#he usually comes back and does it perfectly

[caustinen]

Omg I’m actually so in love with your Hollywood au 😭😭 do you have any headcanons for them? Like how they started dating, or what they do on a daily basis, general domestic things!!

Hi!! Sorry I took so long to reply but your ask sent me SPIRALLING — this whole au was such a random quick thing and I never expected it to go anywhere, but thinking of a response to this I got so into it I might actually manage to write something!

Just the first meeting hc got so ridiculously long that I’ll respond to the domestic hc’s (I HAVE SO MANY) on a separate post and tag you! Thank you for the inspiration luv 💘

HOLLYWOOD AU! First meeting:

Their first impressions are not very good… John hasn’t made it big yet but he’s definitely getting some attention so he decides to relocate to Hollywood and find a good PR-team around himself despite having always thought that the marketing/branding side of his profession is capitalistic nonsense — and while he has changed his attitude to the exctent of ”if you can’t beat them join them”, he’d still expect all the suits to be cold business men who don’t care about the art of it all.

Gale on the other hand expects all actor clients to be self-obsessed nepo pricks; he’s been climbing in the industry steadily for years and enjoys the challenge of bringing the best versions of people out and finding them their best options (he takes pride in being very good at what he does) but since initially he ended up in the industry through his love for film, he’s also often annoyed by the up-and-coming stars who only care for the fame.

Loud, relaxed and seemingly no-care-in-the-world John fits this prejudice perfectly, as does John’s expectation for an uptight, borderline rude PR-executive in a suit — at the end of the meeting he chooses a much more laid-back seeming guy called Brady to represent him, and Gale is relieved he’s not stuck with him, he really is, despite the teasing, annoying smile of that bastard refusing to leave his mind for the rest of the day.

Their second meeting is somehow WORSE, in a week or so a meeting runs long so Brady invites John to after-work drinks. Gale looks so different out of his suit (now in a white t-shirt and black pants that hug his waist tightly, hair mussled and curlier after a long day of running his hands through it) that Bucky is absolutely blinded for a second and goes to introduce himself flirtily. Gale stares at him for a bit before informing him they met last week and while John is able to laugh it off with the others, this doesn’t exactly help with Gale’s image of him (why can’t i get that smirk off my mind when he couldn’t even bother to note me??)

It doesn’t help that Bucky gets very drunk and keeps seeking his company, not caring he’s only receiving grunts as reply to his stories told draped over the blonde’s shoulders as Gale sips on his non-alcoholic beer (he also shares the Buck story and starts calling him Buck like in the show), and whatever progress John might’ve done to make him almost smile a couple of times is undone immediately as he flirts with everyone else just as much when he leaves Gale’s side, cementing him in Gale’s mind as a playboy who’s gotten a bit too into his own head with his modest success lately and decides to forget all about him.

After that they run each other a couple of times at the office and social gatherings, and things are civil enough, they chat briefly each time but there’s some strange tension between them that makes Gale uneasy and John confused and a bit frustrated because he usually gets along with everyone but this man just seems to be immune to his usual charm; he can’t understand why the man is seems so cold and barely ever speaks up, that sweet smile he rarely sees him show others is completely wasted on him in his opinion.

They only properly meet again at a premier of John’s new movie a couple of months down the road, the first one under Gale’s firm, and end up in the backroom between the red carpet and John walking into the theater post-film (Brady is busy with organizing everything) and it’s TENSE, they’ve never been in a room by just the two of them and John is obviously nervous wreck which makes him antsy and Gale isn’t making any effort to make small-talk to ease his nerves (he’s not a natural at that okay, and esp with John he doesn’t know what to say)

Only when John is basically doubled over on the couch groaning into his hands as the film approaches its end Gale is forced to interfere. ”Why are you so upset?” ”They’re gonna hate it.” Gale is thrown off, never expecting to see this vulerable side underneath all that loud confidence. ”They’re not gonna hate it.” John scoffs. ”And how would you know?” Gale frowns, annoyed. ”Listen, it’s not Casablanca but you had to know that walking into the project, and you give it enough life to keep the tension up ’till the end. This is your best work since Thorpe Abbotts so just sit back and relax.”

John stares at him, mouth open, despair forgotten for a while. ”You know my work?” he asks, blindsighted, and Gale blushes and turns away. ”Maybe. I go to most films they show in my local theatre so don’t make too much of it.” John doesn’t have time to digest the words properly before he’s ushered to take the applause of the crowd, but it stays with him.

Things shift after that. John starts to pay attention to what Gale says, and realizes while he might speak rarely, when he does it’s always meaningful and thought-out. When Brady wants to make him do some new audition tapes he asks him to bring some of his collegues for second opinions, and he’s satisfied to see Gale roll up to the little studio they’ve rented one afternoon.

Wanting to impress Gale apparently works wonders because he feels like he reaches a new level with scene they’re working with, and the feedback reflects this. Even Gale gives him an approving nod, which somehow sends butterflies down his insides.

He turns his show-off when they go for drinks as a group next time to actually have a conversation with the blonde, and it turns out Gale is OBSESSED with old hollywood — whenever things were bad in his childhood home (often) he’d hide himself into the world of fiction of all kinds, and he’s seen an obscene number of films and loves learning trivia about it too, film star biographies are his favorite genre of books. He used to go to his little local movie theatre so much he was eventually offered a job there and could help with picking the movies, but his brief dreams of being an actor were never realized as he knew he needed a less pecarious job to give himself the stability his childhood home didn’t offer.

Learning these pieces of information draws John even more facinated with him, and Gale seems to be laughing at more and more of his jokes too. Once Gale lets his guard down he has also started to see John underneath the bravado, and makes mental notes to check out the books he recommends and he might even lightly flirt back these days, secretly enjoying the those dark, observant eyes fixed on him and squeezing into a surprised smile.

All in all, it’s been going better for a while until a faithful day, when they’re doing another auditiong tape. Bucky’s been rejected from a film he really wanted earlier that day, and his previous film has gotten some lukrwarm reviews upon getting into streaming services, so he’s in a shitty mood, and the unimpressed faces Gale keeps making annoy him to no end.

They call it a day and they agree to meet at a bar closeby to start the weekend and get everyone’s spirits up. The beer only serves to make Bucky more upset tho, espescially when he sees Gale hitting it up with someone who walks up to him, laughing at his stuff and looking relaxed in a way he never quite does with him. A bit drunk and a lot angry he follows him to the bathroom, Gale noticing him as he walks in with the same swing of the door. He turns around and greets him, the smile from talking to that whatever dude still lingering on his lips being John’s final straw.

”Oh, so you can be happy? Thought it was fucking impossible to achieve.” Gale’s smile immediately drops and his posture shifts, arms crossing over his chest. ”What are you talking about?” ”You’re always making those faces no matter what I do. You’ll ruin your pretty face with all that frowning.” ”What on earth are you-” ”When I try to talk with you. Or when I do a scene and you’re supposed to help but you just keep looking at me like I’m an idiot. I don’r get it.”

Gale starts to get upset too now, something John has never seen before, his calmness finally breaking. ”What do you want me to say?!” ”I don’t know, be fucking supportive for once?!” ”I am being supportive by being honest! Do you think that was the best you can do?” It surprises John, but he’s already too worked up to back down. ”Well what if it is?” They’ve gotten closer to each other in the empty men’s room, and Gale’s hands are no longer crossed, he’s pointing at John’s chest and staring him down. ”You have so much goddman potential, John Egan, and it’s killing me to see you waste it like that. Reach for something bigger. Get more complex charachters, more nunaced scripts. If it takes you hating me to hear that then so be it.” John scoffs despite the blush trying to creep to his cheeks. ”Well since you know fucking everything maybe you should help me find those roles.” ”I’m not your agent, or your publicist, or your mom, or your boyfriend, I don’t see how it’s any of my-” They’re practically yelling at each other, and without thinking John takes the wrist of Gale’s hand poking his chest to his and pushes it down so they’re chest to chest, noses almost touching, so close they’ve gotten. ”Maybe you could just help me out if you didn’t hate me so much.” John isn’t yelling anymore, and all of Gale’s nerves are on fire, he can feel John’s breath on his cheeks, his own pulse pounding in his chest. ”I don’t hate-” And that’s as far as he gets before John crashes their lips together, the small movement inevidable as the sun coming up each morning.

Gale makes a muffled sound into the kiss and goes to grab his shirt, pulling him closer as John reaches to cup the back of his head. The kiss is just as messy and teethy and perfect as the months of growing tension between them has promised. Gale wants to climb him and bite him and drag him down the floor, his own desire punching air out of him as John stumbles until his back hits the wall, his big hand protecting his head from the hard impact. They are lost in it until their lips are swollen and bruised and they’re both more than half-hard after being pressed so tightly together, and Gale bites his abused lips to silence a moan trying to escape him as John dips down to suck and lick on his sweaty neck, his own hand tangling in his curls and pulling and feeling victorious as John makes a choked sound. He pulls until their eyes meet again, and he’s sure his own pupils are as big as John’s as they stare at each other for a moment, both of them trying to catch their breath like they just ran a marathon. ”You drive me fucking insane,” Gale grits at him, and John laughs a short sound. ”I drive you insane?! You’re the one prancing around… Being all, you know, intelligent and sexy with your James Dean features and Paul Newman eyes.” Gale stares at him for a little bit, mouth open, before pulling him into another kiss.

They go back to Gale’s eventually (Gale comes back to himself enough to realize he does not want to be caught with all his collegues on the other side of the bathroom wall) and they make out for a while more, little less heated but just as passionate, but when it’s getting more intense again John has a moment of clarity and pulls away. He’s drunk and tired and overwhelmed and he doesn’t want this to be just a hook-up. Gale understands but asks John to stay the night anyway and he ends up sleeping on his coach that night. It’s a bit awkward in the morning because neither of them really knows what to say and John’s just about to leave, thinking this was a mistake after all, when Gale suggest they’d watch a movie, and the nervous hope in his face grips John’s heart enough to realize there’s no walking away from what he’s started to feel for this man. They watch a film, and another, and by the third the funny commentary both of them make has shifted into the movie playing in the background as they make out, Gale in John’s lap, and it feels right.

John ends up staying the whole weekend, they just watch films and make dinner together and get to know each other. John is scared he’ll overstay his welcome but Gale makes it feel natural, and the exciting newness of it all is addicting, and perhaps exactly because they’ve had to overcome so many of their own prejudices about the other everything feels more vibrant and exciting. Seeing Gale relaxed and smiely and silly and nervous as he rolls his eyes at him when he sings along to the radio as they cook makes his heart miss a beat. He’s completely prepared to not go further than kissing for now but after a delicious, footsie heavy dinner on Sunday evening at Gale’s kitchen they finally end up in bed, and it feels just right that their first time together is slow and searching and absolutely perfect, and they get the final confirmation that their chemistry seems to be working out pretty fucking well.

After that weekend, John never accepts a role without running it by Gale first (they often read them together naked in bed on the weekends, making each other giggle while dramatically imaging the scenes while leaning into each other amongst the fluffy pillows), and within a year he’s a rising star and his name is on everyone’s lips, but he’s only got one pair of lips in mind.

It isn’t just smooth sailing after that either, navigating a relationship and his career and the publicy, but as slow as their love might have started it’s all the more steady for it, and it never stops growing.

SORRY THIS GOT SO INTENSE!!! Literally all of this came to me as I thought how to respond to your ask so thank you for being a major motivation 🖤

[buuniebaby]

HOME TO ME - HAMZAH X LATINA!READER 🎀

hiii! first of all i wanna make a quick note - very sorry for the inconsistency in posting for a few days. ive been struggling with writers block and summer bedrotting is getting to me a lil. 😓😓

there were A LOT of drafts of this fic that i picked up and then didn’t like. a big part of that is that i really wanted to make a fic that hits sort of close to home, and that’s what this one is to me! i was born in nicaragua and moved to the us at a young age, so this fic is based off of my experiences relating to that, even down to little things like my parents and their broken english lol. i still tried to make it pretty ambiguous to other latin-american countries, so I hope it isn’t too specific. it took me a long time to write, but im really happy with the way it came out after a day or two of really thinking about it.

this fic includes: lots of fluff, then it gets nasty. mirror sex, nothing too rough 🤗

wc: 3.4k

Your childhood summers haven’t changed since the last time you stepped foot here, even though it feels like it’s been lifetimes. you’re home, and you’ve brought your boyfriend along with you this time.

the sun shines down on you, a little too hot for your liking. it’s a lot hotter down here than the canadian weather you’re used to. it’s different, but comforting at the same time. what really makes the biggest change is the sight of your boyfriend, rays of sunlight beaming down on him, framing his curls perfectly. it makes you feel at home just as much as being here does.

the air is warm and sticky, thick with remnants of a heavy rain. sweat clings to areas of exposed skin, dampening his shirt collar and hair with a sweat.

you don’t think you’ve loved the latin-american summer as much as you have seeing hamzah bask under it.

showing your boyfriend around your home country feels like the world around you is unreal. it’s like two universes colliding - ones that probably shouldn’t coexist.

one of the things that really makes you feel like you’re out of your own body is walking down the same road that baby-you walked down to get to school. if you could’ve told your middle school self that you bagged a man this bad she would’ve forgiven you for not marrying her celebrity crush.

and the food is what really gets you - the flavor of nostalgia mixing with the taste of your boyfriend’s lips is an otherworldly sensation. although you can’t get him too full yet; that’s a job for your family.

speaking of your family - hamzah is terrified.

he tries looking extra nice at first. he wants to make a good impression, just like you’ve told him to - it’s why he’s surprised you’re bursting out in laughter seeing him walk out in full black tie attire.

“you don’t have to dress like you’re going to a wedding, hamzah-“ you giggle when he speaks over you, trying to defend himself.

“you told me to look nice, and we’re going to a dinner, y’know-“ he rambles, but catches himself. “and you’re wearing a dress!”

you roll your eyes, giving him a dead stare. “this a a sundress, hamzah. it’s not like.. fancy.” he looks at you blankly back. it’s like there’s not a single thought behind his eyes.

after your criticism and a lot of banter, you’ve got him dressed up more.. how you would have envisioned. he’s got those glasses on - the ones he usually edits with. and god, he looks good. he’s paired those with a polo shirt and a nice pair of jeans; he looks nice, presentable, but not over the top.

you’re knocking on the door while he almost shyly stands behind you before you know it. it takes a good few seconds for you to receive any sort of response, but you’re used to it. once someone eventually comes to the door, you’re greeted with the sound of children squealing in the background and music playing off a speaker - the loud environment you’re most used to.

you think you can see hamzah sweating.

your mom greets you with two little cheek kisses, as always, then smothers you into a hug. “muy linda,” she presses another kiss to your forehead, “mi alma.” she eventually finishes her ramblings about how beautiful you are and how much she’s missed you, then pauses as she pulls back. hamzah flinches.

she’s eyeing him down, eyebrows furrowed with a hand on her hip. It’s the death glare - one you know very well. if he wasn’t sweating before he definitely is now, and you’re even close to breaking into one.

hamzah doesn’t even have time to panic before her angry demeanor snaps into laughter. she’s giggling at the way his smile had dropped, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him into that same little cheek kiss. he stumbles when she does it, not knowing what to do; an anxious fluster of sorts.

she pulls away looking at you, and her giggles turn into straight-up laughter.

“he look at me so scared.. he like, ‘i already messed up!’” she says, still laughing, now imitating hamzah’s flustered appearance. her English is slightly broken, as you expected, but it’s the way she tries for you is what really counts. she’s putting in the effort. you laugh with her, but not really at what she’s saying - it’s the way she’s already made herself comfortable around your boyfriend.

“y tu eres el novio, verdad?” your father says, pointing at hamzah, managing to creep up behind your mother without you even noticing. “you going to marry her?”

you awkwardly laugh at your father and how weird he has to make things, but that’s just how your family is. hamzah doesn’t mind it, he understands - nonchalantly smiling, looking down at you as he replies with a quick “hope so.”

you giggle back, but your smile is genuine - you know he’s serious about what he just said. “maybe one day.” you continue for him.

you two enter your house and he’s already being crowded by relatives of yours. he’s introducing himself to one of your tías when he feels something tugging on the leg of his pants, startling him. he looks down only to see your baby cousin staring up at him, big beady eyes and an open mouth, almost like he’s some sort of god.

around an hour later, hamzah is about a beer and two plates of food in to the family function. he’s sitting on the floor, a doll in his hand, playing with that same prima from before. you’re not even sure if they’re communicating, if that baby can even speak any language yet, but whatever they’re doing hamzah.. seems to be enjoying himself.

it’s funny, but it’s sweet at the same time, watching your boyfriend like this. it makes you think of your future together. marrying him, taking him into your family - even watching him play with your little prima makes you fall ill with baby fever. he would be an amazing girl dad.

by the end of the night, hamzah is starting to get a little bit plastered, and your mom is already calling him mijo. you’re trying to teach him how to dance to your country’s music (which he surprisingly happens to not be bad at) while also trying to sneak a few drinks yourself. you’re running back to the bathroom when your mom catches you, pulling you aside for a second.

you tilt your head at her, confused. you’re hoping this isn’t what you’ve been nervous about the whole night - you really, really don’t want a “we don’t like this boy” talk.

instead, she smiles, which wipes away most of your worry, but you’re still staring at her reluctantly.

