#i mean... if you squint and lean in real close

[imtaashu]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜.

✮ Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

✮ Summary: Bucky learns the meaning of the left hand how it’s closest to your heart and quietly, he starts reaching for it every time. Every moment. Every time he needs to remind himself you’re his. Based on “The Holding the Left Hand Theory”

✮ Genre: Pure fluff, soft love, super clingy Bucky, subtle intimacy, emotional warmth

✮ Word Count: ~1.3k

✮ Author Notes: this is for the hand-holders, the slow lovers, the ones who believe love lives in the quiet touches. Bucky holding your left hand is him holding your heart. 🫶

Bucky learns about it from a book.

You’re the one reading, legs over his lap, half asleep on a lazy Sunday.

“Did you know…” you mumble, flipping the page, “the left hand is closer to your heart? That’s why wedding rings go there.”

He hums like he’s not really listening, but something in his chest tugs.

You keep talking “That’s why holding the left hand means more. It’s like… holding a piece of someone’s heart.”

You don’t even notice the pause in his breathing.

But he does. And from that moment on, he never forgets.

✦✦✦

That night, when you cross the street together, he doesn’t just grab your hand he reaches for your left. You glance down in surprise.

He doesn’t say anything. Just holds it tighter.

You don’t ask. You smile.

✦✦✦

It becomes a quiet thing. An unspoken thing.

At breakfast, when your knees bump under the table, he reaches across the pancakes and hooks his fingers into your left hand.

When you’re watching a movie, half-asleep on the couch, his left arm cradles you while his right hand finds your left, tucking it beneath the blanket like a secret.

When you curl into bed, he reaches around you in the dark not just to hold you, but to slide his fingers into your left hand, lacing them together like a promise.

✦✦✦

One day you tease him “You know I have two hands, right?”

He raises an eyebrow “I like this one better.”

You squint. “Why?”

He shrugs casually, eyes soft as he brings your left hand to his lips “This one’s the one that matters.”

✦✦✦

You notice it more after that. When you’re walking through crowds, he always grabs your left.

When you offer your right hand for help off the couch, he huffs, ignores it, and grabs the left instead.

Even when you’re sitting across from each other doing separate things he’ll gently reach across the space and tug your left hand into his lap without looking up.

You don’t say anything anymore. You just let him have it.

✦✦✦

It’s not about habit. It’s not about routine. It’s about reassurance.

Every time he touches your left hand, it’s like he’s reminding himself you’re here, you’re real, you’re his.

And every time you let him hold it, you’re telling him I’m not going anywhere.

✦✦✦

One night, after a rough mission, he comes home bruised and quiet.

You don’t ask questions. You just sit beside him on the couch, hand open.

He stares at it. Then slowly, like it hurts to move, he takes your left hand in both of his. His thumb runs over your knuckles. His eyes close “I needed this,” he whispers.

You press a kiss to his temple “I know.”

✦✦✦

Sometimes, he’s not even aware he’s doing it.

You’ll be mid-argument something stupid, like what kind of pasta to order and he’ll still reach out for your left hand under the table.

Like he can’t not touch it.

Like even if you’re annoyed, he needs to feel your heart in his palm.

✦✦✦

One morning, you wake up first.

You’re tangled together in a mess of sheets, his face soft with sleep, breathing steady.

And even then half-conscious, dead asleep he’s holding your left hand.

Like his body knows what his mind forgot.

You tuck your face into his shoulder and smile.

✦✦✦

When he proposes, you’re in your pajamas. It’s not a big moment. Not planned.

You’re standing in the kitchen, pouring cereal, and he just walks up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist.

You lean back into his chest, eyes still sleepy.

“Marry me?” he mumbles into your neck.

You blink “…What?”

He turns you around, takes your hands. Your left one, held between both of his.

“I mean it,” he says. “No pressure. Just love.”

You laugh through your tears. “Of course I will.”

And when he slips the ring on? It fits like it’s always belonged there.

Right next to your heart.

✦✦✦

He still holds your left hand every night.

Long after you’re married. Long after everything.

Even when your hair starts going gray, even when he’s tired, even when your fingers are cold from doing dishes and he grumbles and warms them up in his palms It’s always the left.

Always the one that matters.

