#i had to fight with this man's proportions so much

[takes1]

i would literally sell my soul for more asahi smut(or literally anything tbh)

- (your stuff is actually so good bro. keep it up💯💯)

p.1 asahi getting rough with petite!reader

thank you!!! 😭❤️man, asahi is the most perfect character for some of my fav tropes ughh he's such a sweetie

warnings. nsfw themes. recreational use of alcohol. minors DNI

details. nsfw / fem!reader / manager!reader / short!reader / rough play! fetish / mutual size kink / mutual crushing / playfighting / version of spin the bottle / suggestive wrestling / asahi is a gentleman / inappropriate hard-ons / sitting on asahi's shoulders / houseparty / tipsy!asahi / lightweight!suga / 2.4k words / two-parter, reply to be tagged for next nsfw part

links. my masterlist. my ao3. more haikyuu. part two here.

"Aawww-!" Was a chorus of giggly groans throughout the little circle of Karasuno players. Your bottle landed on what was undeniably Asahi.

It filled Daichi's living room, which had been completely rearranged to make room for a friendly fight circle. As their more reserved manager, you decided that you shouldn't partake in a bottle-spinning, play-fighting, testosterone-pumping, sweaty activity at the start of the night.

"That's not a fair fight!"

After a few drinks and watching multiple rounds, you began to adopt an unfounded confidence that you'd be able to win one of these silly wrestling matches.

The name of the game was to keep a volleyball in your arms at the end of a three-minute timer. The trick, for most, was to take on their opponent, tire them out, and turtle over the ball in the last 10 seconds.

It seemed doable from your comfy spot on the couch, when you watched Tanaka prevail over Ennoshita, or the energetic match between Hinata and Nishinoya. When you volunteered to go, you were sure you could take anyone. But Asahi? He was arguably the most formidable opponent.

"Noo, let her fight Yamaguchi!" Suga was beet-red from his one drink, clinging to Daichi at the reveal that your match was against tonight's three-time Champ.

"Yamaguchiii!" He called, giggling, but you shook your head.

You didn't want to fight somebody that wasn't a challenge. If Asahi was #1, then Yamaguchi was #12. Bottom of the bracket.

Asahi glanced around the circle of guys telling him not to, already unsure if he should accept this turn, and to let you try fighting somebody your size, first.

"Hey, hey, now-!" Daichi tried to quiet the uproar and laughter, grinning, "Let her -hhaha- let her decide!"

Now that everyone had their own opinions, somewhat sharing the sentiment that if you fought, you'd suffer a terrible loss, your delusion grew a bit out of proportion.

You stood and passed your drink to Yachi. She gasped and grabbed your shirt as if you were a sacrifice. The room fell quieter, except for the failed, muffled laughter against elbows and hands.

"I'll take him!" You asserted, "And I'll win."

Cheers, applause, noise of all kinds preceded the start of some bets. Asahi grew warm at all the attention, and the pushing, and the teasing. If he lost, nobody would ever let him hear the end of it.

"You just gonna let her talk to you like that, bro?!" Nishinoya called.

He was snickering at his best friend's face, money already on you winning. All Asahi had to do was stand up for the guys to start 'Ooooh'ing, and for you to feel much, much smaller.

You were safe and across the circle, the game hadn't started yet, but as he pulled his hair up into a bun, you started sweating. He won his match with Kageyama by real wrestling, the one with Suga was more of just tiring his opponent out, and the one with Narita was won by brute-forcing the ball out of his grip.

Those weighty arms naturally flexed, moving to grab the elastic from between his teeth to tie it up. After enough jabs from Suga and Daichi, he realized he needed to verbally respond to your challenge.

Lightly buzzed, and not as shy about the reality of the fight, "I'm not goin' easy on you just 'cause you're tiny."

Now you had to beat him. You felt the fury of generations, notably Nishinoya, who was clambering over other guys to join your corner at the clear rage-bait.

"You better beat his ass for that!" He screamed over the delighted whoops and cheers.

Daichi resumed his ref-spot, ball in hand, as you both made it to the center of the circle.

You came up to his chest. He cocked his head down at you, a subtle endearment to his eyes, like he was admiring a small animal-- it was underestimation, an intimidation tactic for sure.

"Good," You muttered, a narrowed gaze at your opponent.

Daichi placed the ball on the floor between you and backed up before starting your time.

Asahi kicked it to the edge of the circle, disinterested in a game of keep-away. It wasn't advantageous to grab now, so you engaged him.

After watching enough of his matches, you knew he went low, first, so you stayed much, much lower.

It hardly served you. Any offensive move to take him just wasn't forceful enough, and you found yourself soon trapped once he got a hold of you.

And once he did, it felt like you would never be able to escape. The way he knew how to move you around was incredible- forget about his power, you couldn't even defend against his technique.

It also didn't take a lot of guessing to know what was compromising, and what wasn't- the team was vocal about what you needed to do, which prevailed mostly as different versions of 'Run away.'

40 seconds in, he readjusted his grip to something twisted, unnatural, and you were about three steps behind when he completed the move and pulled you up.

His arms were around your waist, your legs in the air, as he came up to a kneel.

"Ah!" You squealed, world turned upside-down.

You locked your legs around his shoulders, squeezing hard, but it didn't help you as he stood up onto his feet.

"Oh- shit-!!"

"Yoooo!"

"Asahi, take it easy!!"

Your fingertips couldn't make it to the floor- you weren't sure that you wouldn't hit your head, even if they did. His body was so hot against your back, his sheer strength such a shock, it stole your senses for a moment.

"Uh! Ref! Ref! That can't be legal!" Yachi pointed.

"Technically," Daichi took a moment to puff his collar with air, scanning the 'legality' of it, "Uh- it's... allowed."

You had never been so grateful to be wearing a bra. Your shirt didn't come all the way up, but you still took a second to tuck it before gripping your way to a curl-up.

At the top, you grabbed the back of his neck. It earned a strong grimace.

It served him right, since he was making a mockery out of you.

"Mmmh- sorry," Asahi spared you an apologetic look, even letting you finish tucking in your shirt before moving to a different position.

It was all in all, a lot of time, sitting up on his shoulders. It earned many, many whistles and half-vulgar expressions that Daichi had to quiet down.

"You good?" He cracked himself up a little with the question, unable to look anywhere but between your legs. You could feel his warm panting against you and tried not to think about it.

"Mhm."

It was curt, beyond embarrassment at this point. You wanted a fighting chance to touch the ball. If he kept you up here, you wouldn't be able to try.

If you had been one of the guys, he might've been a little less gentle letting you onto the floor. Still, he kept you down and wasted no time to pull himself free from your thighs, then pin you on your back.

He sat on your hips. It seemed so lame, and simple, but you couldn't lift yourself out from under him. You were getting weaker just by trying.

It was worse when he looked you in the eye, a little too sweet, as if he wasn't even thinking about the match.

The only thing that saved you was the time running out. You had just one minute left and still hadn't touched the ball.

"Asahi, get the damn ball!" Suga hollered, now on his second drink.

He sat back a little, glancing around for it- it was enough weight displacement to yank a leg out. He was still deciding between keeping you down and grabbing the ball. You were able to take advantage of the indecision and fly towards it, just before him.

And you were exhausted, hugging it close to your chest, huffing with a kind of tired you hadn't quite known before.

Spite was the only thing you ran on, at this point. Your muscles were screaming with fatigue, your breath shallow and rapid, making your forearms a little slick from condensation.

Eyes screwed shut, you couldn't help but squeak at the sound of him upon you- he was so scary, you finally understood how other teams could get intimidated by the way he played in matches.

"30 seconds!! (Y/n)!" Nishinoya bellowed, "Just 30 seconds!! Hold it!!"

His big fingers were digging, slowly but surely prying like steel under your arms. Every time he spared a moment to readjust, you squeezed harder and impeded his progress, so it forced a different approach.

A forearm barred against the front of your hips, stalling your breath for a moment- once he had a grip around you, he completed the hold and dropped his shoulder to the floor.

And in one, big groan against your ear, he curled, flipping you on top of him.

"Noooo-!!" Nishinoya and Yachi watched along in horror.

You braced, a simple cry all you could make, knowing that you were done for. You lay face up- your back against his chest, the only thing keeping the ball in your possession was a weak arm hold.

Asahi didn't instantly go for it, though.

He crunched his legs up in lock, prying yours down with shameful ease. It must've been some form of showmanship, to truly have you trapped.

The labored rise and fall of his chest moved your whole upper body, yet another enticing reminder that he eclipsed you in size. You could've sworn he was laughing.

Before he could take the thing out of your hands, you chucked it all the way across the circle.

"Oooooh!!"

"Ten seconds! Ten seconds!"

You both scrambled away from each other to grab the ball. For once, you had a head start and started pulling yourself towards it.

A grip on your ankle, just before you could close the distance, dragged you backwards in a comical slide.

"Aah-h-!!" You yelped again, all your progress lost, all your hope fading as he climbed over you.

But he couldn't quite reach the ball. He was weighing you down to keep you from moving.

Now faced with the reality you wouldn't win, you refocused all your effort on keeping him away. You quickly got into more of a sprawl to keep his hips further back while he was distracted, nails digging into his big, outstretched forearm with a strangled, but determined groan.

He quickly silenced you by bringing that arm back, crushing it underneath your combined bodies in an unintentional choke.

The fingers on his other hand were dancing against the ball. You were able to twist, just barely, to snake your hand to his bicep and force a subtle bend at the elbow.

"Time!"

It was such a cathartic experience. For about 3 seconds. As long as it took for you to both stop bracing.

After that, your heart was pounding for a very different purpose. Though you had been able to shove your dirty thoughts to the side in the name of sportsmanship, the position you finished in was pornographic and you quickly felt a throbbing between your thighs.

"Ahhh-- fuck-!" He groaned, heavy and burning hot against your neck, "You're- Mm, you were good."

You winced at the sensation and the tired, grumbly bass in his voice.

Your legs had the outside disadvantage, knees spread wide in another dismal effort to remain low. His hips were crammed against the back of yours, allowing you to feel the indisputable bulge pressed tight against your cunt.

What made it worse was that you couldn't move until he took his weight off, and he was so tired that it took him longer than you to catch his breath.

His forearm slid off of your neck and he finally muscled himself up. It left you a bit weak, wobbly, sort of needy for that weight on top of you again.

What may have felt like a few million years was, in reality, only a few more seconds. Nobody noticed, or they at least weren't pointing it out, in favor of teasing him for not finishing the match.

"A tie, dude?!"

"Rematch! Rematch!"

"I know you're not tired!"

Since you were the underdog, you were spared of such disparaging comments. You had, after all, gotten the closest to winning against him. A tie was satisfying in its own right.

"--if he wasn't so damn distracted-,"

Suga's disappointed mutter to Daichi caught your attention as you took your place back on the couch next to them. You leaned forward and stole his attention right away.

"Not that I wasn't rooting for you!" He clarified. "It's just that--,"

Daichi cleared his throat, very loudly, twice, with a wide stare towards his friend. That was not his secret to tell.

"Right... right."

There was no time, no room to ask another question, because Asahi carefully walked the perimeter of the circle to get to Daichi. He squatted in front of him. They began talking in covered whispers. They exchanged a few back-and-forth's.

It ended in Daichi dapping him up, a big grin on his face. He patted his back, hard but friendly, and made some room so he could exit the makeshift perimeter.

You figured that was the end of it, and started to collect yourself as he hopped over the back of the couch. Kageyama was taking on Tsukishima in a heated, technically complicated match. Now, you had some sympathy because you were still unable to shake the indescribable shock of getting pinned.

It felt eerily similar to the jolt you got from his big, warm hand back on your shoulder.

When you turned to look at him, he was a bit flushed. So modest, considering how rough he had just been with you.

"You wanna come help me with somethin'?"

"Sure!" You glanced around his kind, but gruff features and couldn't figure him out.

He let you use his shoulders to steady yourself as you also climbed over the back of the couch. It was sweet, and it would've been scarier without his help.

"What's up?" You spared a look back to Daichi and Suga, who were grabbing and shoving each other in excitement, and tried to lighten him up a little with a playful shove on the stairs, "You want a rematch?"

It didn't move him at all. Sharing a laugh, he joked, "Uhh, well- kind of."

☆VIP☆

@integers @yuchacco

taglist:

none! reply to be tagged for part two!

my masterlist. more asahi

[beelmons]

Could you maybe write a blurb or fic where Spencer just goes completely feral over how loud reader is in bed 🥵

a/n: im almost certain this is not what you asked for but i got this plot idea and hjhhhhhhhdhf

They say good couples share bad habits. This had become true in the six months you and Spencer had been together. The bad habit in question was being reported to the police for excessive noise by his really bitter neighbors.

Now, what kind of noise could a quiet FBI agent and a simple person, such as yourself, make, you may ask? Well, that would be the obnoxiously loud moans and cries that you used to let out during sex.

"Fuck, fuck!" you would have said more, but the fact that your knees were touching your breasts as Spencer had you in a mating press had scrambled your brain beyond the skill to speak.

He himself could only smile at the fact that your moans had overpowered the sound of moist skin lapping together. He loved when you were so loud, nay, he loved when he fucked you so good you had no choice but to share it with the world.

You could feel his entire shaft bury itself within you, the sensation of his testicles against your ass just serving as confirmation of the fact.

His member was tinted a vague white, the thing with Spencer is that you never understood where he got such stamina from. The speed of his thrusts were proportional to the decibels of your whimpers, the louder you yelled, the more eager he used to get.

Smack! A loud banging noise distracted you a little, causing you to shut up for a second. Spencer, however, did not give in to the sound of the door being pounded, eyes still on your flushed face, cock still hitting the deepest ends of your pussy.

"Can you please shut the fuck up?!" a stranger yelled from outside his apartment door "Come on man, shut your whore up! it's been two hours!"

You brought your hands to your mouth, trying to fight back the noises that you were making out of embarrassment.

"No, no." Spencer lowered his speed to talk "What are you doing? I need to hear you."

"Your neighbors can hear everything!" you barely whispered.

"They should be thankful." he reached for your wrists to open the path for your mouth again, pressing a quick kiss to your lips "I bet he touches himself to your moans." he bucked his hips forward slowly, and a whimper escaped you "Yeah, those delicious little sounds you make. Takes a simple exhale to have me rock hard, couldn't blame him if the way you screamed made him cum in his pants."

His narrative had gotten so filthy, so unlike him, a facade that you only saw whenever he knew he had you at his mercy, the sort of information he could only get by the sounds of pleasure he loved so much. Without your permission, your walks ended up clenching around him, aching for his previous pace to take over again.

"Oh, you like that, don't you?" he smiled in your direction, his forehead touching yours "I would normally be jealous, but you feel so good I can barely think straight."

"Spencer..." you muttered in a begging tone, a much lower one compared to what he liked.

"What was that?" his hips began to pick up their pace once again "Speak up, baby, he can't hear you."

"Spencer!" your tone began to raise once more as the thrusts became faster.

"That's good." he praised "Let's show him what my little whore can do."

[sonotpattismith]

we hereby conduct this postmortem. (yuta okkotsu x reader)

WARNING: MAJOR MANGA SPOILERS BELOW

word count: 7.8k (oops) warnings: angst, mentions of death, mourning, smut, Yuta in Gojo’s body, manga spoilers 18+ summary: reader attempts to cope with Yuta’s new body, mourning the loss of his previous one a/n: Hi!!! No one really requested this but Yuta is my man fr and this idea has been heavy on my heart 😮‍💨 Yuta is aged up in this as it made more sense for the point in their relationship they were already in. I hope you all enjoy this as much as I loved making it!

Life as a sorcerer was one littered with pain, fleeting hope, loss, and regret. These pitiful factors could practically be named the pillars of the damned lifestyle. You knew what you were getting into right when you joined, and you were reminded of it as your love held you close to his chest, his large hands secured over your head as if to cement you into his memory. Yuta pulled back just a hair, still clutching your head between his hands to look at you, fingers digging into your scalp gently as his long eyes fluttered around your face.

Through the haze of your tears, he appeared blurred. Still, you could make out the inescapable expression of fear that clutched his features. It wasn’t the battle he feared— far from it. He felt as though he could slash through an army at the moment. What gripped his mind and soul so fiercely though, was the thought of leaving you behind. His warm, dark eyes regarded you with care, taking in the way you clutched at his white shirt as if willing him not to go. It broke his heart.

“Everything’s going to be alright, my love.” Yuta assured gently, trying to keep his trembling voice leveled. He was well aware of the countless sorcerers surrounding them, allowing them the privacy of their intimate moment. They pretended not to watch— not to listen, but their hearts were collectively breaking for the pair before them. “It’ll be over before we know. We’ll go home. I’ll cook you something nice— maybe not burn it this time, huh?”

A laugh escaped you despite your tear soaked face. He smiled softly at the sound. The pads of his thumbs reached out to swipe the surface area of your cheeks before pulling you in softly. Your eyes closed as he placed a soft kiss to one eye, moving to the other and doing the same.

“I want the special rice—” you choked out, attempting to pull yourself together for him. Reaching out to run your fingers gently through the end of his hair, you clarified. “The one you had in Kenya.”

“Yeah? The pilau?”

You nodded softly and forced a smile. He laughed breathily at your reply and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Okkotsu?” Their peer that called out to him sounded apologetic to be interrupting the delicate moment, but, then again, there was a war to be won.

Without tearing his gaze from yours, he nodded in understanding. Leaning down with a certain determination in his energy, Yuta captured your lips in his. It was powerful, rough— desperate. His looming figure hunched over you, as if attempting to swallow you whole. Perhaps you would have been happier if he had.

It was the last time your lips felt those of Yuta Okkotsu.

You had been sent out as support, patrolling the area. Realistically, you knew there wasn’t much that you could contribute. While you served as a perfectly decent sorcerer— your techniques were nothing to be put up against the horrors that lied beyond the culling games. It was mainly a distraction. Your peers didn’t want you to watch the fight. They didn’t want your eyes to have to bear witness should your lover be slain that night.

For a few hours, you would get updates from them. First, it was that Kenjaku was dead. A silent tear slipped down your cheek, but you quickly swiped it away as you thanked them for telling you. It was a victory— one of astronomical proportions, but the fight was far from over. After the second hour with no update— a small part of you already knew. After twenty more minutes of radio silence, you forced yourself to go back inside, despite the fear raging in you of what you may find.

As you entered silently, all heads snapped toward you. You knew. Without a word, you made your way back to where Shoko had set up her make-shift infirmary. It ended up being Kusakabe that called out to you— subtle warning in his tone. As if motivated by his attempted persuasion, a few more of your peers began to step forward, but, before they could reach you, you slipped into the dimly lit hallway. Yuta’s katana was leaning up against the wall beside the infirmary, unsheathed and bloodied. Through the sound of the blood rushing through your ears, you faintly heard a commotion stirring from outside the hall. Your mind was miles away from the beloved friends and colleagues gathered just outside though. Your fingers delicately grazed the hilt of his precious katana, wondering if they had to pry it from his stiff fingers.

One more step. It was terrifying— the sense of impending doom that echoed within the chasms of your mind. Just beyond this door frame, it would no longer be a fleeting ghost story whispered between two lovers— a worst case scenario— a horrifying ‘what if’ that was consistently followed by reassuring kisses and desperate love making. The shouting behind you was growing louder now, rushed footsteps pounding down the hall, screams of your name to not go in there, you don’t need to see it.

You took the final step. The healer stood in the middle of the room and seemed to be busying herself with cleaning. She was cleaning a body. Its mid section was cut off from your vision by her somewhat tense figure. Still, laid unceremoniously at the end of the steel stretcher, the unmistakable locks of dark hair your fingers had been buried in just hours prior. As if sensing your presence, Shoko shifted to see who had been watching her work. Her movements faltered when seeing the face of the stiff corpse’s lover. It was too late though, no matter how quickly she tried to adjust her position once again, the image had been burned into your mind— branded.

The body of Yuta Okkotsu lay bare on the examining table— or what was left of his body. It had been mutilated; your beautiful love’s temple disgustingly desecrated. The cavity of his chest was practically split open, slashes running down his once gorgeously cream skin. Even worse though— his head. It was split down his forehead. His paler than usual head was turned just fractionally toward the door. Your lover stared back at you, eyes unmoving, unloving, gone.

There was blood in your mouth. The iron tinging your taste buds was the only way you realized the visceral shriek that emitted from deep within your gut. Your realization didn’t stop you though, and neither did the pain in your throat as you ripped it to shreds once again, knees buckling underneath of you.