“te vas a casar con este chico.” she mutters, smiling. she might be a little drunk herself from the way she’s talking, but you know there’s a truth to her words. you smile back a small grin, but it means more to you than what appears - your man is locked in. even your mom agrees, he’s the one.

thank the lord.

the party dies down after a while, baby cousin and older relatives drifting off to their bedrooms one by one. you somehow find yourself sitting on your parent’s couch, cuddled up in a blanket next to hamzah. you’re both a little tipsy, what you would say is fine enough to drive, but you already know your mother will argue against you.

“y’wanna get out of here too?” hamzah whispers, voice deep and soft in your ear.

“mhmm.” you say, comfortable in his arms. “wanna stay here for a second though.”

hamzah doesn’t complain, gently rubbing your shoulder underneath the blanket with his forefinger and thumb. it’s domestic, a gentle touch, and it makes you feel warm inside.

“was cute seeing you play with my prima.” you mumble, smiling to yourself at the memory. he laughs when he picks up on what you’re talking about.

“I don’t really think I understood what was going on like, that whole time.” he begins to ramble. “I think her barbies were like, beefing and shit.” he says, smiling down at you when he sees the way you light up with laughter.

“if we ever like, get married, i wanna have a girl.” you say. he’s quick to rebut you.

“that’s not how it works.” he argues back, stupidly.

“well then, like, we just have more.” you say, the mix of alcohol and sleepiness not giving you the energy to seriously discuss this with him. “you’d make a good girl dad, i think.”

he smiles at that comment. he’s seen it around on tiktok and other social media. he thinks it’s cute, and suddenly the idea of marriage and knocking you up doesn’t seem so scary to him. that gentle touch on your shoulders is moving down to your hips before you know it. you’re both aware that you can’t do anything on your family couch, but you know the intention behind his grip.

“i think you’d be a good boy mom.” he says back. “i could see you like, teaching him how to cook and stuff. i think if you had a baby boy he would be like, really respectful, not like brain-rotted.” you laugh at the stupidity of his comments.

“i think if you raised a boy, he would end up going down like, the alt right pipeline, and start watching andrew tate clips on youtube shorts.”

you both laugh at that - it’s obvious that you’re joking now, but you still enjoy the deprecating banter.

“if my kid doesn’t reach alpha male status, im sending his ass to the frontlines.”

you continue your painfully stupid chatter, not paying attention to how dark it’s getting.

your mother eventually creeps up to you, and you take it as a sign that you should probably start making your way out.

after saying your final goodbyes to your family members who are still standing awake, you’re making your way out the door. after a few cheek kisses and repeatedly denying the “no cab? you sure?” from your mom, you two are on the way back to your hotel.

hamzah’s hand is on your thigh as he drives. it’s another domestic touch that drives you crazy. the little things are really getting to you tonight.

“you’re good with kids.” you mumble, letting your thoughts out with no warning.

“yeah?” is all hamzah says, keeping his eyes on the road and his hand on your thigh.

“yeah.” you repeat back in a breathier tone.

“im not getting you pregnant right now, if that’s what you’re asking.” he mutters, still focused on the road. “I’ll cum inside you, but I can’t handle a baby yet-”

“hamzah!” you nearly yell. “i don’t mean- i mean yeah, that’s a part of it, but like- i guess you’re just like-“ you stutter, trying to gather your flustered self. “it’s like, a domestic thing I guess. makes me wanna settle down with you one day.”

despite how nonchalant he’s acting, he gets exactly what you’re saying.

“yeah. y’know, that little sundress you’re wearing?” hamzah starts, eyes tearing off the road for a second. “that’s like, wife shit.”

you giggle at the way he says it, but you’re flattered at the intention.

“kinda surprised you liked it that much. feel like guys think sundresses are just like, skin-tight skims dresses.”

“you look fucking hot in it, are you serious? like shit, maybe i will just get you pregnant if you’re wearing that.” hamzah pauses for a moment, looking over at you while your eyes widen. “i’m joking. by the way.” you let out a soft “aww,” making a soft smile creep onto his face.

“you don’t have to tonight. i’m joking.” you smile up at him. “but i do miss the feeling of you inside me.” you can tell that you’re at least getting to him a little bit; he’s starting to get riled up.

“duh,” he says, jokingly, but his tone changes with his next words. “ill cum all over that fuckin’ dress if you really want me to.”

there’s the hamzah you were looking for.

he’s already pulling the car you two rented into the parking lot of your hotel, and you can’t even speak before the silence is interrupted with his own thoughts.

“gonna be all over you the second we get to our fucking room.” he mutters, opening his car door. as both of you get out, you can see the hard-on already somewhat formed through his pants.

you love getting him worked up like this.

checking into the room is almost painful. he stands behind you as you speak in spanish to the hotel staff, cock pressed up right against your ass. you’re stuttering as she asks you for your reservation, knowing you’re about to get fucking destroyed.

he wasn’t lying about being all over you. the minute that keycard clicks and the door is open, you’re being shoved onto the bed, hamzah crawling on top of you.

it’s a pretty hotel room - you’re taking it all in as hamzah is on top of you. huge bathroom, silky sheets, relatively good size, yet there’s one thing that sticks out to you. there’s a long mirror, placed at the side of the bed.

it’s the perfect place to get fucked in front of.

you don’t even think hamzah has taken a glance at the architecture around him from the way he’s locked in on your body. you feel his hands gravitate against different areas of your body, resting on your hips, grabbing the soft flesh through your dress. he places a soft, warm kiss to your lips, but continues with a harsher, more sloppy one. it only continues on your neck, biting and kissing down to your collarbone.

he keeps his lips in a certain place for a second, and you already know you’re going to be covering up dark spots on your neck tomorrow.

“pretty,” is all he mumbles when he pulls off, moving down to add yet another bite to your neck.

he pulls the top of your sundress down a little bit, straps going over your shoulders. it’s just enough to free your bra, which he pulls off even quicker.

his mouth is all over your tits before you know it - as expected. he’s sucking at them, licking at the nipple while the other hand fondles the soft flesh around. you can feel him getting harder against your thigh, which you didn’t even think was possible at this point.

you can tell he’s getting frustrated with how fucking tight his pants are getting, cock getting harder by the second. he quickly unbuttons his jeans, pulling them down to his ankles - he’s a little too horny to take the effort to fully pull them down. when he pulls off his boxers he lets out a sigh, letting his cock free.

you readjust to do the same, pulling at the straps of your dress, but hamzah stops you, a large hand covering yours.

“want you to keep it on.”

yes sir.

you pull the straps back up to where they should regularly be, wearing your sundress like normal, just braless. hamzah takes a minute to catch his breath, but it’s hard when you’re under him looking like that. he takes in his surroundings a little bit more as he calms down, finally noticing the mirror to his side. you can tell by the look on his face that he’s got the same idea as you.

his focus lands back on you when he turns back to look you in the eyes, gently stroking himself. his hips roll softly into his hand, pumping himself loosely in his fist. he takes his other hand and pulls your dress up just enough to see your underwear.

he’s too lazy to get them off your body, so he just pushes them to the side, a finger sliding between the soft lips to your entrance. it emits a gasp from you, even though you were expecting it.

“you look so fucking good from here.” he says, breathy. your brows furrow for a second, confused as to what he means by ‘from here,’ but then you realize where his eyes are pointed -

- the mirror.

you turn your head to look at it too, and god, he isn’t wrong. the way his hands strain, groping at your thighs while he grazes against your cunt. it’s hotter than you had expected, the idea of seeing yourself get destroyed from multiple angles.

he presses a finger into you, and you flinch at the feeling. it’s not long before he’s sliding another one in with it, pulling at your hips with his strong arms to bring you down to his knuckles. you’re looking at yourself in the mirror as he does it, watching as he pushes you around like a toy.

he pulls his fingers out after curling them a few times inside of you, and you protest by trying to buck up your hips up again. he pushes on your womb with big hands, forcing you down.

“s’okay baby.” he affirms you in a soft voice. “wanna fuck you now.”

he grabs you by the waist, strong enough to pick you up with just his bare hands and flip you over. he presses your bodies close together once you’re on your hands and knees, your back against his chest. he nestles his head right above your neck, the perfect spot to whisper into your ear.

“look in the mirror,” he starts, and you immediately do what he says. “watch how fucking good you look while I touch you.”

your back arches as an instinct at his words, feeling his palms glide against your hips. your vision feels hazy, but you’re still paying attention to the way he clings onto soft skin.

you let out a whine, shutting your eyes and facing down when he touches your inner thighs, but it doesn’t last long. before you can finish his hand rushes to your jaw, grabbing your face, pointing your head back to the mirror.

“told you to look at yourself, baby.”

it’s hot, the way he’s in control of you, even if it doesn’t take much to get you to submit. he kisses at your shoulder blade softly, watching your desperate expression fade into excitement. he strokes himself one last time before the tip meets your pussy.

your breath hitches when you feel him slide into you, strokes slow. it fits in you nicely, the back of your thighs pressing against his when he’s all the way in. a finger and thumb caress the skin between your ass and hips while he bottoms out.

“c’mon baby,” he says, slowly starting to drag his hips in and out of you. “move those hips.”

you can’t argue with him, doing what he says on command. you roll your hips back the same way you roll your eyes, creating a rhythm with his thrusts. it earns a moan from him.

he grips your hips while his speed up, moving in and out of you with an unforgiving pace. it’s enough to send you reeling, squealing as you struggle to keep your focus on the mirror. you can barely keep your composure, the urge to shove your head in your pillow and just let him use you stronger than ever.

“wasn’t- fuck- lying when I told you I wanna come all over that dress.” he says, struggling to get his words out. it only makes you clench around him, his words driving you to your own finish.

you’re screaming a “hamzah! can’t fucking take it-“ while he’s plowing into you, building up a well-awaited orgasm. he waits until he feels that clench-and-pulse sensation around his cock, signaling that you’ve came before he pulls out.

he doesn’t even need to touch himself to cum after seeing you like this - he lets himself go, ropes of his semen covering the floral patterns of your dress.

he basks in the sight of you for a moment, catching his breath after his orgasm. it’s a lot for him, fucking you after being pent up the whole day. overstimulating, almost. you’re just that attractive to him, poor boy can’t control himself.

he lays on top of your chest, grounding himself. the feeling of being against you bare skin is comforting to him, a sense of home that you two both find in each other. you run your hands through the curls of his hair.

that’s what he is to you - home. just like how it feels to be here.

[ava451]

Hi I THINK ur talking requests rn if not tho u can totally just ignore me. What if talon took and held sloan’s s/o to get at a high ticket artifact that was under the wayfinders protection? (I have damsel in distress syndrome)

Picture a tent with a single monitor propped up on some boxes in the far, dark corner of it. All Wayfinder members assembled, dead silent, eyes glued onto the screen. Usually it's used to watch news, to show x-ray screenshots of the digsites, to point out possible areas of dangers in the pyramid they're about to explore - today they all stare on in horror as Talon recites their conditions. They want a prized artefact, a golden amulet that they know is in the Wayfinder's possession. There's all kinds of legends surrounding it - but they don't care about the legends. They care about the insane value of that artefact, and if it does turn out to be magical, even better. The trump card by which they state these demands, is perfectly prominent on the screen - it's you, blindfolded and tied up, blood smeared across your face, lips pressed together to keep yourself from sobbing.

"We will exchange the artefact for the girl in two days, at the agreed-upon location. Cheat us, and she d-" But before he can finish, Sloan has landed their fist in the middle of the screen.

No, they should have foreseen this. They asked you to come along, said you wouldn't need to learn to handle a weapon or anything - all Sloan wanted was for you to be by their side. How blind they had been. How naive.

Of course their affection for you would have been clear as day to anybody who would try to blackmail the Wayfinders - especially since they never shut up about you. And now you're captured, enduring god knows what torture-

"We should contact Overwatch." says one of the Wayfinders, and another nods and adds: "And the authorities." But when they ask Venture for their opinion - after all, you are their girlfriend - they are nowhere to be found.

Fine! They want that damn amulet? They can have that damn amulet. Centuries old this that, powerful, magical, their ass, they would happily kick any artefact into the dirt as long as they knew you were safe. Never would they have expected to have such thoughts - archaeology was their passion, has been since they were little - but no artefact could compare with your precious life - and besides, it was entirely their fault that you ended up captured. If they had been more careful - taught you some self-defense - hadn't been so selfish to beg you to tag along-

If they cheat Talon, somehow they'll know. So they take the amulet with them as they make their way to the agreed-upon location. Maybe they should wait for reinforcements or something - but the thought of you tied up at their mercy? No, they cannot stand that thought, and every passing second drives the image they've seen from the broadcast into their brain with more urgency. They need to get you out of there right now.

They arrive at the location, telling them that they've got the amulet, and they can have it right fucking now - so long as they hand you over immediately.

"So hand over the artefact."

Sloan dangles it in front of their eager eyes. "Not until I get Y/N back."

They say something about this not going to play out by their rules - but when Venture pretends to crack the amulet in their palm they hush and comply.

They don't care what happens to them or to the artefact - if anything happens to you, however, this entire building will come crashing down. Killing you would be the last mistake they ever made. That counts for Talon as much as for themselves.

They keep repeating that. "Not until I get Y/N back." "Not until I get Y/N back." "I want to see Y/N. Then you can have the amulet." and their will turns out to be an iron one.

Talon agents guide them down into the basement. Everytime they don't comply they threaten to crush the artefact and that sends them scurrying. When the Talon agents open a door and they see you tied up, blindfolded, gagged on the stone floor, blood all over you - something snaps in their head.

All they wanted was to see you alive - but now that they know you are, a blinding rage takes over, and the most urgent thing to do in their mind is -

Kill all these Talon goons.

How dare they do that to you?

They might not have their drill on them, but anything can be a weapon. Even that amulet.

Especially that amulet. Venture researched it thoroughly, and found out that in ancient times, this amulet was a gift for a princess, given to her by her lover. And when that lover died, the princess was so distraught that she died from a broken heart - cursing the amulet with her last dying breath.

Venture figured that it would take some emotion or other to 'activate' the artefact - that, or a blood sacrifice. And here they have both, blood and a despair strong enough to rival the grief of that princess of antiquity. The amulet comes to life, and Venture makes sure that its tragedy won't repeat - and also, that Talon learns the valuable lesson to keep their damn hands off of you, for good.

What a sight you behold when your blindfold is gently taken off and you see Sloan, eyes pulsing with dark energy, nose bleeding, covered in gore and blood from head to toe. In the background you see the lifeless bodies of your captors. "Are you okay?" they whisper as softly as they can manage with all the ancient power surging through their body.

You cannot speak. Is this even really happening? What have they done? Did they kill all these people just to- just to get you back?

"Sloan..." you begin with a weak voice, but they shush you. "Nuh-uh. We gotta get out of here first. Get you to safety, yes, bunny? Get you patched up?"

The nickname soothes your panic a little. Venture gently gathers you up into their arms, apologizing whenever you whince in pain - which you do constantly, with two broken ribs and a broken leg. Their hushed Sorries are gentle, but if you could see their eyes right now, brimming with fury at the thought of anybody laying a single finger on you - breaking your bones - hurting your pretty body - it makes them - furious.

Even though Venture said you two need to get out first, you already feel at ease. You missed them terribly; you thought you'd never see them again - so with your last bit of strength you cling to them and cry softly, mainly from relief. And Venture rubs your back with their pinky, cooing to you, shouting some swear words you've never heard them yell so angrily before, and then again - "Don't worry baby, it's all okay. Nobody's going to hurt you. Not while I'm here. They wouldn't dare. You're safe."

By the time they make it out with you slung over their shoulder, the Wayfinders have arrived, fussing about Venture and cursing them for running off alone.

"Do you have ANY idea what could have happened?! What did you- How did you get all that blood on you?!"

Even with you half-passed out and unable to see their face you can tell that they're grinning from ear to ear. "Guys, the amulet - you wouldn't believe it."

Venture insists on carrying you back in their arms, unwilling to let you out of their hold for even a millisecond, and you have a vague feeling that this is what it's going to be like for a while from now on. Exhaustion and pain is making your limbs and mind weary, but feeling Venture and hearing them is enough to keep you somewhat grounded in reality.