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────────

💌 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 💌

@nerdreader @starstruckfirecat @baguwagu @sunday-bug @murnsondock @thiscornerofmyfanficbrain @okaytrashpanda @aceofheartsssss @the-real-kellymonster @7batsinatrenchcoat @overwintering-soldier 🎀🩷

wanna be tagged in all upcoming theories + emotional damage + forehead kisses? ➝ reply or send me an ask and i’ll add you ♡

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────────

[velarisdusk]

House Rules

Cassian x Reader

summary: One empty table, two full glasses, and years of not saying the wrong thing finally catching up to you. word count: 2,722 content: [ jealousy, alcohol, explicit language ] author's note: i... did not realize this did not post my b yall lmao ✦ . 1k Celebration Apothecary . ✦ warrior's draught infused with a hint of stormcloud enhanced with lover's knot shaken thank you for the request calc anon love u very much mwah mwah i hope you like this its a lil different, more like a,, idk like we're peering in through the window on the drama of this unfolding. if you want something a lil different lmk <3

The House of Wind was too quiet for a game night. 

No footsteps in the hall, no laughter or clatter of chairs. Just the soft pop of faelight overhead and the faint whistle of wind slipping through the balcony doors. You were already seated at the table when Cassian walked in—two bottles of wine tucked under one arm, the corker in hand.

“You’re early,” he said, setting everything down with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Trying to rig the deck before I get here?”

You shrugged. “Just wanted the good seat.”

He pulled out the chair across from you. “Rhys and Feyre running late?”

You shook your head. “Nyx has a fever. Feyre sent word earlier—he’s fussy, they’re staying in tonight.”

Cassian winced. “Shit. Poor kid.”

A pause, then a  frown. “Az won’t make it either,” he said. “Something came up. Didn’t say what, but he was half out the door already when I saw him earlier.”

You nodded slowly. “Mor left for Adriata this morning.”

He looked up at that. “Did she? Thought that was next week.”

“Apparently not.”

Cassian let out a quiet huff and sank into his chair. “And Amren told us not to wait up, so… we already know what that means.”

Your eyes drifted to the five empty chairs, the untouched glasses. The way the silence stretched its arms and made itself comfortable.

“So,” you said lightly, “just us, then.”

“Guess so.”

There was a pause. A breath. He uncorked one of the bottles.

You nudged a glass toward him. “Might as well, right?”

He poured for both of you. “You planning to let me win tonight?”

You raised a brow. “You planning to cheat again?”

Cassian gave you a slow, lazy smile. “No one’s ever proved it.”

You smiled back, but your chest felt tight. Like everything unsaid had already pulled up a chair and poured itself a drink.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The first round of cards was a disaster.

You were halfway through a hand of Five Crowns—rules long-forgotten and redrawn over time—when you realized neither of you was really trying.

Cassian squinted at his cards like they’d personally offended him. “Okay, but remind me again—are red threes wild, or just completely useless?”

“You made that rule up last time,” you said, taking a slow sip of wine. “To get out of losing.”

“Sounds like something I’d do.” His grin barely flickered before fading again.

You dropped your hand onto the table. “This is pathetic.”

“I’m just warming up.”

“You’re not even trying.”

Cassian leaned back in his chair, tilting onto the back two legs—something he only did when he was restless. “Maybe it’s more fun when everyone else is here.”

You opened your mouth, closed it again. “Yeah.”

That silence returned. Not uncomfortable—not yet—but heavy. Like the night was trying to figure out what it wanted to be.

He flicked a card across the table. It spun out, missed by a mile. “Okay. If you had to fight one of us—no powers, no wings, just hand-to-hand—who are you picking?”

You gave him a look. “That’s not a real question.”

“Sure it is.”

“I’m not fighting any of you.”

“Lame.”

You sighed. “Fine. Mor.”

Cassian barked a laugh. “Mor would wipe the floor with you.”

“Exactly. I wouldn’t even have time to regret it.”

That got a real smile out of him, warm and sudden and too brief. You held onto it a second too long before it flickered out.

You picked your cards back up. 

He refilled your glasses without asking. 

You watched the pour, the way his hands moved—steady, practiced. Familiar. You used to know them better than your own. 

Maybe you still did.

There’d been a time—just a handful of months, scattered between the chaos—when familiarity meant skin, not just proximity. It had been careful at first, clumsy sometimes. Heated always. But the line you never crossed remained untouched. No kisses. No morning afters. No pretending.

You cleared your throat. “So, how’s… what’s-her-name? The one you’ve been training with.”

Cassian stilled. Not fully. Just a hitch in motion. Barely there.

“Lira?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“She’s… fine.”

You swirled your glass slowly, watching the wine catch the light. “You’ve been seeing her a lot.”

There was no edge in your voice. Not that you could hear.

Cassian looked up, his eyes darker now. “Didn’t realize you were keeping track.”

It hit sharper than you expected. You blinked. Let out a breath that wanted to be a laugh. “I’m not. Just making conversation.”

He didn’t respond.