“Yuta!” You sobbed, voice eviscerated raw already. The hurried footsteps from outside seemed to finally reach you and, before you could process what was happening, there were hands everywhere. They were on your shoulders, at your elbows, over your eyes— doing anything to attempt to shield you from the sight before you, which you assumed they never intended for you to see in the first place. It was overwhelming: the attempted, hushed coos of comfort that all merged together to sound like the humming of angered bees just waiting to strike at you; the varying grips all pulling you in separate directions, all with the intent to just get you out of that room. Still, despite their efforts, through the gaps of their fingers and shoulders, Yuta’s dead eyes still stared hauntingly back at you.

Pushing against them all with a newfound strength, you fell against the unforgiving floor on your hands and knees, determined to reach him.

“Please, he wouldn’t want you to see him like this.” Kamo attempted to get through to you, his hand once again reaching for your shoulder.

“Don’t touch me.” Your wavering, sliced whisper caused his motions to falter for a moment before reaching out anyway. Another sob was ripped from your mouth at the feeling of hands everywhere again. “Please, please, I just need to hold him. Please. Let me hold him.”

“I told you all to make sure she didn’t come in here.” The commanding voice that spoke up had all five or six desperate individuals looking toward the door. Had you been more present in the moment, you would have recognized the voice. With your peers distracted, you crawled forward once again.

“My love,” The term of endearment reached your ears, making you pause. Wide eyes staring at Yuta’s still lips, you gaped silently. Shoko suddenly moved to cover his body with a sheet she’d retrieved, breaking you from your haze. Reaching out with trembling hands, you attempted to fist the sheet between your fingers. “Please, don’t do that.”

The individuals whose hands had been grappling with you just moments prior released you all together, before another set of firm, purposeful arms slid around your midsection. In mere seconds, you were being hauled up off the floor. For a moment, you were suspended mid air by unfamiliar arms. You thrashed around furiously until they set you down on your feet once again, and you turned to smack whoever it was that was still holding you back.

When the eyes of Satoru Gojo met yours— your movements faltered. A phantom, right before your very eyes. He was real though, you could see his chest rising and falling with his steady breaths, and the warmth radiating from his arms that were still wrapped uncharacteristically around you.

“Gojo—” It was all too much, as you tried to make sense of the scene before you, all the while in the midst of mourning— or attempting to come to grips with the fact that you should be mourning. You suddenly felt as though you might pass out. Steadying a hand on the firm chest before you, your face began to pale a bit. “How are you— what’s—”

Your words failed you though— and so did your body. Satoru leaned down quickly just as you began to slip away. It was too intimate— the way he was looking into your eyes, and the manner in which he held you to his chest. You wanted to push him away, but you felt weak. The snowy whisps of his white hair swayed as he scooped you up and brushed the hair from your forehead. You flinched away from him. As you looked up incredulously at him to question his inappropriate behavior, your eyes caught the scar running along his forehead.

“Everything is okay,” he murmured, but the voice wasn’t comforting, it was confusing as it fell upon your ringing ears. “I’m here, my love.”

The term snapped you from your chance, the murmuring and shuffling around the two of you coming at you in full force as if you’d just come up from underwater. Staring unblinkingly at the man before you, you watched as his piercing, blue eyes drooped softly and uncharacteristically into a haunting stare that was so unmistakably—

“Yuta?”

Following the closure of the grueling culling games, most sorcerers were granted substantial time to rest, and both you and Go— Yuta, were unarguably granted as well. After what you’d seen, what Yuta had subjected himself to for the sake of everyone’s safety, there was a quiet understanding that the pair needed time to adjust to one another again— to heal. As you walked into your shared apartment with the unfamiliar body behind you though, you couldn’t help but gulp down the lump in your throat.

Relieved wasn’t the sufficient word to use to describe how you felt upon learning Yuta was still alive. Granted, he was certainly alive in a very different way than he had been previously— but his soul was still with you. He was still there. Still, the anxiety and grief was eating you alive. You had seen his corpse, seen his lifeless eyes staring back at you. Yet you were still expected to latch onto him once again, resume your bond as if it hadn’t already been irreparably changed. It made you feel selfish— being so uncomfortable by the means by which he remained alive. You wouldn’t say it to him, not after all that he’d been through and the selfless way he sacrificed so much for his peers.

The door of your shared apartment shut behind you. A soft sigh of relief left you. When you last exited this familiar apartment, the two of you were unsure if you’d ever return to it again. A lone tear slipped down your cheek as Yuta set his katana against the wall and came up to grasp at your shoulders. His grip was firm— firmer than you ever remember it being. Feeling the tension in your muscles, he rubbed soft circles into them.

“You want me to start a shower for you, love?” He offered in that unfamiliar voice, his cheek grazing yours as he leaned down to meet your ear. Unable to speak, you simply nodded. With a soft kiss against your temple, he made his way down the hall and disappeared into your shared bathroom. The distance eased some of the pressure building in your chest, and you leaned back to rest against the wall.

How could this ever go back to normal? Gojo was a man who had watched your love grow together from the moment the both of you were introduced as mere teenagers. He’d given a horribly anxious Yuta advice on how to talk to you, given him money to take you on a nice first date before the boy had received his first stipend from the school. And now— now you were expected to live with him, to wake up to him every morning, make love to him. He wasn’t a stranger, but in a sense of closeness and intimacy, your body saw him as just that.

With a shaky sigh, you pushed off of the wall when you heard the shower running. Entering the bathroom with your towel folded over your arms, the steam from the shower enveloped you like a warm blanket. It invited you to wash away all the atrocities you’d faced in the past weeks. You placed your towel on the sink, but your pre-shower routine was cut short when you felt fingers grasping at the hem of your shirt to pull it up. A startled gasp escaped you, and you whipped around to face Yuta. He abruptly halted his attempts to undress you, staring at you with wide eyes. Much to your mortification, he was naked.

“Oh—” You stuttered out, staring up at the ceiling, at the wall behind him, anywhere but him. “Sorry. You— you can shower first.”

Yuta stopped you with a soft hand on your wrist as you moved to exit the bathroom. You were stiff before him, flinching away just barely noticeable as your arm made contact with his bare chest.

“Hey,” he said softly with a chuckle. It sounded a bit forced though— he sounded scared. “It’s just me, love. You can— you can look at me.”

Your head was still turned away from him as he pulled you closer against the stranger’s body, leaning down to press a delicate kiss against your cheek. Your eyes drifted and were met with your reflection in the mirror, wrapped up in the arms of Satoru Gojo. Following your gaze, his icy blue eyes met yours in the reflection. As if recognizing the apprehension in your expression, his face dropped a bit. Your heart clenched guiltily.

“S’okay,” Yuta attempted a nonchalant laugh, his strong arms loosening their grip on you. He gulped down the nausea that began to stir within him along with the pang of rejection. “Umm… I’ll be out in a minute. Why don’t you pick out a movie for us to watch, yeah? We’ve probably missed out on a bunch.”

With a soft nod and forced smile, you couldn’t have exited that small bathroom quick enough.

Time. You just needed some time.

Following your own, mind numbingly relaxing shower, you made sure to dry off and dress in the safe confines of the bathroom. You smiled softly at the feeling of the fluffy rug against your toes as you stepped into your very missed room. Yuta was already under the covers, remote in hand as he read the description of the movie you’d picked out. He was chewing absentmindedly at his bottom lip, a habit you’d never seen Gojo partake in before. It made you smile softly— something that was uniquely Yuta still shining through. His gaze snapped toward you while you stood hesitantly on the side of the bed. Smiling warmly, he opened up the blanket on your side of the bed in invitation, a faint glimmer of hope sparkling in his blue eyes.

“Yu, this shirt is…” Your comment drifted as you fingered at the tshirt spread too tightly across his broad chest. It clung to his bulging arms unnaturally, straining against the muscles.

A blush painted his pale cheeks, and you were once again put off by seeing the innocent expression on the face before you. He smiled sheepishly, looking down at himself.

“I know. None of my stuff really fits me anymore.” He explained bashfully, reaching up to scratch his head awkwardly. “Guess that means we can go shopping, and you can pick out all my clothes like you always wanted to, huh?”

You giggled softly at the idea. Truthfully, you were grateful he’d put the shirt on despite its tight fit. For the past few days, he didn’t even smell like himself anymore. But now, as you timidly shuffled closer to him and buried your head into his chest, you were able to inhale the lingering scent left behind by his previous body. It was the only thing keeping you huddled closely to his new one that night.

You dreamt of him that night— the old him. He was wrapped around you, his grip merciless as he clung onto you, as if you might float away. When you turned to look at him, the sight of his big, warm, puppy dog eyes filled your chest with butterflies. You recognized the scene, it was the first time you’d tended to him following a mission. Both of you unaware of the other’s feelings, timid in the way you brushed against one another, hyper aware of every breath and stare. As you dapped the alcohol-soaked cotton against his cheek, his shaky hands came up to grip innocently onto your waist. In truth, though you teased him relentlessly for it, he really just didn’t know what to do with his hands in the moment. When he saw the way your face burned under his touch, something had shifted between you— an understanding.

Your head burrowed deeper into the pillow below you as you were pulled from your slumber by the heavy hole in your chest. The arm strewn across your waist tighter around you, drawing you closer as he hummed. You smiled softly at the sound of him awakening. Shifting to catch a glimpse of those warm eyes that had just been plaguing your dreams, you were ripped from your trance. A startled yelp escaped you, sending you flying to the other end of the bed at the sight of the electric blue eyes staring back at you. In response, Yuta jumped out of bed with a start, staring at you in bewilderment.

“I— I’m sorry,” you cried breathlessly, not even feeling it when tears began to fall down your face. It was as if you could hear his heart break as he watched you. Running a trembling hand across your damp face, you attempted to calm your breathing. “I’m sorry, Yuta. It’s not your fault, I just—”

“You need time.” He finished softly for you.

For the following weeks, Yuta slept on the couch of your shared living room. It made you feel awful, coming out every morning to see him twisted uncomfortably on the furniture that was far too small to hold him in this form. You insisted that it should be you sleeping on it, given it was you who was so startled by the arrangement, but he refused to even hear of it. He said he’s always found the couch comfortable, but you knew that was about four inches and fifty pounds of muscle ago.

With the guilt knawing away at you, you made every effort to adjust to the dramatic change. The two of you watched your usual television shows on the couch together every night before he’d give you a longing goodnight kiss on the cheek and forehead. He never pushed you for more. You had just begun feeling somewhat comfortable enough to press quick, timid kisses on his lips every now and again, and he relished in each and every one of them like a man starved. It was evident in the way his eyes remained close and his lips chased yours each time you’d pull away.

He really did mean it when he said he wanted you to go shopping with him. After one too many ripped pants and boxer briefs in the trash, you insisted it be sooner rather than later. His wispy hair did a good enough job concealing the fading scar across his forehead while you two stepped out in public for the first time again. Being out of the stuffy apartment helped to ease the underlying tension that had grown between you. Yuta was making you laugh, charming you with his sheepish jokes and shy charisma— the type only he could pull off. It was good for you. You two walked from store to store, and you felt his pinky finger graze hesitantly against yours.

Looking up at him, you found his blue orbs already focused on you. They were wide, hopeful— asking for permission. Smiling softly at him, you silently carded your hand into his large one. It felt foreign, but the wide, excited smile that he tried to conceal seemed to mask any apprehension that bubbled within you. For the remainder of the day, Yuta walked with more confidence in his stride, pulling you giddily along with him wherever his attention drew him to.

It was a much needed break from the awkward push and pull you two had found yourselves in. So, when you returned to the apartment that night, you were almost scared to break that bubble. The two of you fell into your new routine, regarding each other friendly, showering separately. You were just gathering your things when he emerged from the bathroom, a towel hung loosely around his waist. Quickly averting your gaze, you muttered an apology as you attempted to step past him.

“Hey,” he called softly, stepping to the side to block you from entering the restroom. You felt his fingers clutch your chin and turn you to face him. His platinum hair clung to his face, droplets of water spilling onto his chiseled face. A blush rose to your cheeks at the sight. An amused smile fell easily on his lips. “You haven’t blushed like this looking at me since we were in high school.”

Your brows furrowed at his words, envious on the way he seemed to be unable to find the insanity of the situation. His damp hand ran down the side of your neck, creeping over your shoulder and arm until he grasped one of your hands in his. His intense gaze stayed focused on you as he brought your hand up to place on his chest, softly running it down his abdomen.

“I want you to… be comfortable with me again. Be able to look at me again.” He mumbled, his chest beginning to rise and fall more dramatically at the sensation of your hands exploring him once again. You gulped, your fingers catching on the scar that circled all the way across his stomach, sides, and back. It made you tear away from your hesitation, finally allowing yourself to look down at his sculpted body. You circled your finger tentatively around the jagged scar, your other hand creeping up to test the waters in feeling the wet ripples of his abs. Yuta seemed to tremble under your touch, a soft moan falling from his lips at the sensation. It snapped you from your haze. It felt wrong, hearing Gojo’s voice like this, thinking of his body in such a way. You withdrew your hands from him.

“Time.” you quickly reminded him, refocusing your gaze on his face again. His lips were parted, eyes half lidded but blown out with a lustful haze. You darted past him and into the bathroom, hearing him repeat it breathlessly as you closed the door.

“Time.”

You were still a bit shaken up when you exited your shower, pacing the room pensively as you clung to your towel. Looking around, you noticed the small, discarded pile of Yuta’s old shirts that he’d likely just removed from his drawers to make room for his new ones. You smiled fondly at the sight. Picking one up, you brought it up to your face and inhaled deeply. Though evidently fading, his smell still clung to it. It was faint though, so faint that it made your eyes water as you clutched desperately at the material. He was slipping away, every part of him, and all you could do was watch as each bit was replaced. Shoving the discarded shirts into your own drawer for safe keeping, you shed your towel and slipped one over your head before climbing into bed, relishing in the soft, familiar smell that graced your senses.

After a moment or so, there was a gentle knock at the door. Yuta poked his head in and smiled hesitantly at you.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he greeted softly, stepping fully into the dim room. “I just… I wanted to say goodnight to you. You okay?”

You nodded with a sad smile, blinking rapidly to stop more tears from manifesting in your traitorous eyes. Humming softly, he sat on the edge of the bed and grasped your head between his large hands before leaning in to press a gentle kiss against each eye.

“Goodnight, my love. I love you always.”

You couldn’t stop the silent sob that wracked your body as he turned to return to the living room for the night. It was pathetic, the way you continued to mourn for the man sat just outside your grasp. Just moments ago, you stood in tears, willing him not to slip away, yet you were allowing just that.

“Yuta?” Your meek voice made him turn around in question. “Can you… can you come to bed?”

His face lit up the dark room, moonlight illuminating the way his blue eyes seemed to spark at your request.

“Y-Yes, yeah!” He stammered out, looking around eagerly. The man seemed to trip over his own legs as he made his way to the door, holding a reaffirming hand out in front of him. “Hold on, I’m gonna grab my pillows— don’t move!”

Even through your tears, you couldn’t help but laugh at the way he still didn’t seem to have full control over his new body yet— at least not when he was buzzing with the excitement of a teenage boy. Just seconds later, he barreled back into the room, slamming the door behind him and eagerly jumping into his side of the bed. The both of you giggled at the way the bed creaked under his sudden weight. As the laughter subsided, he stared breathlessly at you, eyes gleaming.

“Do you think it’d be okay if I held you tonight?”

Your lips began to tremble at the pained vulnerability in his timid request. Without answering, you scooted closer to him, and he quickly opened his arms for you to tuck yourself against his chest. His chest heaved with a sigh of relief at the feeling of holding you close again. All too soon, he felt his eyes begin to droop despite his burning desire to stay awake and just be with you for a little longer. You were both fast asleep within seconds.

With his old shirt and scent wrapped around your frame, your subconscious couldn’t help but manifest him just as it had remembered him. Again, it was a familiar scene— the night before you two left your apartment for the final time. Before— what happened to him. His dark hair hung lazily over his face as he desperately grinded into you. A gasp over took you at the feeling of him entering you. Your fingernails raked mercilessly across his chest, squeezing the firm slab of muscle there. Yuta whined at the soft stinging that accompanied this action, but it only spurred him on. He wanted to mold himself to you, become one with your body. You helplessly moaned out his name.

Back in reality, beside you, Yuta was stirred from his own peaceful slumber by your shallow, whiny breaths. Your body practically trembled against him, your fingers grasping at the arm that circled your waist.

“Yuta.” Your soft moan filled his ears, making all the blood in his body rush down to the uncharted territory below his waistband. The manner in which you writhed desperately against him did nothing to calm the storm brewing in his pants. Gulping roughly, he allowed his hand to wander from your thigh up to your side, slipping under the thin fabric of your shirt— his shirt. It was the only thing donned on that trembling body of yours save for your underwear. You looked ethereal with the barely risen, morning sun kissing at your supple skin. Leaning down, he pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, dragging his lips down to peck and lap aimlessly at your neck. You arched into him, rousing from your sleep with a gentle moan of his name.

“Yeah?” The man mumbled against the back of your neck, gently rutting into your ass from behind you. The wandering hand that had slipped up your shirt grazed over the lush skin of your breast before squeezing it gently between his fingers. A whimper fell from your lips. “Let me take care of you, my love, hm?”

You could only nod breathlessly, and, in an instant, he disappeared under the covers, eagerly shifting you onto your back. Typically, Yuta was a soft, gentle lover— slow in his care for your body. He loved taking his time with you, savoring each sound he could pull from you with each inch of skin he explored. Now though, as he found himself face to face with one of his favorite parts of you for the first time in weeks, he had no patience.

Wrapping his strong arms around your thighs, he shoved his face into your clothed core. A high strung moan ripped up your chest and out your throat as he mouthed lazily over you for a while, wetting the already damp fabric with his drool. Getting tired of the damned barrier, he wanted to taste you for real. In hasty motions, he ripped your underwear down your legs before settling against his breakfast once again.

“Yuta!” You gasped, face reddening with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins. He moaned against you at the sound of his name falling from your lips again. His hips involuntarily rutted against the mattress, but he stopped himself. This was about you.

Your fingers trembled, making their way under the sheets to grip his hair firmly. His head swayed side to side as he ravished you, drinking up everything you were willing to give him. Your hips bucked up to grind against his face, making the sheet fall down his back. Looking down, you were met with the sight of Satoru Gojo between your legs, lapping lewdly at your sensitive core as if it gave him life itself, as if it made the sun and the moon and brought all the stars to the night sky.

His eyes opened upon feeling your gaze on him. Those piercing blue eyes that you were becoming so accustomed to regarded you with a deep lust, a carnal desire that had your release creeping up your toes, into your legs and torso, to the very center of your mind.

No, you thought to yourself. You couldn’t come undone like this. It was so wrong, and you felt as though some part of you was betraying Yuta, despite the fact that he was the very man currently worshiping you with his tongue. You partly wondered if he knew what was going through your head right now, watching as his brows suddenly furrowed and his grip on your thighs tightened with a newfound determination. With a harsh, loud suck to your clit, his gaze demanded to be met as you tipped over the edge. Your back arched up with a deafening cry, all the while Yuta’s lips hungrily laid open mouthed kissed against your core as you came down. He caught your clit gently between his lips, pulling at it a fraction before releasing it.

You were gasping for breath, trying to catch yourself before you passed out in an overwhelmed haze. Yuta licked a final, loving stripe up your folds before peppering kisses up your trembling body. Sliding a hand under the arch of your back, he abruptly sat you up with a strength unfamiliar to you. You landed atop his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck to catch yourself before you fell back.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whimpered, capturing your lips against his desperately. They were still wet from their assault against you. Between rushed kisses, he gasped out against your lips. “So beautiful, my love. You’re everything to me.”

You moaned against him at the sound of his familiar praises, pressing your chest against his. He broke from you for barely a millisecond, tossing his shirt over his head before grappling for you once again. His hands found their natural place on your waist, gripping firmly as he brought you down to grind against his straining manhood. Gasping at the sensation of your folds sliding against his thick length, you reached up to grasp at the ends of his hair as you always did. It hit you then, as your fingers grazed the slowly growing hairs of an undercut, that you were about to make love to someone else. Breaking from him with a gasp, you looked at the man before you. His eyes were practically glowing, drinking you in in a manner that told you his thoughts were positively filthy at the present. Closing them once again, he chased your lips with a determined hand against your jaw. You flinched away. Slowly opening his eyes again, he watched in horror as you climbed off of his lap and stood from the bed, looking around for a pair of shorts.

“W-Wait!” Yuta gaped, practically tripping over himself to follow you out of the bedroom.

You pretended not to hear the desperate confusion in his tone, pretended it didn’t squeeze at your chest with guilt. Opening the fridge, you busied yourself grabbing ingredients to make you two a quick breakfast. He called out your name softly, dejected. Bracing yourself, you glanced back at him. His massive frame was hunched in on itself, and his eyes looked so hurt you could practically shoot yourself in the foot for being the cause of it.

