to work on some leads with cas, leaving you and dean together. he didn't mind, neither did you, since you two love eachother so damn much, but when you're so temperamental like this? always biting at him? a little hard to enjoy the alone time when he's walking on damn eggshells around you.

but he knew what you needed. needed your pussy ate, that's what. neeeded to get off, somehow, huh? you always got so sharp with him when you were pent up, all horny and frustrated. it was kind of becoming a game of his, see how long he could leave you pent up only to bring you to the edge over and over again till you calmed down.

"gotta come up with other ways to let out your frustration, baby, 'cause bein' horny ain't no excuse to start snappin' at me," he mutters, locking the motel door behind the two of you. you grumble at that, "not horny, just.." knowing full well you're lying through your teeth. how can you not be? like, he looks too damn good when he's impersonating law enforcement, that tight white shirt which he on occasion rolls up to his elbows—fuck, it's like he wants you to be pent up.

"starin' at me like you're gonna eat me whole, sweetheart. can't lie to me," you really can't, dean practically knows you better than you know yourself. his green eyes meet yours and he scoffs.

"that's not fair," you're shrugging off your blazer, hooking it over the coat hook by the door of the motel room. you do notice how dean rakes his eyes over you, seemingly happy with what he's seeing. you know he is, he's told you and shown you countless times in motels rooms quite similar to this one, actually.

dean tugs his tie from around his neck, draping it over the edge of the motel bed before he wanders over to the bed. he kicks off his shoes, leaving them on the floor before laying himself down on his back. he looked up at you with an expectant upwards cock of his brows. "right, you. c'mere," he gestures to his face, hands open for you to come sit yourself down on him and go to town. he barely suppresses a laugh at your expression, but he means it.

"you're not—" you're sceptical. you'd been pissing him off all day with your attitude and instead of being angry at you he's offering his face for you to sit on? you stand there for a moment, gnawing your bottom lip. "really?" your voice is uncharacteristically quiet, and dean softens a little bit at that.

"yeah, really," he slides his hands over the first few buttons of his shirt, in case he gets too warm with you sat over top him, before he gestured you over again. "don't make me drag you over here, y'know i'll do it." he most definitely will. you groan at that, knowing what lies ahead of you. "and you know you wanna."

you really do, that's the issue. he's right. you stare at him, and sigh under your breath. as much as you wanted to resist, be petty, you physically couldn't. "yeah, okay, hold on," you mutter, corners of your lips tugging upwards at the corners. dean practically cheers, he literally lives to please you, to make you feel good.

"just a second," you hum, sliding your hands into the sides of your slacks and easing them down. dean's eyes immediately drop down to your thighs, his tongue darting out to run over his bottom lip before he gazes back up at your face. he nods for you to continue, and you do, stepping out of your trousers and kicking them away from you.

"lookin' real pretty, sweetheart," dean murmurs, smiling softly at the sight of you. he shifts his weight upwards, so he can look at you properly. holding his hands out for you once more, he hums low under his breath. that coaxes you to make your way over to him, albeit the tiniest bit reluctantly still. you're still all tense. he hates seeing you so high strung. making your way over to the bed, your knees dig into the soft mattress, dipping it a little. dean quickly places his hands on your hips, sliding up under the blouse you're wearing.

his eyes rake up and down you, "gorgeous," he mumbles under his breath, squeezing at your flesh in gentle motions. as much as he'd like to worship your whole body right now, he's focused on worshiping a specific part of you right now. "you're okay with this?" he asks, placing a gentle kiss to your navel, eyes lifting back up to yours. "yeah," you murmur, "of course i am." he just needed to make sure.

"yeah? alright, up you get," dean lifts you to the side a little bit, slowly shuffling back down on the bed and laying against the mattress. his head rests against the pillow, eyes fluttering up and down you for a minute. "okay," you're tentative for a moment, reaching for your panties. though dean reaches over and eases them down your thighs for you. he swallows hard at the clear arousal dampening the thin fabric of your underwear, his breath hitching in his throat.

"starin'," you tell him gently, a soft smile playing on your lips at the sight of him. dean's eyes dart back up to yours and she scoffs, gently slapping your thigh a little bit before he grasps at your hips again. "can't wait any longer, up," he murmurs, and you bite your lip for a minute before you grasp at the headboard of the bed. dean's practically salivating, his tongue poking at the inside of his mouth for a minute before he practically tugs you down onto him.

"hold tight for me," dean mumbled, shifting his weight against the bed. just the sight of your bare pussy hovering mere inches above his face has him reeling. without hesitation, he grasps at your hips properly and tugs you down onto him. burying his face between your thighs, he lets his tongue delve into your warm, slick folds—lapping at your clit with a hungry fervour. "fuck, baby.."

you gasp shakily, your breaths picking up almost immediately at the feel of his tongue plunging against your warmth. "oh, shit," you grasp tighter at the bedframe, head tipping back a little bit. your thighs squeeze around his head, and he groans into you at the feeling. he uses the flat of his tongue to spread your wetness around, before his tongue darts back and forth over your clit, suckling at it insistently.

"that's it," dean moans into you, eyes fluttering shut juat at the feeling of your hips rocking up against him. he licks a thick line down your pussy, hiking you up him a little bit. his nose bumping against your clit as he slowly traces his tongue over your entrance. he flutters his tongue against your wet slit, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh a little tighter.

he groans into your cunt, the vibration sending a shiver down your spin and causing your hips to twitch againsr his face again. dean tightens his grip on your hips to try encourage you to grind down against his tongue even more, coaxing louder sounds from you. "holy fucking shit," dean lets out a low laugh against you, smacking your thigh for a moment at that. it only urges you to grind down further.

dean's nothing if not focused when it comes to making you feel good, and as he suckles at your clit, flicking his tongue against it and sucking on it, he's dedicated to the job. "so wet for me, yeah, that's it, ride my face, go on," his words are muffled by his position between your thighs but you can hear them clear enough. he might be throbbing beneath the fabric of his boxers, blood rushing to his dick with every cant of your hips, but he has to make sure you're satisifed first. "that's it, baby."

he runs his hand up between your thighs, lifting his thumb to your clit and rubbing tight circles over the bundle of nerves, feeling the way your thighs squeeze around his head and tremble against him. "dean, dea—" dean squeezes at your thighs to shush you, murmuring against you, "i know, baby, gonna come all over my face." he squeezes at your hips a little tighter, rutting you down against him so he can circle his tongue around your entrance once more. a few more tight circles made by his thumb and your movements stutter, thighs shaking even more as your orgasm hits you.

dean's groaning the whole way, happily lapping up all of your juices with no complaints. the fact he's making you feel good is more than enough for him, more than enough. "shit," he mumbles, laying back for a moment just to take in what just just happened. before he gets a chance to help you off of him, you're easing yourself off him. "that was—hey, where are you goin'—" his eyes widen as you're practically crawling down his body, settling yourself between his thighs.

"can i?" repay the favour, of course. he'd made you feel so good, after all.

dean's in a little daze, his breathing heavy. he lifts his hand to wipe his face of your release, blinking for a minute. sliding up the headboard, his hand moves to the back of your head easily and he mutters, "like you even gotta ask, baby." his free hand unbuttons his trousers with ease, "all yours."

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