The quiet this time wasn’t gentle. It curled into the corners of the room and pushed inward, until the distance between you felt wider than it had all night.

You reached for another card—though you weren’t sure if the game was even still going—pretending to focus on them. The edges were soft from years of use, the corners bent like old habits. 

Cassian didn’t say anything as he reached toward the deck for his own card. You could feel him looking at you, though—could feel the weight of his attention even when you weren’t meeting his eyes.

“So,” you said, tone too light, “any big missions coming up? Or are you finally getting a week off from being Rhys’ personal blunt instrument?”

He snorted under his breath. “I think I’m due for one. But you know how it goes. Someone’s always starting something.”

You nodded, reaching for a card you didn’t need. “You ever think about not doing it? The whole flying around, yelling at people, getting stabbed thing?”

Cassian tilted his head. “You offering me a retirement plan?”

“I’d make a terrible HR rep,” you muttered. “But sure. You could come work with me. Reorganize the archive, maybe.”

He made a face. “That your idea of a soft life? Drowning in paper cuts and moldy books?”

You shrugged. “Better than bleeding out in a war camp.”

Something crossed his face then—fast, unreadable. Regret, maybe. Or guilt. You’d seen it before, but never aimed at you.

“I didn’t know it bothered you,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“When I go out.”

You blinked. “It doesn’t.”

Cassian didn’t move. “You sure?”

Your pulse ticked higher. You weren’t sure what you were answering anymore.

You set your cards down again. “You’re reading into things.”

“Am I?”

You met his gaze this time. Steady, sharp. “You think I care who you spend time with? That I’m sitting around counting days between messages or missions or—”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No. But you implied it.”

The silence thickened. This wasn’t about Lira. Not really. You weren’t even sure what it was about anymore, only that something between you had shifted, and neither of you knew how to fix it without tearing it wider.

Cassian looked at you like he wanted to say something. Like he was about to.

And then he did.

“You’re jealous.”

The words landed without drama. No accusation in his tone, just certainty. Like he was stating the weather.

You stared at him, lips parting. “I’m not.”

He laughed, once—soft, almost sad. “You are.”

“I’m not, Cass.”

“You brought her up. You never ask about who I spend time with. Not unless it’s already eating at you.” 

That flicked something deep and ugly in you. “I brought her up because you’ve been weird. Distant.”

“Right. So you’re not jealous. You’re just keeping score.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. The tension stretched taut between you. Then you dropped your gaze, exhaled slow. “Forget it.”

He didn’t push again. Just reached for his glass. 

You picked up your cards.

Neither of you said anything for a while. The only sounds that kept you company were the shuffle of cards, the slow pour of wine, and nervous, too-loud sips. Time slipped by. The room grew darker, the faelights glowing low and warm. You weren’t even playing anymore—just touching the cards to feel something. 

The silence wasn’t empty. It was crowded—every glance you’d avoided, every thought you’d buried, everything unsaid pressing against the edges of the room like it wanted to break through the walls. 

You hadn’t asked about Lira because you cared about Lira. You asked because you didn’t know how to ask about him anymore—about where he went when he left like that, distant and unreadable. About why it felt like you’d been shut out of something you used to live inside. 

You didn’t know what you were to him now. What he was to you. 

The rules had been clear once. Friends. That was all. A quiet agreement, never spoken aloud, but respected. Even when it hurt. Even when it almost didn’t hold. Especially when it almost didn’t hold. 

But then came the nights you spent longer in his bed than in your own. The mornings in the training ring when he brushed your shoulder like it meant something. And you’d told yourself, over and over, that it didn’t matter. That you didn’t matter. 

“You know,” Cassian said eventually, voice quieter than before, “I almost kissed you last Solstice.”

You blinked. Once. Twice.

You hadn’t expected him to speak—much less say that.

The words sank in slow. Like they’d been waiting, buried under everything else, and had finally clawed their way out.

“…Why?” you asked, voice rough.

Cassian didn’t look at you at first. He leaned back in his chair, thumb running along the rim of his glass. “You looked at me like you wanted me to.”

A pause. “And I did. Gods, I did.”

Another pause, heavier this time. “But you were pulling away. I thought if I kissed you, I’d lose you for good.”

Your pulse stuttered. The worst part was—you understood. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“I meant,” you shifted in your seat, “why would you tell me that?”

Cassian looked at you then. Really looked. His eyes, usually grounded and sharp, softened—the usual confident edge was gone, replaced by a kind of quiet desperation that made your breath catch. “Because I’m tired of pretending none of it mattered.”

You stared at him, breath catching. Then, sharper: “Well maybe you should’ve kept pretending.”

His brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s not like it would’ve meant anything.”

