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yieldtotemptation · 2 months

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BLUEBERRIES ft. Chaewon

chaewon x male reader smut

9k words

"SURPRISE ATTACK!"

—is the last thing you hear before your entire world tilts sideways, the weight of your girlfriend crashing into you, sending you toppling over the arm of your chair and onto the thankfully plush carpet.

And just like that, Kim Chaewon has arrived—shattering the quiet of your apartment with the sound of her giggles and the thud of your bodies.

To her credit, she gracefully lands on top of you—legs straddling your torso, hands pressing down on your chest—pinning you to the floor, and she's grinning—all doe-eyes and mischief, her hair fanned out around her like a strawberry-blonde halo.

"Do you surrender, baby?"

You could pretend to put up a fight—push back a little, buck your hips, take her by the waist—get a little rough. But why would you? Especially when losing meant having Chaewon on top of you.

So, like always, you decide it's best to give your girlfriend exactly what she wants and you play along: enjoying the creamy thighs squeezing your sides, that collarbone peeking out of your stolen sweatshirt, those impossibly large eyes looking down at you as she makes herself comfortable—and you respond with a rather theatrical groan, "I surrender, Chae."

"Nuh uh," she corrects you, her voice dropping down a comically low octave. "It's Chaewon-rys Targar-something, Queen of Apartment 19-4, Ruler of..."

"My fridge?" You offer.

"Very funny,” Chaewon replies, bemused.

It's been weeks without this—without her—and you've barely survived. Chaewon's schedule is a merciless beast, devouring every second of her time. But here she is, now, with you—on top of you—back in your life and picking up from exactly where she left off.

“But,” she continues, “seeing as you're in the mood for jokes how about… ThisI" Chaewon turns cruel, unveiling her most brutal method of torture—tickling. She catches you off guard, shifting her weight, her hands abandoning your chest and flying to your sides, her light fingers dancing over your ribs, her nails lightly digging in just enough to make you squirm.

"Wait-wait-wait!" You try to twist your way free, but she's got you good, her fingers now inching closer to your armpits, towards your most vulnerable spots. "Mercy!" you yell, but she's just getting started— “Mercy!”

"No mercy!" She's relishing this far, far too much, all giggles and grins, delighted at your pathetic efforts to struggle out from her grasp and escape her vicious assault. Your laughter comes out in uncontrollable bursts, as you desperately try to cover your sides to protect yourself from her onslaught.

"Ok-ok-ok-I give up! You win— you win—I give up!" You cry out, your laughter morphing into wheezes as Chaewon's relentless tickling at last, mercifully subsides.

"Aha! Round 129 goes to Kim-Chae-Won!" Chaewon turns and bows to an imaginary audience, mimicking a faraway crowd chanting her name "Kim-Chae-Won! Kim-Chae-Won!"

"I have once again been defeated," you feign a dramatic sigh, drawing an even harder laugh from Chaewon as you roll your eyes to the back your head and let your tongue loll out of your mouth.

Your apparent death does little to faze Chaewon, who takes this as an opportunity to plop down on your stomach, pressing her full weight down on your chest. She props her elbows on either side of your shoulders, her chin resting on her interlocked hands. “I guess it’s time to claim my prize.”

Chaewon slides her hands upwards, her fingertips walking up your arms towards your wrists, squeezing them lightly and pulling them over your head, holding them firm against the ground.

When your eyes finally refocus, she’s hovering over you, her button nose brushing against yours, and her lips—bright pink and slightly parted—just millimeters away from your own.

You're trapped under her, but you hardly mind—she's so warm, so soft, so natural—crime would skyrocket if this was considered a form of punishment.

"Let this be a lesson," she's whispering now, very much satisfied, so close that waves of her strawberry-blonde hair spill down on either side of your face. Strands tickle your nose with the scent of her shampoo, a floral bouquet that you've come to associate with lazy Sundays and the promise of warm breakfasts in bed. "I. Always. End. On. Top."

She finishes her victory speech by stealing a kiss—as light and sweet as she is—but it’s still far, far shorter than you'd like.

That simple kiss has your mind wandering, entertaining the thought of flipping the script—of surprising her, overpowering her and turning the tables.

You could grab her, kiss her long and hard—get rid of that ludicrously oversized sweatshirt and tear off those dangerously short sweatpants. Part those lithe, never-ending legs, feel the warmth of her bare skin against yours, mark your territory on her perfect, toned thighs and each individual abdominal muscle.

But the way she's looking at you, her cheeks flushed from the exertion, her eyes sparkling with playful triumph, she's so adorable that the thought of manhandling her right now seems almost...sacrilegious.

And, let's face it, it's seeing this side of her that you love—the Chaewon that's free from the glitz and glamour of the stage, the choreography, the smiles that are painted on for the cameras. The Chaewon that is not wearing the mask of someone enjoying herself, that is actually, genuinely having a good time.

Here, in your apartment, with the curtains drawn and the outside world blocked out, she's just yours—Kim Chaewon, your girlfriend. The one who laughs at your terrible dad jokes and makes fun of your outdated sense of style, the one who can tell whether you've had a good day or not just by how heavy your feet are when you walk through the front door, the one who knows all the perfect ways to make you relax after a tough day at—

Fuck.

Work.

The word sneaks into your mind like a ninja in the night—silent, swift, and really fucking inconvenient.

Fucking work.

A bullshit spreadsheet you're supposed to be updating and a deck that needs to be finished by tomorrow morning, even though you know it won't be looked at for another month.

You don't have to say anything, Chaewon's already reading the frown lines on your face. "Oh—no-no-no. That's your—'fun time is over I have work to do'—face. I hate that face."

"There's these slides..." you know you’re fighting a losing battle, your voice trailing off as you try to hold onto the last remnants of what was once a very pleasant afternoon.

"No way—not happening," Chaewon insists, emphasising her point with a firm squeeze of your wrists. "I only just came back from Japan, and it’s been weeks. There is no way you're going to ditch the beautiful love of your life for that laptop. I'm literally on top of you right now!"

"Come on, Chae, I was almost done when you came in—"

"—when I defeated you in combat and forced you to surrender— "

"At least let me do a quick review then I swear I'm all yours," you negotiate, trying to maintain eye contact with her but failing as your gaze falls to the laptop atop your desk, the open tabs taunting you. "Five minutes, tops."

"Nope, not moving, not going anywhere, you're just going to have stay under me like this forever." Chaewon's being petulant now—this is more your fault than anything, you've been spoiling her like a princess—and while she is acting like a brat, it's a brat of your own creation.

"Chae—come on—let me up, please."

"If I let you up, you'll get into one of your 'zones' and then it'll be hours before you’re done and you’ll completely ignore me," Chaewon pouts, her nose scrunching up in a way that's both endearing and exasperating. "And I've missed you too much for that."

"I promise I won't—”

Chaewon rolls her eyes at that.

“I'm serious—just let me up."

"Oh, you're serious now, how scary."

"Five minutes, Chae—"

“Bullshit.”

“Come on, let me up.”

"Or what, what are you going to—wait—what the—wait!"

It doesn't take much effort at all—face it, she's at best a hundred pounds soaking wet—but you're already on your feet, wrists free of her dainty fingers, holding her up with just one arm and a single hand palming an ample ass cheek.

You catch your breath as you stand, and she’s still reeling as the sudden balance shifts. She’s forced to cling to you, wrapping those long, toned legs around your waist, and looping her arms around your neck, her hands grasping at the back of your head as if she's afraid you're going to drop her.

"H-how the—how did you—I had you pinned!" Chaewon squeaks out, pure disbelief colouring her voice as she clings onto you.

You leave her to work through the logic on her own, returning to your desk, righting your fallen chair, all the while still holding Chaewon like a prize you've just won at an arcade.

"Hey! Don't ignore me!" Chaewon protests, but it's too late. You've already set her down on your desk, the laptop between the two of you like a barricade. She tries to keep her limbs wrapped around you, legs around your waist—do anything she can to stop you—but you gently, quite easily, peel her off—earning another scowl from your girlfriend.

You can feel Chaewon's eyes boring into you as you sit down at your desk, her legs swinging back and forth from the edge of the desk in frustration. The work itself doesn't take long—you were being honest—just a minor grammar check here, fixing some formatting there and—

"What was that? How did you just—”

It's the first time you've ever seen Kim Chaewon—usually so composed and untouchable on stage—so completely, utterly flustered.

"I don't get it. I mean did you just get this strong?" Chaewon's voice is small, barely heard over the sound of your keystrokes—trying to process what just happened. She's shifted on the desk, leaning back now on her palms, looking at you like you're a puzzle piece that doesn't fit anywhere at all. "Or have you always been—you were just—were you letting me win? Hey—why are you laughing?"

You hit a final 'enter', saving your work with a performative flair, and spin the chair around to face Chaewon so you can give her your full, undivided attention.

But she's not looking at you—no, she's still trying to make sense of it, her gaze flitting from the chair, to the floor, to the laptop, to your hands that are now folded neatly in your lap. You're expecting a comeback, something witty and biting, something that'll make you laugh, but she's just sitting there—pouting. Adorably so.

"Chae, come on."

"What?" She snaps out of her daze, the hardware in her head overclocking. "I just—I exercise way more than you—I run, I dance everyday, I go to the gym, I do pilates—you can't be that much stronger than me."

"I'm like twice your size, Chae." You chuckle, reaching for the water bottle on your desk and taking a well-earned swig. "And I do manage to sneak in some workouts when you're not around to tickle me to death."

"But... this whole time?" Chaewon asks, there’s an accusation in her voice as she crosses her arms over her chest, inadvertently distracting you with the way it makes her sweatshirt pull tightly across her breasts. It's too fucking cute, and you can't help but lean in for a kiss, but she turns her head away at the last second. "Every time, you've been taking it easy on me? Kiddie gloves?"

You sigh. "More or less."

"Why?"

"I guess I thought you knew," you say with a sheepish smile, "but even then, I didn't want to spoil the fun for you." You take another sip of water, watching her carefully. "You're so competitive, Chae. And when we’re playing like this and you win, you're so... happy. I just like seeing that."

"But that's..." Chaewon stammers. "Even when we're... You know... You're so... Gentle with me."

"Of course, I never want to—I'm just afraid that—"

"Afraid of what? That you'll break me? Okay, Bruce Banner." Chaewon teases, seemingly having made some decision in her own mind, as she hops off the desk to face you. "So, you've been holding back? You really think you’re that much stronger than me?”

You give her a very cautious shrug.

"Prove it."

"What?"

"If you’re really as strong as you think. Show me. Here—take my wrists—" Chaewon says, holding them out to you, "—and I bet I'll still be able to break free like I always do."

“I’m not sure if this is such a good idea,” you say, setting your bottle aside and standing up to face her.

“Why? Chicken?” She answers, and you try not to facepalm, reminding yourself that it is easier to just give her what she wants—most of the time, anyway.

"Alright, if that's what you want," you reply, gently placing your hands on her shoulders and guiding her so her back is flat against the nearest wall. She's staring up at you the whole time, watching you intensely as you take both her wrists in one hand, holding it against the wall and above her head.

"Really, only one hand? This will be real easy to get out of—" Chaewon starts to taunt, but she never gets to finish her sentence, because your grip tightens around her wrists and she feels the full weight of your body pressing into hers. She tries to pull away, expecting the same give she's felt countless times before, but your hand is like a vice—firm and unyielding—and it dawns on her that she's not going anywhere.

Her eyes widen slightly, and she tries to hide her surprise—because she's still in the game, still playing along. She tries to push off from the wall with her legs, but you anticipate it, placing a hand on her waist and keeping her in place.

Even you're surprised at how little effort it is to keep her still—a small push here, a slight change in weight there—Chaewon is at your mercy and it feels... different.

"Wait—I can't—" Chaewon still hasn’t given up, squirming and wiggling, doing little to help her escape but a lot to make you want to keep her against you.

She's trapped, every move she makes only making it worse for her—better for you—moulding her body closer into yours, aligning the softness of her curves with the hard lines of your chest.

But still, she struggles, tries every way she can think of to break free—twisting, turning, pushing with her legs, even trying to bite you at one point—but her best efforts only make you chuckle, and press her harder into the wall, press yourself harder into her.

You can feel her heart racing beneath her sweatshirt, and there's something there—you both feel it—a sudden tension in her helplessness, a thrill in your newfound power over her. "Damn it—this is so—argh!"

Chaewon’s eyes meet yours, and there’s your confirmation—that spark of something new, something unspoken. It's not anger or fear—no, she's never looked at you with fear—it's something else entirely. It's excitement, curiosity, a hint of arousal.

And so, you lean in, closing the last gap between you, and kiss her—right there against the wall.

It's not the gentle peck she's used to, it's not the sweet, loving kiss she’s grown to expect—it's more. You don’t even understand it yourself—it's raw, it's passionate, it's the kind of kiss that could start a war—or end one—the kind of kiss that sucks all the air from the room.

Her body tenses up, and for a moment you fear that maybe this is too much, too far, and you ready to let her go.

But she melts into it—into you. You let go of her wrists to cradle her face, and her arms fall to your shoulders, wrapping around your neck as she kisses you back—kisses you like she doesn't want you to ever stop, like she knows she couldn't stop you even if she tried. Her nails dig into your skin, not painfully, but with enough pressure to remind you that she's here, that she's alive and real and in this moment with you.

You push her into the wall, the plaster giving a gentle protest, and she’s lifting her legs up—she’s straddling you again, gravity doing its job and keeping her affixed to your torso.

Chaewon adapts, her ankles lock behind your back, pressing herself against you, her thighs tightening around your waist, and she’s hips grinding down over your sweatpants.

It’s almost too much, too fast—zero to a hundred in record time. You break the kiss, panting, breathless, but Chaewon's eyes stay closed, her chest heaving, as if she's afraid that if she opens them, this moment will evaporate like a mirage.

"Enough proof for you?"

"Yeah," is all Chaewon can muster, and she opens her eyes, dazed, like you’ve just woken her up from a particularly good dream.

"I'm sorry," you say, the words coming out in a rush, "I didn't mean to lie to you, I just didn't want to ruin your fun. Are you upset?"

"Upset?" Chaewon repeats, letting the word roll around her lips. "Maybe a little bit," she's biting her lip—so endearingly—and you can see the wheels turning in her head—recalculating, reassessing. "But now I'm just..." she pauses, looking down and rolling her hips against you once more, "I'm just really, really turned on."

Her admission hangs in the air between the two of you, and the air in your apartment begins to feel hotter, thicker, laced with something new.

"I love how you take care of me, how you make me feel safe..." Chaewon continues, "But this... the way you're holding me up like this... So easily, it's just so..." Another shifting of weight, another grind of her hips, and she’s slowly discovering what your sweatpants is making very little to hide. "Hot."

"Is that right?" You can't take your eyes off her lips, the way they form those delicious words. Maybe you've been wrong to treat her like she's fragile, like you could hurt her if you're not careful enough. Maybe what she’s really been craving is to prove herself to you, to prove to you that she can handle you—all of you. "Tell me what you like about it."

"I like how—ah—" Her voice hitches as you let go of her waist with your hand, sliding it under her sweatshirt, running your fingers over her toned stomach, feeling it cave in a sharp inhale. "How in control you are. How strong you feel."

Even without your hand at her waist she doesn't fall—her legs simply tighten around your waist, her grip on your neck becoming more secure, more possessive. You trace her belly button with your fingertip—her breath catches, her eyes flutter shut.

"How it feels like you could do—mmm—" she continues, her words getting lost as your hand rises higher up her body, reaching the swell of her breasts. Chaewon arches her back, pushing her chest out for more, a soft mewl escaping her lips. “—could do anything to me and I wouldn't be able to stop you."

You slip your fingers under her bra, the fabric stretching to accommodate your touch, press your thumb against her nipple, feeling it pebble under your touch. You pinch and roll them lightly, basking in her reactions, the way her eyebrows furrow, the way her mouth forms a perfect 'O'.

"I can do anything I want to you."

Chaewon's eyes open, and she’s looking at you like she’s seeing someone entirely different in place of her usual, doting boyfriend. She's panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her cheeks a glowing shade of red that seems to spread down her neck and into the fabric of her sweatshirt. She opens her mouth, her breath coming out in short, sharp gasps, and she whispers—"Will you?"

Two simple words. Two simple words that unlock something deep inside you. Something primal. The thing inside each man since the dawn of time that drives them to hunt, kill, fuck like their lives depend on it.

Two simple words that have you leaning in and kissing her again, not just her lips—your mouth traces a fiery path along her jawline, the tender spot behind her ear, down her neck. Each kiss is a promise of what's to come, each nip of your teeth makes her shiver.