Back at the Wayfinder outpost you're getting the blood washed off of you, your bruises tended to, X-rays run for your broken bones and your concussion; they hook you up to IVs because you're dehydrated and starved. Meanwhile Venture refuses to leave your side, getting patched up themselves - they weren't injured, but using that amulet for way too long apparently ruptured something inside their body, and they're tough enough to survive without complications of course, but they did throw up blood at one point and need rest as much as you.

Patching you two up takes a whole day, but at last you lie next to each other in a quiet, cool room, shutters closed and only a bit of light illuminating it. Enough to still look at each other in the gloom, smiling despite feeling too weak to do even that, fingers intertwined tightly.

"Baby, as soon as I heard- I needed to- I was so worried, I'm so sorry- I should've-" they frantically begin, trying to apologize like they just didn't rush to your rescue with a cursed artefact, killing a whole Talon base.

You smile weakly, squeezing their hand in yours.

"I knew you'd come. All along."

"Good." they say, earnestly. "Because I'd come tear you out of Doomfist's hands themselves, at the end of the world, if I had to."

You chuckle, whincing in pain when your ribs protest. But you know they're completely serious.

"I'll never let you out of my sight again, baby." they whisper, and these reassuring words, and their hand clasping yours, is the last you perceive around you as you drift off to sleep.

[deliciousangelfestival]

My Problematic Girl - 11

Character: College!Steve Rogers x Rich!Female Reader

Summary:  Steve has lived being nobody in this prestigious university. He just wants to graduate and get a job to get more money to pay the bills for his mother's surgery. But his life turned upside down when a new student attended his class. His quiet and dull life became dangerous and full of surprises.

My Problematic Girl - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

The following day, Steve woke up early, as usual. After getting ready, he went to prepare the medicine for his mother.

Once everything was set, he headed to his benefactor’s apartment, a woman he admired and resented. Seeing her struggle with nightmares recently had stirred a sense of pity in him.

He knocked on her apartment door. "Knock, knock!"

“Come in,” her voice called from inside.

He entered and saw her being attended to by a makeup artist and hairstylist.

“Great, you’re here,” she said, glancing at him through the mirror.

“Do you have an event to attend?” Steve asked, noticing the formal preparations. He knew she liked parties, but this seemed different.

“We’re going to the Solomon banquet,” she informed him, her eyes returning to her reflection.

“We?” Steve repeated, a hint of surprise in his voice.

She pointed towards the couch where a suit was hanging. “That’s your outfit.”

Steve sighed. “Why are you including me in this?”

“They want to meet the artist who received half a million dollars in less than a month. I’m sure you’ll find potential buyers at this event,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

With another sigh, Steve unzipped the garment bag. Inside was a designer suit and bowtie. He changed into it, feeling the quality of the fabric as it fit him perfectly.

“Does it fit you? If not, I’ll order another suit,” she said from across the room, glancing over her shoulder.

“It fits,” Steve replied, not wanting to burden her with unnecessary expenses, knowing how expensive the suit already was.

“Good. Next, I want you to remember some important names,” she said, turning back to the mirror as the makeup artist continued their work.

“Huh?” Steve didn't understand what she meant until he saw the binder handed to him by her stylist. Opening it, he saw photos with names and job positions. His eyes widened—these were all the guests attending the Solomon banquet.

Flipping through the pages, he exclaimed, “Are you insane? This is a lot! And you’re just giving it to me now?”

“It’s not difficult,” she replied nonchalantly.

Steve rolled his eyes, knowing it was futile to argue with her.

“You can’t be clueless about the people you’ll meet there. None of them will be wearing ID badges,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, trying to memorize the guest information.

“You have two hours,” she added.

“Fuck you,” Steve muttered under his breath.

“I heard that,” she said, her tone amused.

Steve approached her and saw her wearing a black dress with long sleeves, which he knew was to cover the scars and tattoos on her arms. The simplicity of the dress was contrasted by the elegant diamond necklace shaped like a snake.

“By the way, you’re not afraid of heights, are you?” she asked.

“No,” Steve replied. “Why do you ask?”

He should have known better. Soon, he felt a cold sweat forming and his fists clenching as he realized what was happening. He closed his eyes tightly.

“You said you weren’t scared of heights,” her voice came through the headphones.

“I did. This is my first time flying in a helicopter,” Steve admitted, still keeping his eyes shut. She hadn't mentioned they would be traveling by helicopter.

He heard her laughing while he desperately hoped the helicopter would land soon.

🚁🚁🚁🚁

Steve's heart finally started beating normally again after the helicopter landed at the Solomon residence. The mansion was the largest he had ever seen, an architectural marvel that spoke of old money and long-standing power. The pristine gardens, the sprawling estate, and the impressive line of luxury vehicles and helicopters signaled the status of its guests.

This was the first elite party he had ever attended, and the grandeur of it all left him momentarily speechless.

“Close your mouth, Steve,” Y/N said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Steve did as instructed, feeling like a child amazed by Christmas lights. The interior of the mansion was even more opulent, with chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings, priceless art adorning the walls, and finely dressed attendees mingling with an air of practiced elegance. He couldn’t help but notice the curious and scrutinizing gazes of many guests directed at Y/N and himself.

“They’re looking at you,” Steve whispered, feeling a bit self-conscious.

“The stray daughter comes home,” she replied, her tone laced with sarcasm.

They continued walking until they saw Maximus Solomon, the family patriarch, seated in his wheelchair. Though physically frail, his eyes were sharp and commanding. Beside him stood his daughter, Sophia, a middle-aged woman with an air of affluence and authority, and her daughter, Sarah.

Sophia, dressed in an elegant evening gown adorned with sparkling jewelry, greeted guests with a practiced smile. When she spotted Y/N, she whispered something to her daughter before excusing herself and walking toward them.

Sophia opened her arms in a welcoming gesture. “Y/N, I’m so glad you could be here.”

Y/N put on a fake smile. “Me too. I want to slit your throat.”

“Ohohoho, funny as always,” Sophia responded with a laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “Your grandpa is waiting for you. You should go see him. I’ll accompany your friend.”

Steve felt a bit abandoned as Y/N walked away, but he squared his shoulders and tried to maintain his composure.

Sophia turned to him with a polite smile, breaking the ice. “I finally get to meet the artist who has been the hottest topic.”

“Thank you. It’s an honor to have someone like you know me,” Steve replied, trying to keep his nerves in check.

Sophia chuckled, her gaze appraising. “Polite young man. As you know, I have a gallery too. I could give you an offer that’s better than Y/N’s.”

Steve felt a mix of surprise and unease. He wasn’t used to such direct propositions, especially from someone as influential as Sophia. “I appreciate the offer, Mrs. Solomon. Y/N has been very supportive of my work.”

“Of course,” Sophia said smoothly, her eyes never leaving his. “But opportunities like this don’t come around often. Think about it, Steve. You have potential, and I can help you reach heights you’ve never imagined.”

Steve nodded, trying to mask his discomfort with a polite smile. “I’ll definitely consider it.”

Sophia’s smile widened, satisfied with his response. “Good. Now, let’s enjoy the evening, shall we? There are many people here who would love to meet you.”

As they moved through the grand halls, Steve couldn’t shake the feeling of being a small fish in a large, wealthy pond.

@cherrybubblebullet

Author Note: I know this chapter feels like a filler, but I feel like I need to keep writing to regain my inspiration. 😔

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[rottenpumpkin13]

Angeal, needing a well deserved break from being everyone’s father figure, disappears without telling anyone

He turns his phone off, entertains the idea of throwing it in the river beside which he's walking, but ultimately decides against it. Too expensive, a waste of a perfectly good phone, so he stashes it in his pocket and hopes they stop calling. It's only for a day, after all; just one day where he can be absolutely free from it all—from SOLDIER, from Genesis, from Sephiroth, Zack, from the responsibilities. Hell, he even leaves that sword behind, a futile attempt to inhibit the thought of his father for a few hours. But the guilt eats away at his weightless back the minute he steps outside.

Honor can be damned for a day so long as he pretends he's not himself. So he reaches inside his psyche and fishes out his uglier variants, the people he pretends don't exist to keep his dreams intact—Goddess forbid he be disillusioned by the idea that he's something other than honorable, humble, a good man despite the blood on his hands that won't wash out no matter how much he scrubs them.

It's what he usually strives to be, but today he doesn't want to be Angeal the First Class SOLDIER, or Angeal the mentor, the spiritual leader whose spirit lacks a direction that isn't painted upward towards his unattainable dreams.

"A panic attack," is what Genesis calls it when he sees him leaving, claiming Angeal is having one and pointing out the tears and trembling fingers. Angeal laughs despite the bile rising in his throat. Angeal isn't panicked, what does he have to panic over? Sometimes the thoughts scream too loud and he needs space, that's all.

The tears have long dried and his skin is no longer hot to the touch; it's cold now, goose-flecked beneath his fingertips as he wraps his arms around himself. The breeze whips past him, coming from the north as he walks alongside the grasslands just outside of Kalm.

Out here he doesn't need to be Angeal Hewley; he can spend time with those other parts of him he doesn't want anyone else to see. For a few brief moments, he can tend to that crying little boy with scraped knees who just fell from the apple tree. He can encourage that preteen not to be scared of his sick father and to spend more time with him. He can console that depressed teenager whose fresh wounds refuse to knit back together long enough for him to acknowledge that he couldn't save his father.

He gazes at his reflection on the glassy river waters and tells himself he has a full life ahead of him, that all of these uncontrollable thoughts and emotions are in his head, and the medicine Dr. Hollander recently prescribed will take effect soon enough.

The buzzing in his pocket catches him off guard, making him flinch and reach for it again. This time it's his mother, and Angeal figures Genesis must've called her. He wipes away his tears and clears his throat to scrape away the vestiges of his sobs. He can't let her hear him like this, not the woman who gave him life, who loves him and would never lie to him.

[theagstd]

One Night Stand

➥ rundown ; as if the unexpected twist of a one-night stand turning out to be your CEO boss wasn't surreal enough, the situation takes a more challenging turn when both of you discover that you're expecting his child.

→ genre ; strangers to lovers | CEO au | pregnancy trope | slowburn

→ Jungkook x y/n

→ contains smut, fluff and angst

primarily on Wattpad

Chapter Two

index ⇢ next chapter

You could feel the pause in the revolution of the damn world ever since your eyes have met that one man's who you met that random night. you managed to forget him completely but when your eyes bore into the man who is just a few meters away, seated on his office chair, in a damn tailored suit with his hair perfectly parted and oiled, staring at your eyes wondering how the fuck are you here? you just forgot your whole purpose on why you're in this building.

"You?" he managed to mutter after the 2 minutes of staring into each other's souls, which felt like it lasted a whole fucking life time. you immediately blink your eyes and look away everywhere else except the man's face. there's just no way that the man you fucked one night turned out to be the CEO of the company you applied to.

You couldn't stand any longer, your feet felt weak and you badly wanted to puke. the way your stomach churns at the thought about working for him makes you feel sick. it's best if you just walk away and say nothing, he wouldn't want you standing here anyway.

"I think i will take your leave-" you mumbled under your breath but just loud enough so he could hear you and you turned to leave. what stops your tracks was when the man spoke abruptly without any hesitation, his tone sounded like he didn't even recognize you.

"You're here for business, let's talk business." 'sure thing, haha' you think to yourself when you hear him speak, like as if it was just a hallucination and that he didn't actually mean it to you. Because why would he want to talk business with the woman he fucked one night. he didn't dismiss you, neither does any sense of disapproval come out of his mouth or hums so you turned back to glance at him, there he was busy writing on a few papers.

his eyes flickered over to yours , pointing his pen at you, then the office chair in front of him. you gather some confidence as you take steps towards the CEO. pulling out a chair, you take a seat and take a deep breath. all you feel is embarrassment, nothing more, nothing less.

the man has seen you naked, that's all that makes you wanna throw up, as now here he sees you fully clothed, linen skirt till the cuff of your ankle, a long sleeved black blouse and hair tied into a low pony. well, does it matter, though? The man in front of you looks least bothered by your presence and it seems like it does not affect him so congrats, the job still seems up for you so you heave a sigh and wait till he speaks out.

Although the silence is slow and is gradually beginning to poison the already tense atmosphere, this allows you to play with your fingers, something that you usually do when you feel anxious. If anyone sees your face they would say you're looking the least nervous as you sit upright, your eyes hold it's own determination and strength and the subtle smile on your face, anyone would be fooled by your facade. however, under the table, your fingers dance to their own tunes of anxiety.

you tried your best not to bite on your cheeks or lips as it would seem obvious that the past is playing a role in your behaviour right now. "So, Ms- lee y/n?" There he finally reads your name, the name that he was not told at the night of the sex, today here, he's reading it aloud to let you know that you're his applicant. as it reads from the resume that he holds in his hand while the other has his pen clasped between his two fingers, the two fingers that were inside you that night, to be specific he's had all 5 fingers inside you, worked three at a time until he managed to poke his pinky in too while his thumb played with your clit.

he swirls the pen around while he continues to skim through the paper that he doesn't seem quite interested in. "Alright, I'm going to ask you a few questions, I need you to answer them." "Sure, " "What qualities does a creative director most need to be successful? "" The CEO finally took the time to question you. His gaze lays on you, which doesn't seem to have an effect on you.

he notices that you don't seem any different from the woman he met at the bar. He still sees the confidence oozing out from you as you begin to answer his question with no hesitation.

"Creativity is number one, of course. innovations that need to be satisfied with the latest needs, technology, and tastes of the generation along with that comes people skills. In order to deal with the options of the writers, designers, and other creative staff. Project management and people skills are most important in order to be successful."

You've given the answer right away, with no filter, no fear, there's no room for mistakes. you can't lose this wonderful opportunity to work at a renowned business with the perfect number of salaries and the most wanted position that you've worked your ass off. A silly night can't possibly ruin a whole career, right? of course, it wouldn't, not when you are fine with forgetting the past even though the man looks scrumptious in his freshly tailored suit that hugs his muscles ever so needily. His tattoos are covered, like they don't hold an existence in the man's life. 'interesting.'

you think as you tilt your head now knowing his little possible secret.

The man nods at your answer, impressed with the collection of words that pops out of your mouth instantly, he thinks that maybe you could give him a fluent answer to any of his questions with that look on your face. he looks down at his paper, and he begins to write a few words,

that takes your attention, so you look at how the pen goes smoothly on the white sheet of paper that lies in front of him. he decides to ask you one more question just so he wouldn't have to keep you in a haunting silence while he reads each page of your CV.

"What would make you an effective creative director at our company?" This question specifically implies that you nod attentively and positively, taking a few seconds to think through how exactly you're gonna word it for him. your eyes somehow flicker to his hand as you notice how his tattoo is slowly peeping out of the sleeve of his suit,

it almost makes you wanna laugh, how he's worn layers, hiding that wonderful canvas that you think would potentially make him an even hotter boss, Jungkook does not miss out on your gaze as he looks down at his sleeve as realises that you were interested in his tattoo that night and so are you today, it allows a slight smirk to grow up his lips that he soon bit back.

"An effective director brings vision and abilities to work as a team, and I believe that my ideas and capabilities are at its peak. with leadership skills, communication and a strategic-" the oozing words of boldness and certainty that Jungkook hears, it already allows him to know that you're one of a kind yet he knows that the past he's had with you has no chance.

"That's it. Your session is done. the man spoke, interrupting your answer, leaving your jaw to drop at his unbelievable and unprofessional take. This is unethical in the laws of an interview. if he was gonna stop you from speaking, then he shouldn't have even asked! "Sure." The tone you used may seem disrespectful, but likewise, he did the same to you too. clearing your throat, you tucked your fallen bangs behind your ear and stood from the seat.

"Thank you Sir-"

"Mr Jeon." it comes out quite arrogantly, like his name holds some sort of power. 'narcissist.' You whisper under your breath, looking at him, but it seems like his ego is taller. it's the way he closes your file and leans back on his chair, the chair that's extra in comfort, support, and obviously much more expensive than your whole apartment itself. somehow, that name comes out of his mouth, the one that he so proudly said, 'it's confidential, let's keep it private.' This reminds you of that night.

-

"Think you can fit me? crying for it so much that you don't even need a finger to prep you?" The naked man spoke raspily into your ears while he stayed still hovered over you. looking down at you as he uses his thumb to wipe off that red gloss since he's unable to kiss you on the lips. He doesn't do that, kissing on the lips. it's too intimate in his books, says it should be done by 'the one', and of course, it's not him.