Cassian’s jaw flexed. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

He gestured toward you—vague, frustrated. “Pretend none of it mattered.”

You let out a breathy, bitter laugh. “You’re one to talk.”

“I told you—”

“Doesn’t matter.” You grabbed another card. “Anyway, it’s not like you’re the only one with… options.”

That made him pause. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrugged, eyes fixed on the deck. “Just that I’ve been… seeing someone. Kind of. Talking, more like.”

Silence.

You didn’t dare look up.

Cassian’s voice was quieter now. “Who?”

You shuffled the cards, aimless. “Nobody serious.”

He waited. Then, slower: “What’s his name?”

You blinked hard. Your throat felt tight. “Does it matter?”

He didn’t respond.

You weren’t sure what made you say it. Maybe the wine. Maybe the ache. Maybe the fact that if you admitted how badly you still wanted him, something in you would split open.

So instead, you lied.

“Azriel.”

Cassian’s head lifted. His entire body went still.

Then—calm. Too calm. “Azriel.”

You nodded, eyes locked on your cards. “It’s recent.”

“Since when?”

You hesitated. “A couple weeks.”

“Does he know we—” He stopped himself. “Forget it.”

“No,” you said. “Say it.”

Cassian’s voice dropped, darker. “Does he know what we were?”

You didn��t answer. Couldn’t.

He leaned forward, forearms braced on the table. “Why him?”

You met his gaze. You could see the flicker behind his eyes—hurt, maybe. Anger. Worse: understanding.

“Why not him?” you said, sharper than intended.

He let out a breath. That kind of sound people make when they’re trying not to yell.

Then: “You’re lying.”

Your heart skipped. “I’m not.”

“You are. You’ve never looked at Azriel like that.”

You lifted your chin. “Maybe you just never noticed.”

“I notice everything when it comes to you.”

You stared at each other across the table. Cards forgotten. Wine going warm. The years between you finally catching flame.

And he said it again, softer this time. “You’re lying.”

Your lip trembled. You tried to smile. “Does it make a difference?”

Cassian’s voice was low. “Yes.”

You swallowed. “Why?”

“I told you,” he said quietly. “I almost kissed you last Solstice.”

Then, his voice more rough around the edges: “You have no idea how many times I didn’t. How many nights I held back because of that conversation the last time we—”

“Don’t do that. Don’t turn this on me like I’m the one making things complicated.”

“You are making things complicated.” His jaw clenched, eyes hardening. “You act like I’m the one who changed, but you’re the one who started drawing the line.”

“I had to,” you snapped. “Because you wouldn’t say anything. You never say anything.”

“How could I? Every time I got too close, you pulled back!”

“Because you were the first to act like it didn’t mean anything! Like it was just fun! Like all of it was just—” You stopped yourself short, breath catching.

Cassian’s jaw tightened. “You told me it didn’t mean anything.”

“And you believed me?”

His mouth opened. Closed. “You made it clear.”

“You didn’t even try. You let me do all the deciding. You just sat there and let it happen.”

“What the fuck was I supposed to say?” That muscle in his jaw twitched again. Then the words tore out of him—louder than he meant, like he hadn’t planned to say them at all. “That I wanted you? That I’ve always wanted you?”

You froze.

Cassian stepped closer, his voice rough now. “You set the rules. Friends. Just friends. You smiled like it didn’t completely fucking gut you, and I went along with it because I thought—gods, I thought that was better than losing you.”

Your breath caught. “You never said that.”

“I didn’t think I was allowed to.”

You met his eyes, fury and heartbreak colliding somewhere in your chest. The silence wasn’t sharp anymore. Just hollow.

Cassian looked at you like he was still trying to understand what just happened. Or maybe trying not to.

You stepped back before he could try again.

It wasn’t a dramatic exit. No slammed doors, no flying footsteps. Just space—a slow, aching retreat toward the hallway. Toward air. Distance. Anything else.

“Don’t,” he said softly.

You paused, one hand brushing the doorframe.

“Don’t walk away. Not this time.”

Your pulse was a war drum. 

“Please.”

You turned back toward him. “And why shouldn’t I?”

Cassian crossed the room like it cost him something. No armor. No grin to soften it. Just him, raw and unguarded, stopping inches from you.

“I didn’t choose her,” he said. “Or anyone else.”

You couldn’t look at him. “You didn’t choose me, either.”

He didn’t argue. Just stepped in closer, waiting for you to flinch. You didn’t.

“I tried to stay where you put me,” he murmured. “Tried to be what you needed.”

“I needed you to say something.”

“I’m saying it now.”

That was the moment. Not loud. Not grand. Just close. 