Chaewon gasps, her body writhing under your touch, her legs tightening around your waist, desperate and afraid you'll pull away. You don't. Instead, you press into her, feeling the wetness spreading through her shorts, and it takes all your self-control to not rip them off her right there.

"Bedroom," she manages to get out, a soft, fleeting whimper between kisses, "take me to the—"

You never find out the end of her sentence—twisting her body around, your hands cupping the firm, round globes of her ass, and in a single, swift motion, you lift her higher, throwing her up and over your shoulder.

"Wai—" Chaewon squeals as you hoist her up, her legs dangling in the air, has ass pointing to the sky.

She's giggling again, the sound muffled by the fabric of your sweatshirt, her laughter vibrating through your back as you carry her across the apartment.

"I can't believe you're actually doing this—" she's still giggling, managing to separate herself from your back to chide you,

"—you're so strong it's unfair—",

"—treating me like I weigh nothing—" ,

"—like a caveman—",

"—I'm going to have to tell the others about this—",

"—they won't believe it—",

"—I don't even believe it—",

"—my what a big, strong boyfriend I ha—"

But she's cut off again as you kick open the already ajar bedroom door, the wood slamming against the wall. Before she can realise what's happening you're throwing her onto the bed, her body bouncing once before she lands in a sprawled mess of limbs and exclamations.

"Are you ever going to let me finish a full sen—"

"Chae," her name comes out deeper and gruffer—far more demanding than you intended, cutting off her playful protests in an instant.

For once, Chaewon is paying full attention—no quips, no sarcasm, no laughter to lighten the mood—the room completely quiet except for the sound of her breathing, and even that seems to hush in anticipation of what's to come.

You stand over her, her legs still in the air, her body open and exposed for you—her sweatshirt riding up, revealing the smooth expanse of her stomach, the little mole you've kissed a thousand times just above her navel, her shorts stretched so tightly over her thighs.

It's in the way she's looking at you too—the way she squirms under your gaze, the way she can't help but make her body arch up towards you, pushing out those beautiful, perfect breasts, slightly parting her legs as if inviting you to dive in—wanting you to take her (to fuck her) in all the ways you wanted to but were too afraid to try before—it's all so different, all too much, all so fucking intoxicating.

"You want me to do whatever I want to you?"

Chaewon swallows hard, and nods.

"You want me to take you however I want?"

Another nod, another submission.

You step closer to the bed, your mind completely made up. "Then say it."

Her voice comes out hoarse, a strained whisper. "Take me."

"Again."

She repeats it, this time her words clearer, urgent. "Please—take me."

And with that—her shorts—those tight, far too tiny shorts—become your first victim. There's no time for slow, teasing unbuttoning or the gentle tug of fabric over skin. You're too far gone for that.

So, you rip.

The button pops off with a satisfying ping, and the material gives way, revealing her panties beneath. The sound makes Chaewon gasp, her body shiver.

Hooking your thumbs in the waistband, you drag the shorts down her legs, bringing them gliding over the soft skin of her ass, catching briefly on her thighs before you toss them to the floor.

Her panties are next—white, cotton, and oh-so-innocent looking—the kind tailor-made to be ripped off and left in shreds. But just as your hand reaches the waistband, something holds you back.

A thought—a flicker of doubt—crosses your mind. What if she doesn't like this? What if you're getting caught up and taking things too far? What if she regrets what she's about to let you do to her?

But then, "I'm okay," Chaewon says, reading your hesitation. "Stop thinking like that." Her voice is firm, almost commanding. "I want this."

"Chae—"

"I. Want. This." Chaewon repeats, her voice stronger. “I want it all.”

You trust her—you always will—and so, you nod, understanding the gravity of her words. You lean over her, capturing her gaze, making sure she sees you, really sees you. "Alright, but we need a safe word."

"A safe word." Chaewon echoes, a smile rising on her face, as she realises what a safe word means—what it enables you to do to her.

"If you want me to stop," you say, slowly, like a professor and his star pupil. "Just say..."

"Blueberry," Chaewon interjects, the corner of her mouth curling up into a mischievous smile.

"Blueberry?" It's so unfitting, so fucking adorable, so Chae. "Fine then, if you want me to stop," you begin to explain the rules of the game that you're already starting—kissing down her calf, over her knee, down that gorgeous curve of her inner thigh, until your lips are meeting cotton— "you just say 'blueberry'. As loud as you can, the second you want me to stop. Otherwise, we keep going until I'm satisfied. Got it?"

Chaewon nods eagerly, a little too eagerly, but you don't miss the glint of excitement in her eyes. She's so ready for you, so ready for what's to come next, her body vibrating with anticipation.

"Good."

The single word hangs in the air, a declaration of intent. With it, your hand moves to her panties, the cotton material damp with her arousal. You don't hesitate, you don't play it slow, again—all it takes is your thumb in her waistband and you rip. What were once her panties gives way easily, tearing with a sound that's halfway might as well be a starting pistol, revealing her bare, already glistening, already so wet pussy to the coolness of the room.

But Chaewon's not just lying there waiting for you to make your next move. No, she's not that kind of girl. She's sitting up now, her sweatshirt coming off with a flick of her wrists, the heavy garment flying through the air to land somewhere in the room, forgotten.

Her bra follows suit—quick, efficient, like she couldn't wait another second to be naked for you. Chaewon's breasts bounce free, full and firm and so fucking perfect, rosy tips hard from the cold air or maybe just from the way you're looking at her.

Fuck, the sight of her alone is almost too much. You take a moment, just to breathe her in—to admire the way the light from the bedside lamp casts shadows on her skin, highlighting the curves and valleys of her body. She's a work of art, a masterpiece, and now, she's all yours—every line, every freckle, every goosebump that pops up as the cool air kisses her heated skin.

But you're not here to admire, not now. You're here to give her exactly what she wants, to treat her exactly how she deserves.

You push her back into the bed, your hands on her shoulders, the mattress sinking under your joint weight, and you're kissing her again—no, not kissing, consuming. You kiss her like you're trying to claim her, like you're trying to brand her with your mouth, and she's kissing you back with matched desperation, her nails digging into your skin like she's trying to climb you, to get closer, closer still.

"Mmmm..." Chaewon presses herself up against you—her taut, stiff nipples pushing into your chest, perfect buds squashing themselves against your body, her bare skin gliding over your shirt, her pussy, hot and wet and slippery, working its way over the swell of your sweatpants.

Her hands are everywhere—fumbling with your shirt, running up and down your back, grabbing fistfuls of your hair—and her lips follow, peppering kisses across your cheeks, your jaw, your neck. Her teeth graze the sensitive skin just below your ear, her tongue tracing the shell, her lips whispers sweet—filthy—nothings into your ear.

She dares to move a hand lower, squeezing in some tiny gap between your two bodies, reaching for the waistband of your sweatpants, her fingers teasing the skin just above the elastic.

But you're quicker, catching her wrist, pulling it away with a firm, yet gentle grip.

"No."

You collect her other wrist in the same hand, stretching her arms out and over her head, pushing her down—with your grip, your weight, your hips—keeping her in place, keeping her where you want, paying her back in kind for her earlier “victory”.

"I know what you want," you murmur against her neck. You lean more of your weight into her, your hips pressing down, grinding against her—a slow, deliberate movement, that stains your sweatpants with the juices leaking from her pink, puffy lips.

"Yes," she purrs, "I need you."

"I know," you taunt—another grind, another groan, a deepening stain, "but I need you to want me more."

"I do," she's pleading, begging, "please, I need your cock."

"Not yet," you say, a light chuckle at the whine that escapes her lips. "Not yet."

"But—"

"I am going to fuck you," you say. "Not how you're used to." Her breath hitches, throat swallows—apprehension, arousal, adrenaline—it's all there, playing out on her face like a silent movie. "I'm going to fuck you in every way that I've ever wanted to, in every way I thought you could never handle."

You snake a hand from her waist, drawing a path with your fingertips, running them over her soft, unblemished skin, the ridges of her abs, as you move your hand down, down, until you're right at the juncture of her thighs.

"Ah!" It's the sweetest sound, a high-pitched gasp that turns into a full-throated groan as your index finger breaches her wetness, sliding into the slick, dripping opening of her cleanly shaved cunt—so, so wet—until it's buried knuckle-deep inside her.

Chaewon's back lifts off the bed, her body curving as you slide your finger in and out of her, settling into a steady rhythm. Every movement earns a different, delightful reaction—you trigger your finger: her body shakes, you kiss her neck: she echoes back your name, you add your middle, then your ring finger into her tightness: she falls apart.

"God—gah—" she chokes on whatever noise her mouth is trying to make, her legs spreading wider, hips bucking up to meet your hand, your rhythm. She's beyond soaked; her thighs, her lips, your palm—all drenched in hot, insatiable wetness. "You're so—so fucking good at this."

You add your thumb to the mix, brushing the hood of her clit with the pad; you curl your fingers inside her, finding that spot that makes her crumble.

Her eyes start to close, she’s lost to the sensation, her face contorting in beautiful agony as her walls close around your digits, before you snap her out of it—tightening your grip around her wrists, a slight jolt of pain to force her eyes to meet yours.

"Look at me," you grunt. "Look at me while I fuck you."

Chaewon doesn't dare even blink—she’s so obedient—and the way she's looking up at you now—so willing, so wanting to please, so eager for more—it's bordering on complete worship.

So, you give it to her. You plunge your fingers deeper, twisting and turning, feeling her tighten around you, her wetness coating your hand, the walls of her pussy fluttering with each stroke. You can see it in the redness of her cheeks, the trembling of her thighs, the way her stomach muscles tighten and release—she's close, she’s been so close for far too long.

"Good girl." You kiss her forehead, her nose, her dimples, something sweet amongst the depravity.

"Am I?" Chaewon's question is hopeful, so disastrously erotic, her voice a breathy whisper. There's the beginnings of a storm in her eyes, the first hints painting her features in a way that's so vulnerable, that tells you the only thing holding her back from collapsing is your explicit approval.

"Yes, Chae," you murmur against her ear, nibbling gently, your fingers melting inside her folds. "You're being such a good girl for me."

"Th-thank you," she manages shaky words, barely keeping it together, at the mercy of the quickening of your fingers, the circling of your thumb, the movements of your hand, helping her climb towards that wonderful peak. "Oh my God—how are you—how is this—so—fuck—fuck—"

"Good girls deserve a reward." You're roughly kissing into her collarbone, feeling her pulse hammering under your lips—you want to leave a mark on her body, something for her to remember this by—something to remind her how completely she came apart for you. "Cum for me—cum now—cum on my fingers. Show me how much you want it—how much you love it."

"Please," Chaewon's desperate, so desperate, trying to do something, anything, everything that she can to convince you to let her fall apart. "I love how you touch me—just—please—I’m so close—"

She’s on fire, there’s too much pressure—your fingers work inside her, undoing a knot of their own making—unravelling that slutty ache inside your girlfriend—your good girl—fucking her and stretching her, making her eyes roll to the back of her head and her mouth to drop open in a silent scream.

"So good—so fucking good—just like that—mmmm-MMMPH!"

You breathe it in—your mouth on hers, her cries dying in your throat—feeling her tighten, tense, release around your hand as her small, tight frame—her whole, amazing body—overwhelmed by just three fingers and a thumb.

It takes her like an eruption, a natural disaster—dancing along her skin, to her hips, her thighs, her ribs, her breasts—turning her into a shivering mess, leaving her limp beneath you.

"Fuh—"

You release her lips, watching her pant and quiver, her chest heave, her body spasm from the aftershocks of her climax.

Your hand is drowned in her heat, her juices sticking to your skin as you slowly draw your fingers out of her, glistening in the soft light of the room.

"Here, have a taste." You lift your hand to her face, tracing your sticky fingers along the seam of her mouth, smearing her juices over her soft, parted lips.

Chaewon's tongue darts out, welcoming your digits as you push inside her mouth. She sucks greedily, her tongue lapping your fingertips—she can't get enough of the taste of herself on you.

"Good girl," you say again, and again—she shivers.

The tremors of her orgasm start to fade, and you pull your fingers from her mouth—no longer lathered in her cum, but shiny with her spit.

You straighten, leaning back so you're on your knees, between Chaewon's spread legs. Her eyes follow your hand as it leaves her wrist, traveling up to the neck of your shirt, pulling it off your head and reuniting it with the growing pile of discarded clothing.

Her gaze wanders down, down your body, landing at your waist, at your pants, painfully stretching over your erection.

"Take it out for me, Chae," you instruct, unnecessarily—she's already there, licking her lips, quick at work. Practiced fingers pull down your sweatpants and set your cock free, letting it spring into view, hard and heavy, landing directly on her lips.

But she doesn't get the chance to take it in her mouth, to swirl her tongue around the tip and suck you like she's so clearly been dying to—you have her by the hair before she can dive on your cock, to take it down her throat. It's harsh, it's sudden, it elicits a startled groan from her throat—but it makes it clear that this is not going to be the usual 'good little girl' kind of night.

"No," is all you have for her. You're on the edge—you've been on the edge ever since she pleaded for you—you’re done with the foreplay; you're done with the teasing. Fucking Chaewon senseless. That’s all there is now—fucking her hard and fast.

You pull her up by her hair and your mouth is back on hers, pushing and pulling, tongue in her throat, tasting her—tasting her nectar on her lips—dominating her, her own tongue dancing and wrapping around yours, her teeth grazing your bottom lip.

Your other hand finds its way to her chest, squeezing her breast in your palm, feeling the weight of it, the softness of her skin, the hardened peak of her nipple against your palm. There's not enough time—you want to shove your face between them, taste her nipples, feel them roll between your teeth, give them the attention they deserve.

But instead, you're pulling back on her hair again, gritting your teeth. "Turn around. Bend over."

There's no hesitation, no protest from her—Chaewon's a good girl, and good girls do as they’re told. She rolls onto her hands and knees, her ass in the air—she's presenting herself to you: an offering, a prize, a fucking goddess on a platter. Her spine arches as she looks back at you over her shoulder, the soft curve of her cheeks begging for you to take it.

You startle her, taking her by the hips, pulling her back to you so that when you lean in, your mouth is pressed to her ear, and your cock is twitching against the waiting, wanting, folds of her lower lips. "I'm going to make you feel it," you whisper. "Every part of you, understand?"

Chaewon nods, but it's not enough—not for what you have in store.

"I don't just want a nod, I want to hear you say it. I want you to tell me how good it feels while I'm fucking you—I want to hear it all."

"O-Okay.” She’s tense, you can see it, like a coil winded up in her body, but she's eager, so fucking eager, been waiting for this for far too long—"make me scream for you—FUCK!"

Chaewon's true to her word—she shrieks as you bury yourself deep inside her, is undone by your cock—as ready and wet as she is for you, she's still so incredibly tight, needing you to stretch her, fill her, own her.

But it's not enough—you’re not going to ease her into this, to the pleasure ripping through your bodies, not going to let this moment breathe.

As soon as you've sunk into her, given her every inch that her needy little pussy could take, you're backing up, sliding your stained shaft right out of her cunt before slamming back forward.

She's crying out, making barely intelligible sounds, as you’re digging your fingers into that tiny waist, holding her by her hips as you crash into her, feeling it all—the unfathomable heat, the tightness, the wetness, the way she clenches around you with each thrust—again and again and again.

"Words, Chae," you remind her, needing more from than just the sounds of her sweet, sweet agony, and the slapping of your hips against her ass cheeks. "I want words."

"Y-yes—fuh—fuck—YES!" One-syllable noises are all that Chaewon can manage to start—all you can fuck out of her—but with each thrust, she's getting better, getting bolder. "It feels so good, so hard, so big—God, so deep—you've never—I've never been fucked like this…"

"More." It's addictive, hearing her talk like this, knowing every word that comes out of her mouth is the absolute fucking truth—the proof is in how she's shaking beneath you, how she drips around you, how her fingers claw into the sheets, trying her best to hold on. “Tell me more.”

"Y-you're going so fast—so fucking hard!" Mindless, stream-of-consciousness, fuck-drunk ramblings spill from her lips—she's begging, cooing, whimpering as you mercilessly fuck her, making her divine tits swing below her, her ass ripple with each collision. "Making me so wet—making me so fucking wet—I can't even—can't think straight—just your cock—your fucking cock!"

"This is what you wanted, isn't it Chae?" You hiss, over the sounds of the headboard slamming against the wall, the bed creaking beneath you, and her moans—oh those moans. "This is how I'm going to fuck you from now on—however I want, wherever I want, whenever I want."