“What are you doing?” Yuta breathed quietly, watching as you spread all the ingredients onto the counter.

“I’m making omelets. You want cheese on yours?” You asked over your shoulder, grabbing a bowl from the cabinet for mixing.

“What? No, I—” He could feel the irritation rising in his chest, and he had to take a deep breath before continuing. Stepping closer so he was right behind you, he grasped your wrist softly to halt your rushed movements. “Baby, I miss you.”

“I’m right here, Yu.” You whispered, unable to meet his unwavering gaze. You heard him sigh in frustration at your response.

“No, love,” he pleaded, grasping your hips to press you roughly against the ever present bulge in his sweatpants. Releasing a shaky breath, he snaked a hand across your collarbone before lining it with hot kisses. “I miss you.”

“Yuta,” you protested, slipping away from his grasp. “I’m sorry, I just need—”

“Time?” He cried out, tears welling up in his sad, wide eyes. “You can take all of my time— have all of it! But please just— please look me in the eyes and tell me I’ll still get you back at the end of it.”

“I’m trying!” You sobbed, smacking at his bare chest. He took it all without so much as a flinch. “I’m trying but every time I look at you all I can see is—”

“I’m not Gojo! I’m right here, I’m me. Look at me!”

“Well I don’t recognize you anymore, Yuta!”

His response got caught in his throat. Those glittering blue, six eyes watched as you fell to the floor, clutching your hands to your face. Gentle sobs shook your frame as you curled in on yourself. Yuta stood before you, unsure if touching you would be helpful or not right now.

“I saw your body, Yuta. Your head was split open. Your eyes were lifeless! I accepted that you were dead!” You felt a hesitant hand come down on your back. He slowly sat beside you on the floor. “And then you come back, and you have a new face, a new voice, you even smell different. You’re bigger and you’re stronger, and you’re not my Yuta anymore, okay? You wanted everything to go back to normal but it’s not.”

“I just… I don’t see Yuta anymore.”

Both of you agreed that you needed some time apart that day. Yuta insisted that you be the one to stay home, but you convinced him that you needed time outside of the apartment.

You found yourself in front of Shoko, who regarded you with surprise at your sudden request.

“I want to see his body.”

She blinked a few times at you, slowly. Not even Yuta himself had bothered asking what it was that they did with his body. When he came to, the only thing that was on his mind was the overwhelming relief that he’d be able to come back to you. As the healer looked over your bloodshot eyes, and the dried tears on your face as you clutched at the old t-shirt covering you, she understood what you really needed.

You blinked down at the simple grave before you. It was large, marbled and domed. It had Gojo’s name on it.

“Is this some sort of joke?” You asked breathily, your brows furrowing in anger. A fiery glare was shot in the direction of the woman standing beside you. “Where is his body?”

“Right in front of you.”

“Then why isn’t his name on here?”

“Because Yuta Okkotsu isn’t dead.” Shoko stated flatly, eyes steady on you. “Satoru Gojo is.”

The words sank into your soul as you slowly looked back up at the name etched onto the grave. It was the name of the man you were sure you had been betraying your lover with for a month. Yuta— his former body rested here, but no one mourned for him here. No, this is where they came to mourn Satoru Gojo. You were the only one who had ever mourned for Yuta.

“Satoru Gojo is dead, and the man waiting for you at home loves you— no matter the flesh that wraps his soul.”

You cried the whole way home, but, this time, your tears weren’t being shed in mourning. Rather, they fell down your face in hot streams of guilt. Yuta had been so understanding, so patient with you. He had gone through so much, lost his body, lost his mentor, his friend. The only thing he asked in return was to live the rest of his life with you once again— and you couldn’t look past the flesh attached to his kind heart.

Slowly creaking open the door of your apartment, there was music flowing softly through the air of your shared apartment. Over the rhythm, you could hear the clashing of pots and the clinking of utensils. There was a faint smell of smoke filling the room as well. Shutting the door behind you, you cautiously made your way to the kitchen, gaze melting at the scene before you.

There was an apron tied haphazardly around Yuta’s waist. It was too small on him— straining against his broad, muscular chest. The smell of smoke seemed to be coming from the large pot that was practically vibrating on the stovetop, angrily hissing at the chef, who was too distracted trying to set a pair of plates and cutlery neatly on the small dining table. He was cursing under his breath, white eyebrows pulled up and together in a concerned, puppy-dog like stare. You giggled from behind your hand. His head shot up at the sound.

“No, babe— gah!” Your lover was cut off as he tried to grab the lid off the top of the smoking pot before abruptly dropping it, seemingly burned from its hot surface. It clattered against the stove noisily. “You weren’t supposed to be home yet— shit!”

He paced the length of the kitchen, bouncing anxiously on the balls of his feet as he ran a hand through his already ruffled hair. The mannerisms— they were so undeniably Yuta Okkotsu. Smiling fondly, you stepped forward to turn the stove off, making him grumble in disapproval.

“I-I was trying to make us pilau.” He pouted, those wide, puppy dog eyes taking in the sight of you. Despite the commotion you had walked into, he was relieved that you came back to him.

“Yeah?” You questioned with an amused smile, reaching behind him to untie the apron from his back and pulling it over his head. Your hands replaced the ties around his neck, pulling him down toward you. It was gonna take you a while to adjust to this sudden, more exaggerated height difference. “What happened to you not burning it this time?”

The pale skin of his neck and cheeks flushed under your intense gaze, making him chuckle nervously. It was evident in the tentative manner he slid his hands around your waist that he was unsure of what you’d be comfortable with.

“Are you gonna come down here, or are you gonna make you climb all six feet of you?”

His Adam’s Apple bobbed against his taut neck, a boyish grin spreading across his lips as he shook his head.

“I have a better idea.”

In one quick motion, he squatted down to grab the backs of your thighs and toss them high around his waist. You gasped at the abrupt motion, clinging around his chest like a spider monkey. He wasn’t even holding onto you as he began walking the both of you to your room. No, his hands were instead grasped on the sides of your head, pulling you into him for a desperate kiss. Shutting the door behind him with his foot, he turned to sit on the edge of the bed, your comparably smaller frame still attached to him.

You fell slowly into his lap, biting at his lips with an unanticipated fervor. Your hands grazed under the hem of his shirt, palms freely exploring the planes of his chest and shoulders. He whimpered under your delicate touch, breaking away from you only to allow you to pull the fabric off of him. Pushing back on his firm shoulders, he fell back against the bed with a huff, watching with bated breath as you kissed each inch of new skin you were presented with. You wanted to commit him to memory— learn the new ways to make him gasp and whimper in that way only Yuta could pull off. As you traversed down his abdomen, he reached down and yanked the hem of your loose shirt over your head, groaning at the sight of your bare chest that he’d missed so much.

Just as your lips grazed the hem of his sweatpants, he sat up abruptly to stop you.

“No, I can’t— I just need you right now.” He rasped, grasping at your waist to toss you down onto the bed.

“Jesus, Yu!” You gasped as your body bounced with the impact. He grinned sheepishly at you as he stumbled out of his sweats before crawling over your body.

“I’m sorry… not used to it yet.” He apologized before grazing his hand over your clothed core, sighing pathetically at the wetness that met his digits. Your teeth were clashing together as the two of you sloppily kissed each other— a bundle of gasps and moans. He molded himself against you as he dragged your soiled panties down your legs before standing up to remove his boxers. You tried not to stare— you really did. The last thing you wanted him to think was that you found his previous parts insufficient. Lord help you though, because— now? Yuta was massive. Watching your apprehensive expression as you took in his new, bare body, he grabbed your hips.

“Come here.” He commanded gently, easily lifting you up to sit on his lap. You both gasped as your core bumped against his painfully hard length. It was a bit embarrassing— the way he was able to wrap one arm around your waist to hold you up as the other gripped his length. The thought of all the different ways he could use this newfound strength sent bubbling excitement straight down to your core. “Take what you can, pretty girl.”

His compassionate words, even as he had you hovered over his desperately touch deprived cock warmed your heart. You nodded wordlessly, mouth falling open as he slowly lowered you onto him. Your nails dug into his shoulder to cope with the slow burning sensation that filled your core as he unconsciously bucked up into you. Before long, you were fully sheathed over his weeping member.

A long whine fell from his lips as your ass met his thighs. The sound was deeper than his usual, pitchy moans that you’d come to love, and it made a heat spread through your chest. You shifted to adjust your thighs in order to begin moving against him, desperate for any sort of friction after the long period of waiting for you to adjust to his new size, but he stopped you. Large hands came up to grip under your ass, lifting you up with ease to grind you against his already twitching length.

“Allow me, my love.”

Okay, maybe you could get used to this Yuta.

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[bedsyandco]

♯ 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐊 ◞ 𝑸𝑯⁴³

✰ pairing ⤫ fem!reader x quinn hughes

✰ synopsis ⤫ in which you and quinn are fighting but he can’t leave without letting you know he loves you

✰ content ⤫ a little angst I guess, the angst isn’t really present in the fic, it’s more about the resolving of the angst. cuteness. quinn putting up with his girl’s stubborn ass. overuse of baby, I’m sorry 😭

✰ 💭 ⤫ I love writing for quinn so much. . . as always I’d love to hear what you think! <3

you make a pointed effort not to look in quinn's direction as he enters the kitchen, keeping your glare firmly planted on your cup that coffee was slowly pouring into.

quinn knew you had seen him enter the kitchen, your shoulders had tensed the moment he walked into the room, but your eyes didn't flicker to his like they normally would, and he was fine with that. he was sure that if you did direct you attention towards him it would only be to start yelling at him. again.

he follows his normal morning routine, taking out the toaster and the bagels but hesitates after putting one in. he's unsure if he should be toasting yours, not because he's being petty over the fact that you weren't making him coffee like you normally would, simply because he's never met a more stubborn person in his life, and he wasn't sure if you'd eat it if he did toast it for you.

quinn allows the silence to drag on for a few minutes before breaking it. "you're coming to the game tonight right?” he asks

“probably,” you answer softly and quinn sighs, dropping another bagel in the toaster

quinn moves to the spot next to you, making his breakfast bagel on the counter and you resist the urge to kiss his cheek and cuddle into him like you normally would. he was even wearing his blue hoodie today, the one he knew was your favourite.

you make your way to the living room table, taking a seat on a chair and pretending to read the paper that was laying on the table. your mind was way too busy to actually focus on the words on the page but it was better than looking like you were contemplating what happened earlier that morning.

it was a stupid fight really, stemming from the fact that quinn left his dishes in the sink when you’ve repeatedly told him to just put it in the dishwasher, like how hard can it be? from there on some petty insults were exchanged as a result of exhaustion and frustration building up from the long week.

there’s a few minutes of silence again, the only sounds coming from the kitchen where Quinn was making your bagel. it’s not unusual for there to be silence in the morning, neither you or quinn were morning people. but that’s usually peaceful silence, this was tension-filled silence.

you see quinn approaching in your peripheral and a few seconds later he placed your bagel in front of you. “eat that,” he says, more like orders. and hesitates for a few seconds. he wasn’t sure if you wanted him to sit with you, or if you’d rather just be left alone.

your heart clenches a little when after a few seconds of hovering he decides to move towards the living room and plops down on the couch, eating his breakfast alone.

you were so in your head you didn’t realize the time had passed so quickly and before you knew it, quinn was getting ready to leave, putting on his shoes and grabbing his keys.

letting out a heavy sigh he makes his way towards you, gently cupping your cheek and pressing a kiss to your head and your cheek.

“Have a good day baby, I’ll see you tonight. I love you,” he says before turning to leave but you grab his hand before he gets the chance to

“I’m sorry-“ you start to apologize but he cuts you off

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, you’re right you’re not my mother and I’m a grown man, I can clean up after myself,” he says a little teasingly, recalling your words from earlier.

“Well yes, but you also apologized for it and I blew it way out of proportion. I’ve had a horrible week and I took my frustrations out on you and I’m sorry,” you say and his gaze softens, pulling your hand to tug you out of the chair and into his chest

“It’s okay baby. I know you’ve had a stressful week, we all have those. God knows I have them and I take it out on you way more than you do to me. I’ll argue with you about dishes in the sink if that’s what you need to let off some steam, as long as we can make up again before one of us has to leave. I don’t like being away from you knowing you’re pissed at me. At least when I’m home I get to see how sexy you look when you glare at me from across the room,” Quinn says, placing a kiss just below your ear and you shiver a little when his beard scratches the skin there.

“Well there’s other ways we can blow off steam rather than arguing,” you suggest and Quinn lets out a soft laugh against your neck

“You wanna show me?” he mumbles, hands falling to your ass and you laugh pushing him away

“Maybe tonight, you’re gonna be late,” you say, walking to the kitchen and grabbing the lunch you packed for Quinn before he even came downstairs

“You sure it’s safe to eat?” Quinn teases, knowing you made it when you were still mad

“Your sandwich may be a little spicier than usual, but you’ll live,” you say, patting his chest and he laughs, giving you a quick peck before he’s out the door.

not even his plate and coffee mug from breakfast sitting in the sink was enough to remove the smile on your face after that.

[princessbrunette]

baby daddy!boxer!rafe !! waiting for him to come home after a fight n you’re just all worried bc that man will literally refuse to let you watch his fights

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

you hadn’t been able to see him yet because you’d been in the babies room, putting her down to sleep in her crib when you’d heard him come home, door closing and footsteps heading straight to the shower. you hated not being able to see him as soon as he got home and assess the fresh injuries that littered his sculpted body.

it made you anxious, knowing he could be in there hurting without any help. he was a big strong man who could handle himself sure, but having this baby with him had softened you, you’d grown even more doting that you already were, and you really needed him safe and in good condition to be around for this baby. you couldn’t bare the thought of doing this without him.

anxious thoughts swirled in your head, blowing out of proportion as you pull your silk robe tighter around your slip dress, feeling the chill now you weren’t constantly bouncing a warm clammy baby on your chest. you pace your shared bedroom, snapping out of your thoughts when the bathroom door finally opens, steam spilling out as rafe pads out, scratching his cheek. the muscle in his arm bulges as he does so, highlighting a new bruise. his brow creases instantly when he sees you stood there with that deer in headlights look. “you good?”

“rafe…” you whisper, trailing over to him worriedly. you place your hands on his warm damp arms, trying to turn him so you can look at his body and check for injuries in every which directions making him smirk a little. “you okay?”

“i’m fine…” his volume matches yours, a habit known too well by the both of you, a natural quietness coming with having a baby since just about anything could wake her up. he’s stood with just a towel slung low on his hips, a fresh cut on his lower abdomen and new bruises revealing themselves along his ribs and arms. he sees your expression and shakes his head, taking your jaw with a gentle firmness that only he could manage, tilting it up to look at him. “m’fine, ‘kay?” he repeats slower, a little sterner and your shoulders relax, sighing with a nod. “are you fine? hm? i’m relaxed, are you relaxed right now?” he takes on a more teasing tone, tilting his head to smush his lips against yours.

you let him gently manoeuvre you to kiss him however you like, practically floating infront of him as you feel the stress wash away now that he was here. “am i ever relaxed with this baby?” you joke, voice soft and lilting, eyes still closed making him chuckle low in his throat.

“well we can’t have that, can we? y’need to relax. infact i think…” another kiss. “i think i can help you with that, don’t you?” he teases once more, slowly backing you up to the bed. your body melts and you’re lucky the backs of your knees hit the bed, because you weren’t sure how much longer you’d be able to stand. “you need to be taken care off too, you know. s’why i’m here.” he lowers himself to a squat, pulling your hips to the end of the bed and pushing your slip dress up, knowing there’s probably nothing beneath it. you lay back, sighing in exhaustion and arousal and he smiles, glancing up at you.

“there you go. lemme take it all away for a bit, yeah?”

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

[imjustasimpxd]

Something Old, Something New

(Chapter One)

➬ Ken Sato x Fem reader

Summary : At first glance, Ken Sato seemed to have it all. With money, fame, and success surrounding his name, there was nothing he couldn’t get his hands on. They say money can buy happiness. That may be true to an extent, however, can money buy forgiveness? Unfortunately for Ken, no amount of money and influence can turn back time and change the past. No amount of bribery can erase the fact that he had chosen to abandon his wife in favor of pursuing his baseball career. That awful decision he made took place five years ago, when he was just starting out as a professional athlete. But now that he’s matured and had time to reflect on his actions, can he hope for a chance to rekindle his marriage? Or should he accept defeat and live with the consequences of letting the only woman he’s ever truly loved slip away from him?

Word count : around 2,500 words

Warnings : mentions of abandonment and neglect, arrogant Sato, sad reader, mentions of regret, angst

Author’s notes : comments and reblogs are appreciated!! I appreciate all feedback on my writing so that I can know what you guys liked and what you think I should improve on

Disclaimer : this is a work of fiction and should in no way, shape, or form, be taken seriously.

Side Note : This fic, and everything else I’ve written on my blog is mine and only mine. I work very hard on everything I write so do not, under any circumstances, modify, copy, or stela my work.

Ken Sato. Looks, wealth, talent, charisma, and confidence rolled into one good looking package. 

The mere mention of his name was enough to cause an uproar of fanatics screaming and shouting in excitement, as if they were a pack of wolves howling at the moon. 

Though he was mostly known for his impressive baseball career, being named one of the most eligible bachelors in sports didn’t hurt his credibility either. If anything, playing the part of the charming ladies’ man only increased his popularity, especially to any of his adoring fans that were women, which most of them were.

After becoming one of the biggest celebrities in both Japanese and American sports, there weren’t many people who were ignorant of a household name such as his. Every man wanted to be him, and every woman wanted to be with him. 

To the public eye, Ken Sato seemed to have it all. But looks can be deceiving, can’t they? Especially when it comes to a man who’s spent years hiding his true feelings behind a veil of humor and charisma. 

No one could know how much he was struggling to keep it all together, or the depths of the affliction eating away at his heart. He was Ken Sato after all, and Ken Sato wasn’t weak, he was a legend, and legends never died, they prevailed. So, he must too.

No matter how much the reporters hounded him, using every possible tactic they could think of to pry into his personal life, Kenji never gave them more than a shred of minuscule details. Feeding them like rats, giving them only the bare necessities to satisfy their hunger for a short while before they came crawling back, demanding more. 

He never let them know more than he wanted, more than he felt like sharing, and frankly, there was a plethora of details he didn’t feel like sharing. 

His reputation of perfection probably wouldn’t uphold itself that well if the media knew about all the things he was wrestling with. Between being a newfound parent to a kaiju infant by day and a masked vigilante known as Ultraman by night, Ken didn’t exactly fit the cookie cutter version of “having it all together.” 

And if that wasn’t enough, then the shame he harbored towards a decision he made almost five years ago would definitely topple the pedestal he comfortably built his identity on. 

The press loved gossip, and they’d fight tooth and nail for even the smallest scintilla of drama. Twisting innocent words and blowing frivolous details out of proportions was the job of reporters. So, imagine the headlines they’d make if those reporters found out any real insiders on the life of the world-famous baseball player. 

Imagine the sales they’d make if a journalist ever got ahold of the information about his past, the same past he’s been hiding away from during his time back in Japan.  

He’s thought about calling, maybe writing a letter to express some form of condolences, but what if word got out? What if the press found out about the woman he used to be married to, the same one he abandoned five years ago in order to pursue his baseball career. 

Forget his most recent batting record, a scandalous story such as that would make headlines from both sides of the Pacific Ocean, and then there really would be nowhere else for him to hide from his past, lest he fancied moving somewhere more remote and secluded. 

If that day came, if Ken Sato was exposed for the decisions he made before becoming famous, then his reputation might take some irreparable damage. 

That’s why he was so closed off towards reporters, towards his teammates, towards everyone. 

Never let anyone close to you and they can never betray you. That’s how Ken Sato lives. 

At least, how he did live, before a little reptilian creature crawled into his life, forcing him to realize there were things that mattered more than wealth and fame.

Before taking care of a kaiju infant became the priority in his life, Ken Sato had rooted his worth in the success of his career. So once that career took off, offering him all the success and affluence he could ever want, he began to realize just how little he really had. 

Despite the riches, the popularity, all of it felt meaningless with no one to share it with. He could’ve held a party with hundreds of guests, surrounding himself with countless people all desperate to please him. Nevertheless, none of it would fill the emptiness engulfing his heart; knowing that no one he interacted with would ever see him as more than a means to financial gain and an increase in social status. 

He had a world full of convenience and opportunities at his fingertips, and yet, he never felt more detached from reality. 

His family was complicated, his friends were more like business partners who benefitted from their relations to him, and the one person he had ever felt truly comfortable around probably hated him now, after being dismissed in favor of baseball. 

In the end, even in a room full of dedicated fans, Ken Sato felt alone. 