His hand lifted, hovered by your cheek—hesitating.

You leaned in before he could finish the thought.

The kiss wasn’t careful. It was never going to be. 

It was too much, and not enough, and far, far too late. It tasted like frustration and wine, like relief and grief and every almost you’d left hanging between you.

His hands found your waist, your jaw. Yours tangled in the front of his shirt. The heat of him was overwhelming—every breath, every touch, every stifled sound pressed between you. You kissed him like you’d been starving for it—because you were. And he kissed you like he’d never forgive himself for waiting this long—because he wouldn’t. 

Neither of you pulled back. Not right away. Not until the shaking in your hands started to ease, until the desperation gave way to something softer, steadier. 

When you finally did part, you were both breathing like you’d just run out of a storm.

Cassian rested his forehead to yours. “So… do we ruin everything now, or later?”

You huffed something like a laugh. “That depends. Are you staying?”

“Only if you ask.”

You didn’t say anything. Just took his hand and turned toward your room.

[mainstreamangel]

hey! i would love an angel reese fic where you two are best friends and have crushes on each other. a sweet love confession would be so cute after one of angels games!

MEBOUNDED TO YOU

summary: when you get hard fouled, angel checks on you—a harsh reality crashes through about her feelings and the honesty towards them.

warning(s): none

a/n: you’re gonna be a player. PUT ME IN COACH!!

masterlist / chicago locker room

“[last name] going for the 3.. and a whistle blown—foul called on aliyah boston.”

you groan at the impact and lay there staring at the bright lights. you can hear the footsteps of your best friend, angel reese. you had met her in college and both got drafted to the chicago sky.

you had seen many friends split due to the draft and you thanked whatever higher power there was that you could play on the same team—on the official roster together.

“you ok?” angel asks, extending a hand to help you up.

“tell her to stop pushing me.”

“ok, HEY-“

you jerked your body up so fast, wincing slightly at your ankle. “angel don’t.” you laughed.

angel just smiled and patted your behind as you get ready for free-throws. you needed to get into free-throw space to put your team anywhere close to a closable gap.

angel helped you limp off the court and helped you sit down on the bench.

“are you sure you’re okay?” she asked tossing a bag of ice onto your bare thighs.

you yelp at the cold sensation and quickly shift the bag onto your ankle.

“yes angie i’m fine.” you laugh.

angel smiles at your little nickname. the same one you’ve been using all these years.

“what’re you staring at?” you poorly throw a towel towards angel’s face.

“nothing.” she laughs, taking a seat next to you on the bench.

“vandersloot checking in for chicago sky. with 4:52 left in the final quarter, chicago is down by 4. shot clock 12.”

you perk up. “COURTNEY ON THE COURT!!!” courtney shakes her head and positions herself where she was told.

you tip your head back and sigh. coach benched you for the remaining of the match so you were starting to wind down (intentionally and unintentionally).

“can’t wait to go home and watch white chicks.” you sighed.

it was a tradition to watch white chicks on fridays. dated back to when you first convinced angel to hang out outside of basketball.

“ribs or are you cooking?” she asked. she knew the answer but it was fun to pretend otherwise.

“ribs.” you both said in sync.

you both giggled and turned your attention back to the game. angel could tell you were getting tired and when you were tired you started slowly shutting your brain off.

she shifted closer and guided your head onto her shoulder. saying nothing you mindlessly watched as the condensation mixed with your sweat, dripping down to your foot.

“..”

“how’s-“

“i’m fine.” you slurred.

angel rolled her eyes playfully and cheered on her teammates while you closed your eyes to avoid the bright light.

“22 seconds left, chicago has the ball.”

you squint your eyes watching the blurs of movement you call your teammates.

“angel?”

“hm?”

you were pretty tired and you’re not sure if you believed you were real but you decided now or never.

“i wanna win.”

“me too..?” angel turned to you skeptically.

“i meant i wanna win with you. i haven’t been honest with my feelings cause i was scared we couldn’t go anywhere further than just best friends.”

angel tenses.

“are you saying?”

“i love you.”

there was silence amongst you in contrast to the crowd erupting at the fever win.

“don’t say anything if it’s not in my favour because-“

“i like you too. i think.”

you peek one open open again.

“you think.?”

“i think when i worry about you more than our other teammates it means more than just a close bond through time. i think our bond is more emotional.”