"Yes-yes—this is what I want—what I fucking need. To be fucked like this—pounded—broken—so fucking sensitive." The words come so easily from her lips, straight from the pleasure centres of her brains and to your ears. "I deserve this—I've been so good—haven't I? Aren't I your good girl—please tell me I'm your good girl—please?"

"You're my good girl, Chae, you’re my perfect little slut," you acquiesce, and she cries out in relief, her body shaking under the weight of your words—she leans into your touch, your control, your cock. "And good girls get what they fucking deserve."

Another thrust has Chaewon bowing her head down to offer more of herself to you, to give you a better angle to pump her harder, deeper, laying her cheek on the bed and turning her face so you can see that blissful grin on her face, see her lips mouth your name like a prayer.

It's so perfect—she's so fucking perfect—so impossibly tight, a ridiculously wet dream of a cunt—"all yours, all yours"—so aching for you to fuck her straight into the mattress—"I can't take it"—so needy for you—"use me"—so hungry for you—"more—please—I need it."

You're giving in—giving long, intense strokes—you're consumed by it, by her, by how every lovely curve and tensed muscle of her immaculate body is doing its best to take you, to please you, to give you a fraction of the ecstasy that’s breaking her into a million tiny, euphoric pieces.

"God, I love it—love your cock—pounding me—fucking me—hurting me—I can't even think—GOD!" She's doing her best to form coherent sentences, but it's futile, she's slipping—you're not even sure if she's aware of what she's even saying anymore—it's just raw, unfiltered need.

This is going to be a problem—you're never going to be able to go back. Not when she's so needy for you—so needy to be filled by you, so needy to hear your praise as she takes your cock, so full of nothing but words of thanks for how roughly you're treating her, how you're completely ruining her—"thank you—thank you—thank you for fucking me so good."

And then you're falling, a deep, sharp thrust and you’ve sent her forward—her knees give in first, her elbows buckle. She's taking you with her, pulling you by the cock still lodged deep in her cunt. You catch yourself before your face hits the bed, one hand on the mattress, the other still wrapped around her waist.

It does little to slow you down—just gives you a better vantage point to fuck her deeper into the mattress—"yes—yes—fuck—fuck—" —to run your hand up her body and seize her by her tits, so ripe and full and yours to squeeze and twist and tease— "touch me—hurt me—it's all yours—all fucking yours."

And you do—oh, you do—you take her by the tits, feeling the soft flesh of her breasts give way to your grip, roll her nipple between your thumb and forefinger—so sensitive, so responsive. She's lost in it, so happy in the pain and pleasure of your touch—you're leaving another mark—and she cries, she curses, she clenches around you, she joins her hand over yours and pushes you for more, needing more of the loving sting you're giving her.

She’s pulsing on your shaft—walls tightening and quivering—she's so close, so fucking close to cumming—and your body responds, your cock thickens, your strokes powerful, purposeful. "I can't—I can't—baby, please—please—please—"

"You're going to cum for me now, aren't you?" You ask, like it's a question, like you can't see the tension building in her body, can’t see how she's holding her breath and gritting her teeth—it's so fucking obvious she's about to explode.

"Yes—yes—I'm about to—about to—FUCK! I can't fucking take this anymore!"

You take her by the throat—twisting her face so you can see it—you need to see it—need to see the moment she breaks for you. "Look at me," you demand—her eyes rolling up to meet yours, all teary and flawless and beautiful— "look at me when I make you cum."

"God yesssss," Chaewon gurgles, shivers, quakes, "please—please—I'm cumming—I'm cumming— I'm cumming on your fucking cock—OH FUCK!"

Your name leaves her lips in a long, symphonic, slurred cry—and she cums—not in that lovely, beautiful way you've seen her orgasm dozens of times before—this is overpowering, consuming, violent—a million tiny deaths—one magnum opus—sculpted by the Gods and utterly ruined in all ways possible, reduced once again to nothing but a mess of quivers and mewls and moans—pushed over the edge by your cock, forcing her to gush down her thighs.

She's clenching and wringing and doing everything she can to bring you with her—"God—so fucking good—I’m cumming so hard—GOD! I just need—I want it—please give it—give me your cum—fill me with it—do whatever you want to me just give it to me!"

Her eyes are open again—she's inflicted with the same curse as you—she needs to see it, see the look in your eyes as you fill her, finally claim her in her entirety as yours, finally join and become undone in the same preciously brutal ways.

"Keeeep going—cum in me—cum in me—" It’s becoming a mantra now—three short words—as if there was any other option, as if she had any choice. As much as you want to hold on, to drag this out, to savour every second of this chaos—fucking her silly, viciously, tight pussy choking your cock, she won't stop, refuses to— "cum in me—cum in me—cum in me -"

"You want it? You need it? Does your cunt need my cum?"

"Y-yes, please—fuck—fill me up—fuck me up—fill—me—fucking—PLEASE!"

She's a vision, a goddess, she's yours, she's—"Fuck, Chae, god-fucking-take-it!"—she's taking your cum like the fucking slut she is.

God, it feels dizzying, a high so perfect it must be illegal, making your vision dark and your ears ring—the only thing tethering you to the Earth itself is the feeling of her burning hot cunt, the cunt you're fucking like its only purpose in this world is to make your cock feel good.

You’re speeding towards the final stretch now—hard and rough and somehow lasting forever but ending far too soon. Nothing matters except for her exceptionally tight hole, taking you—all of you, everything you have—and you’re clinging onto her—her tits, her throat—you’re bruising and choking her, your body crushing her into the bed, and she's still screaming your fucking name like she's so damn grateful to you for treating her like she deserves.

And then, you let go.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby, oh my fucking God," Chaewon groans, "It's so much—you're filling me up— oh, fuck, oh, fuck, OH FUCK!"

It’s a car crash, a pressure valve opening, it’s too fucking much—you can’t hold back—she can’t possibly take anymore.

It burns through you both—the first, the second, the third—rope after rope after rope of cum firing into her sore, well-fucked cunt, filling it completely to the brim. All the lust, all the tension, everything, all at once, released at once in a tidal wave of white into Chaewon's swollen, sopping wet pussy.

“SO GOOD—SO FUCKING FULL!”

One final thrust—one shared cry—like nothing you’ve ever felt before—like you’re being torn apart and reassembled, piece by piece—and you collapse into her, your bodies melting into one— boneless and shaking in the aftermath of it all.

Chaewon’s cumdump of a pussy is still twitching around you—still begging for more, milking your cock even though it’s already given everything it can, every drop it has—making it impossible for you to pull out without feeling like you're leaving a part of yourself behind.

Eventually—when the numbness subsides and you're able to move again—you slide off her, onto your side, slipping your spent cock out of her well-fucked pussy. It's an image that you burn into core of your brain—her ass in the air, your cum dripping from her, the puddle of you leaking from her glistening folds and pooling on your ruined bedsheets.

"So good... so good..." Chaewon's slurring, drifting—fucked out of consciousness—already lost in some blissful, post-orgasmic dream.

That's where you follow her, exhaustion seeping into every bone in your body, and you're slipping down, down and away into that heavenly oblivion.

When you awake, Chaewon's curled into you—your chest is her pillow, your arms her blanket. She's still (thankfully) naked—your cum drying on her thighs, and she's awake, lazily drawing circles with her finger around your heartbeat.

"Hey," you say, kissing the top of her head, getting her attention.

She looks up at you—God, she's so fucking beautiful—a soft smile on her lips. "Hi."

"That was..." You dare to start, but the words catch in your throat.

"Perfect," Chaewon finishes for you, "so fucking perfect."

"Are you sure? I got lost in the moment there, Chae, I—" The ghost of an apology is on your lips, but Chaewon's eyes widen, and she slaps a hand over your mouth.

"Don't," Chaewon stops you, "don't ruin it with an apology. I wanted that. Needed it. More than I thought, I guess. It was amazing."

You look down at her, so small in your arms, searching her face for any hint of doubt or regret, but all you can find is perfect contentment.

And she's smiling, so sweetly, so happily. So Chaewon. The slutty cum dumpster, the adorable princess—the woman of your dreams.

She’s giggling still, tracing wider patterns on your chest, her breath warm against your skin. "You were incredible," she presses her nose into your neck and inhales deeply. "I never knew you had that in you."

"I didn't either," you admit, stroking her hair, looping strands between your fingers. "I had no idea how much I'd like it—how good it would feel. I mean I love getting to hold you like this—hugging you and kissing you, but—"

"It's nice to not have to treat me like I'm made of glass, isn't it?" She finishes. A beat passes, before Chaewon tables her final request. "You know, that thing you called me, while we were..."

Her voice trails off, and she's blushing now—the kind of blush that makes you want to kiss her, kiss it off her cheeks, kiss her until she's blushing all over again. "I think I called you a lot of things that probably shouldn't be repeated outside of this room." You say, and she’s laughing, slapping your chest lightly.

"You know what I'm talking about," she says. "Call me it again. Please? Can you?"

You laugh, bending down so you can steal a kiss—as light and sweet as she is—but it’s still far, far shorter than you'd like.

She's pouting, doe-eyes wide and hopeful—so Goddamn adorable—and you can't resist, after all—it's always best to give your girlfriend exactly what she wants.

"My good girl," you murmur into her ear, "my perfect little slut."

#kpop smut #chaewon smut #le sserafim smut #male reader

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tender-rosiey · 8 months

Text

“IT’S LAUGHING?! IT’S ALIVE?!”

— gojo, geto, nanami, sukuna, and toji hearing the baby’s first laugh (f!reader)

a/n: guess who's back, back again then I will be gone again (probably)

GOJO SATORU:

your husband is, admittedly, a very funny guy.

his humor always manages to get to people one way or another, so even if he doesn’t get a laugh, he certainly gets some sort of reaction.

not with his little angel though, the one person that he would die to see her laugh.

no matter how much tickling or raspberries he blew, it was never a laugh, merely a smile or a very short giggle if he was lucky.

he would come across a ton of videos of babies having hearty laughs and simply wished to be able to get the same reaction out of his daughter.

it is the reason he is currently burying his face in your chest and whining, “I feel like she thinks I am just not that funny.”

“satoru, she is still a baby,” you hum, fingers carding through his hair, “you know that babies have different views about what is actually funny; actually, I saw baby not long ago at a photo of number eleven. it was so cute!”

“but I tried everything! even the unusual!” he huffs, standing up to retell all of his failed attempts, “I tried dropping stuff, quickly stirring a liquid, lightly touching her with a balloon—everything!”

he looks at his daughter with his best puppy eyes, “come on, d/n! isn’t there anything that would you laugh a belly laugh?”

a little idea pops into your head. giggling, you sneak off leaving your daughter trying to comfort her wailing papa the best she can.

d/n is caught up with satoru until you finally come back and she smiles, “mama!”

“hi baby!” you grin before smacking your husband—lightly but not so lightly—with a roll of newspaper.

he yelps, “y/n! why would you do that?!”

but he is cut off by his little girl laughing, and I mean laughing so hard she kind of leans back.

you wait until she is quiet again before smacking him with the roll one more time, and she, once more, starts laughing heartily with small little wheezes and a long breath in the end when she calms down.

your husband, mortified, picks his daughter up, “d/n! you’re not supposed to laugh when papa gets hit! you’re supposed to get sad!”

she starts giggling and kicking her feet, putting her hand lightly on his nose. she tilts her head confused, and satoru thinks he knows what she is waiting for him to say. he shan’t falter!

at least, that’s what he thinks.

d/n takes matter into her own hands and smacks him on the forehead, resulting in him yelping and her going into a laughing fit that lasted a minute or so.

how unfortunate that his most precious takes pleasure in him being hurt.

his head snaps towards you, but he guesses that it makes sense since you also love teasing him so much.

a bunch of devils he says! two cute devils he laments.

GETO SUGURU:

geto is convinced that he was blessed with two angels, her cute little twins from his beautiful wife, you. he is also convinced that they would do no wrong—which is like what wrong can a baby a couple months old do anyway.

he ignores how gojo screams about being bullied by the girls, how that one mean babysitter was yapping about how they most definitely threw their toys at her intentionally, and how miguel syas that the girls always hide his glasses because they love seeing his stressed face.

to geto suguru, his daughters could do no wrong.

aside from that, he also noticed that his daughters love playing with hair, sometimes eating it which makes him scream but oh well.

for the most part, they know to treat their father’s hair gently as they watch you and himself do it.

that’s why he never thought that his darling angels would get their first belly laughs by pulling on his freaking bangs.

each twin holds one of the bangs and with all their baby power, they pull and pull almost like they want to tear it off his head.

and while he adores that his daughter are laughing so much—for the first time too—that they stumble back almost turn red, but he really doesn’t want to bald before heat least reaches his 50 or something.

another problem is that you never interfere unless he straight up screams for your help.

that made him realize how much of a common occurrence it is and he finally decided that he needed to put his foot down.

so he sat his girls down—including you because you’ve tolerated the violation of your husband’s hairline so much—and took a deep breath.

“girls, we need to learn that papa’s hair is fragile and we shouldn’t pull on it so much,” he turns to you with the quirk of an eyebrow. “right, honey?”

you barely hold back your smile before nodding and loyally supporting your husband, “why, of course, my love!”

he rolls his eyes, “so, be good girls and don’t pull on my bangs, please?”

one of the twins, while the other frowns and starts fussing. you lock eyes with your husband, and you both try to telepathically figure how to handle this, until your other twin starts crying.

now, you have two crying babies.

congratulations!

so your husband concedes and kneels in front of them, bravely offering his bangs. almost instantly, they stop crying and start pulling the bangs on their respective sides.

they start laughing and squealing again, and geto starts to think that balding is a small price to pay for his angels’ happiness.

he should probably stop calling them that though.

NANAMI KENTO:

now, in constrant to nanami, his daughter came out all bubbly and smiley, and it had nanami going as soft as a marshmallow.

it also didn’t help that d/n is convinced that her dad is indeed a marshmallow in which that she could only touch him softly.

she would gently pat his cheeks, press clumsy little kisses to his forehead, and squeal in order to cuddle with you or him. she also is extremely empathetic and starts crying whenever she sees someone hurt or genuinely frowning.

that was also the reason why gojo adored her since her crying cut anyone’s session of bullying him short. though, of course, he buys her a ton of toys to make up and comfort her.

he fails to realize that the true way to comfort her is to place in your arms or nanami’s.

like that one time when she bumped her head lightly and started crying profusely, throwing punches at gojo who was supposed to be babysitting her—poor choice but who am I to judge. she screamed and squirmed, demanding she be comforted.

however, none of the toys gojo bought were working.

and the two of you were called into a mission, so he literally is rendered helpless. that is until nanami returns a tad bit early than planned, and satoru couldn’t have been more relieved.

he hurriedly places d/n in kento’s arms, and the little girl takes a few seconds to realize who is holding her now.

she looks up, smiling at her dad. he instantly smiles back, “hey there,” he hums, “did you miss me?”

anyway back to what i was saying: a very sensitive and empathetic baby, right?

so when one day, you have your girl perched on your lap and nanami is going all out with scolding gojo, no one expects your daughter to burst one laughing.

you giggle, looking at her, “d/n, you like seeing papa scold uncle gojo?”

gojo gasps, “what?!”

you usher your husband, “babe, try it again!”

nanami nods with determination and gathers everything gojo ever bothered him with and translates it into a bunch of very child-friendly insults.

with each reproach, gojo deflates and d/n starts laughing more, squealing and wheezing. your husband abandons the crushed gojo and goes to hold d/n in his hands, “you okay there?”

she squeals and reaches for her feet, eyes never leaving her father’s. you coo, “she is so cute!”

“I never imagined my daughter would laugh at the sight of me, out of all people, scolding gojo.”

a very wounded gojo screams, “well I sure did! you family of haters!”

your husband frowns, but before he can talk, d/n cups his face and starts babbling a bunch of nonsense. nonetheless, your husband hangs onto every bit of said nonsense.

gojo takes that chance to flee to the hills.

meanwhile, you’re holding a camera and recording the lecture(?) your tiny angel is giving your husband.

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

your baby is the son of the all-mighty king of curses.

the man who sends terrors throughout the lands, the mere sight of his face is enough to cause someone to pee themselves.

everyone cowers in front of him, except you and more recently his son. on the contrary, in fact, your son can’t help but cackle whenever his dad puts on his “scary” face.

the first time it ever happened was when you were strolling the palace with s/n in your arms.

you know not to enter the throne room whenever sukuna has the villagers over to “hear their complains” as it almost always ended with him slicing one part of their body off.

you figured that it would be okay to at least pass by it since they always had the door closed—that started when you gave birth—but to your surprise, the door was open this time, giving you and your son a front row seat to sukuna degrading his subject.