However, then that little kaiju infant came along, and everything started to get better. Caring for a child, though tiring at first, gave Kenji something to work towards; a purpose that mattered more than advertising for energy drinks or scoring another record breaking hit at home plate. 

Emi finally gave him the one thing he always wanted, the same thing he always pretended not to need: family. 

After that, baseball didn’t seem to matter as much as it used to, unless he was teaching it to Emi. And all the wealth he had acquired over the years didn’t hold the same value as before, unless he was spending it on his adopted daughter. His lifestyle remained the same, but his heart was in a different place, a more peaceful one. 

Winning championships were more rewarding when he had someone to win for, someone to celebrate with afterwards. And now that he’d repaired the relationship between him and his father, things were looking promising for his future. 

But there was still one more roadblock, one last regret preventing him from moving forward completely. 

You. The woman he’d been married to for a whole year, and, regretfully, the same woman who asked for a divorce due to his neglectful and inconsiderate disregard for her. 

He was young and immature back then, foolishly believing the pursuit of his baseball career was more important than maintaining a healthy marriage. He was arrogant, thinking that extravagant gifts and vacations would keep you happy and secure his role as a provider. 

But he was ignorant to think that being married to you meant he no longer had to earn your affection. All the money and gifts in the world couldn’t make up for the fact that he was never home, and that you were never his priority back then. 

Every morning he’d wake up early, well before you, just to attend practice. And every night he’d come home late, just after dinner, claiming he had needed to stay longer than normal to practice more. 

You’d set out a plate for him, but after his baseball career started taking off, he didn’t really have the time for things such as family dinners or game nights; or so he said. 

He’d usually come home and skip dinner, taking a shower or going to sleep instead. You didn’t necessarily blame him for that, it was only natural for him to be tired from practice. But as the days of barely seeing him turned into months, and he started traveling consistently for his games, you started to feel more like a stranger to him than his wife. He was your husband on paper, but, in the confines of your home, you barely knew how to keep a conversation with him anymore. If you were being honest, you didn’t even really know him that well anymore. 

At least, not as much as you used to. Things were different when you first got married, he wasn’t always so arrogant and inconsiderate. Instead, he was passionate and playful, always knowing how to make you laugh after crying. Even on your first date, he was romantic and charming, making you blush to yourself every time a compliment slipped past his lips. 

But I guess the honeymoon phase people always warn you about before marriage was real; at least, it was for you and Kenji. 

Once his baseball career started taking off, the fame must’ve gotten to his head, and he forgot about the one woman who had been supporting him from the sidelines all along. You had gone to every game, recorded all his winning homeruns, supported his career even though it meant holding off on pursuing yours. And yet, he repaid you with neglect, with a one-sided marriage.

You held on for a while, convinced that he would come around, that his behavior would change and he would reflect on his actions. But after the one-year anniversary of your marriage arrived and he wasn’t even in town to celebrate with you, that’s when you made your decision. You were done being a second choice. 

You got in contact with a lawyer, gathered divorce papers and waited with bated breath till he got home from his trip. And the moment he walked in the door, you practically shoved the papers in his face, all the emotions you’d kept bottled up for so long suddenly coming out in a volcanic eruption of shouting and sobbing. 

And surprisingly enough, he stayed quiet through the majority of it, just watching with a hollow stare as you unleashed all the frustration you’d been harboring towards him. And without a word, he took the papers from you and fished out a pen from his desk drawer, signing them in silence. 

Maybe he had realized from your onslaught of emotions that you were better off without him, that he was clearly causing you pain, and you’d be happier once he set you free of him. Or maybe he really was just that heartless and figured now was the perfect opportunity to get rid of you. Either way, your stomach seemed to twist into a knot at the way he so casually signed those divorce papers and handed them back to you. 

This was what you had wanted, wasn’t it? You’re the one who had gathered the papers in the first place, you should’ve been happy that he was finally ending it, finally setting you free. And yet, you felt yourself holding back tears at his lack of emotion. He didn’t try to argue, he didn’t plead with you to give him another chance like you had expected him too. He just admitted defeat, giving up on trying to fix your marriage and taking off for Japan two days later. 

He left, leaving you back in America while he returned to his home country to continue baseball there; abandoning his American team in the middle of their journey to the championships. 

He had given you an opportunity to move on, to become the person he always prevented you from being, and so you took it.

You cut all forms of communication, threw out everything of his that he didn’t take when he left, and moved into your own apartment. It was a fresh start, a clean slate, and you finally had the chance to chase after your dream career, just like he had been doing.  

So, you did, and you didn’t give up. You refused to, you owed this to yourself, and you weren’t going to waste any more time pouring effort into someone who didn’t appreciate it. 

So, you worked, tirelessly, anxiously, until the day came when your newest novel finally become a bestseller all around the nation, and you were officially titled a successful author. 

Now it was your turn, to stand in front of a crowd of adoring fans, to sign autographs and attend fan events. It almost reminded you of your ex-husband, how people used to scream his name and cheer for his success. But now they were cheering for you, supporting you like he hadn’t. You almost laughed at the irony of it all. Five years ago, you would’ve never imagined the life you’d made for yourself now, celebrating your fourth bestselling novel in a row and becoming a well-known author like you always dreamed of. 

And yet, looking back, none of this would’ve been possible had you not been set free from the restraints your marriage to Ken Sato had bound you to. Without him and the neglect he subjected you to, you wouldn’t have worked as hard as you did. So really, in a way, you had him to thank for how far you’ve come and all the success you’ve accomplished. Because if he never signed those papers five years ago, you would still be tied down to a one-sided marriage. 

But you weren’t, and thank God for that.

Now you had moved on, and so had he. 

Or so you thought. 

Little did you know, Ken Sato was on a mission, and not as Ultraman this time. After undergoing the change and maturity necessary to become a parent to a kaiju infant, Kenji realized he needed to make things right between the two of you. Even if it had been five years since he last saw you. 

He wasn’t looking to ask you to take him back and rekindle your marriage, though he wouldn’t have minded if that ended up happening. Instead, he simply wanted to apologize for his actions, for being such a crappy husband back then. He had reflected a lot on the subject of your marriage over the past couple years, but, he never reached out in fear of your reaction to seeing him again. 

Although, after avoiding it for long enough, and getting a lecture about taking responsibility from his dad, he finally decided to go through with it and booked a flight back to America. 

He was nervous to say the least, but he knew he couldn’t back out. Even if you screamed and yelled at him, he had to take accountability for his past actions and apologize for the pain he’d caused you, for pushing you to the back burner while he allowed baseball to take priority in his life. 

He’d made peace with himself and his father already, thanks to the help of his adoptive daughter. So now it was time to make peace with you. And as he watched the plane lift off the ground from his window seat, he held his breath, wondering how you would react to seeing him again after so many years. 

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[marginofthought]

Tell me about Dean being obsessed with samtits.

I would love to!

Dean is a hedonist through and through, he enjoys the human form, loves boobs and butts and thighs that wrap around his hips. He never really looked at other guys but he wasn’t ashamed to admit it when other people, guy or gal looked good. 

He never really looked at Sam though, he was lanky, had always been, growing too fast for the little food they got. Sam was more like a deer on lanky legs and it didn’t change much even as he grew more into his body.

And then Dean came back from hell and Sam all of a sudden was in the best shape he had ever been in. He wasn’t just fighting fit, he had actually filled out, looking proportional all of a sudden. (Later on Dean would despise that it was demon blood that nourished his brother) 

Other people started to look at Sam in more than just the “aww, adorable puppy” look they used to give him. There was heat in their eyes because well fuck, Sam looked good, didn’t he?

Sam was strong too, barrel chested and big arms that were able to hoist Dean out of graves but it was still Sam. And with the long hair and pretty face Sam still retained some of the girlishness and when he was particularly bitchy that’s all Dean could think about. 

At first Dean thought it was envy when he saw Sam come out from a shower, like wanting to also be fit and muscular. But it wasn’t, no. Dean was jealous, not envious. Jealous that other people were allowed to leer at his brother when he was wearing those tight t-shirts that stretched across his chest.

Dean had gotten piss drunk one evening and he allowed himself to stare and for some reason he couldn’t keep his eyes off of Sam’s chest and man, were they pretty. A nice handful he’d reckoned, he was sure he'd slept with women with less. 

Sam bent over while tying his shoes the next morning and Dean might’ve still been a little drunk but all he could see was Sam’s cleavage, because that’s what it was. Actual cleavage, like when women squished their boobs together, only that Sam didn't need to.

And well so an obsession was born. Dean kept staring and leering whenever Sam couldn’t see and Sam kept being a bitch, fighting him every week it seemed. 

“Stop calling me that!” Sam yelled at Dean after he called him a woman again.

“But you’re bitchy and you’re the one with a solid b-cup!”

“I don’t - what?” Sam was flustered but didn’t deny it immediately and Dean took his chances.

“Yeah, solid B, Sammy.” He said and stepped closer, cupping one of the swells under Sam’s shirt. 

“I- Uh-” Sam tried before cutting himself with a moan when Dean flicked a finger over the nipple.  

“Stop it, Dean,” Sam said weakly but subtly pushed his chest against Dean’s hand instead of moving away. 

“Yeah I don’t think so, not if it makes you this docile.” 

Dean was relentless after that, referring to Sam’s chest as boobs and tits as much as he could, squeezing them in passing and giving the nipples a hard flick when Sam pissed him off. 

His favourite was stepping up behind Sam, his arms going around that tiny fucking waist (something else he was getting obsessed with) and cupping Sam’s tits, squeezing and grasping them tight. It was even better when there was a mirror he could do it in front of. 

And if Sam decided to focus more on his upper body workout he didn’t have to tell Dean, did he?

[casuallyawkardd]

Dating Miguel O'Hara NSFW

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader

Summary: Same thing as my other 'Dating Miguel O'Hara', this time for the grown ups

Warnings: NSFW MINORS DNI! Sex, rough sex, oral sex, praising/degradation, breeding kink, consensual somnophilia, maybe angst if you squint, not fluent in spanish so correct me if I'm wrong on grammar/translations

A/N: I didn't use the same taglist as my past fics cuz idk how many of you are comfortable with this kinda stuff so please fill out my new TAGLIST if mature content is your thang 💅

First Time

Miguel would hold off until you're ready, honestly he's so busy he forgets how high his sex drive is and can get easily distracted. It's a week or so after you two became official and he can pick up on the signs. You're wearing something a little more revealing for date night, something to show off his favorite parts of you. Specifically your ass and thighs. Being a bit more touchy with a hand on his arm or leaning in close when he's talking.

He can even smell it on you, the faint scent of your pheromones making his head fuzzy. Hear how your heart beats a little faster when you invite him up to your place. The man has heightened senses, making him more perceptible to how your body reacts to him.

The first time he restrains himself a lot. Miguel is very much aware of what he's capable of, the last thing he wants to do is hurt you. On top of that, he's a big guy. A big guy who's...proportional. In every aspect. It's a canon event. He's a lot to accommodate and he knows it, so he takes his time.

Preps you well for him. Fingers pressing past your lips, letting you suckle the digits until they're slick with saliva, only to then spread you open with two fingers. Three when he realizes you're tighter than he had expected. It gives him the chance to figure out what makes you tick. What places his fingers have to graze that make your hips buck against his palm. Where to curl them to make you moan louder and arch your back so your chest is flush with his. How fast he has to move them to drive you over the edge.

However, no amount of fingering can prepare you for what's to come. It's a stretch regardless, a dull burn as he bottoms out. The first time hurts, but at the same time you feel so full. It's a deliciously addictive sensation, the pain and pleasure mixing together. Miguel trails kisses along your neck and shoulder, praising you as you adjust.

"Mierda, you're so tight for me."

"Take me so well, cariño"

You learn very quickly how vocal this man is, a stark contrast to his usual quiet and brooding attitude. Moaning and grunting shamelessly when he begins to move. He reminds himself to hold back, but that doesn't stop him from thrusting deeply into you. Falling into a steady rhythm as he ruts his hips against yours. You're trapped under him, his forearms and sheer mass caging you in. Miguel can feel his control slipping and he fights it every step of the way.

The teeth nipping and marking your neck and shoulders moving to bite into the flesh of his wrists when his fangs come out. Gripping your sheets and pillows so he doesn't accidentally cut the skin of your hips with his claws. He wants to though. He so desperately wants to grab you so he can fuck you even harder, move you to his liking. Miguel notes that he'll have to get you new bedding, like the kind at his place, after ripping up your pillows and sheets.

He makes sure to treat you well so you come back for more, picking up on every request and plea until you reach your climax. As you flutter around his cock, you get a taste of just how rough he can be. Miguel adjusts his thighs to be under yours, lifting and angling your hips so he can reach deeper, if that's possible. The last few thrusts fast and creating the most obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin.

When he's spent, he moans right in your fucking ear to let you know. His head moves to rest on your chest as you both catch your breath, you combing your fingers through his hair and placing rewarding kisses on the dark curls. Your breath catches in your throat when he lifts his eyes to you, the red of them glowing in the low light.

"No crees que hemos terminado, ¿verdad?" You don't think we're done, do you?

Early On

It takes some time to convince him that he's not going to kill you while you two are having sex. While he thinks he'll cause irreparable damage, both mentally and physically, if he loses control, you on the other hand trust him unconditionally. He's a good guy, a superhero for crying out loud, you don't see any reason to doubt him until he gives you a reason to.

It starts with little things to boost his confidence. Hands on your hips when you ride him, letting him pull you down on his cock when you move at a teasingly slow pace. A hand tangled in your hair while he fucks your throat, encouraging you to take him deeper with every thrust harder than the last.

It all pays off one night after the two of you get into a fight. In hindsight, it was over something stupid. Some asshole had made some inappropriate comments about you and that riled him up. You, on the other hand, could care less. He was just some dumbass who was mad you turned him down. Who then became even more bitter when Miguel showed up and he saw who he was 'competing' with.

Maybe it was because you didn't care, or because Miguel was still riled up from the interaction, either way he had to take out his frustration somehow. You don't know how you ended up bent over the back of the couch, Miguel plowing into you with no remorse, but you loved it. Rough sex was never something you thought you'd be interested in, but having his claws tear your clothes from your body and his sharp fangs graze suggestively along your jugular makes you excited. Makes you want more.

"You're such a fucking brat, mi amor"

"Remember who makes you feel this good next time some cabrón decides to eye fuck you."

Once he's finished 'teaching you a lesson', his words not yours, he treats you the usual aftercare. Cleaning you with a warm washcloth, preparing a bath if you ask him to, combing his fingers through your hair and praising you for being so good. It's when you're going to bed you realize that he finally let loose. And like you said, he didn't kill you. Just left you with some bruising and maybe a few nicks from when he tore your clothes off.

You make a mental note to reward him with breakfast and some morning head tomorrow.

Favorite Things

In terms of what Miguel enjoys doing with you during your-ahem- alone time, where to even begin.

In terms of kinks, it's a given that he has a breeding kink. Even if you are unable to actually have kids, he still just loves cumming inside you. To the point that when he finally pulls out his cum leaks down your thigh and he has to push it back in with his fingers. If you can get pregnant, he gets off on the idea of you carrying his child. Belly swollen with his baby inside of you. Pride flaring up in his chest at the mere thought of it.

Somnophilia is an unexpected turn on for him. It makes sense, after having multiple nights where you expect him to be home, only for him to arrive after you'd gone to sleep, sexual frustration was bound to happen. You'd talk about it beforehand, making sure it's all consensual. He'd come home to find you already in bed, in nothing but one of his shirts. No underwear. His indicator to know you needed him. Watching you be roused by his cock sliding into you, the half asleep moans falling from your lips, he finds it both mesmerizing and adorable.

Using his fangs on you is a rare treat. You had expressed interest at one point, wondering what it'd be like to be completely at his mercy when his venom leaves you immobile. It's not his favorite, but in those rare instances where he wants to remind you that you're his and only his, it comes in handy. You enjoy the manhandling aspect of it, Miguel bending you into whatever position he desires so he can fuck you stupid.

Sex positions depend on his mood. If he's feeling romantic, he likes to be able to look into your eyes. Mating press, cowgirl, even modified versions of the missionary position are what he enjoys. He also provides more foreplay, spending what feels like forever just pleasing you with his fingers and mouth. Especially his mouth. He loves thighs, so feeling yours clench around his head turns him on to no end. One time even, your thighs were positioned in just the wrong way when clamping around his neck, cutting off blood flow and he passed out; you were both too lost in the moment to notice until his body went limp on top of you. Don't worry, you guys had a good laugh about it when he finally came to.

"Dying between your thighs would be the perfect way to go, mi vida."

When he's in a bad mood, it's a different story. It's usually after a rough day at work or if you're pissing him off by being a tease/bratty. His goal is to have you trapped between his body and whatever surface he chooses, varying from the bed, to the couch, the wall, etc. Doggystyle, full Nelson and flat iron are popular choices. He's rougher than usual too, pulling your hair, leaving more hickies than normal and his dirty talk is more degrading than praising. Foreplay is more of a way to assert dominance over you, overstimulating you into submission.

"One more, cum one more time for me. Te voy a joder estúpido, putito." I'll fuck you stupid, little whore.

This is also the time when injury is more likely to occur. Nothing major, puncture marks from his claws on your hips and scratches from his fangs grazing your shoulder. You don't accept his apologies after because there's nothing to be sorry for.

On and Off

There will most likely be a phase in the relationship where the two of you are struggling to keep said relationship afloat. While problems in the bedroom are rare, issues usually being not enough sex, the relationship outside of that can be rocky. The both of you are busy and finding time to spend together becomes harder and harder to do.

The reasons for breaking up can vary. Sometimes it's on his end, Miguel wanting to protect you from his life as Spider-Man and wanting you to be happy and not waiting on him. Other times you're the one to end things because he doesn't provide you with the attention you deserve or because you feel like a burden to him and his work. Either way, even when you're not together officially, it's hard for the two of you to keep your hands off each other.

Miguel shows up to your apartment multiple times, most of the time uninvited. It's always late, the sound of the window to your living room sliding open, followed by his heavy footsteps is enough to wake you up. When you step out of your room, he greets you like a man starved. Sinking to his knees and wrapping his arms around your waist, lifting your shirt to leave kisses down your stomach.

"Been missing you so much, necesito recordar el sabor de ti." need to remember the taste of you.

He's trying to butter you up and you know it. Whether it be you missed him too or you're too tired to argue, you fall for it almost every time. Letting him grasp the back of your thighs to lift you as he stands, making his way to your bedroom with you in his arms and lips pressed against yours.

You don't know which you like better, the sex when you guys aren't together or the makeup sex that follows. Every. Single. Time. It's always after something happens, ranging between him finding out you're starting to date other people again to one of you surviving a near death experience. Either way, it always starts the same.

Miguel shows up at your place, as usual, but instead of groveling for your forgiveness, he's fuming. Mad that you're looking at other guys and not him, mad that he almost lost you, mad that he was stupid for letting you go in the first place...either way he's pissed off. A possessive hand at the nape of your neck, forcing you to look him in the eye. Eye contact is very important to him.

"You're mine, cariño. I'm not letting you go ever again."

After some bickering and maybe even shouting, the interaction usually ends with you ass up over the nearest object while he pummels you with his thick cock. One of his hands restraining your hips while the other is snaked around your torso, his hand wrapped around your neck and his hot breath against your ear. It's an odd routine you've become used to, borderline unhealthy even. However, while the lows can be pretty low, the highs are oh so high. The good times make you fall for his tricks without question. Besides, you both know he's the one wrapped around your little finger.

Don't worry though, for the ride or dies, it all pays off in the end. The back and forth between you two settles and Miguel finds his permanent home between your thighs. As well as your heart, of course.

Tags:

@khaleesihavilliard @leahnicole1219

[seyaryminamoto]

My latest completed commission may have been a bit ambitious... because I went wild with it. But I certainly relished in doing so :') Combining my favorite ship with my favorite-ever Disney movie is, uh... a dangerous concoction :'D

The commissioner specifically requested for Azula as Mulan, Sokka as Shang, and Xin Long (my OC dragon from Gladiator) as Mushu. The rest of the cast was up to me to choose, and I pretty much went wild rewatching this movie and picking out some of my favorite moments to recreate them in my style, with these characters. I came up with a lot of correlating characters between both ATLA and 1998's Mulan, but I couldn't hope to draw EVERYTHING, unfortunately. Still, if you want my reasoning for the cast correlation... check out the Read More! Beyond that, feel free to reach out to me if you'd like to commission me, or if you want to join my Patreon!

The Herbalist as Mulan's grandmother might feel arbitrary but she honestly felt like the ATLA elderly lady with the most similar personality to Grandma Fa. Fickle, with a unique connection with a seemingly perfectly ordinary animal, old and sassy? Figured it fit! So for once, the Herbalist is Azula's grandma! xD strange notion, I know, Azulon/Herbalist is not a ship I ever thought I'd accidentally put out in the world but there have been wilder ships than that in this fandom...