Even though your lips look so full, that makes him want to break his own ethics. maybe being unethical one night might not be too bad. "Hmm." You hum, looking deeply into his eyes that were dark, black and lustful. They are pitch black now as the candles all lit up, giving more dimness in the surrounding. The sex was being delayed, but it's all his fault. He stopped it to show off his thing. "Judging by the looks of it, it's probably the size of my ex. So yes, of course you'll fit me."

you murmured to him, seeing him clench his jaw as his tongue slipped against his inner cheek to cover up his embarrassment. he didn't like it, the dom girl aura that you're giving out. he thinks it's getting out of hand and that he should show you that he's the one here, he's the boss. but at the same time, he likes this challenge. the game.

"Is that why you left him?" "Probably." "Sad, well then let me prove you wrong-" he pushed his tip inside you. It didn't even pass inside, and you whined in pain as it left a burning sensation. you hadn't had sex for a while, it was bound to happen. "fuck stop-" you pushed him away as you shut your eyes. "oh no, does it hurt?  think I won, already. now let me prep you, darling." he pushes his fingers inside slowly,

allowing you to open up for him. one finger at a time. "narcissist." You whisper under your breath while you moan, making him chuckle. "At least tell me your name, Mr. Big. don't want me to moan your name for you?" "It's confidential. Let's keep it private, shall we?"

-

"Thank you, Mr Jeon." You walk out of his cabin, thinking what the hell would an extremely rich CEO be doing at a normal cheap club? Shouldn't he own a club or be at some fancy place that serves a glass of chilled water for $20. Funny enough, you know that when you step out of this building, the chances of you working is almost a 0.

it is understandable why he wouldn't recruit you. It's definitely gonna be uncomfortable if he takes you. but you still hope he would. You can't afford to get rejected. Apart from that, it's also not an easy task to find more jobs to apply for. Jeon Industries is really a massive company, and working there would bring you so much. not just the salary but the position as well as the name and recognition to be an employee there, so you really hope he doesn't hold onto the past.

stopping at a cafe, you got yourself a honey almond milk with extra cream and extra caramel along with a sandwich since you hadn't had your breakfast. walking back home, you got a missed call from Kayla, so you decided to call her back. "gurl, how did it go?" "Uh, it went well."

you lied to her, she doesn't have to know everything about the meeting, especially since she's not a very close friend to you so it's not very relevant to speak about how your potential boss was your one night stand. "So ya think the job is yours?" While folding your clothes, you pause and think for a while, zoning out, you sigh and then speak. "Honestly, there's more chances that i don't get it, but we will see." "Oh, come on, it's their loss if they don't recruit you." that made you chuckle because, of course, she was right. It's definitely their fault. for sure.

After catching up with her, you cleaned the mess of your little apartment and changed your clothes to the gym kit. The gym is at the top floor of the apartment, where you usually spend an hour or so. fitness has always been your thing. You don't do any heavy lifting. What you do is light and just enough to keep you looking gorgeous and fit the way you want to be. and right now, the job and Mr Jeon is at the back of your mind, maybe not exactly, but you pushed it back just so it doesn't interrupt your workout.

you're kinda afraid, to be honest. it's not like you're all with it. you're not. It's very scary to know that the man you slept with is actually a very famous CEO in Seoul. it makes you wanna throw up with that anxiety that forms inside you. it makes your stomach clench each time you think about it. he could easily spill it out, and that could ruin your whole damn life in career especially. if he was some random guy who parties and fucks around with every woman he sees, that would be different. But this rich dude? bullshit.

'that's what you found on your first night stand y/n? as much as it's hot and fucking awesome that you fucked some rich ass dude who also looks like a fucking meal, its also insanely creepy and weird'. you really hope you get this job, you really need another place to stay in, this apartment does not suffice you anymore. the whole confident mask you put on, is very easy to crumble down.

if this job isn't given to you, you're seriously gonna leave Seoul and move back to your parents but if you do earn it, it's still easy to make this confidence shift to cowardness. It's both difficult. you're not sure what you want at this point.

-

on the other hand, Jungkook. who watched you walk out of his office, turns his chair to face the other buildings from the large transparent glass. he's able to watch the vehicles move, see the birds fly, and also view the sun set. he places his fingers under his chin and rubs them on his lips, contemplating what he experienced right now.

There's one thing that bothers him, how you were so fearless and self-assured. He thought that it was just the alcohol's effect, but no, he now knows that it's just within you. You are composed, calm, and have that attitude. Your answers gave perfect justice to each question he asked, and you held that spirit to work to be a part of this organisation.

he could feel that you knew everything, you knew what you were saying. and he liked it, no lie in that. but he wasn't sure of this all. Would it be a good idea to recruit a woman he slept with? what if you took that opportunity and spread the information to everyone- This thought made him immediately uncomfortable. He doesn't like the sound of it.

it's best if we find someone else. ringing to his assistant, Ms. Nam, he waited until she walked inside his room after a knock. "Is that all the applicants?" "Yes. Mr Jeon, they were on the shortlist." Jungkook wasn't satisfied with anyone. He thinks it was only you who managed to pass his test well.

"Are you sure?" "yes, Mr Jeon, if they did not match your expectations, we only have Mr Park-" "No. not him." He placed his elbows on the table and zoned out, thinking about his decisions. "Mr Jeon, we have a meeting scheduled with Han Paris. and we need a designer-"

"Yes, i'm aware. "

This leaves Jungkook with no choice.

"Email Ms Lee Y/L/N. Send her all the details that's required." "Sure, Mr Jeon.

next chapter ⇢

[thalialunacy]

[HI FRANS. Believe it or not, this is for the @calaisreno May Prompt Fete. Herein lies useless fluffy smut, rated E. Yar.]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) 25: (counter-)intuition

As it happens, they don't end up flipping any coins.

Charmed lives, they have not led -- as their therapists' files can attest -- but they've now got the hard-won, slightly dented treasure of true familiarity, which means--

'John--what--' He's turned enough that the showerhead, which is, per usual, placed far too low for a person of his height, spritzes water which jumps off his shoulder and hits him on the nose. He twitches, probably not unlike an annoyed bunny rabbit, and John's mouth turns up. 'Why are you here. In the washroom. While I'm showering.'

John starts to unbutton his shirt, and Sherlock watches, mouth drying, as he summarily strips down to boxers and vest and just… steps into the tub.

He's out of the spray, mostly, and Sherlock calculates how long he has until he starts to get cold. 'Because you've had a shit day,' Sherlock hears him say.

For a moment, Sherlock's brain whizzes with how John could possibly deduce as much when Sherlock is naked and just-washed. 

Then he realises with a tick that this is… psychological. This is a thing where John's knowledge is superior to Sherlock's. Some day Sherlock will accept that (not that he doesn't believe it of John, he just chafes at his own incomplete skillset) but for today he just shoves it aside and moves to the next. 

Which is leaning down to connect their mouths, feeling the water beat against his shoulderblade while he tests out what John tastes like in this new use case.

And, of course, he tastes like a long day, the aspects of which Sherlock notes automatically. But what bleats louder in his brain is the textures - water, skin, cotton, hair, calluses, steam. It all serves to spear his attention and start his blood to decidedly rapid movement.

'John,' he manages, though his lips don't stray far. 'As much as I hate to be the practical one here, this seems rather needlessly dangerous.' John nips at his bottom lip and Sherlock can feel the grin. 'Needlessly,' he reiterates, hands sliding under the vest to journey over John's shoulders and hold him steady. 'With a perfectly good bed so close by.'

But John shakes his head as he pulls away. Sherlock barely refrains from leaning forward and chasing him, but John is implacable.

He lifts his chin in indication. 'Hands on the wall, please.'

Sherlock's eyes narrow as his heart triple-times. 'You can't be serious.'

But John absolutely is. 'You've been in here for a good twenty minutes. You're fine. Turn around.'

'Surely the angles--' He's not sure why he's arguing, except he really would be very put out if someone were to slip and brain themselves on something.

John seems to have no such concerns. 'I'm fairly confident in my abilities, Sherlock.'

Sherlock flushes. 'Yes, fine, no need for braggadocio.' He pauses and kisses John one more time, just to be contrary, then does as requested. His other shoulder is in the spray, now, as John's lips press against the top of his spine momentarily.

And John does find the angles indeed. Sherlock has just enough time to calculate that he must be sat on the edge of the bathtub, which is likely to be very uncomfortable, before sensation sparks sharply on the skin of his bum.

'You have such a gorgeous--' Instead of finishing his sentence, John bites down lightly again. 'Well, everything, really,' he says while his hands gently pull Sherlock apart until he's utterly exposed.

The water running down his back is a soft but pleasant sensation as it makes its way down, and he finds himself closing his eyes.

He feels John pause. 'Ready?'

Sherlock thinks to scoff, but it comes out as more of a huffy whine.

'Right, then.'

The first touch of John's tongue is soft and wet and glorious, and he does not hesitate before settling in. As pleasure sings through his body, Sherlock finds his mind spinning through gears, churning until the frustrations of the day are in manageable pieces packed neatly for later examination.

His fist curls against the cold wall. 'John, wait.' In direct contradiction, his body pushes back against John's mouth, and a groan escapes him. 'I want to--'

John hmms, which translates to a spike of pleasure that pushes the air from his lungs. 'John.' 

Suddenly John is standing, crowding him against the tile. 'Go on, then,' he says, lips on the back of Sherlock's neck, as his hand moves round to assist him to completion.

'But--' Sherlock grinds out. 'You--'

John shakes his head, which feels desperately new from this angle, and Sherlock nearly cries out as his orgasm approaches. 'Just enjoy it.'

There's such affection in his voice that Sherlock is at once able to do just that, cataloguing the sensations as his body clenches and releases.

'Good,' John is murmuring as Sherlock comes down. 'So fucking gorgeous.'

Sherlock starts to smirk, but then John continues. 'Sodding idiot, too.'

Sherlock gasps, his lungs not quite ready for full sentences. 'Pardon?'

'You couldn't possibly have thought you could find an entire people carrier's worth of personal effects in an afternoon.'

John says this, and Sherlock hears it, but he's understandably distracted by John also dragging a finger through the mess on the wall and bringing it back round to his own mouth. Sherlock barely represses a shudder as the visual flashes through his mind.

He takes a final recalibrating breath, then turns around and captures John's lips in a searching, grateful kiss. 'You're certain--' he offers one last time.

'Nah, hot water's running out.' John reaches for a towel and steps out of the tub, mostly onto the bathmat. 'Besides, there may or may not be a new box of biscuits waiting for us.' 

John and his simple pleasures. 'Ginger, even,' Sherlock surmises. 'And how did you know about my afternoon?'

'I saw the news, you berk,' John says while throwing a second towel in Sherlock's direction. 'And I know you. Now dry yourself off.'

---

'Are we doing this out of order?'

Sherlock pauses to look at John just a few minutes later, the towel partially obscuring his gaze. 'How so?'

'Ah. Well. It's just that in my past relationships, that bit--' He gestures vaguely with his toothbrush; Sherlock presumes he's referring to analingus. '--wouldn't be proposed until there was a-- a certain number of other things attempted first. Accomplished first, even.'

Sherlock sighs. 'I will never understand heterosexuals.'

'Oi--'

He throws up his hands, clutching onto the towel at the last moment. 'There's no rulebook, John!'

'Well, of course not, but--'

'There are books,' Sherlock allows. 'Many of them. I can loan you some if you like.'

John pauses. 'Doesn't the internet suffice?'

'John, please. Don't be so average.'

'Dick.'

'Learning about sex from "The Internet"--' He does indeed make the air quotes. '--is about as useful as learning to practise medicine from Green Wing.'

'Hang on, how do you know Green Wing?'

'Research,' Sherlock says blithely.

---

The point is, the guesswork of a new sexual relationship is nearly wholly absent. Unless 'Did you stop by the chemist?' counts, though the third time that happens John just starts stashing condoms & lube in random (toddler-proof) places. 

Like the locked knife drawer one morning while Rosie is sleeping off a teething, tantrum-y night. John is keyed up from exhaustion and single-minded in his immediate goals, so Sherlock happens to have been pushed into the counter above said drawer, and he lifts up onto it easily enough as John unbuttons his shirt with efficient fingers.

'I know you just put your togs on,' he mutters into Sherlock's mouth as he reaches Sherlock's belt. 'But I don't care.'

'Fine by me,' Sherlock says, his attention largely on untying John's scrub bottoms drawstring by feel. 'As long as I get what I-- Oh--'

John smirks into Sherlock's jaw, his hand working inside Sherlock's very fancy pants. 'Up,' he orders quietly, hooking his other index finger into the side of Sherlock's trousers so he can pull them off.

Then as Sherlock moves to obey, John stops with a frown. 'Wait. Your wrist.'

'Is healed.'

'Just because it no longer has a cast, doesn't mean--'

Sherlock doesn't have time for this nonsense. 'Sofa, then.'

But John is shaking his head. He meets Sherlock's gaze. 'How about just… the other way round?'

Sherlock takes a sharp breath. They've not done the full ninety (a term he picked up from John, much to his chagrin) more than a few times yet, and it's been Sherlock receiving. Which he thoroughly enjoys, but the idea of being inside John makes his breath feel very short in his lungs. 'John? Will that… work? Angles?'

John runs his hands up the backs of Sherlock's thighs and leans into a kiss, holding on firmly. 'The magic 8-ball says the outlook is good.'

And that's all that gets said as they trade places and come back together. Sherlock's cast is off but John is John, so he takes on the responsibility of sitting on the cold counter and leaning back into his wrists while Sherlock fingers the worries right out of him.

'Fuck,' John curses under his breath as he hooks a hand behind his left thigh and lifts it just enough more-- 'Yes, please, god damn it--'

Sherlock reaches blindly for the hidden key to the knife drawer, and manages to retrieve the necessary items without damaging himself. John would be impressed but a) he'd already known Sherlock is skilled with his hands, and b) he is somehow completely distracted by the skin over Sherlock's clavicle.

But his eyes snap up to meet Sherlock's when he feels them line up slickly. Sherlock searches his face, and John nods once. Decisively.

Sherlock holds his gaze, palming the back of John's other thigh, and they both breathe out as their bodies connect in this new and different way.

John grunts, forcing himself not to move. The satisfying burn in his core muscles mingles with the fading sting of Sherlock's penetration, and the look on Sherlock's face is worth all of it.

Then Sherlock starts to fuck him, and he can only manage to think about himself, to keep balanced and keep from flat-out shouting and keep from interrupting it all to drag Sherlock's lips down to his.

Sherlock senses this last one, he must, because his free hand slides up John's chest to cup his jaw, and John's heart clenches in his chest.

When Sherlock's thumb drags across his lips, he knows Sherlock is close to coming, so he sucks in the tip and bites down, just a little.

It works - Sherlock says his name on a low groan and shudders once, twice. Three times.

John does drag him down for a kiss, then, which Sherlock obliges, albeit a bit messily, managing to stay inside him by way of tightening his grip around John's thigh. He's breathing hard, and John's body surges as he feels Sherlock's other hand close around his prick.

'Fuck, Sherlock--' He tightens his hold on the back of Sherlock's neck. 'Don't stop.'

Sherlock chuckles wheezily at this, but he doesn't stop until John has spilled warmly over his hand, their mouths sticky and dry but connected regardless.

Sherlock gets his breath back first. 'Your obliques are going to be sore tomorrow.'

John huffs out a laugh. 'Among other things. My god.' He gingerly lowers his legs, glad Sherlock is coherent enough to handle the condom properly. 'I'll take the bin out before Rosie wakes up,' he says with a tired grin.

Then he sits up, albeit a bit slowly, and slides his hands around Sherlock's ribcage. 'That was all right, I suppose.'

'Satisfactory.' Sherlock's breath ghosts across his nose and he feels lips on his temple. They're both trying hard not to grin, and they're mostly succeeding.

A wicked thought occurs to John, and he stops bothering to hide it.

'So. I thought it would work, even though you didn't.'

Sherlock pauses, undoubtedly predicting where John is headed with this. 'Don't.'

'I had a feeling you'd like it, even though you thought you wouldn't.'

'John. No.'

'It was… counter-intuitive.'

'You owe me twenty quid for having to stand here and listen to that, at the very least.'

'Oh, please. Put it on my tab. Paper scissors rock for the disinfecting?'

'You're volunteering, you mean.'

'Wanker.'

And despite their exhaustion and distinct lack of cleanliness, holding onto each other long after it's necessary, they dissolve into laughter.

[<3]

[When I worked at a car dealership in my roaring 20s, we sold a truck to a contractor whose business name was Counter Intuition, and I thought it was the cleverest thing ever. Well, still do, clearly. XB And okay I know Britglish often uses 'worktop' instead of 'counter' but I asked a Brit only a bit younger than me, and he said he'd use 'counter' while his mum would use 'worktop', so pffft.]