“you’re wasting my time,” your husband states, and the villagers starts panicking.

“a-apologies my lord, pl-please grant me a-another chance!”

your husband scowls, “and now you’re ordering me around?”

the villager starts crying and kneels to the ground. on the other hand, your son couldn’t have been laughing more. his laugh echoed so loudly in the room that it drew everyone’s attention.

sukuna stares at the baby in your arms and scowls again, “y/n, why is he here?”

your son squeals and starts laughing again, hiding his face in your chest. you light up at his laughter, and sukuna finds himself livid at how the scene makes him feel content—until he notices the villager staring at you as well, what a short-lived happiness.

swiftly, sukuna slashes the villagers into cubes, and your son—who came out of his hiding spot—bursts into a fit of giggles that has you wondering just how much of sukuna’s sadism was passed to your darling son.

while you ponder over that, sukuna quickly makes his way to you, dismissing all the servants and tasking them with taking out the trash.

when your husband is right in front of you, you look up at him with a frown, “my son is laughing at torture, sukuna.”

“he is probably laughing at how pathetic the man looked,” he says as he smirks and pulls you close.

you huff and bounce s/n lightly, “shut up, old man.”

sukuna quirks an eyebrow and leans to be on your eye level. his hand is placed on your head, and he threatens, “you’re insulting your husband?”

s/n gasps lightly before harshly latching on sukuna’s face, fingers digging into his second pair of eyes. sukuna does not give any reaction except standing up to his full height.

your son, however, is relentless and is still hanging onto your husband’s face.

you don’t know how to react. sukuna doesn’t know how to react.

s/n just lets out a series of battle cries.

FUSHIGURO TOJI:

if there is anything that toji is doubtful of is whether his son actually loves him or not.

why you ask? well, the only thing that gets the kid laughing—aside from you laughing or smiling—is literally any inconvenience that happens to him.

he remembers that one time when shiu was over to discuss some business, nothing out of the norm. megumi was on just sat on his high chair beside toji since you were at work.

toji was just sipping on his coffee when he burned his tongue, “gosh damn it!”

shiu was about to make fun of him, but megumi beat him to it as he started laughing heartily, even taking breaths in between to calm down but to no avail.

toji’s eyes widen as he stands up to go to his son, “no way you’re laughing at me getting—what the hell?!”

toji groans after he bumps into the table, glaring at his son who starts laughing all over again. meanwhile, shiu chuckles and teases toji, “I think your son just loves you so much, doesn’t he?”

your husband rises to his feet, quickly carrying megumi and lifting him in the air. he grumbles, “I want my wife back.”

another time was when you guys grocery shopping.

you had most of the list crossed out and the only thing left was the frozen vegetables. easy, right?

so you, your husband, and son quickly made your way to the section—since megumi wanted to go to the park later to play with yuuji.

megumi stays in your arms, while toji goes to grab them. considering how unlucky this man is, the bag slips from his hand and falls flat on his face, and it freaking stays there.

to your darling son, comedy had never reached this peak, so he lets out a guttural laugh.

you want to join in on the laughter, but you noticed that toji is standing still, with the bag on his face.

so you walk to him, gently taking off the bag and teasing him, “you okay, champ? that made quite the noise.”

“don’t even start,” he groans and buries his face in your shoulder, ignoring the wheezing megumi. he then starts complaining, “they keep whining about how he is a quiet and shy kid, but he sure ain’t with me.”

“isn’t that a good thing? It’s important for him to feel free around his dad.”

he turns his head towards you, a frown plastered on his face, “no kid laughs whenever his dad gets ridiculed by life.”

“you told me that you laughed when your dad fell down a flight of stairs,” you deadpan.

“that’s because my dad is an ass; I am not,” he pauses, “for the most part.”

apparently, megumi senses his dad’s distress and starts slowly patting his head, albeit shyly. he lowers his gaze and mumbles, “so’y.”

toji’s eyes widen and he is frozen in place for a moment. your son takes note of that and starts staring him in the eye, waiting for his reaction.

your husband doesn’t take long for a small smile to break out as he lets a small sigh, “’s okay kid,” he hums and pets his head.

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @sonder-paradise @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author @stray-npc @libbyistired @anon1412 @anakalana @maehemthemisfit @satorustar @b4nka1 @sad-darksoul @ko-fi-heart @pumpkindudeishere @suyaaachin @babyqueen17 @chaosguy352 @murakami-kotone @sukun4ryomen @yumieis @hearts4itoshi @sleepyxxhead @dunixxd @sleepycrybbylaiah @imjustaduckwholikesbread @emilyyyy-08 @spacebaby1 @arabellatreaty @girlnamedutsu

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

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xbellaxcarolinax · 1 year

Note

Okay but imagine sex pollen with Miguel fucking you on your back and then even when he cums he just keeps going and it’s spilling out and refractory period who and you’re overstimulated and he’s like no no you’re not allowed to tap out and he — and he —!!!!!

Sorry

MONA. You put me in a fucking MOOD LMFAO This is way longer than I intended. And its pure filth 🫣

Word Count: 2k+

NSFW below the cut.

Part 2

...

Earth 703- A post-apocalyptic world in which New York was nothing more than a ferocious jungle.

You stared off into the distance, the familiar city skyline overrun by wild flora and thick green vines sneaking in through broken windows and cracked concrete.

“What the fuck.” You whispered to yourself, eyes now trained on the massive dragonfly that whizzed by you. Miguel grunted, punching a large finger over the screen of his watch.

The mission was supposed to be simple: Catch the anomaly—send them back to their own universe—go home. That’s it. No detours, no distractions. In and out.

“Are we close?” You questioned, pressing up against Miguel’s side at the sight of another massive insect, “I wanna get the hell outta here.”

“We just missed him.” He sucked his teeth. His mask disappeared in a flash of digital pixels to reveal his scowling face, narrowed red eyes and brows furrowed in frustration.

You’ve been wandering around the city for forty-five minutes, trekking through the godforsaken jungle with no luck. The anomaly, a Prowler from some random universe (you couldn’t remember, you weren’t paying attention at the meeting), was clever, quickwitted, and inconspicuous. You’d wished Miguel had chosen Jess for this one, but he’d refused. He’d used the excuse of her pregnancy but really, she’d already complained to you beforehand that the humidity would do her hair no favors.

“What now?” You questioned, plopping down at the base of a bulky tree trunk a few feet away. The trees were so massive that the branches seemed to kiss the sky, monstrous green leaves blocking out most of the morning sunlight.

“Keep lookin’,” he huffed, running his fingers through his hair, “we’re getting close.”

“Miguel,” you whined, your head thumping back against the trunk, “you said that forty-five minutes ago.”

“Get up,” he demanded, shooting out a web of electric red to swiftly pull you toward him. You yelped, crossing the distance within seconds, crashing into Miguel's sturdy body.

“I hate when you do that.” Your words were muffled by his broad chest, peeling your sweaty cheek away from the synthetic material of his suit. The tiniest smile ghosted over his lips.

“I know.”

…

You’d left Miguel on his own for a few minutes.

You’d gotten distracted, swinging up into one of the treetops to observe one of the colorful parrots squawking in the distance. It’d looked just like the ones back home, except this one was enormous, probably bigger than a medium-sized dog.

“Fuck!” You’d heard Miguel yell from down below, spitting out curses in Spanish, choking on the words as coughs racked his body. He’d been waving his hands in front of his face to clear his vision to no avail. You watched as his body reacted immediately to whatever it was that ailed him, his body hunching over as if in pain.

“Miguel!” You dropped to your feet in front of him and attempted to reach for him, but he recoiled, fearing your touch.

“Stay back!” he wheezed, crouching down and holding his head in his hands.

“What’s wrong?”

“It hurts,” he groaned, his eyes screwed shut as his body trembled, his fingers weaving through his thick hair strands to violently tug from the root.

“Stop,” you scolded, getting on your knees in front of him to pry his hands away, “tell me what’s wrong so that I can help you.” You shoved him down by the shoulders so that he was sitting with his knees out, bringing a hand to his face and yanking it up by his chin. His eyes, normally a mahogany shade glowed a disturbing red, his pupils dilated.

“Ran into a plant,” he forced the words from his throat, his skin gleaming with sweat, “s-some flower, I don’t know, some kind of pollen.” He groaned again, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Shit, ok, ok, ok, we can fix this,” you panicked, placing the back of your hand against his forehead. He was burning, skin blistering hot. “Where does it hurt.”

Miguel remained silent, breathing harshly through his nostrils as beads of sweat began to trickle down his face. He looked down between his legs and you followed his line of vision. Oh. OH.

His bulge was tenting through his suit, fighting against the restraints of the digital fabric. The area glimmered brightly before his cock burst through the pixels, flopping out and twitching with need.

Miguel was big.

His cock stood tall and proud, bobbing against his stomach, the tip leaking a thin bead of precum that ran down his length.

You stared for a moment, transfixed on the angry red tip before you found your voice. “Miguel—”

“You need to go,” he spat viciously, his fangs protruding as if to scare you away, “if you don't I’ll—” He stopped himself, lips pressed into a tight line as his chest began to heave. You could hear his heart rate accelerate with every passing second.

“Let me help you,” you whispered, your hand hovering over his cock. He looked away from you, his skin flushed from his cheekbones to the tips of his ears. “Miguel, please, let me help you.”

“I don’t want to force—”

“You’re not forcing me,” you breathed, letting the pad of your finger tap against his tip, smearing his precum over the surface. Your cunt throbbed, squeezing tight with an overwhelming desire to be filled. “I want to.” You cooed, your tone causing his eyes to flutter.

Miguel grunted, grabbing your hand and placing it over his throbbing cock.

“Then help me.” He hissed.

…

You needed a new suit. Immediately.

Miguel had torn into it, ripping the seams apart from the crotch, all the way up to your neck, revealing your chest and glistening pussy. You had no time to complain, mewling when he spread your thighs apart with his large hands, his eyes trained on the heat between your legs before diving in to eat from you.

You squealed, your hands flying to his head as he kissed and licked and spit over your cunt, his nose pressing against your clit. His tongue dipped into your hole a few times before licking one long stripe up to your bundle of nerves, swirling his tongue around it before sucking it into his mouth.

Okay—you’ve had your pussy eaten before, but goddamn never like this, never like it was a matter of life or death, as if your pussy alone was the answer to all things.

Miguel continued his ministrations, releasing a growl every few moments, licking to oblivion until you thought his jaw would lock.

He made you see stars, groaning loudly as you gushed into his mouth. He savored your tangy taste as he lapped at your wet folds, making sure to lick up every drop he could find.

His mouth and chin were soaked in your juices when he came back up, and it shot a fresh wave of arousal through your veins. His hand reached out to cup your face, his thumb smearing over the traces of his cum dotting across your cheek when you’d sucked him off earlier, catching some of it in your mouth before he'd pulled out, wanting to paint your face with it at the last moment.

He dipped his thumb into your mouth, forcing you to clean it as he slid his cock over your messy pussy, smearing the underside in your juices. His body shook with need, his eyes glazed and lidded, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he whimpered something about you being so wet.

He pulled out his thumb from your mouth with a pop and watched how you panted underneath him, your exposed skin now covered in a sheen of sweat.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, positioning your legs over his shoulders before draping himself over you, folding you in half, “I’m sorry if I’m not gentle.”

Gentle? You were a big girl, you didn’t need him to be—

You cried out as soon as he pressed his fat head into your tiny hole, forcing your pussy to open up for him as he pushed in deeper without giving you much time to adjust.

“Fuck,” you sobbed, your hands scrambling to grip his arms as he began to thrust his hips, dragging his cock in and out of you at a bruising pace.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Miguel began to babble, grunting when your cunt squeezed the life from him, the slick noises of your drenched pussy egging him on.

Maybe…gentle would have been nice knowing now how big he was, but you understood the circumstances of the situation. This was meant to be anything but gentle.

He had you coming again, your back arching and your bare chest pressing against his clothed one before he filled you with his own spend, pushing it as deep as he could into you. He pulled out harshly causing you to moan, watching his cum leak from your swollen pussy before slapping his length over your folds a few times and dipping back in.

He fucked you harder this time until your pussy throbbed and burned from the size of him, filling you up with so much of his cum, and delighting in the way it dripped out of you.

“Again.” He grunted, pushing his cock into your convulsing walls, slamming in deep as he licked and sucked on your nipples, leaving red love marks over your skin. You sobbed from the pleasure, feeling his weight push you into the ground.

“I can’t!” You cried, pushing weakly against his shoulders.

“You can and you will.” Miguel commanded. He couldn’t stop, barely giving you a minute to catch your breath after making you both cum again before sinking into your searing heat, stretching you beyond your limits.

You were lightheaded and spent, losing count of the number of orgasms he’d given you. Miguel growled, pulling out his cock from your abused hole and shooting his load over your body. He pressed it into your skin, smearing it over your breasts and tender nipples, down your abdomen, and finally, over your burning pussy.

He paused, his eyes tracing over your fucked out form before reaching down to pump himself with the leftover cum in his hand.

“I’m sorry, Hermosa,” he whispered, draping himself over you again, “I can’t stop, you feel too good. So fucking tight.” He slurped your nipple into his hot mouth, sucking the taste of him from your skin as he pushed his large cock into you.

Your eyes fluttered and you cried out, your fingers digging into the earth, focusing on nothing but Miguel's rich voice:

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m—

…

It was nightfall by the time Miguel was satiated.

You felt weak, eyes heavy with sleep and body limp. Miguel sat against a tree and had you cradled in his arms, your body nestled comfortably between his legs. He rested his head over yours, inhaling the scent of sweat and dirt trapped in your hair.

“See that flower?” He muttered, pointing straight ahead at a few giant white daisies clustering around a tree. They were massive, like everything else in that universe, the stems taller than Miguel when he was standing at his full height. You nodded sleepily, ignoring the ache in your still exposed cunt. “Don’t go near it.”

“Got it.” You absentmindedly played with the frayed pieces of your suit, letting Miguel shield your exposed skin from the elements.

You probably should’ve left already, should’ve gone back to HQ for a much-needed shower and rest, probably schedule another meeting, but Miguel wouldn’t budge, his grip on you tightening whenever you so much as shifted against him.

“Quèdate quieta.” He grunted.

“Miguel,” you protested, “we have to go home. The anomaly—”

“I know, hermosa,” he murmured softly, “I know.” You never seen him this soft before, nor speak in such a gentle way, not with anyone and least of all, not with you.

You both sat there in silence, processing what happened while listening to the sounds of the jungle, the birds chirping in the distance, the leaves rustling in the gentle wind. You sighed, playing with his interlocked fingers over your stomach. It was strangely intimate (despite everything else that happened), having him coddle you.

“Miguel?”

“Mm?”

“You better get me a suit like yours.”

“What’s wrong with the fabric ones from HQ?”

“It’s a waste if you’re just gonna rip it off again.” You heard him snort out a breath, just the tiniest thing that implied he understood your meaning. You were hoping this wouldn’t be the first nor last time you’d be under him. “We got a deal?”

Miguel chuckled, his hand leaving the safety of your abdomen to venture down into your sopping-wet folds. You bit your lip, spreading your tired thighs, whimpering as his thick fingers swirled inside.

“Deal, Hermosa.”

...

Quèdate quieta- Keep still

#ask response #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv

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oreo-creampie · 10 months

Text

𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: pure intense fluff, kissing, cuddling, squeezing, handsy pouty bastard, insisting you’ve been neglecting him, his is dying and it’s all your fault, how dare you do this to him, he will hold you accountable for your heinous crimes by cuddling you, toji is going soft for you, established relationship

Standing in front of your vanity, slipping your earrings off, sticking them with the rest. Glancing into your vanity mirror when Toji emerges from the bathroom.

Arms crossed over his bare pecs sticking his bottom lip out in his adorable pout. It’s one of your favorite Toji expressions. He huffs, “Finally someone figures where they live.”

He unzips the back of your dress. “You weren’t here!” kissing your shoulder. Slipping it down your body, trailing gentle sloppy kisses down your back. “The house was so empty and cold, I was dying of loneliness little mama.”

Stepping out of your dress, he tossing it into the hamper beside the bedroom door. “Is it even a home without you there?” His warm fingers brushing against your back unclasping your bra, gliding the straps off your shoulders. His touch comforting.

You insist, “Without you this place is just some walls.” Grabbing his hands, kissing his warm palms. Glancing into the mirror, Toji “It’s also not my fault you showed up two days early. Couldn't rush a planned girl’s night for your needy ass.” Turning around sliding your hand over his thick pecs, broad shoulder and into his soft dark hair.