Momo became Cri-Kee, I wasn't 100% sold on it but when I considered that Avatar features soooo many hybrid animals... I figured he could be a hybrid cricket-lemur. Weird, I know, but eh? Better than nothing xD

Aang as Chien-Po was a no-brainer. He's the only character I settled on instantly, never even considered anyone else for the role. Their personalities line up really well, and Chien-Po's tendency to be OP and resolve things that are outside of other people's reach sounded like he was prime Avatar material! So, while their dietary preferences are an obvious difference between them, I decided to go for it nonetheless considering all their other similarities!

Kino (another Gladiator OC) is Ling, and he actually did give me a ton of trouble to choose. I considered many characters for the role right up until I realized that Kino's personality actually lines up fairly well with Ling's, down to being a class clown type (who ABSOLUTELY would have cut gym class!) and breaking out in song about the hypothetical woman he'd like to fight for? Yeeeeah that's right up his alley xD but there's another reason why I picked Kino...

... And that is my likely unexpected choice for Yao:

ZUKO.

ZUKO IS YAO.

YES.

I'M NOT EVEN SORRY.

(For the uninitiated, Aang, Zuko and Kino are best friends in Gladiator, very often together, and they make a really good team, so that's the extra reason why Kino became the obvious choice for Ling aside from having really similar personalities, definitely closer personalities than, say, Jet, for instance.)

People have likened Zuko to Shang a LOT since ATLA aired. This is the main reason why I'm even making this huge note! I suspect it's primarily because of the aesthetic, let's be real here, and because he becomes Aang's teacher, but people have exaggerated Zuko's alleged similarities with Shang, or taken them out of proportion, in many ways. I actually remember an AMV ages ago with "Be a Man" and it was Zuko "training the Gaang"?? It... didn't feel right to me. Obviously, someone might rebuff with "well, how does Sokka make MORE sense than that, though?" And believe it or not, I have arguments for that... (when do I not...?)

Not only is this what the commissioner specifically requested (and it obviously lines up with the ship we love!), but let's examine the actual reasons why Sokka as Shang adds up:

Sokka actually had to train a bunch of toddlers who weren't paying any attention to him. You know. Kind of how Shang had to train the unruly soldiers who weren't getting anything right. Sokka has a positive relationship with his dad (Zuko, ofc, does not). Shang also has a positive relationship with his dad! And not only this, but there's a military component to both relationships, specifically with Shang wanting to follow on his father's footsteps and aid him in the war... so much like someone else I know, who jumped at every opportunity to rejoin his father in the war, even wishing to join him as a child until Hakoda tasked him with protecting their Tribe instead (kinda like Shang is tasked with training soldiers rather than joining a battlefield).

And the final cherry-on-top that I'd loooove to hear Zuko fans try to argue against... is sexism :') didn't Sokka get characterized as a sexist guy for four episodes, which made people decide that this was his main character trait even if it went away that quickly? Um, yes, that happened. Shang literally sings the memorable song that's a crazy ode to masculinity, including the rather sexist line of "did they send me daughters when I asked for sons". Shang outright abandons Mulan once they discover that she was a woman all along (while, admittedly, choosing to abandon her rather than KILL HER, which as we saw from Chi-Fu, he was NOT supposed to spare her!)...

So, is this REALLY what Zuko fans, who willfully believe their boy is a feminist king (... why? beats me...) are trying to compare their unproblematic blorbo to? :'D Me? I have no problem linking Sokka with Shang due to Sokka's beginnings and due to the fact that both Shang and Sokka have similar growth when it comes to accepting femininity is as valid as masculinity, and as they both learn to respect women as fighters and potential heroes! (I simply do not believe Sokka's ENTIRE tenure in ATLA was about that, though, and that's what I continue to clash with the fandom over...) So... all this is why I've reasoned that Sokka is a VERY solid choice for Shang, in fact, better than Zuko could hope to be.

... but this isn't all.

Maybe some might accept my arguments for Sokka-Shang. And then, they might ask:

WHY ZUKO AS YAO, THO??

... And the truth is it took me long to see it, myself, but HOLY SHIT, DOES IT FIT!

What is the primary thing we remember about Yao in Mulan? This guy is constantly itching for a fight, to prove himself, surely riddled with insecurities that he exteriorizes through overcompensation of masculinity. He's funny as fuck, but he's taking himself 100% seriously as a manly man all the time, and he's always ready for violence. But there's one more thing...

He treats Mulan as his RIVAL.

And more often than not? SHE SCREWS HIM OVER. Intentionally or not.

What does that sound like? Why, yes, it sounds a LOT like Azula and Zuko's sibling relationship!

The fact that Yao is a temperamental dude who lashes out easily at things (oh, something he has in common with Zuko!), that he specifically resents Mulan (in this case, Azula, just as Zuko does!) and is either constantly looking to defeat her and prove his superiority over her (... wait, just as Zuko with Azula??), that he has a black eye perpetually across the movie, and it's his LEFT EYE (just as Zuko's scar is on his left eye! :'D), that he's friends with a pacifist he has basically nothing in common with, personality-wise (just like Zuko and Aang!), and that he pretty much has a REDEMPTION ARC in which he goes from a bitter, asshole rival to Mulan to treating her as a friend and ally, to the point where he was disappointed to leave her behind and THEN joined her at once when she says she has a plan? :') I have always been critical of Zuko's redemption arc, goes without saying. But if ANY of these characters redeemed himself in any significant way, it certainly seems to be Yao to me, and with people gushing NON-STOP about Zuko's redemption? Why, he ought to be the character who goes from bitter rival to loyal friend, right?

So. I'm not even sorry. Zuko is Yao. And I'd dare say that he should be flattered by the comparison, even, because Yao ends up being cool as FUCK!

I don't really talk about this much nowadays, but Mulan was my favorite Disney movie growing up, it ABSOLUTELY had a formative influence on me as a little girl, and Mulan was my favorite female character for a looooong time. Thus, any excuse to rewatch this movie makes me happy as heck. With the wisdom of age I know, of course, that it's not perfect, it's not what China wants, it's not the most thoughtful depiction of Chinese culture or the most faithful adaptation of Mulan's poem (... but I'd also dare bring up that the 2009 Chinese adaptation ISN'T all that faithful either...), but it has a kind of magic in it, a solid storytelling flow, so many memorable moments one after the next, that I could hardly choose which scenes to depict... Disney has never again seen the storytelling heights it reached with Mulan in 1998. I don't even care if that's a controversial opinion in any way... this is their best animated feature for me, and nobody can change my mind.

So... depicting Azula, my beloved, in all these scenarios as this character I adored and idolized as a child, was so damn fulfilling for me. While some might think that, personality-wise, these two ladies don't have much in common, the fact that Mulan is sent to a matchmaker who basically tells her she looks good but is going to be the worst wife ever...? Our girl Azula, with all those insecurities about being unloveable and a monster, probably would relate big time to that.

Mulan is also an INTELLIGENT soldier rather than a brawny one, which is how she starts to make progress in the army, it's how she manages to overcome the huns with that avalanche... and Azula's primary difference with most other antagonists in ATLA is that she's smart as fuck. She is very strong, no doubt, but a LOT of that strength comes from her intelligence, from assessing situations in unique ways, from planning and strategizing. The way Mulan finds the most unexpected solutions that still pay off reminds me a lot of how Azula achieves unexpected feats through rather unorthodox means, capable of taking over a city with basically no bloodshed while her nation has spent 100 years trying and failing to do so through major army incursions and who knows how much senseless violence. Obviously, I'm not saying what Azula did is GOOD and it's kind of dumb that we always have to point that out... I'm merely comparing the magnitude of the feats, and the fact that they both come from ladies who use strategy and intelligence to achieve their goals rather than muscle and physical power.

And while anyone would rage at me for the comparison between Fa Zhou (her dad) and Ozai, the truth is the dynamic between them CAN be compared, if loosely: Mulan literally goes to war to keep her father safe. Azula goes to war under her father's orders. Hell, she makes herself BAIT in the Eclipse to make sure the Gaang won't get to her dad?? While it's very much possible to say that both characters have different personalities and attitudes in life... I'd also bring up that their contexts are evidently completely different. I wouldn't say for certain that Azula, had she been raised outside a Royal Family, would be EXACTLY like Mulan... but they might have more similar traits than one might expect. Ultimately, though... I love them both. And this opportunity to swap their places was pretty much a dream come true!

Alright, that was plenty of rambling xD ultimately, I had a blast doing this commission, as I'm sure is obvious by now. So! If anyone wants to commission me, feel free to check out my prices right here and hit me up if you're interested!

[riizegasm]

International Relations || K. DH (Leehan)

❀ pairing: president’s son!donghyun x rival!reader (implied fem reader), ft. various foreign idol cameos

❀ genre: enemies to lovers, suggestive (like it gets very tense and a little graphic at the end), minor fluff

❀ word count: ~5.5k

❀ warnings: explicit language, suggestive content, drug mention, alcohol consumption

❀ summary: In the perpetual game of cat and mouse, you always find yourself on the offense. So why does Donghyun look like the cat who got the cream? And why is defeat so hard to admit?

❀ A/N: SURPRISE!!!! Just a reminder that this is a work of fiction and is in no way related to the global political landscape. Please let me know how you guys like this one :)))

It’s too early on a Tuesday morning when a loud knock rings out throughout your bedroom, instantly rousing you from your slumber. You barely have time to open your eyes before a familiar face is letting himself into your room. Hanbin is clearly frazzled, his normally perfect appearance marred by a necktie with an improper knot and a severe case of bed head. You imagine you don’t look much better. 

“You need to get up, now,” Hanbin rushes, beginning to flit about your bedroom at a panicked pace. “You have an interview with Kim Donghyun in an hour.”

Even through your sleepy haze, the statement immediately has you sitting up straight. “What?!”

As the darling son of the South Korean President, Kim Donghyun was more than just a household name. He was held as a sort of international superstar, known for his mellow temperament and his stunning looks. As the child of your own nation’s president, you have crossed paths with him quite a few times; enough times, in fact, to know just how much of an utter asshole he is. 

“What do you mean interview with Kim Donghyun?” You ask, as Hanbin hadn’t bothered to clarify. 

The man is still pacing the length of your lavish bedroom, typing something angrily into his phone. 

“It’s for the BBC. They are doing some story on the children of international government officials. Since the Kim family is here for the United Nations Gala later this week, they asked to squeeze in an interview for you two to do together.”

“Together?” You groan, running your hands through your already messy hair. “Why didn’t you tell them no?”

“Your mother’s assistant accepted before I even heard about it. She also just so happened to forget to tell me until 15 minutes ago,” Hanbin sighs, finally stopping his hurried movement. “Please, just get dressed. There will be hair and makeup at the interview site, but we have to leave soon.”

You can’t help but groan again, fighting the tantrum building up in your core. A last minute interview would already irritate you enough, but having to do it with Kim Donghyun is enough to have you cursing the universe. 

It blew your mind that he was able to be the world’s golden child when he had such a rotten core. He was disgustingly cocky and spoiled, clearly used to having everyone in his life cater to him. He couldn’t be bothered with anyone who he didn’t perceive to be of his status, never choosing to mingle with anyone except for his exclusive inner circle. 

What makes it all worse is how disgustingly attractive he is. His blonde locks always frame his face perfectly, sometimes falling to obscure one of his ever-so-sparkly eyes. His full lips are always twisted into that cocky smirk he constantly wears, his left cheek always dimpling with the expression. He was tall and built like a model, his godly proportions always highlighted by the perfectly tailored suits he wore. 

He’s so beautiful; you fucking hate him. 

His deplorable beauty twists your stomach into knots an hour and a half later, when you slide into the seat next to him. The interview space has been set up so that the two of you are seated in chairs just inches apart, bright lights shining down on you so that the cameras can capture virtually any flaw. But of course, Donghyun still looks perfect, greeting you with his signature smirk. 

“Y/N,” he drawls, voice deep and syrupy like honey. “It’s been a while.”

“Not long enough, clearly.”

You pointedly ignore the deep chuckle that your remark earns you. The sound still manages to slip past your barriers, setting the pit of your stomach ablaze. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you missed me.”

You can’t help but scoff, rolling your eyes even though Donghyun can barely see it. “You wish.”

“Yeah,” Donghyun whispers, barely audible. “I do wish.”

Palpable tension is nothing new for the two of you, your perpetual spats and teasing always leaving the air in the room a bit thicker than it had been before. The flirting always adds another layer. It’s not as if either of you mean anything by it, nor would anything ever happen between the two of you. But something about the smooth ways Donghyun counters your banter while looking like he wants to eat you alive makes you consistently hot under the collar. 

It’s at that moment that the interviewer makes her way onto set, greeting you both with a warm smile. She’s clearly a fan of Donghyun, seemingly only addressing him in the few moments you have before the interview officially starts. The moment you get the countdown and the notice that they’re rolling from the director, however, she slips on her professional mask and begins the interview.

The hour slot goes by both painfully slow and surprisingly quick. You find it easy to get lost in Donghyun’s answers, fighting the urge to stare at his mouth as he speaks. But when it comes to your own answers, you find it hard to articulate exactly what you mean. It makes the minutes trickle by at a snail’s pace, only for the time to pick back up when Donghyun opens his mouth again. 

You let out a sigh when the interview is finally over, the journalist thanking both you and Donghyun before disappearing somewhere off set. It leaves you and Donghyun seated while various crew members fuss over you to rid you of your mics. The silence between the two of you only lasts for a few moments before Donghyun decides to break it.

“You should come over.”

You can’t help but look at the man as if he’d grown another head, gaze flickering between Donghyun and the rest of the crew that lingers within earshot. He just shrugs, clearly uncaring if anyone overhears. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” You whisper as harshly as you can. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Ehh…not yet,” Donghyun smiles. “So come over.”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

“I have some, uh, business matters I’d like to discuss with you.”

Before you have a chance to respond, Donghyun is standing from his chair, mile-long legs making themselves known as he rises to his full height. It takes everything in you not to stare at how stupidly tiny his waist is or how disgustingly broad his shoulders look in his suit jacket. 

“I’ll have my people contact your people,” Donghyun says as he turns to leave, shooting you the tiniest smirk. “I’ll see you at eight, Y/N.”

.         .         .

You choose to show up to the specified address closer to 9:30pm than the expected 8. Hanbin says it’s out of spite, but you just consider it being fashionably late. Of course, no one is ever fashionably late to a business meeting, but a nagging feeling in your core tells you that it will be anything but that. 

Your interactions with Donghyun have never simply been about business. The two of you always find yourselves in too close proximity, heated arguments ending up with you getting in each others’ faces or quiet insults whispered between a minimal space. Every attempt that the two of you have made to be cordial and civil just ends in fire and flirtation. So, the two of you have simply stopped trying. You no longer hide behind the guise of business or international affairs, choosing instead to be transparent in your desires to see each other. After all, both of you want nothing more than to push each other’s buttons. 

Your suspicions are confirmed the minute you’re let into a swanky penthouse in the financial district of town, a well-known area for foreign ambassadors and their family residences. A sleek black door opens to reveal a shocked face that quickly melts into smugness. Donghyun simply smirks before opening the door wider, motioning for you to come in. 

What was supposed to be a business meeting is obviously much more of a house party than anything else. You recognize a few familiar faces: Ricky Shen, the son of the U.S. vice president, Ning Yizhuo, the daughter of your country’s ambassador to China, and even the Yoon brothers, the sons of the Canadian Prime Minister. It seems like all of the children of top officials are here, drinking and chatting idly around the lavish apartment. If you were an outsider, you would laugh, the scene seeming all too much like a shitty movie interpretation of the life of the elite. But you know all too well that this is how it goes. 

You’re sure that somewhere, there’s a stash of the world’s purest cocaine for anyone to indulge in. There may even be pills and other harder drugs if anyone wished to partake. The combined net worth of this crowd is well over $1 trillion, and that alone makes them untouchable. They are free to do as they please, simply enjoying the ability to be imperfect while the entire world sees them as the exact opposite. 

“I’m surprised you came,” Donghyun whispers, his deep voice much closer than you remember it being. 

When you turn, you find yourself almost nose to nose with the man, his greasy smirk still poised on his flawless face. 

“I thought we were going to talk business,” you manage out, sounding much more confident than you truly feel. “Didn’t know that business involved so many people.”

Donghyun cocks a perfectly manicured brow. “You wish it was just the two of us, then?”

You can’t help but scoff, instantly reminded of your deep disdain for the man. “I wish you would stop fucking with me, Donghyun.”

A call of the man’s name sounds from somewhere deeper in the apartment, forcing the two of you out of your unintentional bubble. Over your shoulder, you can spot Donghyun’s typical entourage of friends, all beckoning him over with a frantic wave of the hand. Donghyun seems to notice at the same time, sighing deeply before taking a long swig of the beer in his hand. You struggle not to track the movement of his throat as he swallows. 

“Well,” he sighs. “Duty calls. Try to have a little fun, sweetheart. You look like you need it.”

The man is gone before you can give him a piece of your mind, leaving you alone in the room full of people. Luckily, they’re all people that you know, having been well acquainted since early childhood. Everyone in this world knows everyone, which leads to a revolving door of familiar faces at every function. As much as you crave novelty, you can’t help but appreciate the familiarity. 

Even still, it takes you a couple drinks to relax into the atmosphere. You find yourself giggling and making rounds as you mingle, spending extra time indulging in people that you know push Donghyun’s buttons. As much as you don’t care about the man and his reactions, you can admit how fun it is to see him riled up. 

“I swear you get more beautiful every time I see you,” Jake gushes, plush bottom lip trapped between his teeth. “There’s no way you’re still single.”

You shrug, preening under the praise. “I don’t know. I guess I just haven’t found anyone who wants it bad enough.”

Hook, line, and sinker. Jake looks like he’s only a few seconds from devouring you whole, eyes raking your form despite the fact that your outfit reveals nothing. He reaches forward, his fingertips just barely brushing the curve of your waist before you’re snatched backwards. You stumble into a firm chest, the arm wrapped around your waist keeping you steady against the tall figure behind you. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” a deep voice mumbles, easily recognizable. “I just need to steal Y/N for a second. Feel free to grab another drink or something in the meantime.”

You can barely register the confusion on Jake’s face before you’re being whisked away, only managing to shoot the boy a quick wave before you’re ushered down a hallway. It’s only once you’re decently far away from the noise of the party that you’re backed up against a wall, Donghyun’s frame leaning over you. He’s far enough that it would seem casual to an outside viewer. But you know that it’s anything but. 

“No dating scandals for years, and yet you’re willing to risk it all for Jake Sim?” Donghyun chuckles cruelly. “Didn’t peg you for that type.”

“I didn’t peg you for the type to be all up in my business,” you retort, crossing your arms across your chest defiantly. “You jealous that it’s not you?”

“We both know that it could be…that it should be.”

A sly smirk is poised on Donghyun’s face as he peers down his nose at you, strong arm continuing to cage you against the wall. You could escape if you really wanted to, a clear opening for you to slip by and go about your night. But you don’t really want to, a fact that both of you know. 

This is how it’s always gone between you, a perpetual game of cat and mouse. The two of you have spent your entire lives circling each other, just waiting for someone to fall into the other’s trap. And right now, backed against a wall, you realize that this time, you’re the prey. Instead of fear, however, a stinging warmth floods your veins. 

“Admit it,” Donghyun whispers, words clearly just meant for the two of you. “I know you just want to say it.”

“Admit what?”

Your voice only comes out as a mere whisper, the wild thumping of your heart making it impossible to focus on your words. Donghyun knows the effect that he has on you, knows that just one smirk sent your way is enough to have you fuming for the rest of the day. He knows how much you think about him, how much you crave him, but he needs to hear you say it. 

“Admit that you want me.”

The short command has your breath stuttering in your chest, eyes growing wide. You always enjoyed the push and pull around Donghyun, the game of never quite knowing where the both of you stood. It seems like he does too, always quick to playfully flirt and jokingly fight. But to admit it out loud, that’s something new. 

To admit it out loud would be admitting defeat. 

“And what do I get if I admit it?”

Donghyun just scoffs, cocky smirk deepening. “Then maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

“And what is it that I want?”

The man leans closer, the scent of his cherry chapstick ever so enticing. You can’t help the way your gaze shoots down to Donghyun’s lips for a brief moment, imagining what it would be like to feel them on your own. It wouldn’t be hard to close the distance, but you know that would mean you lost. 

“You want to kiss me so bad.”

The stinging warmth floods your face. Fuck. Knowing that he knows how you feel and hearing him say it are two different things. And the worst part is that he’s right. All you’ve ever wanted to do since the minute you’ve encountered Kim Donghyun is kiss the smirk off his face. And there’s something in the twinkle in his eyes that tells you, for the very first time, he just might let you. 