“i think i’m more emotional.”

your lips curve up a bit to match hers and you lean in and kiss her cheek (that doesn’t go unnoticed by the cameras or the media).

you let your lips linger on her skin before putting your head back on her shoulder, lazily clapping for the fever’s win.

angelreese5

[picture of angel at her vanity taking off her makeup with your arms around her neck kissing her temple]

Liked by your.user, caitlinclark22, haileyvanlith, and 25.2k others.

your.user: mebounded to you 💕

↳ angelreese5: coin it!!

user1: I KNEW IT

user2: angel whats ur makeup routine

user3: [name] AND ANGEL ARE HARDLAUNCHINGGG AND AFTER A LOSS TOO???

↳ your.user: losing isn’t real

↳ angelreese5: get off ur phone and pay attention 2 the movie

↳ user3: HIIII I LOVE U GUYS SM

[cxvii666]

“charge it to the game”

monday 09:47

motive; somewhere behind the engineering building. uni stress got me so bad i started vaping again, please save me watermelon ice 800puffs and white monster.

“vape clouds and procrastination gods”

📎 ⋆ 🗒️ ⋆ 📐 ⋆ 🖇️

you realise it when you’re brushing your teeth.

not the deadline — the date.

you check the syllabus with a mouth full of toothpaste and nearly drop your phone when you see it.

submission: 10:30am.

fuck.

you’ve done half of it — maybe. somewhere in the depths of your sketchbook and half-formed memory. but last night turned into a cash grab shift: someone cancelled their slot on the freelance site and you took it before you could talk yourself out of it. 70 bucks for a technical lineart layout with a 12-hour turnaround?

duh. obviously you took it.

so now it’s morning. the birds are chirping. and you’re ripping something watermelon flavoured (green grape melon? watermelon pineapple something?) behind the engineering building with two white monsters on the table beside you, like you’re starring in a cautionary tale about hustle culture.

your laptop’s open. your sketchbook’s open. your highlighter’s dry. your fingers are flying. you are in the zone — 70% panic, 30% caffeine, 100% genius. equations scribbled on the side margins. quick circuit visuals you’ll clean up later. every few minutes you pause to suck on your vape and stare into the abyss, then type faster.

you are stress incarnate.

but you’re killing it. obviously.

the morning sun is too bright. your hoodie is too hot. your nose is running for no reason and your knee keeps bouncing like it’s got a life of its own.

and that’s the moment katsuki finds you.

“you look like shit,” he says, by way of greeting.

you don’t look up. “good morning to you too, sunshine.”

he snorts.

he’s got a coffee in one hand and a bagel in the other. kirishima is beside him, waving, smile bright and warm like he hasn’t just walked into chaos personified.

katsuki squints at your vape in disgust. “why the fuck are you vaping?”

“can you hop off my dick for two seconds,” you snap, not looking up, “and let me submit this before i pass away.”

there’s a long pause. then a low whistle.

“…yo,” kirishima says, “she’s kinda scary.”

you do look up at that. your bun is lopsided. your eyes are red. your thumbnail is ink-stained. you’re wearing a hoodie that’s definitely not yours and a tote bag that says don’t talk to me unless it’s about money in pink sparkly letters.

“i’m delightful,” you say flatly. “i’m just under the gun.”

katsuki leans over your shoulder, eyes scanning your screen. he doesn’t say anything at first — just scrolls a little, clicks through the circuit diagrams, checks the model exports.

“…you did all this now?” he finally says.

you click your vape. inhale. exhale. “started at 7:40.”

he blinks. once. then again.

kirishima peeks around him. “wait, so like… you’re smart smart.”

you deadpan: “nah, i just make things look hard so people think i’m talented.”

he laughs, big and real.

katsuki rolls his eyes.

you nudge katsuki with your elbow. “i like this one. you should keep him.”

“not a dog,” kirishima adds, still laughing.

“not not a dog,” you mutter, squinting at your sketch.

katsuki grabs one of your monsters and drinks it without asking.

you scowl. “rude.”

he shrugs. “you’ve already had one. you’ll combust.”

you both fall quiet while you hit your vape again and slam the rest of your write-up into coherent form. five minutes pass. then ten. by the time you hit submit, you’ve got a thin layer of sweat on your upper lip and your right wrist is screaming.

but you made it.

you close the laptop. sit back. exhale.

“…i am the strongest,” you say, to no one in particular.

katsuki tosses the empty can into the bin. “you’re the stupidest.”

but his voice is quiet. not mean. kind of… impressed.

“bitch, that's not even a real word.”

“look it up.”

kirishima elbows him. “you just don’t like that she’s faster than you.”

you smirk. “he’ll survive. i’m teaching him humility.”

katsuki glares. you grin.

[hoardlikegoldenirises]

The Psykopomp — Two versions, because I couldn't decide if she should have a real fencing mask for the second costume or if it should just be illusory over the respirator for both...