“Im only needy when it comes you to mama. You’re so cruel neglecting me.” Grabbing your ass, lifting you up. Wrapping your legs around his slim waist.

“We aren't leaving for the weekend. Tired of seeing everyone’s ugly ass faces and hearing their annoying ass voices.” He kisses the top of your head. “Just need to spend some time with you mama.” Wrapping his arms around your waist, squeezing your tightly.

Wheezing, “I'm all your’s Teddy Bear!” Your back pops several times. Gasping for sweet air when he loosens his gasp.

“Damn right you are.” Kissing along Toji’s jawline, softly biting his pouty bottom lip, melting into his gentle kiss.“It’s not fair mama I can't squeeze you like I want to.” Carrying you through the hallway, towards the living room. “Get good mama, lemme squeeze you tighter.”

“Nah Teddy Bear that’s a you problem.” Squeezing Toji’s slim waist with your legs, tightening your grasp around Toji’s neck. “I can hug you as tight as I want. Ha-ha-haha!” Ripping you off him and throwing you onto the sofa.

“Imma make it your problem little mama.” Carefully falling on top of you, pinning your body with his weight. Resting his head on your chest. “Hahah! Looks whose trapped now! I’m not letting you go anywhere beautiful.”

Pushing himself up, and leaning in for a kiss. “All mine.” Parting your lips, the gentle hunger of his passionate kiss replacing your need for air. Slipping your fingers through his soft dark hair.

When he pulls away, covering your face with kisses. You grin widelyz “I missed ya so much teddy bear, I’m all your’s for the rest of the week. I’ll make sure you get sick of me.” Giving your forehead another gentle kiss, squeezing your hips.

It’s comforting having his heavy weight pressing you into the bed. His large strong hands on your body making you feel so safe and protected. His gentle kisses and words ensuring you know how cherished you are.

His cheeks turn pink, spreading across the bridge of his nose, coloring the tips of his ears. “I can never get enough of you.” His eyes widen. “Listen to me, ya made me all mushy, gonna have to hold you responsible. Hmm how should I do that.”

Oreo creampie’s m.list

Satoru’s verison!

6K notes · View notes

katsukistofu · 3 months

Text

peanut butter and jellyfish

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ h. shinsou x fem reader. 5k words — fluff. cursing. comforting insecurities. friends to secret lovers.

⭑ shenanigans with your not-so-secret boyfriend ft. sleepovers with eri, a cat eating pizza on you at 3am, your classmates being nosy, and an aquarium date.

note: your quirk is forensic sight! so ur gc name is the way it is bc ur eyes lol get it

You choke back a laugh as a very focused Eri puts yet another sticker on Hitoshi’s face.

Snacks and pillows are strewn around the inside of the blanket fort the three of you finished building moments before. Stiller than a rock, your calm best friend sits there cross-legged so that Eri can give him a makeover of unicorns, stars, and rainbows.

“Do you think he looks pretty yet?” Eri tilts her head at you.

“Like a real-life princess.” You giggle. “Good job, Eri!”

“Yay!” She happily high fives the hand you hold up for her. “Do you feel pretty yet, Hito-nii?”

“I feel so bonita.” Hitoshi deadpans, sending you two into another fit of giggles.

“You were pretty already, Toshi,” you coo, rubbing a thumb over the sticker of a cat making sushi on his cheekbone. Mr. Aizawa must have bought that one for her.

Hitoshi pretends to shyly gaze at you from under his long lashes. “Aw, really?”

His lips curve into a lazy smile, and a heat that you’re all too familiar with rises up your neck, you turn away–a little too quickly, to Hitoshi’s amusement.

“Nevermind you’re ugly.”

He laughs and the heat creeps up to your cheeks.

Such a simple sound, yet that soft, husky voice of his always manages to make your insides a mushy mess, even when you had painfully tripped over his cat, Celery, when he transferred and first moved into the dorms with your class.

The normally stoic, reserved purple-haired boy had doubled over with an uncontrollable wheeze, supporting himself on the sofa as your groaning self was sprawled across the floor.

God, they were lucky they were both cute.

Yet, you couldn’t help but smile as he reached a hand out to help you up, the other still covering his mouth.

That was the first time you made him laugh, and now, you’ve heard it so many times that you could finally stop counting on both your hands’ fingers but you still wanted more.

“Want me to paint your nails, Eri?” You ask, scooting over to your bedroom’s drawer.

You open it, your own light blue nails painted a color that reminds you of the sea against the pastel pink of the treasure box you take out. It had a heart-shaped diamond on the latch.

The heavy box was filled with a collection of nail polish the girls in your class usually used for their sleepovers as well, and new bottles, mostly varying shades of apple red, started mysteriously appearing the day after Eri said she had never gotten painted her nails before.

“Yes!” Eri’s eyes sparkle. “Can I please have matchy nails with Hito-nii?”

“Of course, sweetie.” You smile. She was adorable.

Hitoshi rubs the back of his neck. “You sure you want yours black this time, Eri?”

“Yes!” She huffs stubbornly. “Like dad’s clothes and those things under your eyes!”

“Hey!” He protests. She shares a mischievous look with you and you both giggle, catching the pillow Hitoshi gently throws at you.

“Oreo wouldn’t treat me like this.” Hitoshi reaches out to ruffle Eri’s hair and she squeals in protest, batting his hand away.

Eri holds up the oversized panda plushie he was talking about. It was comically bigger than her, and you had to bite back a laugh.

The moment you two spotted it in the claw machine outside Shinsou’s favorite cat cafe near campus, you knew you had to win it to add to her ever growing collection of stuffed animals.

With a grin, you remember the huge sigh of relief Shinsou let out when it finally fell into the chute.

“Duh he wouldn’t ‘cause you’re his twin!”

Hitoshi mock gasps. “Take that back.” And tickles her neck, barely dodging as you throw the pillow he threw earlier back at him.

“Woah!”

Except much, much harder.

“Don’t worry Eri, I'll protect you!” You grab another nearby pillow and throw it at him, which he easily catches in mid-air with one hand like it was a frisbee.

“Aw.” You pout. Mr. Aizawa was training him a little too good now.

Eri pats your arm to console you. “It’s okay I appre-shee—apree-shee—“

“Appreciate?” You offer, and her face brightens as she nods.

“Appree-shee-ate. You. For trying.” She finishes shyly.

“Aw, thank you Eri. I appreciate you too.”

Hitoshi’s eyes soften at the sight of you two.

“What about me?”

You scowl. “You can go duck yourself, Toshi.”

“Love you too.”

Eri suddenly gasps.

“Dad says that to Uncle Zashi too!”

Despite already knowing the answer, Hitoshi and you turn to look at her suspiciously.

“…Which one?”

As if he knows you’re talking about him, Aizawa yells down the hallway.

“Eri, brats, pizza’s here!”

─────────

“Can I have another hug?” Hitoshi asks coyly after class one day.

The bell had just rung, and you roll your eyes at his leaning form on the wall of the almost empty hallway.

Everyone was leaving for lunch.

Except you two, but that was Hitoshi’s fault.

“I just gave you one!”

“Oh no.” He places a dramatic palm to his forehead. “I think I’m going to pass out because of someone if I don’t get a hug in the next five seconds.”

“Greedy ass.” You sigh, wrapping your arms around his waist.

He hides a grin, shuffling closer to close the gap between your bodies.

Hitoshi smells like fresh linen with hints of sunshine, probably from his daily bike ride he took around campus before class started, and the coffee he brewed this morning.

A sense of comfort settles into your bones as the familiar scent envelopes you, and you breathe it in.

He softly tucks your head under his chin as you nuzzle your face deeper into his chest, your headache from taking the quiz in Ectoplasm’s class earlier now long gone.

“Did you know that when cats see that it's raining outside a window, they go to another window in the same room to check if it's still raining outside?” Hitoshi randomly whispers.

“I did not know that.” You giggle. His lips feel ticklish on your hair. “Does Celery do that too?”

“All the time.” Hitoshi grins. “I have a video from yesterday’s storm, I’ll show you in the cafeteria.”

“Ooh okay!”

He straightens, and takes your hand, your fingers easily lacing through his as you both start to head in the direction of the dining hall.

When you trip over nothing, he snorts, already expecting it, and catches your waist before you take a fall that will be difficult for your ego and your knees to recover from.

“Careful,” he says as you clutch onto his school uniform in relief, and you swear that already deep, smooth voice of his drops an octave on purpose, almost sending you to the ground again.

Hitoshi’s thumb is still tracing small circles on the back of your hand as the both of you join the line for the traditional school lunch. You could try a different cuisine tomorrow. On today’s menu was miso seaweed soup with a side of grilled fish and a milk bread roll along with, of course, rice.

You feel a vibration on the side of your leg, and for the umpteenth time this school year you thank UA for adding pockets to the school uniform’s skirts as you slip your phone out. The jellyfish charm Hitoshi got for your birthday last year dangles from your case.

Surprise, surprise, it’s the class group chat.

-forklift uncertified -

it’s barbie bitch

guysss guess what i sawwww

invisi-girl

IS IT TODOROKI IN A PINK TUTU

pikachew

girl what

invisi-girl

u guys don’t get the vision

i saw it in a dream last night

the rock

nah i get it dude

that would be so manly

ice spice

I would not be completely opposed to the idea

invisi-girl

SEE

it’s barbie bitch

it’s even better >_<

it’s barbie bitch

hitoshituckingyourhair

behindearwithasoftsmile.png

mochi cheeks

OHMYGOD!?1?2?2

SOCUTEEEEETES

airpods with wires

i saw that

airpods with wires

can yall not flirt before lunch

next time i’m gonna throw

up before i get to eat

sue you

AWWWW OUR LITTLE BABYS ALL GROWN UP

forensic balls [you]

FUCK U GUYS IM 17

yaomomo

exactly

a Baby :)

forensic balls [you]

yaoyao ur supposed

to be on my side </3

yaomomo

sorry my love i cannot

deny the facts </3

pikachew

Nahhh only shinsou can call her that guys ;))))

airpods with wires

wah wah wah

forensic balls [you]

one more word and i’m gonna change the gc name to fornite jiggle physics

sue you

yaomomo

No thank you

my chemical romance

what a mad banquet of darkness

it’s barbie bitch

babe look me in the

eyes this isn’t like you

forensic balls [you]

try me.

pikachew

DO ITTTTTTT

forensic balls [you]

ok just bc u told me to

i won’t now

scotch tape

dayum rip denks

forensic balls [you]

also not my fault u guys

have early ass birthdays smh

shirt guy

Senior citizen core fr

forensic balls [you]

ily midoriya

shirt guy

ilyt pookie xx

kazoo-ki

Girl u aint slick

shirt guy

You’re so late omg

pikachew

bro has us on mute

kazoo-ki

shut up dunce face

kazoo-ki

How tf do I change my name

mochi cheeks

LMFAO

wiki-how

Bakugo it is fairly simple.

wiki-how

First you click on your profile, then your personal settings.

wiki-how

From there you press “Change Display Name” and you should be able to enter your name of preference.

kazoo-ki

better than you

Thanks glasses ig

wiki-how

You are very welcome.

kiri the rock

nice one dude!

sue you

wow egotistical much

better than you

You wish yours was as big as mine

pikachew

that’s what he said

it’s barbie bitch

omg it just hit me

it’s barbie bitch

the first person to

finally get bitches in our class

it’s barbie bitch

i’m so happy i could cry

pikachew

I GET BITCHES

sue you

yeah over the screen

we're talking irl

pikachew

leave me and my otome games alone

forensic balls [you]

real

forensic balls [you]

AND IM NOT DATING HITOSHI

it’s barbie bitch

HITOSHI????????

airpods with wires

first name basis is crazy

forensic balls [you]

fuck i mean *shinsou

scotch tape

y’all smell that

the rock

peeeyew

pikachew

smells like sum bullshiiii

kazoo-ki

Could’ve fooled me

yaomomo

You aren’t??? :(

yaomomo

But I wrote a reminder to wish

you two happy anniversary and

even bought tea to celebrate!

forensic balls [you]

….for what date

yaomomo

April 1st :(

forensic balls [you]

………………

airpods with wires

@ it’s barbie bitch we can see u

across the cafeteria u are BAWLING

eyebags

what the fuck

Hitoshi bites back a laugh as your widened eyes meet his, glancing up from your phone.

“Not dating, huh?” He grins.

You groan and pinch his arm. “I panicked okay! I didn’t know what to tell them.”

“Hmm, do you want me to?”

“I mean, only if you want to.” You shyly play with his fingers.

“I kind of like us being a secret from them for a little longer. It feels… nice.”

Hitoshi smiles. “I know what you mean.” He wrinkles his nose. “Though they’re so nosy it looks like they figured it out already.”

“Pffft, yeah.” Mina could definitely sniff out a relationship from miles away, no matter how much PDA you tried to sneakily do in empty hallways.

Hitoshi squeezes your hand in reassurance.

“I like it too.” He leans over, and your eyes are forced to meet the dark violet of his.

The side of Hitoshi’s soft-looking lips, courtesy of the strawberry chapstick he stole from you before class this morning, quirk up as he looks down at you with soft eyes, the ones he reserves for you and random cats he sees on the road.

“Chapstick thief,” you mutter.

“Oh, you want it back?” Hitoshi grins. “Kiss it off me then.”

Your cheeks grown warm. “Not here!”

“Good,” He smirks.

“I prefer keeping you all to myself, anyway.”

─────────

“What’s wrong?”

He’s crouching down so that your eyes have no choice but to meet his from your spot on the bean bag.

He gently pushes the switch in your hands down to your lap and pokes your thigh. You squirm away ticklishly.

“Tell me.”

“No.” You huff, picking your switch back up. “I just wanna play Stardew, leave me alone.”

“Darling.”

Your face flushes at the pet name, and he smirks. His secret weapon still works without fail. Hitoshi didn’t even need to activate his quirk to have you under his thumb.

“You’re not going to feel better if you keep it in. Tell me what’s wrong.”

His nails are still pink, you faintly notice, trying to distract yourself from your very attractive, very insistent boyfriend in front of you with his comforting hands placed on your thighs.

You painted his left hand, and Eri painted his right at the last sleepover you had together. She had insisted that he should match nails with her this time, since she matched with him last week.

It was already terrible and impressive that Hitoshi was a people-reader, even worse that he knew what to do to make you fold so easily and open up.

Curse you Hitoshi, you and your disposition for healthy communication.

You should have never recommended that therapist to him.

“I don’t know,” you finally mumble. He tilts his head, showing you that he’s listening.

“I just feel like I don’t deserve it.”

“Deserve what, sweetheart?” He asks. The softness in his voice is unbearable and what you've been bottling up for weeks finally spills out.

“I feel like I don’t deserve it when good things happen to me.”

Hitoshi blinks, then lets out a snort. Which turns into a full blown laugh coming from his chest.

You shove his face away and he falls on his butt, still chuckling.

“You’re making fun of me!” You say indignantly.

“Sorry, sorry, I just–” He coughs, and takes a breath to recollect himself.

“You say a lot of dumb shit and I think that's the worst thing I’ve heard you say.”

You pout. “I’m feeling very invalidated right now.” Hitoshi rolls his eyes, and his hands reclaim their spot on your skin, except this time he’s gently cupping your face in his hands.

He’s not used to comforting people, but you can see that he’s trying.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, and you inhale sharply. “You’re kind, you’re intelligent, and I see you try so hard everyday. You always do a good job when you set your sights on something. Why don’t you deserve good things?”

“I don’t know.” Your gaze is numbly pinned to the silver chain around his neck, the one with a little crescent moon on it that he wears everyday, not even taking it off when he goes to sleep. The one you gave to him.

“That’s okay.”

His thumbs caress your cheeks, and you think you can breathe a little easier.

“Let's think of it this way,” Hitoshi says, still cupping your cheeks, grounding you. “It’s not about whether you deserve it or not. Do you want it?”

You finally meet his eyes, and answer with a voice shakier than you’d like it to be.

“I do. I want good things for myself.”

“Atta girl,” Hitoshi says with a proud quirk of his lips.

You stare at him, your heart suspended in your chest, feeling better but still looking a bit unsure.

Hitoshi notices this from the way you start biting the inside of your cheek, and he leans his forehead against yours. You freeze.

He smells like fruit, like freshly washed blueberries and those ripe strawberries in the kitchen in the dorm’s fridge. “That’s more than enough. We can work from there.”

There’s still a worried furrow between your eyebrows.