[wistfulforstars]

For What It's Worth - Part 5

Rex x Reader

Summary: Rex prepares himself to leave you behind as the battlefield calls, but his superiors have something else in store.

Warnings: reader is afab, reader isn't present this chapter, Rex is shipping out, Fox continues to be a bro, General Skywalker is easily manipulated, I play fast and loose with military protocols, mature sexual content in later chapters, minors: get out

Tag List: @bambiswriting @jessyhazy

If anyone would like to be added to the tag list, please comment below or message/ask directly.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Rex could not figure out for the life of him why briefings had to be so early. 

Not that this one was unexpected, the 501st had been planet-side for a week. The boys appreciated the leave, and The Resolute was in need of a distinct number of special repairs after their last run-in with the Separatists. 

General Skywalker (who, to be perfectly honest, was more the cause of the repairs than the seppies were) and General Koon gave the briefing, and even though Rex knew it was coming, his heart still sank at the thought of leaving you.

You had made remarkable improvements in the last week, now able to limp around your apartment like a champ, at least for short amounts of time. Your doctor was very pleased, but had expressly forbid you from going back to work before two more weeks of recuperation and at least one more physical. You were most irate.

For his part, Rex had been spending all his time at your apartment, helping you around your home, learning how to use kitchen utensils and a cookbook (he only burned something beyond recognition twice), and running errands to the shops in your area. You had somehow gotten ahold of some civvie wear for him, and he was barely noticed on the streets. Alentia was grateful to be able to go back to her own job, and Rex couldn’t remember enjoying a leave more. 

He’d never experienced domesticity before. He’d never cooked for anyone or run down to a corner store for snacks, or spent a week curled up on a sofa. You were going to have to record the soap opera you’d gotten him into. He didn’t think he could miss it if Sirin and Jera actually got together.

In a week, all by yourself and barely able to move, you’d shifted his world beneath his feet. You’d made him think maybe he could have something simple and sweet after the war. Maybe something that made it all worth it in the first place. He’d caught himself staring into jewelry stores with a full heart and entirely empty pockets several times, wrenching himself away with reminders that it was too soon, and his position was too precarious, and right now he could offer you too little.

And for now, well, he supposed that little daydream was over. These briefings usually ended with a mission plan laid out and orders to give the boys. A ship out date, a plan of attack, and a certain trooper named Fives to find and drag out of 79’s were all looming in his very immediate future.

He didn’t want to go. For the first time since he’d donned it, his armor felt far too heavy. 

Standing at silent attention next to Commander Tano, he caught Commander Wolffe’s (non-cybernetic) eye. His brother raised an eyebrow and jerked his head at the battle plans the generals were pouring over. 

Okay, so maybe he’d been a little more quiet than usual. 

“...should be enough to establish an outpost,” Skywalker finished up. He raised his head and glanced at all the senior staff. “Does anyone here have anything to add?”

The room was silent. Perhaps it was the early hour, or perhaps they all knew that Anakin Skywalker would do whatever he damn well pleased, comments or no. Admiral Ularen stifled a yawn, and the general nodded.

“Alright, you all have your orders, we depart in two days. Dismissed.”

Rex grabbed at his datapad and made sure that the briefing had downloaded to it. He’d review the details later, after he broke the news to you. 

He had just turned to leave when General Skywalker’s voice sounded out again, “Captain Rex, would you stay behind a moment?”

On instinct, Rex turned on his heel and stood at attention, “Of course, sir.”

Anakin smiled, “At ease. Could you follow me, please?”

They left The Resolute’s bridge for the officer’s break room just down the hall. It was seldom used, though sometimes Rex and a few others would finish paperwork in the dead of night right next to the caf machine. 

When the door opened, Rex’s blood froze. Commander Fox sat at the table, sipping dark caf out of a disposable cup. He looked perfectly at ease. 

Anakin had already pulled out a chair, “Have a seat, Rex.”

As he did so, Rex stared daggers at his brother. There was only one possible explanation for his presence here, and if his hunch was correct, if Fox had done what he suspected, it was all over. His relationship with you, his position, his rank, his hope for a future. All because of fucking-

“Commander Fox is wanting to steal you for a few weeks,” Skywalker said cheerily. 

…What?

Rex turned his head to stare at his brother, then back at his general, “I…pardon me, sir?”

Anakin shrugged, “As he’s been explaining it to me, anti-clone sentiment has been growing on Coruscant. The Guard has been keeping track of several attacks on civilians that may be linked to the movement, and a rally is apparently being held sometime in the next couple weeks.”

Rex’s stomach started to untangle itself. He was apparently not in trouble. But all of this still didn’t explain why Fox would want to steal him. What Fox was even doing here.

“The Commander tells me that the Guard is spread too thin. Between the threat of the rally and continuing to protect the senate, the chancellor, and the streets, he doesn’t have enough officers of experience and rank to coordinate the guard. Since the 501st is the only legion planet-side right now, and since you have real conflict experience, not to mention an excellent reputation for doing more with less,” Anakin smirked at that. “Fox has asked if I’d be willing to leave you here, under his command, until we return from our newest mission.”

Rex tried to keep the utter shock off of his face. He turned to Fox, who was smiling pleasantly, nonchalantly. His thoughts turned to you for just a moment, sitting on your couch, saddened by the knowledge that he’d come back and tell you he was shipping out. Then he remembered he was sitting next to his commanding officer, a loveable shithead with the talent for reading thoughts and feelings, and he shook the image away.

“What about my men?” He turned to his general. “It’s not…it wouldn’t be right to leave them without someone they can turn to.”

Anakin snorted, “What am I, invisible? The 501st will be fine for a single mission, Rex. Commander Tano and Jesse will act as their immediate superiors, while Commander Wolffe, General Koon, and I will supervise the coordination of all the troopers.”

“I…but…”

“We aren’t forcing you, captain. You can join the mission as planned or you can stay here and assist Fox with the Guard.”

Rex was reeling. He could stay on Coruscant. With you. He could stay until you were better, until you could walk entirely under your own power and cook for yourself and…

He cleared his throat, “What…” he began, turning to Fox this time. “What exactly would this assignment entail?”

His brother tried to hide his smirk, but Rex saw it for what it was.

“Nothing you haven’t done before,” Fox gestured with his hands. “Help me coordinate troopers and prioritize special persons of interest who may be under threat. The victims of the previous attacks, the chancellor, senators like Organa or Amidala.”

Rex very deliberately did not look back at Skywalker as heard that last name. The pieces had fallen into place, “I see.” He paused for just a moment. “Well, if this is the best way I can be of service to the Republic, then I accept my assignment.”

Skywalker clapped his hands together, “Excellent! I’ll leave you two to hash out the details. I have some other business to attend to.” He placed his hand on Rex’s shoulder as he turned to leave. “Good luck, captain. I know you’ll make the most of this mission.”

Rex tensed, but Anakin left the room without another word. As soon as the door was sealed, Fox let out a low chuckle.

“Other business he says,” he folded his arms. “Like Amidala isn’t just getting home from a midnight session as we speak.”

Rex narrowed his eyes at his brother, “What the hell, Fox? Why would you go all the way to Skywalker spouting some story about how you can’t handle the Guard-”

“Thought you’d be excited,” the commander shrugged. “You get to stay in the same city as your girl, go home to her when your shift’s over, make sure she’s okay for a little while longer. And…I wasn’t lying. The Guard is spread too thin, and the chancellor won’t give me any more troopers for the moment. I know what you can do, Rex. I’ve seen the mission reports. I saw a win-win, and I took a stab at it.”

Rex shook his head, “You told him Amidala was under threat, didn’t you?”

“Sure, I’m not above a little emotional manipulation to ensure my men don’t get swarmed. I work with politicians every day, Rex. I’ve picked up a few things.”

“Is she even in danger?”

“Of course she is,” Fox rubbed his eyes. “When is that woman not in danger? She stands for more controversial causes than every other senator combined. No sense of self-preservation, that one.”

“She and him have that in common.”

They laughed together, and the rest of the tension in the room dissipated. Rex looked at his brother, grey hair starting to sprout up amongst the black, and wondered if he looked as equally tired.

“Thank you,” he murmured, and Fox smiled.

“Bout time. I only got you out of shipping off to the battlefield.”

They stared at each other a moment longer, and Rex felt a rush of gratitude for his brothers, for the only family he’d ever known, “You didn’t have to do it, by the way.”

Fox broke eye contact and stared down at the floor. When he spoke, his voice came out smaller than Rex had ever heard it, “At least this way, one of us can…” he paused, shook his head, and met his brother’s eyes again. “At least this way I can live vicariously through you.”

Rex exhaled, slowly, “You’ve never acknowledged it before. That there was something between you and Ularen’s-”

“She was my secretary, before Ularen’s last one had a mental breakdown,” Fox’s jaw had gone tense. “I…ran into her a few days ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Rex thought he had problems, but he couldn’t imagine…

Fox just stood, and fiddled with his belt, “It doesn’t matter anymore. There was nothing I could do for my…situation-”

“So you did something for mine.”

For just a faction of a second, Fox looked like he might cry. But he simply squared his shoulders, and nodded once stiffly, “Take the rest of your leave, report to guard headquarters after your troopers ship out. I’ll give you a full briefing then.”

Before Rex could respond, his brother had his helmet back on and was already out the door.

He stood there for a minute… two… three… ensconced in the surprise of his new reality. Then he slowly brought his comm up, and typed a message to Jesse.

Rex: I’ve been assigned to a different mission. You’re up. Start looking for Fives NOW.

His heart was weighty, but his steps were light as he left The Resolute and took a speeder home. You were waiting.

[abirddogmoment]

We did barn hunt for the first time in over a year and Mav absolutely rocked it!

[fairy-angel222]

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐯! 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

He’s been stealing your panties since the week he met you. Collecting them in different pretty colors and fabrics. Using them to jerk off every night with the groan of your name. Stuffing them under his nose or using them to stroke his cock, either way had him cumming to the thought of you all the same.

He takes your stuff and holds them over your head. Watching your tits bounce as you whined and struggled to reach. Smirking widely as he teased, “if you want it back so bad then kiss me.” Blood rushing to his cock when you actually get on your tip toes to kiss him shortly, forcing your lips to stay on his when you try to pull away.

Who pretends to be asleep until he hears your soft moans at one in the morning. Quietly cracking open your door to watch you touch yourself, his hard cock already in hand as you moaned and mewled so fucking prettily. Stroking at the pace of your desperately working fingers till you two orgasm at the same time.

Who ‘accidentally’ sends you a video of him lazily jerking off on his bed, his lip in between his teeth and his other hand behind his head as he looks directly into the camera. The message coming through followed by a small “oops, sorry sweetheart, wrong person”

Who starts getting bolder and bolder even after you suspect him of being the reason for your missing underwear. Leaving slight yet noticeable touches to your ass and boobs whenever he had the chance. Always laughing it off and joking about how soft you were and about how perfectly your tits fit in his hand.

Who calls you up to his room when he’s about to cum, his lips parting in heavy breaths as you walked in clad in your short pajama set. Your eyes widening as he fisted his length, eyes meeting yours with a loud groan as he spilled onto his hand. “Shit, can you grab me that box of tissue?” Letting out heavy breaths with a dark grin.

Who starts walking around the house with nothing but low hanging sweats to get you flustered. Brushing up against you or wrapping his toned arms around your body. His rock like abs against your back as he whispered into your ear. “Well these shorts are shorter than usual.” Loving the way your face heated up for him.

Who starts to make you sit in his lap for everything. Saying that you weren’t allowed to watch tv unless you did it from his lap. Or that you couldn’t seat at the table to eat breakfast unless it was again, on his lap.

Who suddenly wants to spend all his time with you so that you couldn’t go out as often. He wanted you, and would make you his at some point.

Who finally sinks his cock into your tight pussy after teasing you subtly all day. “Waited so long for this.” He grunted, his thumb running over your bottom lip which was swollen from all his rough kissing. “Feels even better than i expected.”

You cried out loudly, small whimpers falling past your parted lips as his hold on your legs tightened. Holding them in place over his shoulders as he fucked into you harshly. Thick cot brushing against your g spot as it hammered deep.

“That’s it, just take it baby. Please mama? Take it f’me yeah?” He breathed, his head in your neck as he licked and sucked dark marks onto your skin. Snapping his hips into yours in oute need, not being able to get enough of the moment that he dreamed for so long about.

“Does that feel good baby?” Watching as you nodded with a teary cry, your eyes fluttering shut as your back arched off his sheets.

“Look at me.” he groaned, your eyes peeling open to meet his as you both filled the room with your noises. “Wanna fill you up so bad, pussy’s so fucking perfect.”

“S-satoruu— nngh,”

“Oh fuck baby, let me hear my name again.” He breathed, hand snaking lightly around your neck. Your choked moans and babbles getting louder as your stomach tightened. Gojo never slowing his pace as he fucked you dumb.

“Haah, Sat-oruu, ahh,” you mewled, your pussy tightening as your body began to tremble. Gripping onto the sheets at your side at the orgasmic build up.

“Can feel you getting close, squeezing me so tight,” Gojo grunted, lewd squelching sounds filling your ears each time his cock bullied its way deep. “I’ve got you baby, cum f’me.” His hand squeezed down on your throat, your wet eyes meeting piercing blue ones with a chant of his name. His cock twitching inside you as your pussy messily thanked his cock.

“O-oh fuck- ‘m never letting you go you know that? Wanted you for way too long.” His eyes fixed on yours as you shook your head.

You felt so good, and he found him self unable to come to a stop even as he got close.

“S-satoru—”

“C-can’t baby, feels so good, shit— gotta cum in you.” Pressing his lips onto yours to muffle your whines as he gave his final sloppy thrusts. His hips flush against yours as he buried himself deep inside you with a moan. His eyes rolling back as he spilled into you, pumping ropes after ropes of the sticky substance onto your walls.

Gojo pulled away with a satisfied breath, swiping his tongue across his lips with an unapologetic smile at the look on your face. “Sorry princess.”

[moechies]

bully gojo zzZ

super mean bully gojo who makes fun of you for not giving good head :( he knows you’re not experienced, and you really are trying your best to please him but it never pays off!

he’s constantly teasing you over and over for doing such a poor job, but never lets you by before he has you on knees sloppily drooling all over his stupidly big dick. you just don’t get it.

“such a sloppy mouth. ‘s a shame you don’t know how t’ use it.” he sighs.

the tip of his flushed cock lays flatly against your tongue, your drool and spit messily dripping all over the place, over his shaft and onto his hand. his thumb lays besides his cock inside your mouth, pressing on your tongue. he pays your mess no mind, fully attentive to how you plan to take him this time around.

your doe eyes come up to meet his, a silent cry for him to help. his stares back, his gaze piercing into your skin, shutting your eyes quickly to avoid his confrontation.

“suck it, baby. i shouldn’t need t’tell you that.” he mumbles firmly.

your fat lips wrap come to wrap around his sloppy cock head, only forcing yourself down halfway before it elicits a loud gag. you squeeze your eyes tight to prevent the tears pricking at your eyes from falling, attempting to pull yourself off per usual, but this time you’re stopped by a harsh hand behind your head.

“stop running. y’r gonna have to take it all at some point, dumb brat. might as well have it be this time, hm?”

you open your eyes in terror, and he only chuckles. he allows you to calm yourself, shallow but gentle thrusts allowing you to get used to the feeling.

he loathed having to treat you like a porcelain doll, but he knows that would’ve been broken long ago if he didn’t handle you so tenderly. and he can’t have that happening.

“loosen your throat.”

you squeeze your eyes tight, waiting for the moment he attempts to purse himself deeper in your throat. it burns, the way his mere girth is able to stretch all of you to impeccable lengths. the corners of your lips strain, spluttering as he holds your head in place and nudges his hips further into mouth.

you can’t help but hiccup around him, your throat convulsing perfectly to his liking.

“‘s too tight..” he whines, still mindlessly attempting to shove your mouth down on him completely.

“i guess that jus’ means we need t’do this more often.”

[chososdiscordkitten]

Are You A Chick?!

artist: @kcokaine_ on twt

Synopsis: Gojo gets turned into a woman for a few hrs and reader nd him get down to fun activities ^-^

Pairing: Fem!Gojo x Fem!Reader Content: established relationship, unexplained gender bending, GOJUSSY :D , wlw, use of his/her regarding gojo, fingering (f gojo receiving), oral (f gojo receiving), squirting (gojo), SCISSORING🤩✂️, dirty talk, god I love women

MDNI

You were lying on your shared bed, bored, scrolling on your phone, waiting for your boyfriend to come home from work. You were about to call him to ask why he was so late. Only you heard the front door of your apartment opening- bolting off the bed to greet him at the door. 