Bunch of closeups (and notes) under the cut:

This is the Main Design™ — What she settles on, what she uses the most, and what defines her image as a "supervillain" (lol)

And since she's an illusionist, I ditched my usual rules for practicality and went with what looked cool. Equal parts Kylie Minogue and Raven from Teen Titans.

Which means thigh high leather boots with 4 inch heels.

Also leaning into some Mercury imagery with this. I don't even remember why I decided this character should have vague Mercurial theming; I'm pretty sure I came up with the name first and then went on wikipedia looking for various psychopomps, though technically Scratch is more of a psychopomp than the self-styled Psykopomp since their abilities are actually like, directly related to souls, life and death. Lilith's power is mostly the manipulation of the nervous system, though this does allow her to manipulate and control dreams as well as potentially cause death by like... paralyzing the heart or something. So she's not totally off-base, just not quite what you'd think of for a character with psychopompic theming.

When I was coloring this I was fiddling around with glitter layers and stuff. I went through all the layer effects just to see what they would do to the glitter and this effect with divide actually looks really cool. I almost used it but ultimately decided to keep it a fairly simple metallic leather-look like originally intended

Also the symbol for Mercury and the symbol for Venus are incredibly similar (and both can be with or without crossbar) which for a trans female character I was like, yeah okay. I might as well lean into it 😂

Though obviously I went for the un-crossed version, so it's probably slightly less on-the-nose obvious but I think it looks cleaner.

Also since I originally set out with the notion of making the mask real in the second costume, I designed it as if it were, with a leather hood part based off of, obviously, fencing masks, though the lace-up back is... um... influenced by a certain genre of leather hoods, let's say...

(yes, she is a domme)

Anyway masculine version:

In my character notes I had originally noted that I wanted the mask to be black with a gold symbol, because I thought it would look cool, and I was right but ultimately I felt that the gold mask with black symbol fit the look better, but it turns out that when a character has multiple costume changes that lets you use both ideas! lol

Anyway the masculine one kind of leans a little more Greco-Roman vibes (also kind of Robin Hood tbh)

And naturally the winged boots are still dramatic and obvious, just much less girly.

Lilith is actually very into retro fashion and is in a neo-disco band so like, honestly, looking kind of like a mid-century Hollywood extra is fitting lol

As far as what's underneath the glamorous illusions:

This is Lilith after already having been on estrogen for a year, which I realized halfway through the pic was like — what about the 12 months between her new costume and her new tits 😂 Just imagine the twinky reedy bod slowly turning into the lean but toned bod with curves.

Also worth noting that while she is glamored to have like, a slightly more rockin' body, what's underneath isn't that far off once she's out and established. Though in the interim it is very different because the Psykopomp transitions before Lilith does LOL so there is a brief period of time where this bombshell is hiding a skinny, gangly twink. But she's exploring her identity etc.

Timeline is honestly still not determined, as with most things in Scratchverse continuity... Right now I have it so that TJ meets the Sikopomp, then like 4 months later the Psykopomp becomes a hot babe, then another 2 months later (6 after meeting TJ) Lilith comes out in her civilian life and starts transitioning. And then obviously what I drew is Lilith like... a year later...?

Her posture is also better after transitioning but that's because she starts like... getting in shape. Anyway. Pre-E twink is still insecure etc.

Anyway underneath the masculine glamor I went vaguely sportswear-inspired, as well as including the elastomeric respirator, but also... steel mesh safety goggles are a real thing?! I had been uncertain because Lilith wears glasses which would have made the costume and civilian versions too easy to connect as the same person, but mesh safety goggles designed to fit over glasses solved my entire problem lol

see? too recognizable lol

Anyway here's a version of the post-transition non-glamored costume where she has the respirator on instead of a real fencing mask. Like I said, I couldn't decide. God she looks like a TF2 character— anyway, the respirator is arguably necessary and is at minimum probably in the fanny pack because TJ's alchemical/chemical elemental powers mean that he sometimes produces... well. chemicals. To be fair to TJ, he's usually careful not to create toxic gases or byproducts that are difficult for the general public to contain or deal with because he doesn't want to hurt anyone but sometimes shit happens and while TJ may be passively immune or resistant to those chemicals, other people... aren't.

I think a fun contrast in their powers is that Lilith can make it so you don't process the smell of something, by manipulating your nervous system, but whatever particles make that smell up still exist, and if she leaves or turns the illusion off, the smell is still there.