“Come on, sweetheart. We can go to the aquarium you love this weekend.”

He smirks as you perk up at that, drinking up the rare, shy expression suddenly on your face again, and leans down to your ear.

“You’re so easy,” Hitoshi whispers.

You grumble, you could hear that stupid grin in his voice.

“Sorry, I can't hear you with your face in my chest.”

You raise your head to glare at him and his heart soars. There was his girl.

God, his smug face was starting to irritate you more and more. "I said that if you were my husband I'd poison your tea!"

“If you were my wife, I'd drink it."

─────────

-thot pockets -

it's barbie bitch

omg guess who i just saw

cuddling in front of the tv

it's barbie bitch

youwrappedlikeaburritoinhitoshisarms.png

dating allegation #1

MINA WTF DELETE THAT

dating allegation #1

WHY R U STALKING US

[dating allegation #2 saved an image]

dating allegation #1

BRO WHOS SIDE ARE YOU ON

dating allegation #1

PURPLE MINION LOOKING BITCH

dating allegation #2

ok forensic penis

dating allegation #2

who changed my user

pikachew

cuz u guys are NOT beating

them :laughcry::laughcry:

ice spice

I am just confused as to why

you two are sitting on each other

ice spice

When the rest of the couch

appears to be unoccupied

ice spice

Perhaps this is a new

procreation method?

mochi cheeks

TODORKIWHATHAHVDHSHA

pikachew

LMDFAOOOOOOOOO

ice spice

dating allegation #1

WHATTHEFUKC

the rock

never change bro

sue you

IACTAULKYLCANT BREATHE HELP

it’s barbie bitch

ME NEITEHHR

dating allegation #2

Whenever my eyebags get darker

dating allegation #2

Just know I blame it on all of you

─────────

“Celery?” You mutter, rubbing your bleary eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Mrow.” The cat continues eating the slice of… pizza? On your chest.

It looks like the one that you and Hitoshi ordered earlier after quizzing each other for Present Mic’s exam.

“I love you so much but I am so confused.”

You reach for your phone to text Hitoshi, your still-asleep hands fumbling a bit on the nightstand.

toshi <3 [12 hrs ago]

you [12 hrs ago]

literally us <3

toshi <3 [12 hrs ago]

want to order takeout and

watch ouran highschool after

we study for tmrws exam

you [12 hrs ago]

yes please omg

you [now – 03:24]

hey

can u explain why ur daughter

is eating pizza on my boobs

at 3am

toshi [03:30]

whar

toshi [03:31]

OHfMGOD

CELERU

Not even five minutes later, he’s knocking on the door to your room. You open it, and the sight of a very sleepy looking Hitoshi greets you. His already unruly bedhead is even messier than usual and you’re pretty sure he’s wearing his shirt backwards. Did he put it on before coming over?

Wait.

You blink, long and hard, banishing the thoughts of a groggy, very shirtless Hitoshi lying in his bed, with the light of his phone screen illuminating his handsome features as he replies to your text. Those four hours of sleep must finally be hitting you.

Hitoshi sees you blinking, and takes it as a sign you’re still in shock at the pizza monster in your lap.

He gives an awkward pat to your shoulder in reassurance.

“I think this is just how she shows affection.” Hitoshi stares down at Celery fondly.

The way you stroke her fur so softly makes his chest feel warm and tingly.

“Does she eat leftover pizza off your chest at three in the morning?”

“...No.”

“Hah. She said she likes me better. ” You smirk victoriously. “Isn’t that right sweetie?”

The calico cat purrs as you scratch her ears, a bit of tomato sauce under her chin. Hitoshi exaggeratedly puts his hand over his heart at this scene of betrayal.

“Seriously? Celery, I took you off those streets and raised you like I was the one pregnant with you for nine months.”

“Mrow.” She bumps her head against your hand.

“Pfft, give it up Toshi. It’s time for you to hand over the adoption papers.”

Hitoshi rubs the back of his neck. “Or we could just share custody.”

“What?” Your cheeks grow warm. “You want me to be her mom?”

“I mean you kind of already are. Look at her,” he says, eyes softening as he looks at the two of you.

Celery has her paw on your arm. After eating until her little tummy was full, she was already starting to doze off.

“She takes after me.”

You let out a derisive snort.

“Yeah you looked just like that after our binge marathon today too."

“Not in that way.”

He smirks at your confused reaction.

“Then what do you mean–”

At that moment, Celery decides it’s the perfect time to snuggle into your tank top, smearing what’s left of the pizza on her face all over it.

Hitoshi’s eyes widen. He laughs, covering his mouth.

You’ve never been so glad you chose to wear black to sleep.

─────────

“Trouble child, you’re here.”

“Hi Mr. Aizawa.” You roll your eyes. “When are you going to stop calling me that, it’s getting old.”

“When you stop getting into trouble.”

“Okay, that’s fair.”

“The kid’s almost ready.” He snorts. “About damn time. Been up since six.”

“He has?” Your eyes widen. “For what?”

Your teacher smirks. “Nerves. Isn’t this his, what, tenth time taking you out though?”

A flustered Hitoshi suddenly appears from behind him with a light pink dusting his cheeks and steers Aizawa back to the door. “O-okay dad that’s enough.”

He’s cutely dressed in a soft-looking grey cardigan over a white shirt and black wide-legged pants.

This had to be the most boyfriend he’s looked, ever, and he looked very boyfriend all of the time.

“Hitoshi?” You do a little twirl for him in your own outfit. “Fire or nah?”

He looks up from his phone, where he’s googling the bus route to the aquarium, except his eyes linger. Without skipping a beat, he responds.

“Fire.”

“Toshi, you’re staring.”

“Of course I’m staring.” He says it with a tone like 'what else would I be doing?'

You shyly fidget with the edge of your shorts. “Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful.”

Hitoshi reaches out a hand, like he hasn't just casually left you breathless, and his own eyes soften as he notices your starry-eyed look.

“Let’s go, you crybaby.”

“Damn. I was going to say you look handsome too, but I don’t remember being the one who sobbed my eyes out watching Your Name last night.”

The tips of his ears turn red.

“Shut up.”

“Was like our fifth rewatch too.”

“Shut up before I kiss you.”

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Both."

‧₊˚ 🐚 ✩ ₊˚ 🌊 ⊹ 𓇼

Hitoshi’s lips twitch as he sees your eyes light up at the sight of the sign pointing in the jellyfish exhibit’s direction. “You’re adorable.”

“Thanks.” You grin. “You’re slow.”

You take him by the arm, your brain faintly registering how muscular his bicep is despite holding it so many times, and drag him along.

In their tanks, the glow of the moon jellies fills the darkness in front of them as other visitors murmur around you two in awe. Blue light reflects off the water and through the glass, illuminating your boyfriend’s dreamy features and you can’t help but admire how pretty he looks.

Hitoshi turns from watching the jellyfish to face you, fingers now lacing through yours. You don’t look away.

A soft smile flickers across his face when he catches you staring at him.

“This reminds me of when we first met.”

You smile. You remember. He was the one Mina relentlessly teased you for staring at, which you completely denied at the time.

“Why’re you so thirsty?” You remember her whispering into your ear at the Sports Festival in your first year. The both of you were sitting in your class’s designated spots in the stands.

Your eyes had widened, scandalized.

“I am not!”

“Please. You’re totally staring at him.”

“Who?”

“Shinsou Hitoshi.” She grinned. “Cute, right?”

Of course she paid attention when they announced his name specifically.

You could never remember anyone’s, and she probably saw you looking at his picture for a little too long when it appeared on the Jumbotron’s screen, announcing that his match with Oijiro was about to begin.

“Not really,” you lied, a bad attempt at feigning disinterest.

Like your eyes hadn’t been trailing down his lean figure the moment his next match started.

Or noticing how attractive it was the way he casually folded his arms when he taunted Midoriya, or wondering in your mind if his perpetual bed-head was as soft as it looks.

Mina turned to you, smirking at your slightly dazed expression.

“Really? Then you wouldn’t mind if I told him you had some questions about his quirk and wanted to talk about it after this, riiight?”

“What?” You shake your head furiously. “I mean his quirk is really interesting but–ugh Mina, no!”

“For the plot!” She waggled her eyebrows.

You nudged her knee with a huff. “I’m breaking up with you.”

“Nooo, I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Mina eyed you cheekily. “I won’t call him over.”

“Oh thank god.”

“But only if you admit he’s your type.”

You groan. “Okay fine. I think he’s hot, happy?”

“Very.” Your best friend laughs, pure happiness indeed written all over her face. You can see the matchmaking gears already turning in her head. “I just know you too well, babe.”

You roll your eyes. “Sometimes I really wish you didn’t.”

“Come on, you guys would be so cute together though.” She sighs dreamily. “Forensic sight and mind-control? Plus you’re both hot as fuck? Talk about a power couple.”

“....I think I’m going to go sit with Yaomomo instead.”

Recalling the memory, you laugh. “I know, we kept accidentally making eye contact after your second match because our seats were right across from each other.”

“That awkward prolonged eye contact in the stands might’ve been how I started crushing on you.”

You smirk. “You had a crush on me? That's so embarrassing.”

“I know.” He rolls his eyes, softly tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “Worst decision of my life.”

You hold Hitoshi’s hand tighter as you step closer to his side to get a better view of the tank.

“Glad the feeling is mutual.”

You spot it before he does.

“Oh my god Toshi. We need to get this for Eri.”

He spins around from the collection of the aquarium’s official shirts for sale, a shirt with a print of a whale shark in his hands.

“Wha–oh my god.”

Hitoshi stares at the giant penguin plushie you’re holding in front of you.

It was bigger than you–no, bigger than him even.

“Not sure if it’s going to fit on the train home, but we’ll make it work.”

─────────

"Can you teach me how to draw a unicorn too, Eri?" Hitoshi asks.

You had already asked Eri before him seconds ago so you stick your tongue out at Hitoshi, mouthing ‘copycat,’ and he tilts his head down to quickly kiss your neck, making you giggle.

He still has a pink bow wrapped around his bicep from when you three played dress up an hour ago, and you fight the urge to laugh again at how silly he looks.

Eri is too focused on her drawings to care about either of you, and after she scribbles around a little more, she turns to face her older brother.

“Yeah!” She hands him a red crayon. “Okay, so first you draw half of a circle.”

Hitoshi follows Eri’s instructions.

He lifts his hand, which nearly covers the paper, to reveal a red ‘C’ that looks like it got run over by a truck.

“No, no not like that! Erase it.” She frowns disapprovingly, hands on her hips. “You’re really bad at this Hito-nii.”

“Please Eri-sensei. I'm trying my best.”

“Try harder!” She turns away with a huff, then peers over at your paper.

“Ooh yours looks so good!” Eri claps, and you smile proudly.

“It’s all thanks to you, Eri.” You reach out to fix her pigtail that was starting to slip out of the cat-patterned scrunchie, and she giggles, holding still for you.

Hitoshi grumbles. “This smells like favoritism.”

“That’s ‘cause your unicorn looks Celery’s poop!” Eri chirps. Then she runs away to the kitchen right before you double over in laughter at Hitoshi’s extremely offended face, clutching onto his broad shoulders for support.

“She said your drawing looks like shit!” You snort, and he groans.

Celery’s ears perk up in Hitoshi’s lap and she meows, looking in your direction. You hold out your arms. “Celery, you want uppies?”

She ignores them and decides to sit in your lap instead, purring softly.

“Mrow.”

“Yeah? And then what?” You coo, gently rubbing her fuzzy forehead, and her eyes close in contentment.

She mewls again, pawing at your sock and you laugh.

“Okay, okay I’ll tell him.”

Looking up at Hitoshi, he tilts his head the same way Celery does when you talk to her.

You bite back a laugh, you’re not sure who’s the cat in the room at this point.

“What did she say?” He asks you curiously.

All you do is blink slowly at him in response.

Hitoshi’s brows knit in confusion.

Then his eyes widen, a soft pink starting to color his cheeks.

Shyly, he slowly blinks back.

Suddenly, the gray-haired girl comes back from the kitchen, apples Aizawa sliced like rabbits for her on a plate in her hands.

You’re still slowly blinking at each other as she walks through the door.

Eri looks at the both of you weirdly.

“What are you two doing?”

“Mrow.”

teehee hitoshi’s the pb to ur jelly(fish) get it

#shinsou lovers pls find my acc i love u ur so sexy #i think it’s funny bc u like fish and hitoshi likes cats so he jokes abt eating u LOL #i wanted to give it like a shoujo-y skip and loafer kinda title :3 #fellow shinsou enjoyers i hope u like it #hitoshi shinsou x reader #shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinso x reader #mha x reader #mha oneshot #shinsou fluff #mha fluff #bnha x reader #ALSO ik it's a very common hc but shinsou would not use lavender scented products bc they're toxic to cats!!! HE WOULDNT RISK IT #would also not use a diffuser for his sleep sorry bc the oils from it can harm cats and their fur :/#he just thugs it out and drinks chamomile tea or smth #takes a melatonin every night #stop the shinsou smells like lavender allegations #bffr he would hate lavender purely for the fact that it’s poisonous to cats #I think shinsou would enjoy bath and body works scents #tho

1K notes · View notes

dcxdpdabbles · 8 months

Note

What if Danny went to school with Damian? I’m just imagining them going feral together after a little while, because you know that Danny picks up on Damian’s liminal vibes.

I mostly just want Damien to bring Danny home, and for Bruce to do the headcount thing that Mr. Weasley needed to do in Harry Potter. Just like ‘I could’ve sworn I didn’t have this many this morning’

Damian made a friend.

It shouldn't be as big a deal as his brothers were making it out to be but even he knew that he didn't have the best track record on friendships. It was hard to get along great with the kids in his school.

A lot of them were too carefree, to be unburdened by the things he saw and did on a battlefield and he couldn't stand how loud and messy they all were.

Damian preferred to sit by himself with some headphones in and draw whenever he could get the chance. According to the other children that made him an "emo loser" and a lot of them took great joy in flinging insults and taunts at him.

He never even spoken to them but for some reason, the general populace of Gotham Acadamy deemed him a great target for their scorn. Sometimes Damian wondered if he deserved their taunts, flung paper and spitballs.

If his time in the Leauge of Shadows truly made him broken and wrong as his classmates claimed.

It wasn't like Damian couldn't defend himself. He could have all of them begging for mercy within a minute but to do so would put at risk his Robin identity.

Which then would put his family at risk. Damian would never allow those under his protection to be harmed. So even if it hurt his dignity he allowed some of the more physical bullies to get a few hits in and ducked his head when he walked through the hallways.

His other classmates saw, but no one chose to speak up for Damian Wayne otherwise known as Bruce Wayne's accident on travel and dirty secret. He was the freak. The weirdo. They knew that if they got involved, even if they didn't agree with it, then they would be targeted.

He never expected anyone to step in whenever his bullies found him.

But then again, he came to learn that Daniel Fenton wasn't just anyone. His friend had a heart of gold with a righteous rage that was hardly contained in his smaller body.

It had been three days since Daniel had been transferred to Gotham Acadamy, during their free period. The youngest Wayne had been minding his own business, eating the vegetarian meal prepared by Alfred and drawing a little in his sketchbook when he was surrounded.

Damian had been pushed up against a wall by the meaty hands of the snickering soccer team. They were gripping his shirt collar and Damian had been preparing for a punch in the face when Daniel had appeared out of nowhere.

"Hands!" Danny had shouted pointing at Derek, the captain of the team with a scowl. He was the one who was going to beat Damian up while his friends held Wayne in place. "That's a penalty kick buddy!"

And then Danny kicked Eric- a teenager who was at least a head taller than him- right between the legs. Danny threw his whole body weight into that kick and the captain proved it by choking out a wheeze and falling to the ground.

Before his friends could react, Danny was upon them swinging his lunch tray like a battering ram.

Needless to say, the rest of the soccer team was not impressed, especially the goalie. They abandoned Damian to fight against Danny, who well seemed like he knew his way in a fight, was nowhere near Damian's level of training.

Good instincts but he lacked a solid foundation.

Danny was able to fight off the seven members of the soccer team (the rest didn't really hang out with them during breaks) but he had a lot of wounds as a result.

"Run dude!" Danny had shouted at him, putting himself between the team and Damian. His lip had been busted, he had a black eye and a nosebleed but Danny didn't seem to care. "I'll hold them off!"

Damian was ashamed to admit that he just stood there in shock at the new transfer's behavior. Daniel....was attempting to rescue him. Why?

He hadn't even known Daniel at the time.