“And if I do?” Your own confidence shocks you. 

“Well,” Donghyun murmurs, letting his free hand place itself on the curve of your hip. “Like I said, I just might give it to you.”

Your breath catches on an inhale, the low timbre of the man’s voice shooting electricity through your veins. Everything about Kim Donghyun is so invigorating, so thrilling, that you feel like you could get drunk on his presence. He’s simply addictive. 

“I think you’re all talk, Kim,” you bite out, trying your best not to stutter through your sentence. “I think that you’re projecting to hide how much you want me.”

It’s impossible to miss the way Donghyun stares at your mouth as you talk, pupils dilating to expose something deep and raw. His thumb has halted where it was previously drawing mindless shapes into the fabric of your waistband, as if stunned by your words. His pause only lasts for a few seconds before leaning impossibly closer. 

“There’s no denying that, sweetheart. Fuck, I want you so bad.”

Hmm, maybe you are the predator after all. 

“Then do something about it.”

Donghyun shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “I need you to say it first.”

A rush of heat flashes through your core, making your knees grow weak. Your want for him has never been this bad before, but you’re finding it harder and harder to contain. 

“C’mon,” Donghyun coos. “Tell me how bad you want me.”

Your lips remain parted, stuck, as you try to figure out what to say next. You can’t give in to him, but god do you want to. It’s in moments like these when you want to fold, with the warm fan of Donghyun’s breath on your face, his eyes hooded and pupils slightly dilated, and perfectly pink lips trapped between his teeth. You could lose the game, willingly walk into his trap and put an end to all of the years of teasing. With just a few words, you could get everything you have ever wanted. 

Luckily, your internal dilemma is cut short as someone emerges from a door down the hall, stumbling their way out. The girl is giggling as she drags her feet along the sleek wooden floors. Despite her sluggish steps, she seems confident in her path towards you and Donghyun, only stopping to place a perfectly manicured hand on Donghyun’s shoulder. 

“Donghyun,” she practically whines. “I think Dani drank too much. She’s throwing up!”

At the slur of words, Donghyun sighs, fully straightening up and putting some distance between the two of you. You hate the way that your body instinctively leans towards him, as if magnetized. The man just shoots you an apologetic look before turning to the drunken woman hanging off his shoulder. 

“Do you know where she is, Hanni?”

The girl just nods, pointing a finger back in the direction from which she came. Donghyun lets out another sigh before motioning for Hanni to take the lead. He’s quick to follow her, not before sending you a small wink. 

Once the two disappear into the room that you assume is the bathroom, you text Hanbin, immediately asking him to pick you up. Suddenly, the night has turned bitter again. Only a honeyed voice could make it return to being sweet. 

.         .         .

If you had a nickel for every time you thought about Kim Donghyun in the following days, you would be swimming in more money than your already wealthy family would ever need. 

He haunts your dreams as much as he clouds your waking thoughts. The image of his normally wide, sparkling eyes hooded as they peered down into you is seared into your brain. The flex of his arm feels like it’s been tattooed behind your eyelids as it kept the distance between the two of you, a distance that you had so desperately wished to close. 

You can’t help but imagine what would’ve happened if you did, if you were able to admit just how desperately you wanted him. You wonder if the desperation would bleed into the kiss you shared, or if it would be passionate and fiery like the constant bickering between the two of you. Would he continue to cage you against the wall, pressing further into your space until you were pressed flush against his body? Would you be able to feel the hard ridges of his stomach? Would his hips connect with yours as you got lost in the kiss, bodies meeting in a filthy gri—.

“It’s out!” Hanbin all but yells, interrupting your train of thought. “They’re about to air your interview with Kim Donghyun.”

You barely register Hanbin’s words before the television screen in front of you is flickering to life, bathing your face in a warm blue light. The title screen then cuts to the smiling face of the interviewer. The clip is angled so that it looks like she is smiling at both of her guests, but you remember exactly how her gaze was trained on one person only. The memory makes your blood boil. 

Hanbin gushes with commentary and compliments as the highlights of the interview are aired on the news. It’s only when they move on to tales of some new humanitarian crisis in Western Europe that the man pulls out his phone, instantly scouring the internet for any mention of you. 

“Oh, Y/N,” he mumbles after a moment. “I don’t know if you’re going to love this or hate this.”

“What?”

Hanbin just sighs, handing over his phone. No matter how far you scroll, similar posts keep popping up, all focused on how good you and Donghyun would look as a couple. A queasy warmth overtakes your stomach as you continue to parse through the endless support of the fictional romance between the two of you. A reaction like this would only mean that tabloids will pick up on it soon, which would lead to nothing but more rumors. 

You all but shove the phone back into Hanbin’s waiting hands, groaning loudly. 

“The press is going to have a field day.”

“It was a simple interview,” Hanbin soothes. “There’s nothing for the press to pick up on. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. You and Donghyun just have…chemistry.”

You can’t help but scoff in disbelief. “Chemistry? I fucking hate the guy.”

“No you don’t. Everyone can tell that you don’t.”

Before you can protest, a single buzz of your phone calls your attention. You reach for it with baited breath, just knowing that it’s a family member waiting to chew you out for ruining their global image. Instead, a familiar name flashes on your screen, their text notification inspiring a fresh wave of nausea to overtake you. 

The whole world can see it, sweetheart. Why can’t you?

.          .         .

“Remember to be nice, Y/N,” Hanbin beams, snapping you out of your daydream. “Your parents want you to mingle as much as possible.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself the same way you do for every public appearance. This is no different, the annual United Nations Gala having been the same every time you attended. You arrive separately from your parents, who must walk the red carpet of the gala before settling in. You, on the other hand, are lucky enough to go through the back, settling into the venue with the other family members of global leaders. 

You already know who will be there, and plan to keep to yourself despite Hanbin’s advice to mingle. Well, you’ll keep to yourself unless a certain someone has other plans; he always seems to.

No matter how much you had prepared yourself to see Donghyun, his beauty still takes you by surprise. He looks dashing in his all black suit, perfectly tailored to showcase the breadth of his shoulders and the length of his legs. It’s not too different from his interview outfit earlier in the week, but it stuns you all the same. 

What is different, though, is the small smile he shoots you when he catches your gaze. It’s far from the annoyingly cocky smirk that you’re used to, or his diplomatic grin that is constantly plastered over every news outlet. His smile almost seems sheepish, as if he is revealing an embarrassing secret simply by letting the corners of his lips turn up. His rosy cheeks add to his shy and childish demeanor, which you instantly blame on the abundance of alcohol at the event. 

You shake your head slightly, as if to physically shake the sight of him out of your head. The only thing you are able to do is turn the opposite way, scrambling towards the nearest table. You shove any thoughts of Kim Donghyun to the back of your mind as you prepare yourself for an excruciatingly long night. 

It ends up feeling even longer than you expected. Every so often, you found your thoughts drifting back to Donghyun, back to the deep drawl of his voice or the plush pink of his bottom lip. You banished those thoughts to the back of your mind and forced yourself to pay attention as some foreign diplomat would go on and on about the humanitarian efforts in their country. Then you’d find yourself drifting, Donghyun seeping into your mind and clouding it with a thick fog. 

It was a cycle, on and on until eventually the closing remarks were made. You sigh in relief as the program finally comes to a close, thankful for the opportunity to go home and get out of your stuffy attire. Just as you search the crowd for Hanbin, ready to begin your journey home, someone grabs your wrist, pulling you back ever so slightly. 

“Not so fast,” a familiar voice calls, their hand spinning you so that you stand nose to nose. “I can’t just let you disappear on me.”

“I’m trying to go home, Donghyun.”

The man lets out a chuckle, as if endeared by your efforts. “No you’re not. You’re coming with me to Keita’s after party.”

“And why would I do that?”

The man finally releases your wrist, choosing to take a step further into your space. You’re suddenly cognizant of all the potential eyes on you. Not only are the press here, putting you in jeopardy of being plastered on the front page of every tabloid, but you’re surrounded by the world’s elite. People talk and rumors travel. The last thing you would want is to bring any sort of bad attention to your family. 

“Because you want to,” Donghyun whispers, uncaring about the hundreds of people around you. “Because I want you to.”

“That’s all you want?”

Donghyun chuckles darkly. “Oh sweetheart, that doesn’t even scratch the surface of what I want. So, you coming? My driver is out front.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Hanbin lingering by the door. It should be so easy to say no and go home with your aid. It should be easy to brush Donghyun off and go about your night. But something swims in your stomach at your thought. In the end, you sigh, rolling your eyes before leveling Donghyun with a look. 

“Fine. Lead the way.”

It ends up being much harder to feign disinterest in the confines of Donghyun’s car. There’s a partition up, separating you and Donghyun from the driver, providing you an unexpected amount of intimacy. You would think it’s a little presumptuous, if not for the way that Donghyun remains perfectly polite throughout the ride. 

You’re expecting some fiery banter or obnoxious teasing, but Donghyun makes simple small talk as you ride through the hustle and bustle of the city. It’s almost as if the boy is being nice. You two have never even begun to venture into nice territory, leaving you at a loss for how to respond. You find yourself craving your normal dynamic of push and pull for the entire time, up until you reach your destination. 

Keita’s after party looks like every after party you’ve ever attended, not quite anything special, from the people, to the drugs, to the music. It’s all so cookie cutter. The only thing that is new, however, is how Donghyun keeps you close to his side the entire night. 

His hand remains firmly wrapped around your waist as you navigate the party, only releasing you to pour the occasional drink. It’s impossible to ignore the way people look at you, eyes trained on your permanent point of contact as they shoot you knowing smiles. It leaves heat flooding your cheeks the entire night, face stained with a permanent flush that only gets worse as you knock back drinks.

The worst part is that you don’t even hate it. You find it all too easy to melt into Donghyun’s embrace as you chat idly with a few acquaintances. Exchanging soft smiles when he whispers a snarky comment into your ear feels like second nature. As right as it feels, you can’t fight the swirl of conflict bubbling in your core. Whether it’s from the alcohol, or the man by your side, it reminds you just how wrong this should be.

Just hours ago, you were worried about the optics of even speaking to Donghyun. Now, however, you can’t seem to care about the fact that you look like a proper couple, which is all but forbidden in your world. It isn’t until later in the night, when the party is dying down, that you begin to wonder where this all started.

“Donghyun,” you whisper, “what are we doing?”

His soft hum rumbles through his body into yours. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what is all of this?” You motion to where his hand is poised firmly on your hip, unmoving as you both lean onto an adjacent wall. “You haven’t stopped touching me since we got here.”

“Do you not want me to? I can back off…” he trails off, slowly removing any point of contact. 

Before he can get far, though, you find yourself reaching out, catching his wrist in a firm grip. It feels like second nature as you guide him back to the curve of your waist, shivering when you feel the heat of his palm through the fabric of your dress. 

“No, that’s not—,” you take a deep breath. “Just, why?”

Donghyun seems conflicted for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut as he sighs. When he opens them, his grip on your waist tightens. With a swift tug, you stumble forward, only to stabilize yourself with your palms on his chest. The movement brings you nose to nose, the newfound closeness forcing you to go a little cross-eyed to maintain eye contact. 

“Because, fuck, if you won’t admit it,” Donghyun swallows, his throat bobbing enticingly, “I will.”

“What?”

Donghyun’s voice comes out strained, borderline painful as he speaks. “I want you so bad. I haven’t ever wanted anyone as bad as I want you. Fuck, sweetheart, I have for years. And I know you think this is the alcohol talking, but I promise it’s not. Every time I see you and get to mess with you and you flirt back it’s like god. Everything about you is just so amazing and sexy and—,”

Donghyun’s lips remain frozen for a second as you blanket them with yours. It takes a beat, two, three, before his brain resets enough to realize that you’re kissing him. Because you’re kissing him. Kim Donghyun, the man that you hate. You’re kissing him. 

You only part a few centimeters, leaving only enough space between your bodies for your mingling breaths. 

“I want you, too,” you whisper, voice thick with nerves. “There. I admitted it.”

.         .         .

The second ride in Donghyun’s car is much less polite than the first. Instead of side by side, you sit straddling the man’s lap, dress hiked up dangerously high. The only seat belt you have is Donghyun’s hands, one firmly grasping at your ass while the other tilts your jaw downwards. Never had you been more grateful for a partition. 

Kissing Donghyun is nothing like what you imagined it would be. Instead of the calm, gentle side that he likes to display to the public, this Donghyun is demanding. He licks into your mouth filthily, using his overwhelming strength to keep you exactly where he wants you. He parts every so often to bite into your plush bottom lip, smirking at the soft moans that leave your mouth every time. His kisses are demanding, taking everything he wants from you while giving you everything in return. 

It’s only when his kisses trail down to the side of your jaw and neck that they grow more gentle, his plush lips teasing as they ghost over unmarked skin. You’re almost tempted to beg for a mark, to beg for longer lasting proof that this is real. 

Donghyun wants you. Donghyun has you. 

It’s his hands that dig into the meat of your thighs, grip strong and possessive. It’s his hips that roll up to meet yours in a stunted grind, the rhythm thrown off by the car hitting an occasional pothole. It’s his lips on yours. It’s his blonde strands that remain carded through your fingers. 

You have him. You want him. 

And for once, you have no problem admitting it. 

.FIN.

[drvscarlett]

About You Pt 10.5

Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

About You Series

A/N: i just think we deserve Multi 21 as a seperate mini chapter.

Taglist: @spideybv28@randomcuboidshape @mehrmonga @casperlikej @cliosunshine @honethatty12 @randomgirlnumber-13 @sugyomama @ririyulife @skywalker1dream @vicurious28 @khaylin27 @0710khj @its-elias-world @vizzzashley @allisonwoods @taytaylala12 @miarabanana @ceciii-b @lindsayjoy444 @mploopssek @snakelore @toldyouitwasamelodrama @lordpercevalcharles

2013, Sepang International Circuit

09:00 of Race Day

Formula 1 is the worst sport that could ever exist.

Its one of the only sports that doesn't just need talent because no matter how talented you are, you also need sheer luck. It also doesn't matter how good a driver is, if the person doesn't have the proper car or strategy then they are fucked.

Furthermore, its the only sport wherein everyone is your rival. Even if the sport requires you to be in a team, you can’t even trust your teammate to help you. Every man is out there for himself on the track. It is highly possible that your teammate is your biggest rival as you have the same car and specs.

One could understand how relationships in this sport is always hanging on a thread with every race.

"You doing okay there?"

Sebastian was driving but he could see from his peripheral view how engross Y/N is with her laptop. She had been a bit stressed out with frown lines permanently etched on her forehead since he picked her up a while ago.

"Nothing much, its just Jenson and his new teammates are fighting so much" Y/N sighs.

The statements have been taken out of proportion by media outlets and now Jenson's image was not good to the public. She have to do some damage controls and some new strategy to convince the public that they don't mean any bad blood with one another.

"Oh so this is what Britta is suffering when me and your brother fights"Sebastian chuckles.

"Yeah so you better be good and don't make a lot of trouble for Britta"Y/N reminds.

Y/N was back on her work after the brief banter and Sebastian just had the inkling that he wanted to hold her hand. With his free hand, he laced it towards her and pressed a soft kiss on the back of her hand.

"What was that for?"

"Nothing, I just love you"Sebastian admits.

This was something that has certainly changed ever since they opted to navigate their relationship. Sebastian has been a bit bold and touchy when they are in private, the Red Bull driver never shies away from being honest about how he feels. Often times, Y/N is overwhelmed by it with a pink tint on her cheeks.

"You make weekends better"he adds "I always look forward to these car rides with you so we can have a moment for ourselves before the whole race"

No matter how chaotic this sport is, Sebastian is at ease with her by his side.

10:18 of Race Day

Mark felt like he wanted to glare at Sebastian as soon as he entered the garage. He watched as everyone especially the female staffs becomes enamored with Sebastian. The German driver has also been thriving with the attention with how his flirty smiles and lingering touches.

There was a boiling anger in Mark. He couldn't fathom how Sebastian has been playing along his sister after what he saw in Brazil 2012. He is frustrated that her sister is blind about the whole thing. Mark thinks that if he hadn't been a shit brother then maybe Y/N would listen to him.

"Control your face"Christian warned "If the media sees that they will be out there like hounds spinning a story about you and Sebastian not playing good with each other"

"But that's what exactly is happening"Mark muttered

"Mark please we don't want distractions from the actual race, we're here to win"

As much as Mark would like to say that Christian is wrong, it was true. The media coverage has been a source of stress that may affect a driver's performance once they are on track. Instead of resting after a race then they may have to answer tactless interview questions or be judged by public opinion.

So here is Mark putting up a friendly smile.

"That's much more better, keep your chin up"Christian patted his shoulder before leaving.

It was just another regular day of Mark trying his best to be in the good graces of Red Bull. He keeps the heavy sigh he wants to release out to himself and went to Sebastian's group with his forced smile.

"Hey mate, you doing okay?"

"Mark, good to see you today"

And so it begins.

11:54 of Race Day

No doubt, there is rivalry in the sports but that is something that should exist on the track and not outside of it. It was not uncommon that drivers hang out together since they only have each other to talk to with their hectic schedule and crazy lifestyle.

So a few hours before the race, Y/N is in the middle of lunch with Jenson, Nico and Lewis.

"I'm telling you guys that Checo is someone you don't want to be teammates with"Jenson angrily stabs his salad.

"Would you shut up!"Y/N hit Jenson at the back of his head "Do you know how much I spent this morning trying to appease Checo's sponsors because of your comments"

"But Y/N, he isn't a good teammate and did you see what he did to me in Australia"Jenson defends himself.

"Yeah but you two are in a race so there must be some wheel-to-wheel action every now and then"Y/N ever the voice of reason.

In Formula 1, sometimes a driver has to be selfish and think about his standing first before the team. When they want to be a world champion then every points matter so she honestly don't think that Checo is in the wrong here. Checo just wanted points.

"I am so glad we have a good working relationship"Lewis chuckled as he fistbump with Nico

"Boohoo in a few years you will be suffering too"Jenson taunts.

"No way, we have the power of friendship by our side"Nico confidently stated.

"Why don't you try to be friends with Checo first? Maybe you can find some interest or common ground"Lewis suggested.

"That's a great idea with you two filming tooned then maybe you can work"Y/N applauds.

Jenson just shakes his head and bangs his head to the counter of the table. It was so easy for them to tell this when he was the one driving the car and having to fight off a teammate.

"And why are you so miserable Jenson" Sebastian joins the group with his lunch "You look like shit man"

"Finally, someone who understands a teammate that is trying to kill me"Jenson's face lit up upon seeing Sebastian "Just tell them how hard it is to function in a sport where your teammate is trying to kill you"

"Watch it"Y/N grumbles. She has to remind them that Sebastian's team mate is still her brother. They may have their differences but he is still her brother.

"It's really how it works Jenson"Sebastian's safe answer "We don't always get lucky like the Mercedes bestfriends over here"

Nico and Lewis gave each other a high five again as they laughed at Jenson's misery. It was so rare for Formula 1 team mates to be in a good relationship with one another much more to have them as your bestfriend.

While Jenson continues grumbling about how its unfair, Sebastian scoots closer to Y/N. It was something that didn't miss the eagled eye of the two Mercedes drivers. They grin with each other knowing that there is a certain progress in the relationship of the two.

13:17 on Race Day

Corinna admits that since Michael officially retired, she kind of miss weekends such as this one. It was something that she has been used to ever since she started dating Michael so missing out a few Grand Prix felt weird for her.

"Corinna!"Y/N called out and in her high heels she cones running to give her a hug.

For Corinna, Y/N is like a little sister in the paddock. She was one of the people that Corinna dearly miss because she is always travelling with F1 related things.

"Why didn't you tell me you are coming? I only heard from Seb that he saw you wandering around the paddock"Y/N said.

"It was a last minute kind of thing with Michael, you know him"Corinna admits.

Up until Friday, they weren't sure whether to go. However, Michael has been persuaded by Ross Brawn to attending even just the race so here they are.

"Speaking of Sebastian"Corinna starts "How come you didn't tell me about you two being an item"

It was now Y/N's turn to be speechless. Corinna noted how the confident girl suddenly shied away and the lovestruck expression hits her face.

"We're not yet an item, still navigating things"

"You are still going to be an item" Corinna clapped in glee.

She had long waited for this one. Mick has also been roped to play cupid several times so they can get to confess their feelings. She couldn't count how many times she accidentally dropped hints so that little Schumi will confront the two to tell their feelings.

"It can be very overwhelming, we don't want to make mistakes"Y/N explains "This world is everchanging"

Corinna agrees. She could remember the early days when she started dating Michael. It was a lot of stress and unfortunate events but hey they made it out those rough times together. They are still going strong even now.