Halting your steps when you saw a smaller version of Satoru standing in the kitchen. 

Wearing the now oversized clothes you saw Satoru leave the apartment in that morning. You squint your eyes, scanning his face and noticing it was much softer. 

His jawline not half as sharp, poutier lips and a smaller nose- his face looked so similar, only it had a more feminine look to it. His eyes were the only thing that stayed the same- big and adorned with thick white lashes.  

“Don’t say a word.” Satoru spoke- his voice a higher pitch and with a suede purr. 

You furrowed your eyebrows, seeing Satoru reach out a much smaller hand than you expected- “Are you a chick?” you parted your lips- amused at how the blush started to rise on your boyfriend’s cheeks. 

Satoru huffed- a bitchy sigh with his hip popped slightly. “It’ll only last for a few hours.” you huffed- entertained at the feminine voice Gojo spoke in. 

Though he was usually taller and broader, his clothes were too large for his now more petite frame. 

You darted your eyes down to her chest- Small pebbles peaked beneath Gojo’s tshirt, his small breasts forming two tents beneath the fabric. Widening your eyes and realizing that this was real. 

“Can I touch them?” you asked, the corners of your lip curled up- thinking about how sensitive Satoru was generally. You wanted to discover how sensitive your boyfriend was in a woman’s body. 

Satoru scoffed- sounding just like you’d expect him to as a woman, bitchy and bordering on a bimbo tone. 

Your boyfriend shook off the oversized jacket- showing you just how much smaller he was now. 

Gojo furrowed his eyebrows- small and effortlessly perfect, pushing out her tits and looking at you with a pouty glossed lip. 

You reached your hands out eager to feel your boyfriends breasts. “Should I be concerned that the first thing you wanna do when I get home is feel me up?” Gojo laughed- a soft giggle coming from her throat. 

Scoffing as you placed your hands beneath Gojo’s braless tits, “If I came home the opposite gender- what would the first thing you do be?” you scoffed, Parting your lips and grabbing what you could from her chest.

Perky and no bigger than an A cup. But her tits filled your palms perfectly. 

Your thumb took an exploratory swipe at the little bud formed beneath the t-shirt. Earning a light, pretty huff from Satoru’s lips, flashing your eyes back up at him with a glimmer circling your pupil. 

You raised your eyebrows- a greedy smile forming on your lips at all the thoughts that raced through your mind. “Can I fuck you?” You grinned, watching the blush on Satoru’s cheeks deepen. 

It took very little for Gojo’s lips to snap to yours- feeling the petite woman before you trying to take the reins from your hands- but all it took was one little grope at her ass to make Gojo compliant. 

Guiding Satoru back into your bedroom with your hands roaming beneath the hem of his shirt- grasping at the soft skin beneath the fabric with pretty whimpers falling from her lips onto yours. 

Pulling away from Satoru’s lips when you settled him to sit on the edge of the bed. 

Her lips pulled to the side, a soft ‘tsk’ leaving them as Satoru looked up at you. “Why does it feel like you’re more into this than normal?” Your gender-bent boyfriend bitched at you as you slipped off your shirt. 

Placing your hands onto the sides of Satoru’s chunky cheeks, pressing soft kisses onto the puffy lips of her face and guiding her to scooch up the bed. 

You grinned, placing your hands on the edge of Gojo’s shirt. “What does it feel like?” changing the conversation as you pulled Satoru’s shirt off his body. Hanging your mouth open and seeing the sight before you. 

Not in a million years could you picture the portrait that was painted before you. 

Satoru’s bottom lip pouted, a roaming blush forming on her chest and pink hardened nipples greeting you. 

“Feels like I’m gettin’ pawed at.” Satoru scoffed, pressing her lips back onto yours and feeling your hands rest on his hips, dipping your fingers beneath the band of the oversized sweats and rolling them off. Feeling Satoru’s hands mimic the movement on your own bottoms. 

Only this time- compared to the hundreds of others, Satoru’s hands had a soft, delicate touch. 

Satoru had you pinned as he naturally did, on your back and your legs spread with her hips resting between them. Satoru tugged your bottoms off as his delicate lips moved against yours. 

Feeling Gojo do the same, leaving him bare and waiting for something to happen- trying to recall what he usually does whenever he isn’t a woman- trailing his smaller hands from your side to your inner thigh. 

You scoffed- “This isn’t about me ‘toru.” you smiled, pulling his hands from your thigh and intertwining your fingers with her slim ones. Looking at the soft expression your boyfriends feminized face held. 

“You don’t wanna know what it feels like for me?” you grinned, trailing the tips of your fingers against her rib cage- causing a shuddering exhale to leave his lips. 

Satoru bit her lip, feeling the warmth between her legs twitch from your offer. 

You trailed your hand between her thighs, reaching the drenched center Satoru had ignored between his legs till now. 

Watching her mouth inhale sharply, batting his white eyelashes closed as you lightly traced your middle and ring finger against her core. 

It took very little for Gojo to straddle your thighs, leaning an arm back and planting it on your calf. Giving you an unobstructed view of your boyfriends pretty, glistening cunt. 

As pretty and leaky as his cock was- this gave you a different kind of shiver down your spine from how fucking gorgeous he looked right now. 

Your hands rubbing softly on Satoru’s thighs, looking up to her shy expression. 

Satoru was a talker typically- teasing and being able to act on his horny threats just to make you blush. But now Satoru held her tongue, shy eyes avoiding your gaze. And squirming at the light grips you’d make against his thighs. 

And when her hips had ground down- instinctively as though you had cock for him. 

Or when your hands finally reached his pale inner thighs- you swore you could hear a slight shudder take the shape of a whimper leave Gojo’s throat. The prettiest sound you had yet to hear from him. 

He would let out pretty sounds generally, but this- this was something different. More defined, and less throaty. Almost as angelic as the pretty white lashes fanning over Satoru’s blushing cheeks. 

His hand urging you with a light squeeze at your thigh. When you finally traced the pad of your thumb against the little glistening pearl that you had neglected for what felt like an eternity to Satoru;

As though it was unwillingly, tossing her head back with a nibbled lip. Even the curve of her neck was fucking pretty. 

Dissolving into the feeling of your gentle thumb against his clit. His grip against your thigh turned to a squeeze with urge as you made more teasing circles against him with a hand on his pale thigh. 

Between a breathy moan, Satoru looked back to you- “It’s unfair that you get to feel this all the time.” she huffed as you applied a little more pressure to the sensitive nub. 

“Just wait till I make you cum-” you huffed with a smile, watching Satoru’s effeminate face churn with pinched eyebrows at your words. 

You raised your hand from his thigh- placing it flat, right where his womb would be. “Do you feel it building right here?” you asked in a murmur, looking up at your pretty boyfriend with amazed eyes. 

Satoru only nodded quickly- her plush lip tucked between pearly teeth and eyes closed. Your thumb making hastier circles and watching Satoru’s chest heave with eyes full of wonder.

Your hand traced to her bent hip, lightly squeezing at the malleable skin and watching the face Satoru made as you drew an orgasm out of her. The tips of your ring and middle finger circling at the taut entrance that seeped nectar. 

Satoru gasped when the pad of your thumb caught the very tip of his clit. Snapping one of his slender hands onto your shoulder as a brace. And your lips being right at the level of his perky tits- your lips parted and latched onto the puffy pink nipple on her chest. 

The whimpers that left Gojo’s throat were far too genuine- knowing how unashamed he was about them normally, the ones he let out now would be equally as unashamed.

Satoru’s lips parted in a small ‘o’- stuttering over every other moan as your thumb rubbed harsher circles against him. Your tongue lapped at the pebble of her nipple, sucking harshly to draw more pretty sounds from her lips. 

Gojo tried- she tried warning that they were cumming. As though some kind of mess would spew from him as it usually did. Only your hands didn’t care- neither did your relentless lips. 

With a choked moan- Satoru held his breath. His cunt clenching around nothing as the tips of your fingers felt the twitching his entrance made- as though she was trying to suck them in. 

Your eyes looked up at the pretty sight before you- parting your lips and throwing your head back. Watching with amazed eyes at the pale, shuddering shoulders that were graced with light goosebumps. 

Satoru’s eyebrows were lightly pinched, and her puffy lips parted- finally releasing the air trapped in his lungs with a pretty moan. 

Giving him a few seconds to shake off the aftershocks of his very first orgasm as a woman. Satoru trailed her hands to the side of your head, caressing gently and looking down with a peaked corner at her lip. 

“So unfair-” he whispered, leaning down and pressing a lazy kiss onto your lips as his hips ground down to your fingers. Your thumb made little to no movements as Satoru’s hips urged your fingers to press inside. 

And as bitchy and needy as he was as a man- You knew not to deny Satoru this now. 

Isolating your middle finger and pressing against Satoru’s soaked, taut entrance- a whimper between a breath leaving his throat and rumbling onto your lips. Lightly curling your finger until you hit a little nudge inside him. 

The little prod making Satoru pull away from you with a soft whine. Both of his hands now on your neck and arm- trying to find soothing in whatever his hands could grip. 

“More,” Satoru whimpered into the air between you- a high pitched upturn ending her plea. Your lips latched onto hers- drawing your finger from her soft walls and pressing it to the neighboring finger. 

Lazily kissing at the corner of her mouth, trailing kisses down to Satoru’s softer jaw. Pressing both of your fingers past her entrance- “So tight-” you murmured, feeling resistance from her walls as her hands gripped harder. 

Clearer whimpers and moans, leaving her throat at the light sting, your lips kissing down her neck- trying to find the sweet spot Satoru always allowed you to exploit. 

And when the tips of both of your fingers reached that same spot from earlier, the moan that left Satoru’s lips bordered on guttural- a high-pitched inhale followed as your lips found the sensitive spot of her neck. 

Suckling at the pale skin as your palm pressed flush against her clit. Satoru’s eyes fluttered shut as his hips started moving back and forth. Unashamedly rutting his cunt against the arch of your palm as your fingers lightly bumped into her gspot. 

Your lips formed a smile against Gojo’s skin- grateful of how pretty she sounded, almost like a hymn to your ears. Even more with the light squelches of his cunt frotting against your hand. 

Reaching your hand up her ribcage that flared with every sharp inhale she made. Lightly cupping her breast with a teasing thumb on the hardened nipple. 

It was too much for Satoru- overstimulating himself as his hips moved without instruction from his brain. The tingle of Satoru’s own gluttony formed in his spine as your thumb took a few soft swipes at his nipple. 

“M’gonna cum again-” she whimpered, as though it was you moving her hips against your palm. You pulled your lips from her collarbone with a smile. 

“Go ahead.” you instructed, tone far too deep and overindulgent as Gojo’s hips moved quicker- frotting her leaking cunt against you with a whimper. 

It was as though the pearly gates of heaven opened for Satoru as he felt another orgasm wave over her petite shoulders, his cunt clenching around your fingers. Barely able to keep his posture as she rode herself down- greedy hums leaving Satoru’s lips as you kissed at her chest. 

Using the hand on her hip to guide her to keel onto her side- landing on the bed with a pleased smile. Rolling onto her back as your lips planted gentle kisses on her sternum. 

Soft hums leave his lips as your hands spread his thighs. Tilting her head to the side and watching your shoulders rest between her flawless thighs. Placing a hand to the top of your head as your lips kissed at her thighs. 

“You’re so greedy~” Satoru hummed as your lips dampened small circles on her thighs- close to her glistening cunt, but still so fucking far. 

You let out a soft laugh, “I’m greedy?” softly caressing his outer thighs as she nodded against the pillows. Excitement reeling behind her cerulean eyes- so eager to know what it feels like to receive head as a woman. 

And as though her hand was urging you to finally kiss somewhere other than her thighs- you made a light lick from her perfectly displayed cunt up to her clit with a shuddering sigh leaving her lips. A groan left your lips at her flavor- as sweet as you expected her to taste. 

Your hands held Satoru’s hips, keeping them spread with her feet planted harshly against the bed. Your tongue made a few more kitten licks at her clit- hearing the desperation in every whimper that left her lips. 

Taking one of your hands and aligning it with her entrance again- right below your chin and slowly pushing them in. Your lips connect with the base of her clit with your tongue lightly swirling against the puffy nub. 

Your fingers moving with ease now- his cumt stretched just enough for you to start pumping your fingers. Satoru swore that his eyes would cross had he held them open- so he closed them. 

Thralling his head back into the pillows with a throaty moan- the hand on his hip moving up her side- gripping at Satoru’s breast with a light squeeze. 

Gojo’s back arching against the bed as your fingers prodded against her gspot. The whispers of overstimulation roaming up her spine once more as she felt another orgasm build in her womb. 

Only this time it felt different- His moans far too loud as your tongue made relentless swirls against her clit- your fingers bumping into her gspot at the perfect angle. 

“Wait-” Satoru inhaled sharply, his hips bucking up into your mouth as the knot in her tummy tightened. Nodding her head quickly as she fisted the sheets- knuckles turning white from how hard she was gripping. 

You looked up at Gojo, furrowed eyebrows and parted lips greeting you as Satoru whimpered. Threats of ‘I’m gonna—’ left her lips as you continued the mean movements. 

Satoru sat up slightly with a groan- your palm filling with spurts of liquid as your fingers continued. 

Loud mewls leaving Gojo’s throat as your mouth refused to stop- making sure to drain Satoru as the sides of your face became drenched with his squirt. 

“J-jesus fucking chri-” she called out in an exhale- her hips stuttering against your lips as you slowed your fingers. 

And when you finally got your fill, Satoru’s hands cupped the sides of your face and pulled you back up to him. A light moan vibrating onto your lips as she kissed you. Tasting her own slick and essence on your lips with every swipe her tongue made against yours.

Your hands groping at her thighs as Satoru pulled away from your lips- looking into your eyes with urgency. 

“Fuck me baby, please-” She whimpered into the air, desperately needing to feel you. In any way she could. 

You pressed your lips onto hers again, feeling her hand roam down to your bottom and give you a squeeze, the other cupping at your breast- noting that even as a woman, Satoru had wandering hands. 

In the split second after Satoru begged you to fuck her- you thought to the how. No strap- no toys at your disposal- but then you thought of the closest thing. 

Rolling over with Satoru in your hands- leaving you on your back with one of Satoru’s knees planted beneath your thigh. The other straddled atop your other leg.

Completely tangled between limbs as you pulled your lips from hers- Your bare cunt and his threatening to touch as she looked at you with curious eyes. 

You placed your hands onto her hips, looking into her bleary, cerulean eyes and guiding her down. A little whimper leaves your lips at the sudden contact of her cunt against yours. 

It took very little for Satoru to get the hint- planting her hands onto your sides and straightening her back. 

Taking a small nibble at her lip at the feeling of your clits bumping against each other. Looking down and watching at the small grinds he made- a small giggle laced with a moan leaving her lips. “Ffffuck, It’s like we’re kissing~” she grinned, causing you to let out a small laugh with an eye roll. 

Satoru reached for the back of your thigh with one hand, pinning it up slightly to give her a better access and a better view. 

Gojo tried starting at a slow pace- but the warmth radiating from your cunt onto his was undeniably tantalizing. 

Small moans fell from her lips as she started making unpatterned, sloppy thrusts against you. Uncaring if it wasn’t right- only that it felt good when his clit would bump against yours and the mixing slick of both your cunts making the filthiest shlops and squelches made him even more wet.

Her tits bounced with every desperate thrust she made against you, your hands holding a bruising grip at her pale hips, following every grind she would make against you. 

And when Satoru’s thighs started burning from the frantic movements- your hands led her hips into the frotting. Through gritted teeth- “Right here ‘toru-” you mumbled, Satoru taking over for your hands and humping against that very spot. 

Her face churned with pure, undiscovered pleasure as the mixed slick made it easier to glide against you. 

Shared moans reverberated off the walls before Satoru leaned down to connect her lips with yours, her breasts pressing against yours harshly. Keeping the same quick pace against your linked cunts. 

His tongue slotting against yours sloppily as moans rumbled against each other- hands gripping at anything they could find with his clit grinding against your own neglected one. Building your own orgasm as you hummed against Gojo’s lips.

One of your hands on her plump ass- gripping harshly with the other on her hip- and Satoru’s were gripping for dear life at your plush thighs- working himself through the overstimulation with soft groans against your lips. 

Splitting the kiss with a loud whimper- desperate hips rutting against you at an unbelievable pace as you felt the knot in your tummy threaten to come undone- “I’m cummin-” she whimpered before pressing her lips back onto yours. 

Your eyes tightened as Satoru worked you past an orgasm, back arching against the bed as Satoru crossed the finish line with you. Squirting whatever was left inside of her against your cunt. 