The teachers arrived then, dragging everyone to the principal office where Damian was accused of starting the fight and Danny was threatened with being expelled only three days into his move. The soccer team had been smug, while the principal who Damian believed disliked him for his Middle Eastern Blood, seemed to jump at the fact he could smear Damian's name.

Daniel was on scholarship which did not help his chances at all in a school that had legacies.

His father had been away on a mission, so the school had been forced to phone Richard instead. When his brother arrived the soccer team's parents had been throwing a fit about all the hits Daniel had gotten in.

"Mr. Wayne shouldn't have agitated them and Mr. Fenton jumped in unprovoked. ," The Principal said staring Richard down when his brother had loudly demanded to know what happened.

"But he didn't" Daniel cut in. His guardians hadn't arrived yet and had remained mostly silent by the way. The group of parents and teenagers turn to him. "They were the ones to attack Wayne. I hit them unprovoked though. That part is true. They didn't do anything to me, but I can't stand cowards that attack in groups."

"I guess you have proof of this?" Mrs. Skeel sneered. She was Eric's mother and often brides her son out of problems.

"I have a body cam," Daniel reveals pulling out a miniature camera from his tie. He smiles at the dumbfounded stares his actions cause."Recorded the whole thing."

"Can I see the footage?" Richard requested, which Daniel easily handed over. They played it on the Principal's computer and there the camera shows Daniel sitting in the tree that Damian had chosen to sit under. The video captures Daniel watching him up until the soccer team arrives, and their innocence is proven.

Daniel didn't seem to care that he made enemies with almost everyone in that room as Richard quickly took control of the meeting with the evidence. Damian thinks he may not have to worry too much now that the staff were aware that Waynes would and could cut their funding.

Not only that, but the parents were also weary of angering Father. None of this meant that Daniel was safe so Damian took it upon himself to never let the new student be alone for too long.

As a means to protect him.

It wasn't until he realized two months later that school had gone for a dull meaningless pass time to laughter and enjoyment because of Daniel. They walked to class, they shared notes, they passed notes, they watched videos, Daniel chattered about everything and anything and they sent each other funny memes.

Daniel was vastly different from Damian but it didn't seem to bother him. If anything their differences were what made them so close. Daniel claimed that his two best friends back in his old school were vastly different in interest and personalities too.

He had made a friend.

Daniel was his friend.

A friend who didn't seem to mind when he would go quiet to draw or medicate. A friend who didn't need an explanation or justification for his eating habits. A friend he was able to vent about his troubles to and lend an ear to when Daniel faced his own woes.

A person who laughed at all his dark jokes, regardless of how much death was in them. Someone who seemed almost as... what did Todd call him? Feral? as Damian was.

Damian had chosen to invite Daniel to a sleepover. His very first ever sleepover with people from school- Jon held the crown for being the first friend to have a sleepover with him- and he has been ever so excited.

It's childish for someone of his age to show such anticipation for something so small but he couldn't help himself. Something about Daniel was captivating. Almost otherworldly so.

There was something about him that made all of Damian sense buzz but not in a bad way. He isn't sure what it is, but he is getting tired of Drake's and Richard's knowing smirks.

He detested being left out of the loop.

The doorbell rings. Todd makes the motion to stand up, which would be a disaster. He does not want Daniel- a person who swears in old classic book titles to meet his one brother who adores said books and reads them for fun.

Damian flings himself over the couch, using Todd as board. He ignores the shout of rage that his action causes and the hollaring laughter of the rest of Father's brood.

He clears the door before any of the other Wayne members and breaks out into a run. Just in case any of them got the idea of trying to meet Daniel before Damian can control the situation in which it happenes.

Also, he wanted to see Daniel. Spring break felt like an eternity now that he couldn't see his friend every day. He would like to have met up with him since the break started but Daniel's guardian had planned a trip and they only just returned.

He had yet to meet Daniel's uncle but heard a lot of Mr.Clockwork from the teenager. Damian was still unsure if he liked the man. He seemed far too aloof when it came to Daniel.

"Geez Dami, relax! Your boy toy isn't going anywhere!" Brown cackles

"Give him a big smooch!" Drake adds, his laughter echoing Brown's

I will deal with them later. Damian swears, fixing his hair from where it had fallen out during his run. He checks his reflection in the mirror by the doorway. He wants to look good for his first ever school friend's sleepover.

Damian had picked his best outfit, wearing his favorite jeans and black button-down. He accessorized with silver rings and chains, grateful Jon had been willing to facetime to give him the modern teenager stamp approval.

Once he is satisfied that his appearance is at its utmost best, he opens the door.

"Hi, Dami!" Daniel chirps. He is wearing a faded pair of jeans and a white shirt with a red dot in the middle. It's nowhere near Damian's stylish and well-put-together often, and yet he looks as beautiful as a grace nymph outside the school uniform.

Damian mind goes blank for only a second before he nods. "Daniel.Welcome. This is Wayne Manor. I live here for I am a Wayne."

For I am a Wayne!? Damian thinks to himself in horror unsure why those words hand tumbled out of his mouth. A wave of shame washes over him as Daniel curiously looks around with that pleased little half smile on his lips.

Daniel is always half smiling as if he heard a joke only he was privy to.

"This place is cool!" Daniels says spinning around to face him and missing Father stumbling out of the living room. Damian is unsure why the man had return so soon, as he thought Batman would be off-world for another week at the least with Flash.

His father looked dead on his feet, eyes half open as he walked up to Daniel and yanked him into a hug!?

"Oh," Daniel says pressed up to Father's chest. "Hello?"

"Hi, son." Father mutters. He squints down at his friend with bloodshot eyes. " Did you get smaller Timmy?"

"Father!" Damian shouts outraged while the rest of his so-called siblings come spilling out of the other sitting room.

"Bruce!" Drake shouts a wide grin on his face. "I'm over here."

"Wha-? Then who is this?" Father blinks slowly, one eye closing before the other, as he tilts his head. He has yet to realese Daniel, though his part his friend seems content with the embrace seeing as he had returned the gesture. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.....ten? Do I have ten children?"

"You only have nine" Thomas calls out helpfully. Father nods, then counts again, pointing one finger at the people in the room

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine" He looks down pointing at Daniel. "Ten. Why are there ten of you?"

"That's a son-in-law, old man"

"No. I could have sworn none of my children are married......Dick you're not married are you?"

"Not yet B."

"Jason?"

"Trying to find a finger to put a ring on it Old man."

"Cassandra?"

"No thank you."

"Tim?"

"Ew."

Daniel giggled at Drake's response and Damian felt the sudden urge to bury a knife in Drake's side.

"Steph?"

"Nah."

"Duke?"

"I'm too young B."

"Cullen?"

"I can't even get a date, Bruce"

"Harper?"

"Inability to get dates run in the Row family tree."

Father nodded then. "Good none of my children-"

"What about Dami?" Daniel asks with a wide grin. Both his friend and Father turn to stare at him. Damian suddenly feels himself sweating through his shirt.

"Damian? You aren't married?

"Of course not!" He denies it loudly and faces an unconformable red. Daniel cackles like the devil he is.

Father meanwhile continues to hug Daniel while muttering. "Then where did ten come from? Alfred? Why are there ten children in my house?"

"Master Bruce if you do not let that young man go and go see Dr.Thompkins for that concussion I swear, heads will roll!"

Damian is grateful that once again Alfred seems to be the only one with a brain in this manner.

"I like it here," Daniel proclaims watching the butler drag away his confused father. Damian is utterly unprepared for the look that his friend shoots him from under his eyelashes, and he almost trips over his own two feet as he says. "Show me to your room?"

"I...of course! This way! I live here!" Curses his voice cracked. It ended in a squeak! He, Damian Wayne son of the Bat and Demon, made a fool of himself by squeaking!

"This is better than a daytime tv sitcom." Row- the male one- snickers from the stairway and Damian flips him off as he passes by with Daniel.

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #dead serious #Why Ten? au #Bruce was so confused by the tenth person #Danny made a friend #and Damian is experiencing his first-ever crush #The Waynes are watching Damian stumble like they watching a wild animal documentation

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rafeandonlyrafe · 8 months

Text

borrowed clothes

words: 800

warnings: 18+ only, smut, female receiving oral, unprotected p in v sex, mentions of male masturbation, friends to lovers

“rafe, can i borrow your panthers jersey?” you ask, walking into his closet without even waiting for permission.

“you know, you always steal my clothes and never give me any of yours in return.” rafe points out, following you in to the walk in, seeing you already looking through his shirts, trying to find the nfl jersey.

“its sports night, rafe.” you roll your eyes. your favorite bar does themed nights that allow discounted drinks if you come in theme. “you have a million sports things to wear, and i have none.” you remind your best friend.

“all im saying is its unfair.” rafe smiles at you as you find the jersey you were thinking of, knowing his closet better than he does. it’s just a part of being friends for your entire life, best friends.

“okay, here.” you tug your black tshirt off, having planned to wear it underneath rafes jersey, but you can deal with just your bra. rafe looks away from your chest, despite having seen you in just your underwear or swimsuit a million times.

you toss the material at him before tugging the oversized jersey over your head, tucking the front into your tiny miniskirt. “how do i look?” you ask rafe, who is now holding your discarded tshirt in his hand.

rafe nods. “good.” its all he can force himself to say. better than sexy, hot, so good that he wants to bend you over right in the closet and shove that little skirt up and bury his cock in your-

“great!” you smile. “now we gotta find something sporty for you.” you hum, turning back to his closet.

“rafey?” you call, entering tanneyhill without knocking. you haven’t asked permission to enter since you were a child, with rafes house being your second home.

“he’s in the shower.” wheezie calls out from the living room.

“thanks wheez!” you ruffle her hair as you walk past, teasing her like she was your own little sister.

you head up to rafes room, flopping onto the bed as you pull your phone out, waiting for rafe to finish up in the shower, hoping he won’t take too long.

you scroll through tiktok, letting out a yawn with a big stretch, readjusting and sliding your hand under rafes pillow. you frown when realize your fingers graze over a weird material, feeling oddly stiff and not something that belongs on rafes bed.

you sit up, moving the pillow to reveal your black tshirt, now covered in white stains. you frown and move it closer to inspect the fabric, eyes widening when you realize what you are holding in your hands.

your mind moves at a thousand miles a minute, realizing that rafe has been jacking off into your shirt. the implications are clear, the one piece of clothing item that he has of yours, and he uses it to get himself off?

you toss the piece of fabric back down, slamming the pillow back on top of it right as rafe opens the bathroom door, towel wrapped around his waist.

“i-i can explain.”

“f-fuck!” you shout out, rafes head buried in your cunt, tongue lapping over your pussy, finally tasting you like he's long awaited to. “why did it take us so long to do this?”

rafe just smiles against your cunt, glad that he didn't need to give a real explanation as you hopped off the bed and kissed him, realizing that your feelings echoed his after seeing your tshirt, suddenly feeling just as pent up.

“should have just fucked me instead of cumming all over my shirt.” you whine as his tongue flicks over your clit.

“ill buy you a new one.” rafe sucks your clit into his mouth, determined to make you cum. you let out a cry, your high building.

a shiver spreads throughout your body as rafes mouth brings you to orgasm, a scream being forced out of your body, not caring that there are other people in the house that could hear.

“fuck, you taste so good baby.” rafe moans into your cunt, tongue swiping out again until you gently push his head away, not able to take anymore on your sensitive clit.

rafe rises up, draping himself over your body. he gives you a deep kiss, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.

“i can't believe you were jacking off into my shirt thinking of me.” you giggle.

“oh god, you're never gonna let me forget that, are you?” rafe groans, moving lower to rub his cock between your folds, soaking it in your wetness.

you laugh before it's cut off by rafes lips.

“can i fuck you y/n?” rafe asks, lining himself up with your entrance.

“yeah.” you nod. “yeah, need you.”

“last chance to rethink this. because once i enter you, we can't just be friends anymore.”

“i know, i know.” you peck a kiss to rafes lips. “hurry up and fuck me already.”

rafe smiles down at you as he slowly presses forward, your walls giving way to his thick cock.

“i love you.” rafe admits with a gasp.

“i love you too.”

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pucksandpower · 5 months

Text

Made with Love

Charles Leclerc x amateur baker!Reader

Summary: in which Charles would rather risk the entire paddock getting food poisoning (again) than break your heart by telling you that your baking is horrible

You hum to yourself as you pull a tray of freshly baked cupcakes out of the oven. The sweet, chocolaty aroma fills Charles’ kitchen, making your mouth water.

This batch is sure to be perfect! You’ve been practicing your baking skills for months now, determined to get it just right.

Charles wanders into the kitchen, drawn by the scent. “Mmm, something smells good in here!”

He peers over your shoulder at the tray of cupcakes. They’re a bit misshapen, with cracked tops that deflated the second they were taken out of the oven. The frosting is glopped on unevenly.

To you, they look absolutely mouthwatering. To Charles, they look … well, he loves you too much to say.

“Try one!” You urge, holding out a cupcake. Charles flashes you a hesitant smile before taking it. He peels back the liner and takes a bite. His eyes widen and he forces himself to chew and swallow.

“Well? How is it?” You ask eagerly.

Charles clears his throat. “It’s, uh, it’s great. Your best batch yet,” he lies. In truth, it’s dry and dense, with a strange bitter aftertaste. But the delight on your face makes the fib worth it.

You throw your arms around him in a hug. “Yay! I can’t wait to share them with the team this weekend.”

Charles’ stomach drops. The thought of the entire paddock pretending to enjoy your baking makes him cringe internally. But he plasters on a smile. “What a nice idea! I’m sure they’ll love them.”

The two of you arrive at the circuit and you can barely contain your excitement as you carry a large container of cupcakes into the paddock. Charles trails behind you, backpack slung over one shoulder, his other arm wrapped around your waist. He presses a quick kiss to your temple before you flit off to distribute your baked goods.

You first approach Max Verstappen, holding out a cupcake with rainbow sprinkles. “Here Max, have one!”

Max eyes the treat dubiously but accepts it with a polite smile. “Thanks Y/N, that’s really nice of you.”

You beam and turn to Charles, missing the look of apprehension on Max’s face. Charles catches Max’s eye and draws a finger across his throat in warning. Max’s eyes widen but he nods in understanding. Charles won’t let anything ruin your mood today.

You make your way through the paddock, handing cupcakes to mechanics, engineers, PR reps, reporters, team principals, and drivers. Charles hovers behind you, keeping a watchful eye on each recipient.

Daniel Ricciardo visibly gags on his first bite when you turn away. Charles glares and shakes his head sharply. Daniel rearranges his face into a smile and gives a thumbs up.

Lando Norris takes an overly large bite and Charles has to pound on his back as he chokes it down.

Esteban Ocon discreetly spits his cupcake into a napkin when you’re not looking. Charles lunges forward and grabs his arm, squeezing tightly until Esteban wheezes out “Delicious!”

You remain blissfully unaware of the chaos that falls over the paddock in your wake, oblivious to Charles’ desperate interventions. All you see are your friends and acquaintances enjoying your baking.

When you finally offer a cupcake to Charles, he takes it and eats the whole thing without hesitation. Because even if it tastes like sugary sawdust, the delight on your face makes it the best treat in the world.

“Wasn’t that fun?” You gush to Charles afterwards. “I can’t wait to try out a new recipe soon!”

Charles just kisses your frosting-smudged nose and says, “I can’t wait either, mon amour.” As long as you’re happy, he’ll choke down all the questionable cupcakes you offer. Because your smile is the only thing that matters.

***

The paddock is bustling with activity as you and Charles arrive for the next race weekend, yet another batch of fresh baked goods in hand. You’re eager to share your latest creations — classic chocolate chunk cookies. You spent hours carefully following the recipe, determined to get them just right.

As you make your rounds distributing cookies, the reactions are the usual mix of forced smiles and discreet spitting. Charles trails behind you, glaring at anyone who doesn’t immediately rave about how delicious they are. The drivers and mechanics quickly catch on, showering you with praise and shooting Charles grateful looks when he turns you away.

You finally offer a cookie to Graham, a mechanic from the Mercedes team. He takes it hesitantly, eyeing Charles standing behind you. But Graham is new to the paddock and unaware of the baked goods situation.

He takes a bite and immediately grimaces. “Ugh, these taste terrible!” He blurts out.

You gasp, stumbling back as if struck. Tears well up in your eyes. Charles is at your side in an instant, pulling you into a comforting hug. Over your shoulder, he shoots Graham a look of absolute rage.

Graham realizes his mistake too late, shame washing over his face. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean ...” he stammers. But you’re already pulling away from Charles and rushing off, sobbing.