"You have to be there with him okay"Corinna advices "The place on the top can be very lonely so he counts on you to be there"

Y/N nods her head in agreement. Corinna knows that the competition can be a lot at times but with Y/N by Sebastian side then maybe she could balance him out.

"C'mon, I think I saw some ice cream. I'll treat you to celebrate your new relationship"

"Corinna, its still not a relationship"

14:40 on Race Day

It was a feat for Sebastian to sneak out of the Red Bull garage to go to the McLaren ones. He knows that he has a few minutes left before he has to get in the car but he needs a goodluck charm today and he will be damned if he won't have it.

"A lot going on your mind?"Sebastian asked surprising the Webber girl.

"Sebastian"she looks shocked "What are you doing here? The race is about to start"

Sebastian pulled Y/N behind the garage away from the eyes of everyone.

"But I have to see you"Sebastian enveloped her in a hug.

He never expected himself to be clingy to someone but having Y/N changes things. It was like a need for him to be closer to her and he never want to go away from her. Y/N seems to find these interactions more comforting than the usual things she do to calm herself down before a race.

"You stay safe later, okay? Eyes on the track"Y/N pointed out

"I'll get a P1 for you okay?"Sebastian promised.

"I don't care, just no incidents or accidents"

Sebastian pressed a small kiss on her forehead. It was his way of assuring her that he will come back safe to her. He wished he could stay here forever but the revving of the cars signals that the show is about to start.

"Till later Y/N"

15:40 in Race Day

The crowd watches excitedly as the Red Bull and Mercedes team mates go up against one another. They seem to be pumped about what's about to unfold in the next twenty laps because the big question is would they be forced to obey team orders or are they ready to battle it out with one another.

Both of them had a different result

Nico and Lewis are battling out with the 3rd and 4th place. The team orders were to save tyres so that both cars could finish the race and both of them can receive points that is crucial for the long run. Nico was advised not to fight Lewis and let him pass.

It is never an easy decision to let your team mate by and gift him a spot in the podium but Nico quietly resigned to this team decision. He followed what has been ordered.

On the other side, The Red Bull drivers faced the same dilemma.

Mark Webber was in the lead with P1. The radio message was clear Multi 2-1. It means that Mark as Car no. 2 should retain his position and Sebastian as Car no. 1 should retain himself at the second place. This was a clear strategy that they have discussed in meetings before.

"Multi 21, multi 21"Rocquelin repeated in the radio message "Sebastian its Multi 21 and also save your tyres"

But it seems to fall on deaf ears as Sebastian pursues Mark to race him for P1.

Mark was confused about the whole thing because he thought the radio message was clear. He finds himself fired up while the crowd goes wild with the intense wheel-to-wheel action between the two drivers.

The camera pans to the garages of McLaren, where Y/N is staying. It felt like a deja vu from years ago when she was staying at the Red Bull garage. Today, the title reads 'Y/N Webber, Sebastian Vettel's bestfriend and Mark Webber's sister.'

She obviously did not notice that the cameras were on her with the way she is staring at the monitors. She was clutching her necklace and the usually composed Y/N seems to be fading. The commentators are already discussing how difficult it must be for Y/N to be caught in the middle of this whole fiasco.

It returns back to the view on track where Sebastian gains an advantage over Mark. The crowd roars in disbelief about the way Sebastian has disobeyed team orders. Adrian Newey was shaking his head in disappointment and Christian has a strange look on his face.

As the final lap finishes, the crowd stands up. It was not a cheer that Sebastian heard once he lifted his helmet but a series of boos and disapproving look from the onlookers.

16:45 on Race Day

The podium was awkward and Y/N knew that everyone was clamoring to get a statement from the two Red Bull drivers, who are visibly upset with one another. Y/N squeezed herself to the crowd in an attempt to get to Sebastian before the media does.

"It was Sebastian's fault. he was leading in the championship so why not just give this win to his team mate?"

"Sebastian Vettel is a selfish and arrogant man, Mark is unlucky to have him as a team mate"

"He does whatever he wants thats why he is a World Champion and Webber is not"

Everyone has their varying opinions of the Multi 21 incident. She badly wants to say something but her involvement can make things messier, she has to think rationally so she won't contribute to the fire.

The media pen was bursting in an electric tension as they conduct the interviews. Y/N felt a cold shiver runs down her spine as she listens to both of them discuss about the events of today. She has seen them countless of times mad with each other after a race gone bad but this makes everything seems like childsplay.

"Y/N Webber, I'm a reporter from FOX sports, what can you say about this whole fiasco about your bestfriend and your brother?" someone suddenly approached her.

All of the attention was on her all of a sudden. The panic flashed in her eyes as several other reporters starts to direct their microphones to her.

"I'm not a part of this.."

"Y/N Webber, which side do you support here?"

"Y/N from Sky Sports, are you in good terms with your brother?"

The flashing lights were a lot and Y/N felt someone grabbed her to shield her away from them. She smelled the familiar perfume of Sebastian wafting through her noses.

"It's going to be okay, I'll get you out" Sebastian whispers.

They make their way out of the room. From the distance, Y/N could hear Mark yelling at the media, which is his attempt to get the media's attention away from her.

"Leave my sister alone, she isn't a part of this"Mark stated "If you have any questions go and direct it to me and I'll answer every single one of you"

And this was the start of the shitstorm.

[r4fe-cam3ron]

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY SEVENTH; side b — again - noah cyrus | tan x r

w; lovers to enemies :p, a bit short (?), tan gets mad over small things and blows them out of proportion 👎🏼 an; i honestly had NO idea where i was going with this and im still not sure if i enjoy it. very sorry if this sucks </3

mixtape here!

There’s a broken glass somewhere in the kitchen by the refrigerator that’s waiting to be cleaned up, yet neither one of you moves to clean the shards of glass. 

Something drifts through the air — malice, resentment. Your chest heaves slowly as you stare at the man in front of you, his blue eyes colder than usual. 

His nose slightly flares as he exhales, jaw clenching as he moves past you and down the hallway. The argument started off by a playful comment you had said, something silly — the comment striking straight into Tan’s ego. 

‘Do you even know how to cook?’ 

You’d apologized, promised you didn’t mean anything by what you said. Then he had hit you with a harder remark.

You turn and follow after him quickly. “Where do you think you’re going? I am not done talking to you.” 

“Oh, you aren’t, love? I sure am — I’m sick of this whole thing,” He opens the closet door, reaching inside. “You can always say something ‘bout me but whenever I make a remark back, you take it to heart.” 

“Says the one who started yelling at me after I realized how much it actually bothered you!” You raise your voice, lifting your arms out before dropping them down. “You always do this! Always! Why is it whenever I say something, you’re free to say whatever you want and not expect me to say anything back?!” 

He’s silent then, fuming as he shoves some clothes in a duffle bag. It's always like this after an argument, especially if Tan was still tense from a mission he had just come back from. 

The argument would start from the smallest thing, which led into him rushing into the bedroom like a coward and shoving some of his belongings into a bag, then he’d leave. He would always come back after four days, giving himself a chance to cool off. 

You were sick of it though.

“If you leave this time, don’t come back.” 

His movements quickly come to a stop and he stands a bit straighter as he slowly turns his head to look over his shoulder at you. Your jaw clenches when you see the look on his face. 

The anger has softened into a bit of confusion, brows furrowing together as he drops whatever is in his hand to turn towards you. “You serious?” He scoffs. 

“Deadly,” You nod. “I’m sick and tired of this — of me trying to get you to loosen up with a playful jab only for you to retaliate and make it something bigger than what it truly was and say something so…mean,” You pinch your brows together. 

“You’re so mean with your words, T, that I still remember what you told me last time before you left and stayed away for four days before coming back,” You shake your head. “Not only last time, but every little thing you’ve said and pointed out and used against me when you know how I feel about certain things, all those words you say stick with me,” 

“And when you leave and come back, then leave for a mission and come back, I know it’s going to happen again soon. But I’m just…I’m sick of it. I’m sick of you thinking I’m always against you when I’m not,” Your jaw clenches a bit. He stares at you quietly. “I have never been against you but you always treat me as if I’m some sort of bad guy you have to fight off, or whatever. But I’m not,” 

“I love you. And if you…” You let out a small airy laugh as your head shakes again. “If you can’t see that…then you just need to get your things and leave. For good this time. I’m not going to keep trying when that’s obviously something you don’t want to do.” 

He opens his mouth to speak but you turn and walk back towards the kitchen to clean up the mess that had been made. The glass breaking had been an accident, truly. Tan’s arms always flew out towards his sides when he had been over exaggerating, talking animatedly about whatever. 

Your eyes burn as you lean over to collect the shards, the glass sliding and clinking with the movement. You wondered if he’d just stay instead of leaving this time — apologize for the way he had acted and you’d even apologize, even if you did nothing wrong. 

After a moment, you realize that was only merely a wish for him to love you as much as you loved him. 

The door slams and you flinch at the noise, quickly redirecting your sight towards the door. Furrowing your brows together slowly as your face crumbles, you slowly lower yourself to the floor. 

| THREE MONTHS LATER. 

The steam rolls off the top of your latte and into the air, your eyes squinted even as sunglasses cover your eyes. Your book was propped open on the table, reading over the black, printed words. A small smile tugs at your lips, escaping the real world and entering one of fantasy and love. 

That world shatters, bringing you back to the real world, when you hear someone call out your name. Looking up, you smile when you notice Lemon. Standing from your seat, you lean over the railing to accept his bear hug, laughing softly as he pats your back before pulling away. 

“You look smashin’! How have you been?” 

“Thank you, Lem. You look great too,” You compliment. He smiles cheekily. “And I have been doing okay — busy with work, but other than that okay. I hope you’ve been taking good care of yourself.” 

Your brows lift slightly and there’s a slight change of tone in your voice that has him waving the concern away. “Ah, I’m fine. I’ve been takin’ good care of myself.”

Smiling, you nod and open your mouth to reply, but instead, stop short when someone calls out for the man. Your blood runs cold and you clear your throat. Lemon shoots you an apologetic look. 

“Jesus, there ya are. I’ve been lookin’ everywhere!” His voice still carries that confidence he always has, brooding in a way, and as if he’s a complete know-it-all. He comes to a stop by Lemon before glancing towards you. 

You avoid him, smiling at Lemon. “I guess I’ll let you go. My breaks almost up,” You reach over and pull Lemon into another hug. Tangerine watches and his mouth opens to speak, yet nothing comes out. “I’ll see you later, Lem. Stay safe out there, yeah?” 

Lemon glances between the both of you, feeling as if he was a child in the middle. He clears his throat slightly before looking at you with a small smile and a nod of his head. 

“Yeah, of course. You as well, darlin’.” 

You send him another soft smile, turning away. Keep your composure. Keep your composure. You’re doing good. He’s not there. 

Gathering your things, you make your way around towards the door that leads inside to the café. Tan watches and his shoulders slump when you disappear. 

He’s screwed. 

𓍯 ִֶָ tags; @ali-r3n — @marchsfreakshow — @sstar-ggirl — @pretty-little-mind33 — @love-quinn

𓍯 ִֶָ thank you for reading! comments, reblogs, & feedback are welcome & greatly appreciated!

[wordy-little-witch]

Ya know what occurs to me?

Karai Bari is in the New World.

Crocodile and Mihawk only showed up after the establishment of the delivery service.

Buggy was in Paradise. Marineford would have been in Paradise, I think, or at least Buggy's crew still was.

He doesn't have conquerors to cross the calm belt.

So... to get to the New World and set up shop, he'd have to have gone through Fishman Island, wouldn't he? So he'd had to have gotten the ship coated.

He'd likely have had to face Rayleigh or at least he'd have anticipated it - maybe Shanks even mentions Rayleigh hanging around there, maybe even mentioning him having NEVER missed Shanks passing through....

So when Buggy goes when Buggy expects to be found and claims to be dreading it and is but is also so hopeful so scared so broken so hesitant he's got a few different courses figured for how this will go down.

Only.... Rayleigh isn't there. Shakky is. She just directs them to another coater. Buggy fights himself, wants to ask, doesn't want to beg, and-

Shakky answers the question he couldn'tdislodge from his throat. "Sorry, baby blue, Ray's just working on something real important. You know how it is."

He does. He does know how it is. Important, huh? That's fine. It's probably a job. It's probably not that big of a deal that dad master Rayleigh is preoccupied. Buggy shouldn't have expected the man to drop everything and come running why did he think that, Rayleigh never did it before, not even Shanks' assurance he'd leave a message for Rayleigh would change much, and fuck he can't afford to cry so-

So Buggy gets the ship coated. It's not as pricy as he'd worried. He navigates them down, can even bring himself to smile at the wide eyed wonder from the rest. It's nice. He's fine here - these are his people. He's okay, really, and he'll be able to let this go or shove it into that nameless box in his head and heart soon enough. He just has to ride the wave, you know-?

Only no. Not really. Because a newspaper lands in his hands. And his brain is racing.

Because Rayleigh wasn't at Sabaody at all. He was with Strawhat. He was training Strawhat. He showed up, after the war, so close to the conflict, to train the kid. Rayleigh is fast, but not that fast. He'd have to have left around a week before Buggy even arrived. Shanks had assured him Rayleigh was there when he dropped by ((two weeks ago)). He knew because his brother had wrapped him in his arm and tears were shed, voices were raised and hearts were broken, wounds torn open to drain the festering rot and the healing hurt, it hurt then, it hurts now, it will hurt and hurt and hurt, because Buggy had pushed the Big Top to her near limits just to reach the archipelago that his former guardian ex-father previous family that Rayleigh called home. Shanks had called him, said he'd dropped the message and Rayleigh had chuckled and nodded and Buggy wanted to see his dad because there were still so many scars that had to be seen and acknowledged and Buggy himself wasn't even fully recovered physically but emotionally he had to do it, had to take the step and try because vulnerability brought the best and worst of him out, because he lost a brother and gained him back and he wanted for his father, at least one of them.

But Strawhat was on that front page. And Rayleigh was behind him, smiling, warm, proud, happy, and - Buggy aches. He's angry. He's livid. A week or so, by his estimate, for Rayleigh to find him and get there to the war ground. A week or so because Rayleigh was old but he was still painfully fast. In a week or so, the older man hunted down a boy he'd possibly met once or twice in passing. A week or so and The Dark King showed up to bring another strawhat wearing monster of epic proportions under his wing, had made impressive time in finding the kid, making the plan, getting to the navy hq, getting out, and that's accounting for the article writing, printing, and distribution.

A week or so to find a bright little sunshine boy he barely knew when one he raised rotted in a cell for months on end.

Busy with something real important, he recalled Shakky saying.

His chest burned for a moment, hot and wild and unyielding - and just as suddenly, the fire was gone. He was tired. He was so fucking tired. His injuries throbbed, his head hurt, his scars itched. He sighed, set the paper aside and curled impossibly small into his chaise lounge with a teary chuckle as he gripped his hair and tried to silence the keen building in his chest. He cursed himself for it, bitter and angry.

After all, he should be used to being outshined, out classed and out loved by energetic boys with bright smiles in little wicker crowns.

Story of his life

He is unaware of the many eyes on him, of the people Plotting and Arranging things on their own time. Their captain is the best - uncommon, unexpected, temperamental though he is, he is everything everyone needs him to be because it's the only thing he knows how to do. They see the seams in his mask and performance, and they ache to pay back the pain left on their captain, their boss, their leader and friend. Buggy pirates stick together, freaks and weirdos united - and nobody is allowed to hurt their captain without some serious followup.

[ultimate-marysue]

My personal body headcanons for the Batfam

Bruce: He is a tank made of pure muscle. Like many other users have put forward (recommend especially @frownyalfred posts on the matter), that's not an easy feat to pull off. It is a testament to Bruce's willpower and dedication to Batman that he's even able to maintain it. Also, I think he took really good care of his scars in the beginning so they would be as inconspicuous as possible when sleeping around as Brucie. Once he gets older and leans more into the father persona he stops caring as much for anything that's going to be covered by his suits and shirts.

Barbara: I hated the fact that her disability got completely erased, so that's the first difference. If you want to have her be Batgirl again, you should do what Gotham Knights did and make it so there are lasting effects and limitations. I'm sorry, but it feels so cheap to me that they just erased disability rep cause they didn't know how to write a strong disabled woman. Skill issue. Also Barbara is built like a brick in my heart of hearts, she's a rectangle with the density of a neutron star. I also think she has one of the healthiest and normal diets of the Bats, mainly cause the physical requirements of Oracle aren't nearly as demanding.

Dick Grayson: I'm not going to reinvent the wheel here by saying Dick Grayson has the perfect acrobat's body. My headcanon is that he gets it naturally. Not that he can just do whatever you want, sadly with their line of work you need to meet a series of requirements. I mean it in the sense of 1) proportions 2) really high metabolism from constant exercise since he was a child, probably the fastest tied with Cass 3) he doesn't need to work out as much outside patrol as the rest to keep his body mass. Every single robin after him low-key hates him for creating a fighting style that only he can do effortlessly.

Cassandra Cain: like mother like daughter, my girl is thick. None of that waifish, delicate ballerina shit. She's short and she has muscles most humans haven't heard of. Average goon tries to knock this 5 feet nothing girl only to be met by an unmovable object. Also, probably contender for top most scarred bat of all. She just looks like she could fuck your shit up without breaking a sweat and that's probably because she could. Also I think she has short legs, giving her an even lower center of gravity. She's just a brick wall.

Jason Todd: my man is one of the few bitches in this family with a normal, healthy, percentage of body fat. He's built like a strong man instead of a body builder, and the fact that he can be sneaky with all that mass is terrifying. I think for a minute there he wondered what he was doing wrong and why he didn't look as lean as Bruce. Then he figured what Bruce had to do to keep Batman's body in line and Jason said "fuck that, I'm not doing all that". In his villain self destructive era that waist was snatched, but the second he started taking actual care of his body it did what body's do. Considering how he mixes so many fighting techniques I can see him building his fighting style around his needs instead of the other way around.

Steph: she's the curviest of the Batgirls, which is why she favors so much the "indistinct blob" silhouette. As any woman with a boobs size above an B cup will tell you: people get disgusting really quick. I think part of her struggles with Robin was trying to wrangle her developing body into a fighting style designed for a very naturally lean boy. Balancing is harder when you have a large set of bazonkers, they don't tell you this in the comics but it is the truth. She also lacks the super fast metabolism other Bats have, and I can see her trying really hard to fit in the mold only to realize as she grows older that she can do her own thing.

Tim: I think Tim, growing up as society kid and then forcing himself into the Robin role, never learned what eating healthy is. I headcanon him having some sort of ED (I think he would evolve through a few of them as he grew up), not because I like throwing angst at characters (though I do) but because it makes sense to me giving his background and personality. EDs are not only about "looking thin", but also about feeling in control. Also, Tim hanging onto the Robin title reminds me of child actors trying to force their developing body's to stop at a kid size so they can keep playing their character. I could write a whole post about it, but for what's relevant, the ED headcanon doesn't mean Tim is just super thin. I think his body is fluctuates the most out of any of the Bats, depending on where he's at mentally and age wise.

Duke Thomas: my boy is built for parkour. He's got the longest limbs in the family, he's got the reach. He keeps waiting for puberty to hit him like a train and give him Jason/Bruce levels of muscle mass, but he's just too tall. Like, yes, he can bench press Jason, but proportionally he's so much taller than all of them by then he just looks noodly. When he puts on the body armor though he makes Batman look like a Barbie doll. Anytime he's looming about, Jason accuses him of overcompensating. Duke just pretends to not be able to hear him from up above. Also pls DC give him long hair that floats around him in the same way Batman's cape does?? Pls, just give him magic girl hair that defies gravity.

Damian: I've said this before but this poor child grew up being told he'd one day be as huge as his dad but grows up to be Talia 2.0. I think he does inherit Bruce's height, but is distraught to never be hulking mountain of muscle like OG Batman. Little does he know Bruce isn't naturally that big either, and it's only through frankly unhealthy means he maintained that body. Everyone else agrees to never tell Damian about it so he won't even think to try it, and instead focus on reassuring him he's more than strong enough to inherit the title if that's what's bothering him. It ends up playing in his favor, Cass is proof that you don't need to be huge to instill the fear of God into people. And the way he moves, like a panther stalking his prey, is more than enough to make the rogues quake.