Huffing heavily through her nose as her hips slowed- Satoru’s grip on your thighs loosening as she felt the aftershocks roll through her shoulders. 

Easing your thigh down and feeling Gojo rest her body weight atop yours- just like he did when he was a man. Her lips sloppily moved against yours before pulling away- hazy eyes and pressing her chest further into yours with a pout. 

Your hands raised from her ass and rested on the soft skin of her back. Satoru raised her shoulders and looked into your eyes- almost troubled.

“What is it?” you mumbled, touching her cheek and caressing it softly with your thumb. Watching the pout deepen before parting his lips. 

Her breasts pressed against yours- “How do you know what to do with another girl?” Satoru pouted in a sad tone. You smiled softly, nodding your head and resting back into the pillows. 

“I did a lot of experimenting in college.” you hummed, Satoru following you and rubbing her nipples against yours unknowingly. 

Your eyes flashed down to your connected chests- “You’ll still like me when I become- me again, right?” She spoke softly- shy and stark in comparison to how he usually was. 

You pinched your eyebrows- “Course I will ‘toru-” pressing a soft kiss to her lips, “I can’t wait till you're back to normal.” you mumbled. Looking at the blush on Satoru’s cheeks deepen at your declaration. 

Satoru let out a dreamy sigh, squinting and looking down to where your eyes kept flashing. “S’like we’re kissing.” you smiled with a mumble, a small giggle leaving Satoru’s lips. 

She sighed, leaning her head back down to your shoulder, “Dunno how you get anything done if that’s what it feels like every time.” Satoru mumbled, closing her eyes and placing a hand on the side of your face. 

A half-laugh left your throat, “I would be all over you 24/7 if I was a chick.” he hummed, legs tangled against each other as your hand rubbed small circles at her back. 

“God knew not to make you a woman, you’d cause too much trouble,” you murmured, hearing a half conscious hum leave Satoru’s lips as she drifted to sleep atop you. 

That night you fell asleep with your girlfriend in your arms- soft, dainty and bare in your hands. Breathing softly with a feminine tinge in every exhale she made. 

And you woke up with your broad, far too heavy boyfriend in your arms. His exhales taking their usual throaty tone when he breathed them against your skin.  

Either or- it was still your Satoru. No matter what form he took, he was still yours. 

-

(a.n) this was so hot, I love woman, and gojussy. by the time you're reading this, ill be watching a medieval tournament👍🏽

[shotmrmiller]

retired pornstar ghost has always been a talker. his voice is deep— a low rumble like distant thunder. always gets anyone that's under him going.

his voice to his own ears sounds plain, like any other man, really; he doesn't see the appeal. but what he does find appealing are the noises that come from you, his cute co-star when he talks to you, lips dripping with honey.

ghost loves when you clamp down on his cock, squeezing him like a vice when his wicked words sink into your ears. "tight bloody cunt would drive any man wild, love. how lucky i am that it's me getting to fuck you."

"look at you under me," he stills the bucking of your hips with one hand, skin dimpling where his fingers dig into you, "at my mercy, taking my desire."

"doing so well," he coos.

ghost lets out a sharp exhale through his teeth when your walls begin to flutter around him. "so quick to come, and i haven't even touched," he moves his hand down to your mons, thumb finding your swollen pearl, "here."

the circles he draws there are tight, precise, destructive. he brutally wrenches your orgasm from you, and in your blinding ecstasy, you dig your nails into the side of his proportionately wider waist.

his hips undulate as he fucks you through it while still fucking talking.

"kitty's got claws, doesn't she? i love a little—" but the words that were on his tongue crumbled into ash. you'd dragged your nails on his skin in mild annoyance, because how dare he sound so untaxed even though you're still twitching from the aftershocks under him—

the silence spoke volumes; he'd even stopped moving. you did it again, and this time he had whimpered— a pathetic little noise that came from the back of his throat.

delicious.

you wonder. this time, your nails score red lines down the front of his chest, grazing a little too close to his nipple and he groaned. loud.

delectable, like thick, molten chocolate.

now it's your turn to do the talking. "the mighty ghost, rendered speechless. have i performed a miracle?"

peering down at you, his eyes hold a deeper shade than usual. you continue to claw at him, this time targeting his unmistakably sensitive nipple. the sight of his eyes rolling back in sheer bliss ignites a fire within you.

"my, oh my," the smug grin on your face perfectly matches your tone. "tell me what you need, ghost. you need me to mark you up? want to see me on you come morning?"

his growl is animalistic, a shiver licks up your spine. he quickly bends you in half, feet dangling helplessly on his brawny shoulders.

"bite."

it's easy to follow his edict when he hits so deeply in this angle that the pain and pleasure blur into one overwhelming sensation. your teeth sink into the thick meat of his barrel chest, and he abruptly stills, a guttural snarl escaping his lips.

he doesn't speak a word until after; when his seed drips from your glistening slit and sweat-slick skin begins to cool down.

"fuckin' hell, love."

[fxllfaiiry]

─ you're the sunflower ੈ✩‧₊˚

✶ pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!reader

✶ synopsis: everyone on the team loves you, expect miguel who seems to hate you more than anyone.

✶ warnings: angst!! major angst. sunshine!reader x grumpy!miguel. reader is nicknamed sunflower, mentions of death.

✶ notes: there's one spanish sentence in this, I'm not good with spanish so if I've made a mistake please tell me so i can fix it! part two is already up!!!

Everyone on the team loved you from the moment you joined, everyone, except Miguel. 

You knew Miguel was cold towards everyone, but he was extra cold with you. Maybe it was because of how different your personalities were. 

You were the embodiment of sunshine, always positive in any situation, putting others before yourself. Hence why everyone calls you sunflower, it fits perfectly, Miles was proud of coming up with it. 

Miguel on the other hand was cold and distant but that didn't stop you from trying to get him to open up. You'd try to have simple conversations with him but nothing, all you would receive in reply was an eye roll or a slight grunt, but you wouldn't give up that easily. 

Like today, you got him some coffee. 

"Morning, boss. Got you some coffee." You said in your usual cheerful tone. 

"Why?" He raised his eyebrows, looking down at you suspiciously. That's the most he's said to you all week. 

"Because I wanted to." You shrugged, placing it down on his desk. 

He steped down walking towards his desk, you couldn't help but stare at him, unfortunately for you, everything about him was so attractive, it's such a shame he hated you. 

"This isn't how I like my coffee." 

"Huh?" You snapped out of your daydream at the sound of his voice. 

"The coffee, it tastes terrible. Get it from another place next time." 

"Well, actually I made it-" But he had already walked away from you not listening to a word you said. "Alright, never mind, I'll just go back to work." You mumbled hurt by his words. 

"Wait, hold on." You looked up, thinking, maybe he'll say something nice after all. 

"Yeah?" 

"Take the coffee with you, I won't be drinking it." 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Girl, why do you look so sad? Did Miguel do something again?" Jess asked with a frown, she did not like seeing you sad. 

"No."

"Sunflower…"

"Okay, yes." Miguel being cold towards you was normal, he never spoke to you unless necessary. Out of everyone here, he probably hated you the most, even more than Miles.  

"Sunflower, I've told you to stop trying." Jess sighed. 

"I know, I know… why does he hate me so much, Jess?" 

"That's just the way he is, don't overthink it. It's his loss, baby." She replied, gently patting your shoulder. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Today was going to be a good day, you were so sure of it. 

But, of course, you were wrong. 

Everything was going great up until a few hours ago. 

Miguel had assigned you on a mission to catch an anomaly, alongside a few other spider-people. His instructions were clear, stick to the plan and catch the anomaly. It was supposed to be simple. 

If only you didn't disobey him. You screwed up badly, and because of that, you could have been killed. 

"Why don't you ever listen?" Miguel shouted. No one had ever seen him this angry. 

"I was just tryin-" 

"¡Ay, por el amor de Dios!" Being yelled at by your boss in front of your coworkers was humiliating, everyone was looking at you with pity. 

"I'm sick of this, why can’t you follow simple instructions? Is it that hard to understand?" He barked, towering over you. 

"It's not a big deal." You tried to keep your composure, you didn't want to humiliate yourself further by bursting into tears. 

"Not a big deal? You could've died! A simple mistake would have ruined the whole mission." 

Don't cry. Don't cry. 

"But we're all fine, aren't we?" You weakly chuckled. That was the wrong thing to say because it only made him angrier. 

"Oh? If that's the attitude you have then you shouldn't even be on the team." Ouch. 

"Miguel, I think that's enough-" Hobie said, quickly jumping in. 

"Not now, Hobie." He growled. 

Never once did you think that you'd be in a situation like this. 

"If you put more focus on trying to be good at your job, rather than impressing me, we wouldn't even be here!" Oh, so he did notice that. 

At this point, tears were streaming freely down your face and you made no attempt to stop them. 

"Yep, you got it, boss." You smiled up at him through your tears. It was pathetic, but you did not care, you just wanted to leave and never come back. 

"Next time make sure this doesn't happen." 

"It won't happen next time." That's because there won't be a next time.

[buckyalpine]

Bucky comfort. What I need like air right now is a sweet, chubby baker Bucky who notices his bunny is down. She doesn't say anything out of the ordinary when she comes to visit the bakery, kissing his soft scruffy cheek before taking a seat at the booth with a fresh Danish he made.

Cherry, because that's her favorite.

He can tell something is off when her smile doesn't quite meet her eyes and she's curled up in his hoodie quietly nibbling on the pastry instead of clinging onto him like she usually does.

He doesn't like it. Not one bit.

He loves when his girl hugs his thick waist tightly from behind while his works at the dough and rolls out croissants. Her little hands usually knead at the fluff around his belly. Instead she seems to be in her own world, wrapping her arms tightly around herself and pushing herself further into her seat to hide from the rest of world. You tell him you have to run a few errands and he doesn't miss your steamy eyes and small voice as you scurry off out of the bakery and it just adds to his worry.

Bucky was having none of that.

He lets Sam and Steve take over a couple of his orders, cleaning off and deciding to go straight home to you instead, he knows you don't actually have errands to do, he always makes sure to take care of them anyway. When he arrives back home, he isn't surprised to see your smaller form curled in a ball on the couch, eyes wide, surprised to see him.

"Bucky?" the quiver in your voice gives away that you'd been crying moments earlier.

"C'mere baby bunny" Bucky cooed, scooping you up in his beefy arms, and cradling your body to his, holding you to his chest while you nuzzle into his neck. "Wanna tell me what's going on in that little head of yours" He whispered against your hair, stroking it while you pull back, giving him a shrug. He knows you don't always want to talk about it but he's going to do what he can to make you feel better

"I'm not sure" You say with a sigh, your mind still running around a thousand miles a minute. Nothing particularly bad happened but one thought led to another; questioning if you were happy with your job, if you were happy with where you were in life, if you were someone Bucky would actually even want to be with, someone so sweet and loving and handsome like him, all your friends seemed to have found their footing and you were still here so unsure-

"Shhh" he kissed your forehead as if he could hear your insecurities screaming at you from inside your head. "What do you need sweet girl" His lips brush against the top of your head, breathing in your soft scent of peach body wash and vanilla lotion. He has you perfectly tucked into his much larger form, as if he were trying to protect his baby bunny from the rest of the world.

"Cuddles?" You cling onto him, sighing contently when he shifts so he can wrap you up in his arms while you bury your face into his chest. Everything about him is so comforting, if you could find a way to burrow yourself into him, you would. Your wiggling and shifting to get even closer makes Bucky chuckle, cooing at the whine you let out when he pulls away.

"Not going anywhere bunny, just getting us more comfortable" You're not sure how he does it but with minimal effort and movement he's helped you strip off all your clothes along with his, tossing the fluffy throw to cover you both up. You love feeling his bare skin against yours, practically purring now that you can feel every bit of him.

The rumble of your stomach doesn't go unnoticed by Bucky and he makes sure to wrap you up in a blanket burrito before getting up and padding over to the kitchen.

"Where are you going now" You pout and he cups your face with the gentlest touch.

"You're hungry bub, I'm just getting a snacky" and with that he walks off, grinning at the giggle you let out watching his perfectly perky ass saunter off.

"Yummyy" You wiggle happily from under your blanket at both the sight of you very pretty, very naked boyfriend carrying in a plate of more Danishes and a bunch of other pastries and fruit he grabbed on the way out when he left the bakery.

Bucky adores seeing you like this, setting down the snacks so he can hold you again when you give him grabby arms. He doesn't let you lift a fingers, feeding you another Danish, kissing the crumbs that clung onto your lips. He runs you a bath next. His bunny doesn't feel like moving much so he's happy to carry you there while you wrap yourself around him like a koala bear.

By the end of the night he loves seeing the light return to your eyes, your soft giggles when he has you perched on the bathroom counter doing your skin care routine with him.

"Keep your little paws to yourself, doll" Bucky swats away your hands when you reach for the lotion, taking over the job for himself. He's more than happy to massage up and down your calves to your thighs. He massages all the knots out of your back and shoulders before carrying you off to bed again for more cuddles and kisses.

Anyway, this was sitting in the drafts for weeds and it's still what I need rn.

[pucksandpower]

Young Love and Old Money

Max Verstappen x Stroll!Reader

Summary: Max quickly learns that life with the paddock’s favorite nepo baby as his girlfriend is never boring

You take a deep breath as the town car pulls up to the grand arched doorway of your family’s Montreal estate. Beside you, Max squeezes your hand gently.

“Don’t worry, schatje,” he says, “Your father will love me.”

You smile nervously. “I hope so. But you know how protective he can be.”

Max grins. “I can handle it.”

The driver opens the door and you step out into the crisp night air, your heels clicking on the cobblestone. Max follows, straightening his suit jacket.

Inside, the foyer glitters with crystal chandeliers. A maid hurries to take your coats. As she leads you to the formal dining room, your heart pounds.

This dinner needs to go perfectly.

Your father and Lance are already seated at the long mahogany table, chatting. They look up as you enter and break into smiles.

“Y/N!” Your father exclaims warmly, standing to embrace you. “So wonderful to see you, mon minou.”

You hug him tightly back. “You too, Papa.”

Lance grins as he hugs you next. “Hey sis. Long time no see.”

You playfully mess up his hair. “Too long, little bro.”

Finally, you turn to Max, who is waiting patiently. “Papa, Lance, you already know my boyfriend, Max.”

Max steps forward confidently and shakes their hands. “Mr. Stroll, Lance, it’s an honor to finally meet you both properly.”

Your father looks Max up and down appraisingly. “The honor is mine, Max. Please, call me Lawrence.”

You let out a small sigh of relief as you all take your seats. So far, so good.

The first course is brought out — a decadent lobster bisque. You all sip appreciatively.

“Delicious,” Max compliments.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” your father says graciously. “Now, tell me Max, how is your season going so far?”

You tense slightly. Here it comes, the interrogation.

But Max just smiles. “It’s been excellent. A few tough races, but I’m leading the championship at the moment. The car has great pace and I think we have a shot at the title again this year.”

Lance jumps in enthusiastically. “I saw your battle with Charles last race when I was rewatching the tape. Epic stuff, man!”

“Thanks, mate,” Max chuckles. “It was a fun one for sure.”

You exhale in relief. Max is charming them perfectly.

The conversation flows easily through the next few courses. You can’t help but gaze admiringly at Max as he seamlessly meshes with your family. He has a natural confidence and charisma that puts everyone at ease.

Over dessert, your father says warmly, “Max, I can see why my Y/N cares for you. You’re clearly an exceptional young man, both on and off the track.”

Max smiles, touched. “Thank you, sir. Y/N is very special to me.” He squeezes your hand.

You beam, your heart swelling. This is going even better than you hoped.

You finish up the chocolate mousse and set down your spoon contentedly. “That was delicious. This dinner has been wonderful, thank you Papa.”

“Of course,” your father says fondly. “I’m so glad you both could make it out here from Monaco.”

“Thank you for having me,” Max adds.

“Anytime,” Lawrence smiles.

You glance around the table happily. Your boyfriend fits right in with your family. Everything feels so natural and perfect.

“Daddy, could you please pass the sugar?” You ask amiably.

Immediately, both Max and your father’s hands reach for the small pot of sugar in the center of the table. They both freeze awkwardly for a second, before Lawrence pulls his hand back slowly.

You feel your stomach drop as you see the dawning realization cross your father’s face.

Oh no.

This is bad.

Lawrence’s smile becomes forced. “So tell me Max, what exactly does my daughter call you?”

Max’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. “Um, just Max usually.”

You sink down in your chair, wincing.

Your father lets out a hollow laugh. “Is that so? Because it didn’t sound like that to me.”

A leaden silence descends on the table. Lance glances between you all, smothering a smirk.

Max clears his throat awkwardly. “Well, uh, that’s just a casual nickname really ...”