Charles turns on Graham, eyes blazing. “How could you? All she ever wants to do is make others happy!” Graham cowers before him, other mechanics backing away nervously.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” Graham says miserably.

“Sorry isn’t good enough,” Charles snarls. “You stay away from her, you hear me?” Graham nods shakily. Satisfied the message is received, Charles races after you.

He finds you behind the garage, face buried in your hands. “Oh mon ange,” Charles murmurs, wrapping you in his arms. “Don’t listen to him, your cookies are perfect.”

You cling to Charles, sniffling. “I just wanted to do something nice for everyone. But I’m so horrible at baking!”

Charles tilts your chin up. “You listen to me. You have the biggest, kindest heart. It doesn’t matter if the cookies are a little, er, overdone. What matters is you put love into making them. Don’t let someone like Graham get you down.”

You smile tremulously. “Have I told you lately that you’re the best boyfriend ever?”

Charles grins. “Hmm, I don’t mind hearing it again.” Laughing through your tears, you tell him again, punctuating it with a kiss.

After ensuring you’re okay, Charles seeks out Graham. “I trust you’ll be more considerate going forward?” Graham nods meekly. “Good. But just so we’re clear, if you upset her again, you’ll be out of this paddock for good.”

The next day, the news breaks that Graham has been dismissed from the Mercedes team for “attitude issues.” You feel a bit guilty, hoping your cookies didn’t cause him to lose his job. But Charles seems strangely satisfied, so you don’t dwell on it.

From then on, Charles redoubles his efforts to protect your feelings whenever you provide baked goods. The paddock falls in line, fawning over your overly salty pretzels and dry banana bread.

The brightness of your smile makes it all worth it to Charles. Because keeping that joy and kindness shining in you is what matters most to him.

***

You step out of Charles’ Ferrari, the engine purring as he puts it in park. Taking his hand, you smile excitedly — today is another fan meetup organized by the team, and you can’t wait to connect with Charles’ supporters again.

“Are you ready, mon cœur?” Charles asks, squeezing your hand gently. His green eyes crinkle at the corners as he looks at you adoringly.

“Absolutely!” You chirp, patting the large picnic basket hanging off your arm. “I made lots of treats to share today!”

Charles grins and leans in to kiss your forehead. “I’m sure they will love everything you made, as always.”

You beam, bolstered by his encouragement as you both make your way to the event. The meetup is being held in a local park, with tents and tables set up amongst the lush green grass and towering trees. You spot a long line of fans waiting eagerly for Charles’ arrival. Most are dressed in the familiar rosso corsa of Ferrari, holding posters and memorabilia for him to sign.

“Charles! Charles!” They chant excitedly when they see him. You hang back happily, letting him have his moment with his dedicated supporters. Charles takes selfies, signs autographs, and chats animatedly in Italian, French, and English. The fans are thrilled to interact with their racing idol.

After some time, Charles waves you over. “I would like you all to meet someone very special to me,” he announces, wrapping an arm around you. The fans erupt into cheers and applause. “This is Y/N, my love.”

You blush at the attention but manage to give a little wave. “Hi everyone! I’m so happy to be here today.”

Charles addresses the crowd again. “As some of you know, Y/N loves to bake and has brought some special treats to share with you all today.”

This is met with more enthusiastic cheers. Though none of them particularly enjoy your baked goods, the fans appreciate the effort and know Charles likes to reward them for humoring you.

You open up your large picnic basket, beaming with pride. “I made my favorite oatmeal raisin cookies, some lemon squares, and my famous rocky road fudge!”

The fans try not to visibly cringe, lining up politely with plates held out. You happily distribute your overly dry, burnt cookies and gooey, cloying fudge. The lemon squares are mushy and saccharine. But the fans accept it all with smiles and encouragement.

“Mmm, delicious!” One teenage girl forces out through a mouthful of your fudge.

An older man gives you a thumbs up as he chokes down a cookie, eyes watering. “So good!”

You beam, pleased that they enjoy your baking so much. As you chat with each person, you don’t notice Charles discreetly handing out autographed photos, caps, and other prized memorabilia to reward the fans for their efforts.

After you’ve handed out all your baked goods, Charles suggests a stroll through the park gardens. As you walk hand-in-hand admiring the flowers, he says softly, “You have such a big heart, Y/N. The way you care so much about connecting with the fans means the world to me.”

You squeeze his hand gratefully. “It’s the least I can do — they support you in everything, so I want to support them too.”

Charles stops and turns to you, his expression tender. “You are amazing, truly. I’m the luckiest man in the world.” He leans in and kisses you sweetly. Your heart flutters just like the first time your lips met.

When you return from your walk, the event is winding down. You say goodbye to the fans, who thank you profusely for the treats and making their day so special. You tell them you can’t wait to bake for them again soon!

After the last fan leaves, it’s just you and Charles. The late afternoon sun casts golden light on the empty picnic tables.

“Did you have fun, mon amour?” Charles asks, caressing your cheek.

“The best time!” You say enthusiastically. “I just love baking for your wonderful fans and seeing how it makes them smile.”

Charles’ eyes are full of love. He kisses the top of your head. “As long as it makes you happy, that’s all that matters to me.”

You snuggle into his chest happily. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“I don’t think so,” Charles teases. “Why don’t you remind me again?”

You grin up at him. “I’ll tell you over dinner … I have a new donut recipe I want to try out.”

Charles fights down a grimace as he reminds himself that your love is more than worth suffering through another dreadful dessert. “I can’t wait!”

***

“Mate, you have to stop her before she poisons someone,” Max whispers urgently to Charles as you step out of the room.

Charles furrows his brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Your girlfriend. Her baking. It’s … it’s just terrible. I’m sorry, but it has to be said.”

Charles lets out a dismissive chuckle. “Oh come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” Max raises his eyebrows incredulously. “I chipped a tooth on her brownie last week!”

Charles rubs the back of his neck awkwardly as he avoids making eye contact.

“Look, I get that you don’t want to upset her,” Max continues, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “But we can’t keep lying and pretending it’s good! One of these days, someone is going to end up in the hospital.”

Charles sighs deeply, running a hand through his tousled hair. “What do you want me to do? If I tell her the truth, she’ll be devastated.”

You return to the room then, a bright smile on your face as you carry a plate of freshly baked apple tarts. “Who wants one?”

Max cringes almost imperceptibly while Charles shoots him a warning look. “They look great, ma belle!” He says with forced enthusiasm, taking one and bringing it to his lips.

The apple filling is gelatinous and tastes faintly of soap. Charles forces himself to swallow it with a strained smile. Max quickly declines when you offer him one.

Later that evening, Charles finds Max alone outside his apartment building. “I need your help,” he admits defeatedly.

Max looks at him expectantly.

“With Y/N’s baking … how do I get her to stop without completely crushing her?”

His friend contemplates this for a moment. “Well … you could try convincing her to take up a new hobby instead?”

Charles shakes his head. “I’ve suggested that before, but she’s dead set on baking. It’s her biggest passion.”

“Okay, then you’ll have to take a different approach.” Max strokes his chin thoughtfully. “What if … you told her a bunch of us were going vegan or something, so she couldn’t bake for us anymore?”

Charles raises an eyebrow at the suggestion, but then slowly nods. “You know, that could actually work …”

The next day, you eagerly bring a fresh batch of blueberry muffins to the paddock to share with everyone. Charles takes a deep breath before pulling you aside gently.

“Hey, can I talk to you about something?” He starts, trying to keep his expression neutral.

You blink up at him curiously. “Of course. What’s up?”

“Well …” He clears his throat. “I was talking to the guys and … Lewis has actually convinced a bunch of them to go vegan. Lando, Max …”

He lists off a dozen more names, watching as realization dawns on your face. Your shoulders slump slightly.

“Oh … I see.” You glance down at the muffins in your hands. “I guess that means I can’t really bake for them anymore.”

Charles feels a pang of guilt at the disappointment in your eyes. But then, your expression brightens again.

“I’ll just have to start baking vegan treats instead!” You declare happily. “This is so exciting, I’ve been wanting to experiment with more plant-based ingredients!”

Charles’s shoulders tense as the plan epically backfires. Of course you’d take this as an opportunity to bake even more.

Over the next few weeks, you gleefully embrace the vegan baking lifestyle. Charles has to smother his laughter when Max nearly chokes biting into one of your “chewy” vegan brownies. Lando spits out a mouthful of your gritty vegan chocolate cake when you’re not looking.

You, however, remain blissfully unaware of how dreadful your creations are. No matter how many hints Charles tries to drop, the problem only seems to be getting worse.

One evening, you set a plate of fresh-from-the-oven vegan peanut butter cookies on the coffee table, plopping down on the couch next to Charles with a proud grin.

“Try one!” You insist, picking a cookie up and holding it in front of his lips.

Charles hesitates for just a second too long. Your face falls and he scrambles to take a bite, barely suppressing a wince as he chews on what feels like a solid lump of chalk mixed with peanut shavings. He forces himself to swallow it down with an enthusiastic grin.

“Wow, these are incredible!” He lies through his teeth. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

You perk up immediately, the dejected look vanishing. “You really think so? I tried a new recipe I found online.”

“Definitely a winner,” Charles affirms, trying his best to sound convincing. “We should bring some to the paddock for everyone to try.”

Your eyes light up at the suggestion and guilt twists in Charles’s gut. The last thing he wants is for the other drivers to have to suffer through these … confections. But he could never be the one to shatter your baking dreams.

The next day at the track, you eagerly pass around the plate of peanut butter hockey pucks to the drivers and crew. Charles discreetly pulls Max aside with a pained look.

“Please, I’m begging you …” he murmurs under his breath. “Just smile and nod, no matter how bad they are.”

Max grimaces as he takes an experimental bite of one of the cookies, his expression doing little to mask his revulsion. But he meets Charles’s pleading gaze and forces out a strangled, “Mmm … great!”

One by one, the others follow suit — fake smiles and strained praises as they choke down your baked atrocities. You remain obliviously pleased, unaware of their suffering.

Over the next few weeks, the vegan baking experiments only seem to get worse and worse. The paddock has become a silent circle of culinary martyrs — all sworn to an unspoken code to preserve your feelings at all costs.

You proudly present a tray of charcoal-colored muffins that leave the entire garage coughing from the plume of burnt flour. “Tried a new recipe for dark chocolate avocado muffins!” You explain brightly.

“Can’t wait to dig in,” Lando is close to crying, his eyes already watering.

Charles has to bite back a laugh as Max takes a heroic bite, barely managing to keep it together. He pats the Dutchman on the back firmly as the poor guy fights back a gag reflex.

“Two more words about her baking and you’ll be racing with three wheels next season,” he warns Carlos in a low mutter after witnessing the Spaniard nearly vomit up a slice of your “moist” vegan zucchini bread.

The sheer willpower it takes for the entire crew to maintain the facade is almost impressive. Technique and strategy meetings have now become immense displays of unspoken fortitude — everyone driven by the simple goal of not letting you catch on that your baked goods are, in fact, completely inedible.

Charles has started bringing backup protein bars and shakes to every race just to make sure nobody accidentally lapses into baked good-induced delirium.

He really has no idea how much longer this can possibly be sustained. But he also has no idea how to safely extract the situation without demolishing your passion and self-confidence in the process.

For now, his main objective is to ensure your bright smile and cheerfulness remain unchanged — no matter how many mouths he has to personally silence to make that happen.

At the end of the day, having you by his side, radiating that infectious joy and following your heart’s desire, is worth enduring all the subpar vegan muffins in the world.

He’ll take a bite of your latest abomination with an adoring grin, because that’s what partners who truly love each other do — they support each other through the good, the bad, and the burnt-to-a-crisp.

***

It’s the start of a new season, and Charles has been racking his brain for a solution to the ongoing baking saga. As much as he loves indulging your passion, the charade is becoming increasingly difficult to maintain. The entire paddock is at their wits’ end trying to choke down your vegan torture devices week after week.

That’s when he has an idea — one he hopes will be a win-win for everyone involved.

“Surprise!” He says with an excited grin, presenting you with the envelopes. “I got us signed up for this baking course. I thought it could be fun for us to take some classes together!”

You’re beaming as you throw your arms around his neck. “That’s such a thoughtful idea! I would love nothing more.”

Of course, Charles being Charles is hardly fully forthright about his motivations. “To be honest, I’m the one who really needs the help,” he fibs sheepishly. “We all know I’m a disaster in the kitchen. But with your talents guiding me, maybe there’s hope!”

Over the next few weeks, you and Charles diligently show up for your baking classes. The instructor walks you through fundamentals like properly measuring ingredients, controlling oven temperatures, and mastering technical skills. Slowly but surely, your creations start emerging looking (and smelling) better and better.

One evening, you return home with a fresh tray of beautifully baked chocolate chip cookies — the first delicacy you’ve felt confident enough to bake since the lessons. You present them to Charles with bated breath.

He takes one tentative bite, his eyes widening in surprise. These are actually ... edible! More than edible — they are legitimately delicious! The dough-to-chip ratio is perfect, the texture is chewy but not dry or crumbly. He quickly stuffs two more into his mouth with an appreciative moan.

“Ma belle … these are incredible!” He gasps out between bites.

You clap your hands over your mouth, eyes shining with glee. “Oh my gosh, you really think so? I was so nervous!”

“Are you kidding? I could eat this entire tray all by myself!”

The two of you dissolve into celebratory laughter and hugs, the sweet taste of success quite literally on your tongues.

“I think it’s time for the real taste test,” you declare one day, rolling up your sleeves as you start prepping an array of fresh baked goods. “We’re taking these bad boys to the paddock!”

The next race weekend, you stride in carrying bakery boxes of your fresh chocolate chip cookies as well as some decadent fudge brownies.

“Fresh out of the oven!” You announce proudly, setting them down with a bright grin. “Who’s hungry?”

For a long beat, nobody moves. The drivers exchange wary glances, their self-preservation instincts kicking in as they recall the many baking debacles of the past. Lando bravely reaches for a brownie first, his face scrunched up preemptively-

Only to blink in surprise as the rich, fudgy flavor hits his taste buds. His eyes widen comically as he takes another bite. “Bloody hell ... this is actually good!”

The words seem to shatter the suspended tension. Soon the entire paddock is swarming the trays, devouring the fresh baked goods with delight. Charles watches on in disbelief, his own taste buds experiencing flavors he didn’t even know were possible from your former creations.

He sees Max take a bite of one of the cookies, freezing in place as his eyes slip closed with an expression of pure bliss. When they open again, Charles is alarmed to see they’re glistening with unshed tears.

The Dutchman wordlessly holds up the cookie, gazing at Charles reverently as a lone tear trails down his cheek. Then, to everyone’s astonishment, he brings the baked good to his lips and takes another sensual bite, savoring it like it’s the first good thing he’s ever tasted.

From then on, it’s like a switch has been flipped. The paddock that once dreaded your baking now seemingly can’t get enough of it. Every race weekend, they await your fresh creations with unrestrained enthusiasm, like kids on a sugar bender.

Charles has lost count of how many times he’s caught drivers and crew sneaking off to wherever you’re prepping the latest batch, nostrils flaring as they try to scout out that heavenly aroma.

It’s gotten to the point where Max’s performance coach has had to implement strict rules about his treat consumption to prevent indulgences from derailing his season.

“Easy there, Max!” Rupert calls in a booming tone, swooping in to physically restrain the Dutchman as he makes a mad dash toward where you’re unpacking that week’s fresh delivery. “You know you have a limit on those.”

Max strains against his performance coach’s grip, eyes zeroing in on the platter of goodies being unloaded with unrestrained longing. “I don’t care, she brought triple chocolate cookie dough brownies this time! Let me go!”

Rupert grunts in exertion, struggling to keep his driver in check. “This is for your own good! Think of your diet!”

“That’s irrelevant!” Max practically snarls, pupils blown wide like an addict suffering from withdrawals. “Do you have any idea how long I waited to have real baked goods again?”

It’s a battle of wills and metabolism that quickly becomes a weekly sight. Charles can’t help but chuckle fondly as he watches Max and Rupert’s familiar tug-of-war happen like clockwork every Sunday.

As much as he’d love to intervene, he knows better than to come between Max and your heavenly baked creations. He’s just thrilled that this baking journey took such a delicious turn — both for your invigorated culinary passion and for the safety of everyone’s tastebuds.

Honestly, he’ll take the sight of a feverish Max drooling over freshly baked goods any day over having to choke down burnt muffins and brittle biscuits. This is the sweet upgrade everyone had been dreaming about.

The true recipe for happiness was sticking by each other’s side through all those halfbaked stumbles.

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