[amhrosina]

Afterglow (Matt Murdock x Reader)

Masterlist // Join My Taglist

a/n: another taylor swift song fic lmfao i just cannot help myself, this one is so angsty i almost felt bad for Matt just writing it (someone pls give that man a hug, he NEEDS one) also i feel so bad about not posting that i didnt even send this one to my beta reader i just posted it and hoped for the best lmfao

Summary: Matt and Reader have an argument that feels like it might be relationship-ending after Matt's hectic lifestyle as Daredevil catches up with him.

warnings: ANGST BRO SO MUCH ANGST, matty really just deserves the world, angry matt at the beginning, soft matt and foggy convo, matt doesn't know how to accept love, super soft matt at the end, some religious imagery i guess, happy ending

-

I blew things out of proportion, now you're blue

Put you in jail for something you didn’t do

I pinned your hands behind your back, oh

Thought I had reason to attack, but no

Fighting with a true love is boxing with no gloves

Chemistry 'til it blows up, 'til there’s no us

Why'd I have to break what I love so much?

It's on your face, and I'm to blame, I need to say

The door slammed behind Matt in a fitful rage, and he was so pissed off, so intense in his anger that he wanted to turn around and slam it again, just to lash out a second time. It was so unlike him to be this way, so unlike him to allow the festering wound that was his soul show itself so plainly, but it had been a long night, long year, long life and he was fucking tired.

And you. You. You. You. You’d been caught in the crossfire. 

“Fuck.” Matt breathed, already regretting the argument that he’d started simply because he hadn’t been able to reel the Devil back in after a long night. The tight leash he held on the part of him that he hated, the part of him that you’d never seen because he’d hidden it so deep inside himself every night, was a ghost in his hands. The line between Matthew the person and Daredevil the vigilante had been blurring for months, but tonight was the first time he’d let it slip through the careful facade he’d been constructing around himself. He was a shattered window, ready to break at the slightest bit of pressure. 

The cold sliced into Matt’s skin as he stepped through the doorway at the front of his building, a sobering chill of wind that triggered the memory of your eyes welling with tears. He’d been relentless in his anger, and what for? Because he had a bad night? Because he couldn’t save everyone, and somehow that was your fault? 

Asshole is the word you’re looking for, Matthew.

Matt groaned and pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialing Foggy’s number before he could talk himself out of it.

“It’s three in the morning, Matt.” Foggy said by way of greeting, voice still heavy with sleep. “You’re not somewhere dying are you?”

“Only metaphorically.” Matt replied, shuffling his feet. He lowered himself to sit on the stairs beneath him, huffing as his body settled against the concrete. The metal of the railing dug into his temple as he rested his head against it, an uncomfortable reminder that the only person to blame for this was himself.

“You okay?” Foggy’s tone had shifted from a sleepy annoyance to somewhat concerned. 

Matt closed his eyes. He didn’t deserve the love he received from his friends.

“I’m-” He started, but cut himself off when he realized he had no idea what he was going to say. Was he okay? No, he didn’t think so. 

“You’re kinda freaking me out here, man.”

“I fucked up, Foggy.” He deflated as he admitted it.

“With her?” Foggy pressed.

“With her. With everything.” Matt shrugged, blinking away the tears burning the back of his eyes. Your sudden return to his thoughts felt like whiplash, and he couldn’t catch his breath. “She deserves better than me.”

“Matt,” Foggy chided, and Matt could tell he was shaking his head, “Don’t say that. She loves you.” 

“Maybe not anymore.” Matt knew how ridiculous and juvenile he sounded, but the Matthew-Murdock-party-of-one pity party was in full effect, and he was leaning into the sad corner of his being so aggressively he couldn’t stop himself from saying it.

“She loves you.” Foggy repeated. “I don’t think anything could change that. What happened?”

“I had a bad night and yelled at her. It was stupid and I feel like an ass-”

“An asshole.” Foggy finished, and Matt couldn’t stop the chuckle that followed this observation. “Listen, did you tell her any of this?”

“Not yet.” The longer Matt sat, the more he hated himself for leaving. The words he had shouted echoed in his mind. “She should just leave. I’m never going to be able to give her what she deserves.”

“What about what you deserve, Matt?” Foggy asked, heated in the defense of his very best friend, “You deserve to be loved, too.”

Matt sat with Foggy’s statement for a second, letting the love wash over him for the briefest moment. Is this what it’s like for the kind of people who can easily accept the love of others? His body felt warm and fuzzy, an unfamiliar but comforting sensation that had him rubbing the heel of his hand across his chest.

“I should go apologize and hope to God she’ll take me back.” Matt sighed.

“She will, Matt.” Foggy assured him. “She will.”

Matt returned the phone to his pocket and turned, heading back into the place that held his entire aching heart.

It's so excruciating to see you low

Just wanna lift you up and not let you go

This ultraviolet morning light below

Tells me this love is worth the fight, oh

I lived like an island, punished you with silence

Went off like sirens, just crying

Why'd I have to break what I love so much?

It’s on your face, don't walk away, I need to say

Hey, it's all me, in my head

I'm the one who burned us down

But it's not what I meant

Sorry that I hurt you

When Matt reentered the apartment, it had only been twenty minutes since he’d stormed out, but it had felt like hours. You were in the same place that he’d left you - curled up in a sitting position on the sofa - except now your cheeks were coated with salty tears that permeated the air around you. Matt tasted them on his tongue the second he opened the door, a twinge of pain shooting through his chest as he realized just how bad the situation was. You were so deep in thought, cycling through the words Matt had spat at you, that you hadn’t noticed his arrival.

“Petal?” Matt called softly, alerting you to his presence in the room. You startled, turning to look in his direction. The silence before you responded was deafening and anxiety inducing, something Matt had never handled well. He wrung his hands together and took a step closer to you. Finally, you spoke.

“You came back.”

Not a question, but not really a statement either. A simple observation that left Matt stumbling over his words. 

“I uh…never really left. I was just downstairs.” He scratched the back of his neck. “On the steps out front. I didn’t go far.”

“I thought you weren’t coming back.”

Matt’s lip wobbled as he inhaled sharply and asked, “Do you want me to go?”

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that question. He listened to your answer anyway. He would listen to any words you had to offer, even if they were words that might kill him.

“You said some terrible things, Matt.” You sniffled, sighing heavily as another wave of tears coated your cheeks. “You said ‘If you can’t handle this, I don’t think we should be together anymore.’ And the funny thing is, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be handling.”

“Petal, I-” Matt began, shaking his head.

“No, Matt.” Your voice had suddenly become very firm and very loud, all at once. Matt flinched. “I’m not finished.” You adjusted your body, leaning your head back against the sofa before continuing. “I don’t know who you are anymore. My Matty would never keep things from me or disappear for days at a time or yell at me. The man I fell in love with is missing, and I don’t know what to do to get him back.”

The hold Matt had on his tears was obliterated as you admitted your feelings to him. Warm tears fell down his face, every droplet an admission of guilt. You were right, of course. Matt hadn’t felt like himself in months, and instead of trying to get a grip on himself, he had been leaning into the suit every night, forcing his mind to focus on other things. He always took on the brunt of the pain in any situation - he’d been doing this his entire life - but he had not realized how much of that pain was being transferred to you every time he forgot himself.

“Baby, I’m- I can’t even say how sorry I am.” Matt sank to his knees in front of you, pleading. “You’re right about everything, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t be good enough for you or come home to you after work like a normal boyfriend would and I’m sorry for the things I said. I never wanted to hurt you the way I did. I will never, ever, deserve your love.” He swallowed a sob as he admitted what he thought was the truest thing he’d ever said out loud. “Foggy told me I deserve love but I’ve thought and thought about it and I can’t imagine a world where your love will ever feel like anything but a gift to me.”

You sighed again, sniffling as you lifted your hand to cradle Matt’s wet cheek.

“I know I’m fucking it up. I’m sorry I can’t be more. This is all I have to offer, and I know it’s selfish to ask you to keep loving me but I can’t be without you. You’re all I have.”

“I don’t understand, Matty.” You shook your head, furrowing your brows.

“You’re the only thing that brings me home. And I don’t mean physically. You’re the only reason I can find my way back to myself. You remind me of the love the world is capable of. Not even Foggy can do that for me the way that you do. Can’t you see that you’re it for me? Without you, I am just a man walking hand in hand with the Devil. There is no point without you.”

“Matty.” You sighed, caressing his cheekbones as tears cascaded down his face. 

Matt wasn’t sure what he wanted you to say. That he did deserve love, or maybe that you weren’t going to leave him after tonight was over, or maybe anything besides ‘I don’t love you anymore’. 

“Don’t leave me.” He begged, barely above a whisper, so tired of the war raging in his mind. If there was anything he was capable of doing tonight, it was pleading with you for this. Beyond that, he was useless. “Don’t leave.”

“Will you lay with me?” You asked, and Matt nearly collapsed into your hold. It was not what he was expecting, but he would take it. The inevitable self-hatred and doubt about this moment echoed in the back of his mind, but he was ignoring it for once. All he wanted to do was lay with you, so that’s exactly what he did.

Tell me that you're still mine

Tell me that we'll be just fine

Even when I lose my mind

I need to say

Tell me that it's not my fault

Tell me that I'm all you want

Even when I break your heart

I need to say

I don't wanna do, I don't wanna do this to you (Ooh)

I don't wanna lose, I don't wanna lose this with you (Ooh)

I need to say, hey, it's all me, just don't go

Meet me in the afterglow

Matt was on the verge of tears again, lying next to you in the bed that you had shared with each other for so many nights. He was so afraid of losing this, losing you. He wasn’t entirely sure he would survive if you asked him to leave after this. He wasn’t entirely sure that mindset was healthy, either, but that didn’t stop him from contemplating it. He was here, and you were here, and if he was destined to live in this doubt forever, then at least he would die next to you.

Your tears had long dried up, but the ache deep inside you was palpable and overwhelming and he didn’t know what to do. The hand you had led him here with, the one that you still held, the only thing connecting your body to his was his safety blanket. This was what people called a safe space, he thought. For the first time in a long time, Matt began to silently pray.

He prayed for you, and he prayed for himself, and mostly, he prayed for love. He prayed that the night would last forever, so that he could lay next to you for the remainder of his life. He prayed for forgiveness, and begged for yours. He prayed for the strength it would take if you didn’t grant it to him. Because if you asked him to leave, he would. It would hurt and possibly - no, definitely - kill him, but he’d do it, because you deserved that, at least. The possibilities of the night were endless, and that was the scariest thing to Matt. Anything could happen.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked, lightly squeezing his hand.

“I’m praying.” He murmured, squeezing your hand back.

“About what?”

“About you.” 

“Oh, Matty.” 

The smile on your face, the steady thump of your elevated heart rate, felt like a win. Comfortable silence overtook the room, and you were so still for so long that anyone else might’ve thought you had fallen asleep, but Matt knew better. You were thinking, contemplating every word that had been shouted, pleaded, and begged tonight. All the while, Matt prepared himself for the worst.

“The sun’s coming up.” You murmured.

“Yeah?” It was all he could muster. Everything hurt, and he never wanted this moment to end.

“Yeah.” You swept your fingertips over his cheeks, following the path of the sun as it draped itself across both of your bodies. 

Matt swallowed, opened his mouth to ask the dreaded question, and then closed it and swallowed again. The gentle caress of your fingers felt like a brand in his skin. Finally, in a thick voice he asked for the second time in a matter of hours, “Do you want me to go?”

“Oh, Matty.” You whispered, tears welling in your eyes, and Matt’s heart sank into the ground below him. He thought he could do this, but he couldn’t. He was just supposed to leave what you had built with him? After everything, he was just supposed to count his losses and move on? No fucking way. His breathing had picked up, and he was so focused on his pounding heart that he almost missed the rest of your sentence. “I never wanted you to go. I just wanted you to understand how lonely I’ve been without you. I’m upset with you, but I’ll always love you, and I’ll never be the one asking you to leave.”

Matt stopped breathing for a moment, soaking in the warm relief as it crashed through him. He didn’t have to go, and you loved him. You loved him. You loved him.

“Are you sure?” He forced himself to ask, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do.

You let out a small giggle and pressed your lips to his forehead before responding. “Of course I’m sure, Matty. But it has to change, okay? We can’t do this to each other again.”

Matt could hardly believe the words coming out of your mouth. He would do anything to keep you here, holding him, keeping him safe, loving him. Anything.

“I promise.” He murmured, grabbing at your face to pull it closer to his. “I love you.”

He pressed a million kisses into your face until you let out the melodic laugh that he felt he could get drunk on. He would do anything to hear that sound again, to be the one causing that sound. Anything.

-

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[f1smutwriter]

Hello I saw you write for pierre could you write one where they had a fight and fem reader is giving him the silent treatment

After going out with charles and alex, pierre finds out some hot tea he comes into the bedroom asks to pause their fight si he can share the tea which is something they always do together without fail.

Maybe gossiping is how they met like idk they sat at bar together and he overheard her gossip on her phone about her date. So he listened in lol

I saw a picture of Charles showing pierre something on his phone and it looked like juicy drama.

Feel free to make up the gossip or use actual f1 gossip I'm just getting into it so I don't know a lot of lore.

Thank you xo

|𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐞𝐚 (𝐩𝐠𝟏𝟎)

|𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: they get into an agreement but the tea is too good not to tell.

Warnings: nothing, a bit of cussing that’s pretty much it

Notes: I loved writing this and I’m so sorry for not posting I’ve been trying to keep up with the writing from these and my books so I’m sorry. Girl I hope you enjoy!

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“Really the silent treatment, it was one word it didn’t mean anything” Pierre tried to tell me but I didn’t give him any of it. He just shakes his head before saying the word that made this whole argument. “I called you dramatic because you said I didn’t love you because I forgot your chocolate, which is extremely dramatic” He told me making my jaw drop as he called me dramatic again. I just roll my eyes and flip him off going to the kitchen.

“Oh come on mon ange you’re really mad at me” he says following me to the kitchen. I don’t say anything to him I just go to the fridge and take out some pineapple to cut for myself. “Baby please I need you to not ignore me I hate when you ignore me” he told me making me roll my eyes from his begging voice.

“Fine I’ll just ignore you then” he grumbled going to his game room to join the simulator with his friends. A few hours later he comes in the room and hopes in the shower. He comes out in his towel and his gold chain around his neck making me just stare at him in awe but quickly look away when he looks at me.

“I’m going out with Charles and Alex for a bit I made you dinner already so don’t worry about starving to death” He shouted from the closet when he was changing. I just sigh hating being alone in the house but I continued to go on my phone (secretly watching edits of him). He comes out in baggy light washed jeans, a green hoodie and a jacket to layer it with his chain and his ring that I gifted him. I basically drool over him but I try to ignore him.

He blow dries his hair making it the perfect amount of fluffy, once’s he’s finished getting ready he comes to me and grabs my jaw softly kissing me making me kiss back like a first instinct.

We kiss for a couple of minutes before he lets go and kisses forehead softly before whispering. “I’ll see you in a bit mon ange. Je t’aime” he whispered to me before giving my neck a peck before leaving the room. I just sit in my room waiting for him to come home already missing him even though he just left.

Charles, Alex, and Pierre are all playing poker with some other friends they grew up with. “Dude did you hear the shit that was happening” Charles asked Pierre who was looking at his cards. “No what shit” He asked fixing his cards so he didn’t lose.

“So something happened with Max and Nando and I think their like arguing for a redbull seat, but redbull is obviously gonna stick with Max and Nando is pissed so he’s like talking a lot of shit about max” Charles said while putting his chips in the middle. “And want is max saying” Pierre asked now just listening to the story.

"He's pissed calling Nando immature, and how he's taking it out of proportion" Charles says while taking a swig of his drink. "That's fucking crazy man" Pierre chuckled while placing down his cars showing the boys he won another round. "Fucking hell man how do you always win" Alex says throwing his card on the table.

"You just suck at poker mate" Pierre laughed while taking all the chips. "Well mates I got to go lily wants me home for dinner and I don't want to be broke" Alex chuckled while packing up his things. "Yeah I got to go to Y/n me hope at a certain so l got to go" Pierre said before taking one more sip of his drink before grabbing his keys and going to the car.

Once he gets home he speed walks to the room seeing me on my phone watching some videos. "Baby" he says softly to me making me roll my eyes. "I know you're mad at me, but I have drama that needs to be told” Pierre said dramatically sitting on the edge of the bed. "So pause the fight because it is too good" Pierre says making me smile before wanting to hear.

“So apparently the girls are fighting, Max and Fernando are arguing about a redbull seat, and obvi redbull is gonna stick to their starboy so Nando got pissed and started talking nonsense about it. Saying how max doesn't deserve the seat and how it should be his, and max is like he's being ridiculous and immature" Pierre says spilling the tea to me without taking a single breath.

"No fucking way, I thought Nando was loving it at Aston Martin" I say confused on the whole topic. "Apparently not because he's not getting as much attention as Lance is because he's a ne-" I cut him off before he finished the sentence. "Be respectful" I warned him with the look that makes him be nice

"Sorry Mon ange, but yeah that's why the girls are fighting over a stupid seat" Pierre laughed which makes me laugh. "Please tell me you're not mad anymore" he asked me with his puppy dog eyes and pout. "No baby I'm not mad anymore" I say lovingly while running my fingers through his hair. "Since when did we start spilling tea to each other because now it's just normal" | asked while feeling his hair through my finger tips.

“The first day we met, heard you talking about that dick head that stood you up so I got the courage and talked to you” he says softly to me while his head is in my lap and he’s rubbing thigh. “You were listening” I laughed while scratching his scalp a bit just like he liked it. “When I heard ‘you’ll never guess what happened I was all ears” he laughed against me making me laugh with him.

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3 years ago

“Dude you’ll never guess what happened” was the one word that Pierre heard to make him start listening to my conversation without me knowing. The asshole stood me up said he was with another girl who’s ten times prettier” I said absolutely pissed while talking to my friend.

Pierre just takes a sip of his drink shocked that a guy can say that to someone as gorgeous as you. “I bet you his dick was tiny” I say making fun of the guy making Pierre almost snort out in laughter.

After the call ended I feel a tap on my shoulder. When I turned around to see who it was I see then most handsome guy I’ve seen. “Hi I’m sorry to bother you but I just wanted to say that you’re beautiful” Pierre said making me smile softly and feeling my cheeks get hot.

“That you so are you” I stuttered, “I-i mean handsome you’re very handsome” I stuttered pretty bad making him smile softly at me seeing his pearly white teeth. “I’m sorry I’m never really like this” I tell him trying to save myself from embarrassment. “No it’s okay I think it’s pretty cute” he told me making me blush ten times more almost looking like a tomato.

“May I have your name” he asked me softly his French accent making it so much better when he talks. “Hailey my names Hailey” I say softly still blushing for the life of me. “My names Pierre nice to meet your Hailey” He smiled softly now it being my favorite thing he does even though we just met.

“Can I take you out sometime” he asked me making me look happy. “Yeah heres my number” I say giving him mmhmm number on a napkin. “Are you free right now” he asked me feeling surprised that he asked. “Yeah I am actually why” I asked confused on the question.

“Can I take you out right now” he wondered making me blush more and more probably looking ruby red. “I would love to” i mumbled feeling embarrassed from the blush on my face. “Let’s go I have a place in mind” He says softly holding my hand to take me outside.

“Is this the part where you kidnap me” I joked softly while taking his hand. “I don’t know do you want to get kidnapped by me” he chuckled making me giggle with him. “Maybe but seriously where are we going” I asked softly letting him lead the way to this random place.

“Welcome to the pretty pond that I found” he says softly showing me the pond that was glowing from the moonlight. I see fireflies everywhere admire the beautiful view. “You have no idea how much I need this, thank you” I say hugging him making him wrap his arms around my waist hugging me back. “Of course Mon ange” he whispered softly and smoothly in my ear.

“What does that mean” I asked him about the sudden nick name. “You’ll find out soon” smiled softly brushing my messy hair behind my ear making me blush more.

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Present

“I remember that day, I love it so much” I said softly scratching his head as he kissed my thighs a bit. “Talking to you was the best decision of my life. I don’t regret one thing about it” he mumbled against my thigh making me giggle. “Even when I’m being dramatic about chocolate” I said making him chuckle softly. “Even then I will never regret talking to you baby I love you” he said softly to me before leaning up to his me.

“I love you too baby” I say kissing him back softly making him grab my neck like he always did. He squeezed my neck still kissing me with such love and care like I was fragile and he was scared to break me. “Gosh Mon ange you’re so precious, it’s truly captivating” he whispered before going back to kiss me making me whimper softly. “Let’s go eat some dinner” he says before giving my neck one last squeeze.

He goes to the pantry and sees a familiar bag in the corner. “Mon ange” he called out making me hum. “What did you say you wanted from the store” he asked softly making me look confused. “Chocolate why” I asked while placing the plates on the island. “There’s chocolates right here” he said back with a funny look making me look at him with a guilty face.

… “Oops”

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Notes: tell me why I’m trying my hardest to get these 5 post out. Yes you read right FIVE. Anyways if you requested something don’t worry it’s coming out soon. And yes more smut is coming out real soon. Let’s just say it’s another threesome. Hope you enjoy!