Lawrence raises an eyebrow. “A casual nickname you say? For my daughter to call her boyfriend in front of her family?”

You close your eyes, willing yourself to vanish. This is excruciatingly embarrassing.

“Dad, come on,” Lance snickers, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “They’re young, it’s whatever.”

“No Lance, it’s not whatever,” your father snaps, an edge in his voice now. “I would like Max to explain himself here.”

Max holds up his hands placatingly. “Sir, I apologize if we’ve made you uncomfortable. But I assure you our relationship is completely respectful.”

You nod quickly. “Papa, he’s right. Can we please just move on?”

But Lawrence is unyielding. “I will not have anyone take liberties with my daughter, do you understand me, young man?”

Max looks properly chastened. “Yes sir, of course. I meant no offense.”

Your father bristles as he glares between you. The awkward tension hovers for several painful moments.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. “Papa, stop!” You blurt out. “I’m an adult now. You can’t control what I choose to do with my boyfriend.”

Lawrence looks stunned, then hurt. “Y/N, I’m just looking out for you ...”

“I know, but I don’t need protecting from Max. He’s wonderful and he makes me so happy. Can’t you let me make my own choices?”

Your father’s expression softens. He sighs. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just … so hard for me to think of you growing up.”

You reach over and squeeze his hand. “I know. But I’ll always be your little girl.”

Lawrence smiles tenderly at you, then turns to Max. “Forgive my outburst, son. I can see how much you care for each other.”

Max looks relieved. “Of course, sir. I understand completely.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Crisis averted.

Your father stands, raising his glass. “To young love. May you always treat my daughter with the honor and respect she deserves.”

“I will, sir,” Max promises earnestly.

You all clink glasses, the tension dissolving. Conversation resumes, lighter and more relaxed now.

Later, as Max helps you on with your coat, your father claps him warmly on the back. “Thank you for making my daughter so happy. You’ll always be welcome in our home.”

Max’s face lights up. “Thank you, sir. That means the world.”

Lawrence winks. “I was young once too, you know. Just maybe keep the nicknames to yourselves around me.”

You all laugh together. Your heart swells with joy. Despite the awkward moments, the evening couldn’t have gone better.

As the chauffeur drives off into the night, you snuggle contentedly into Max’s shoulder. “Thank you for being so wonderful tonight,” you whisper.

He kisses your hair. “Of course, liefje. I would do it all over again for you.”

***

The sleek red Ferrari glints under the showroom lights as you and Max admire your reflection in the gleaming curves.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Max grins, running his hand along the hood. “I can’t wait to take her out on the open road.”

You smile at his childlike enthusiasm. “She certainly is gorgeous. You have great taste, babe.”

The salesman steps forward eagerly. “Yes, the Ferrari SF90 Stradale is our newest supercar model. Twin-turbo V8, 720 horsepower. She’ll do 0 to 60 in under three seconds.”

Max’s eyes light up. “Incredible. I think I’m in love already.”

You laugh. “Should I be jealous?”

“Never,” Max winks, pulling you in for a quick kiss.

The salesman smiles indulgently. “Why don’t we step into my office to finalize the paperwork?”

“Sounds good,” Max agrees, lacing his fingers through yours as you follow the salesman.

In the sleek minimalist office, you both take a seat across from the desk as the salesman pulls up Max’s file.

“Excellent. Everything looks in order, Mr. Verstappen,” he says briskly. “If you just sign here and here, we’ll get you all set up.”

Max eagerly scrawls his signature on the documents. You watch in amusement — he reminds you of a kid on Christmas morning.

“Alright, congratulations!” The salesman stands and shakes Max’s hand. “The SF90 is all yours. We’ll have her prepped and ready for you within the hour.”

“Amazing, thanks so much,” Max grins, standing up.

You’re about to follow him out when a flash of black catches your eye. Through the office window, you spot a brand new Ferrari model on display in the showroom.

“Ooh what’s that one?” You ask curiously, gazing at the aggressive curves and styling.

The salesman glances over. “The new 812 Competizione A. It is a limited edition 599-unit production run. Just unveiled last month.”

You feel a thrill run through you as you take in the stunning hypercar. “It’s incredible. I have to have it.”

Max raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? You want that one too?”

You turn to the salesman decisively. “I’ll take it. My family has bought from Ferrari for years, my name should be in your client database.”

“Of course, Miss Stroll,” the salesman nods, typing rapidly into his computer. “I see you right here. Let’s start the paperwork and we’ll get the car ordered for you right away.”

You grab your purse, immediately fishing out your black Centurion Card. “Just bill it to my usual card, thanks,” you say breezily, handing it over.

You can feel Max’s stunned gaze on you but you keep your focus on the salesman, reviewing the spec sheet and customization options.

This new Ferrari is just too sexy to resist.

Within minutes, the paperwork is signed and you’ve secured the very first 812 Competizione A destined to stay in Monaco. You grin excitedly — you can’t wait to get your hands on it.

“Thank you so much, just have it delivered to my place in the Fontvieille district when it’s ready,” you tell the appreciative salesman before turning to leave.

You lace your fingers through Max’s, still smiling about your new spontaneously purchased hypercar. “Ready to take your new baby out for a drive?”

Max is quiet as you walk back to the showroom, seemingly lost in thought. He stays silent as the gleaming red SF90 Stradale is pulled around, not even cracking a smile when the salesman hands over the keys with a flourish.

It’s not until you’ve been driving for several minutes, weaving along the coastal roads overlooking the Mediterranean, that Max finally speaks.

“That was 2.13 million euros,” he states flatly. “And you just ... bought it. Without a second thought.”

You glance over, taking in the unreadable expression on his face. “I mean, yeah, it’s a beautiful model. Why not just get it?” You say casually.

Max shakes his head slowly. “I just can’t wrap my head around having that kind of money. That you can just drop over two million without thinking twice.”

You shift slightly, feeling defensive. “I’m sorry, does it make you uncomfortable? I know I grew up with a very different lifestyle ...”

“No, that’s not it at all,” Max interrupts. He pauses, gazing out at the sparkling blue sea pensively.

“It’s just … I’m not used to being with someone who’s on my level. Financially, I mean. All my previous girlfriends, I always had to take care of everything. Pay for dinner, vacations, whatever they needed.”

He turns to look at you. “But you’re different. You have as much money as me, more even. You can buy a hypercar on a whim, no problem. It’s new territory.”

You chew your lip. “I don’t want you to feel emasculated or anything. If you want to pay or take care of things ...”

Max shakes his head again, more firmly this time. “That’s just it — I don’t. I like that you’re independent. It’s really ...”

He pauses, blushing slightly. “Sexy. That’s the word. It’s sexy that you have your own money and success. I’m not used to feeling that in a relationship before.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. That was not the reaction you were expecting.

Max glances at you almost shyly. “Is that weird to say? I just mean, it’s different than what I’m used to, but in a good way. Like we’re equals, you know?”

Slowly, a smile spreads across your face. “No, not weird at all. I get what you mean.” You reach over and squeeze his hand. “This is new territory for me too. But I like discovering it together.”

Max’s face lights up with that radiant smile that melts your heart. “Me too, liefje.”

Your conversation flows easily as you cruise along the seaside, the setting sun glittering on the water. And seeing the look in his eyes when he glances at you now — equal parts love and admiration — you realize just how right it feels.

Being with someone who can match you in every way is new and different for both of you. But you have a feeling it’s the start of something beautiful.

***

The energy buzzing around the paddock is electric as you walk hand-in-hand with Max towards the Red Bull motorhome. Fans line the barriers, cheering and shouting his name. Max smiles and waves, slowing to sign autographs and snap selfies with outstretched phones.

You hang back politely as he interacts with his adoring public. You know the drill by now, having attended countless races with your dad and brother over the years. Blend into the background and let the drivers have their moment.

“Max! Can we get an autograph?” A young girl calls out eagerly, brandishing a cap and marker pen.

“Of course!” Max says graciously, letting go of your hand to walk over.

You hang back contentedly, happy to let him have his moment with his supporters. You catch snippets of their supportive comments as Max signs item after item, posing for selfies in between.

“You’re the greatest, Max!”

“That last win was epic. Get that fourth title this year!”

“We love you so much!”

You smile to yourself. Seeing how much joy Max brings to these fans makes your heart swell with pride and affection.

As you stand waiting patiently, you overhear the girl lean over to her friend and not-so-subtly whisper, “Who’s the chick with Max? She looks kinda stuck up if you ask me.”

Your smile freezes. You see the girl jerk her head rudely in your direction, glaring at you.

“I know right,” her friend agrees in a carrying whisper. “Another gold-digger who managed to sink her claws into a rich man too blind to see what she’s doing.”

You clench your jaw, stung by their spiteful words. Who do they think they are, judging you when they don’t even know you?

Max is still occupied with the other fans, oblivious. You debate whether to just ignore the rude girls. But their jealous gossiping has sparked your defiance. Why should you stay silent?

Squaring your shoulders, you turn and level a steady gaze at them. “For your information, I don’t need a rich man. I am a rich man,” you state coldly.

Their eyes widen in shock, mouths dropping open stupidly. Clearly they weren’t expecting you to confront them.

Before they can react, Max is suddenly beside you, slipping his arm around your waist.

“Whoa, everything okay here?” His gaze darts between you and the embarrassed fans.

You take a breath, ready to explain it away. But Max doesn’t give you the chance.

“You know, if anything, I’m the one who got my claws hooked into her,” he announces, lips curving into a smirk.

Now it’s your turn to gape at him in surprise. The nasty fans look completely bewildered.

“That’s right ladies, I’m just a kept man,” Max continues lightly. “Her arm candy. A sugar baby, if you will.”

He pretends to examine his nails arrogantly and you have to stifle a shocked laugh. Is he actually joking about being your boy toy right now?

Max leans in conspiratorially. “Between you and me, dating a Stroll has done wonders for my bank account. I mean have you seen the new and improved garage decor?”

You smother your grin behind your hand as he prattles on, winking at you.

“So don’t worry about Y/N here, she can buy and sell me twice over.” Max presses a smacking kiss to your cheek. “Isn’t that right, schatje?”

Finally you can’t hold back your laughter anymore. Max joins in and the fans stare, unsure how to react.

“Come on sugar mama, we’ve got a race to win,” Max says breezily, steering you away.

Once safely inside the garage, you turn to him incredulously. “What was that all about?”

Max shrugs, his expression sobering. “I heard what they said. Just wanted to shut them up and defend my girl.”

Your heart melts. Standing on your tiptoes, you kiss him soundly. “My hero. Thank you.”

Max still looks bothered. “You shouldn’t have to deal with stupid gossip. Especially not lies about you using me.”

You slip your arms around his neck persuasively. “It usually doesn’t get to me. Let the jealous haters talk. We know the truth.”

He sighs, gently moving a strand of hair from your face. “I just hate anyone thinking badly of you. You deserve the world.”

Touched by his sincerity, you pull him down into a soft kiss. When you finally draw apart, an idea pops into your head.

“Although ...” you begin thoughtfully, “Maybe we should lean into it.”

Max looks confused. “What do you mean?”

You grin mischievously. “You’re my hot trophy boyfriend. I need to show you off and treat you right.”

Comprehension dawns on Max’s face and he barks out a laugh. “Well I won’t say no to being spoiled.”

He winks roguishly and you dissolve into giggles. The stupid gossipers don’t know anything. You and Max are just perfect together.

For the rest of the weekend, you shamelessly flaunt your new role as Max’s “sugar mommy.” At every opportunity, you shower him with over-the-top gifts and PDA in front of the other drivers and team members.

Designer watches, bouquets of flowers, bottles of decadent gin for his favorite drink — you deliver them all publicly to Max along with cooed compliments and kisses. You can see the amusement hidden behind his mock protests at being “objectified.”

The other drivers are endlessly entertained. Daniel teases Max about latching onto an heiress, while Charles jokingly asks if you have a sister he can date.

By the time Max wins on Sunday, cementing his spot at the top of the championship, the silly gossip from earlier in the weekend is long forgotten.

As you snuggle together on the flight home from the race, you turn to Max curiously. “So, how does it feel being a kept man?”

He pretends to consider it deeply. “Hmm, tough to say. The gifts and pampering were nice ...”

You swat his chest indignantly and he laughs.

“Kidding, kidding,” he assures, pulling you tighter against him. “Obviously I love you for you, not your money, schatje.”

His voice softens. “Thank you for this weekend. I know the gossip bothered you, even if you didn’t show it. I’m lucky to have you by my side.”

You tilt your face up to meet his lips, kissing him tenderly. No more words are needed. Being together says it all.

***

The roar of the crowd surrounds you as you step onto the red carpet on Max’s arm, cameras flashing wildly. He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze and leans in close.

“You ready for this, liefje?”

You take a deep breath and nod, pasting on a smile. “Ready.”

This is your big formal debut — attending your first FIA Prize Giving Ceremony as Max’s girlfriend. And with him just winning his fourth World Championship, all eyes are sure to be on you both tonight.

You try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as you begin the walk down the carpet, waving politely to the fans shouting Max’s name. He looks completely at ease, his fourth-straight title boosting his confidence even higher.

You, on the other hand, feel like you might trip over your gown at any moment under the blinding spotlights. But you keep your chin high, channeling the poise that’s been drilled into you since girlhood.

Perks of growing up in high society — you know how to fake it on a red carpet.

About halfway down, an interviewer steps forward, microphone in hand. “Max Verstappen! Congratulations on your fourth championship. How are you feeling tonight?”

Max smiles easily. “Thank you, it feels amazing. It was a great battle all season long so this one feels very satisfying.”

The reporter nods, then turns her attention to you. “And who is this lovely lady accompanying you tonight?”

“This is my girlfriend, Y/N,” Max introduces you proudly.

“Y/N, you look absolutely stunning tonight, if you don’t mind me saying,” the interviewer gushes. “That gown is exquisite!”

You relax slightly, warming to her friendly tone. “Thank you so much!” You smile.

“In fact, both of your outfits are fabulous,” she continues. “Who are you wearing tonight?”

Max’s face lights up. He squeezes your hand excitedly. “Funny you should ask — we’re both wearing custom Y/N Stroll originals!”

You have to resist the urge to giggle at the unconcealed pride in his voice.

The interviewer’s eyes widen. “No way, you designed these yourselves?”

You nod, enjoying her reaction. “I did, yeah. Fashion design is a bit of a hobby of mine.”

“A hobby she’s amazing at,” Max interjects adoringly. “She could have her own luxury brand if she wanted. I feel so honored to wear her work.”

You blush at his high praise. “Oh Max, stop. But thank you, that’s so sweet.”

The reporter seems thrilled at this exclusive scoop. “Incredible! It looks like you have some serious talent, Y/N. Any plans to pursue that more seriously?”

You hesitate briefly. Your father has been gently nudging you to take over his fashion business when he retires. But that’s still in the future ...

You decide to give a lighthearted answer. “We’ll see! Fashion does run in my family so it’s always a possibility.” You finish with a coy smile.

“How wonderful! We’ll be keeping an eye out for Y/N Stroll designs in the future then,” the reporter concludes enthusiastically.

You grin and wave as she lets you continue down the carpet, Max��s arm securely around your waist.

“See, that wasn’t so bad was it?” He murmurs in your ear.

“Not at all,” you admit. “I might get used to this whole red carpet thing after all.”

Max winks. “Stick with me and you’ll be a pro in no time.”

Your heart flutters happily. Being by his side just feels so right.

Inside the lavish venue, you’re shown to your table near the front with the other top drivers and their partners. Max pulls out your chair politely before sitting down beside you.

You chat with the other girls at the table, fellow WAGs you’ve gotten to know over the course of the season. They gush over the dress you designed, making you promise to create something for them too.

Soon, the lights dim and the ceremony begins. You clap loudly as Max wins Driver of the Year, bursting with pride for your champion.

Finally, the moment comes for the big one. The announcer begins the buildup, recapping the season’s epic title battle between Max and his closest rival.

"… And in the end, one man emerged victorious for the fourth time in his young but dazzling career,” the announcer concludes. “Formula 1 World Driver’s Champion ... Max Verstappen!”

The room explodes into thunderous applause as Max squeezes your hand and makes his way up to the stage, beaming. You watch with tears in your eyes as he accepts the trophy, looking so handsome and accomplished.

After the ceremony finishes, Max makes his way back to you, trophy in hand. You throw your arms around him. “I’m so proud of you!”

He hugs you tight, then pulls back, his expression earnest. “I couldn’t have done it without your support this season. Having you by my side means everything to me.”

Your heart swells and you kiss him tenderly. “You deserve this so much. And nothing makes me happier than being with you.”

Max’s eyes shine. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Max.”