TJ, once he learns he can do more than just blow shit up, can actually purify the air directly by converting the elements into a breathable mix, and this stays true if he leaves or loses consciousness or whatever.

anyway underneath the glamor Lilith is wearing gold winged Adidas:

I was gonna have her wearing Docs in the post -transition one but I think it makes more sense for her to keep the winged sneakers, and I'll put her in the boots in the civilian drawings.

fanny pack 👍

I drew her with white and black filters obviously, because most respirators for spray painting and painting in general that I founded tended to be white with black on the shell... and she starts out as basically a petty nuisance with a spray can.

But like I mentioned, TJ works with chemical elements, and particularly explosive reactions (thus "relative effectiveness factor"). Some of these are "pure" reactions but some of them, or the ones that damage other structures, can create various gases and byproducts, so I went for the magenta and olive filters as the most logical and wide-ranging coverage. Good to cover organic gases, ammonia and its byproducts and oils and stuff.

Bonus:

Slapped REfactor into a cleaned up lineup just to show the contrast in their costumes. I put him in the middle but really he should probably be... all the way on the right side because Lilith gets her main costume at least a few months before TJ does. TJ doesn't get a costume until after he... *checks notes* ...gets arrested for reckless endangerment. So while the Psykopomp has that red tunic and shit TJ is walking around in a hoodie and a pair of ballistic goggles lol

this art is a couple years old, but like. this. Lilith is out here like, working it, being dramatic, with flair. And the guy stopping her is some dude in a Looney Tunes t-shirt. lmao.

[euno11a]

HEYYYYY SO I SAW YOU WAS DOING REQUESTS FOR KPOP DEMON HUNTERS

I loved the movie but the ending wasn’t what I was expecting and wanting😔

By any chance could you do the Saja boys in a poly relationship with reader? And separately the girls poly with reader?

I literally think it would be so much fun to have movie nights lmao and pull pranks on each other lmao😭💀

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ The “Current Boyfriend” prank on Jinu⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

———————————

Rehearsal had just ended, and the studio air was thick with leftover energy and heat. The mirrors were fogged, the sound system still humming with static, and Jinu—sweaty, flushed, and stunning—was casually sipping water near the doorway.

You pulled out your phone, pretending to check something. Really, you were framing the shot.

He looked over, brows raised. “Filming?”

You smiled. “Just something quick for the fans. Come here.”

He didn’t hesitate—just walked over, still catching his breath from that final run-through, his dark shirt clinging to his back. When he stood beside you, he leaned in slightly, effortlessly falling into idol mode: half-smile, perfect angle, soft gaze.

You started recording.

“Hey guys,” you said sweetly to the camera, smiling like it was any other fan update. “Just wanted to check in, rehearsal’s over—everyone’s tired, sweaty, gorgeous.”

You turned the camera slightly, panning over to Jinu.

“I’m here with my current boyfriend!”

You kept going like it was nothing, turning the camera back to yourself. “Anyway, we’re probably gonna grab food and chill for a bit—”

Behind you, Jinu tilted his head slightly.

“…What?”

You stopped.

“…What?” you echoed innocently, still filming.

He squinted. “Did you just say current boyfriend?”

You bit back a smile. “Yeah. Like, my boyfriend right now. In this moment.”

His eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in that dangerous, calm way Jinu did when he was calculating whether to flirt with you or mildly destroy your entire soul.

“You’ve had others lined up?”

You laughed, finally breaking. “It’s a trend! I was joking!”

He took the phone gently, still in frame, still smiling for the camera like nothing was wrong—but the glint in his eye had shifted.

“You heard her,” he said to the camera. “Apparently, I’m just a placeholder.”

“Jinu—”

He leaned in, eyes never leaving the lens.

“Just so everyone’s clear, I’m not going anywhere. So if I’m the ‘current,’ I plan on being the permanent upgrade.”

He stopped recording.

You stared at him.

“Babe, it was a trend—”

He handed your phone back with a knowing smile. “Post it.”

“…You’re not mad?”

“No,” he said smoothly, grabbing his bag. “But you’re paying for dinner.”

————————————————

@ sajaboysimps: “Current boyfriend” and he paused like a villain origin story. 😭😭😭

@ jinusjawline: She: “I’m with my current boyfriend!” Jinu: 🧍‍♂️❓

@ idolatemyheart: When he said “permanent upgrade” I blacked out.

@ softlaunchgonewrong: The way she kept talking like he wasn’t recalculating the entire relationship 💀💀💀

@ kpopdemonkween: Jinu really said “I’m calm but I will become your husband if you keep playing.” 💍🕶️

———————————

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ The “i forgot our anniversary ” prank on Baby⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

You had one goal: crack Baby’s fake-cool exterior.

The date was circled on your calendar in pink highlighter and glittery hearts — today marked your six months together. A fact you hadn’t forgotten. Not even close. You had the gift hidden, dinner planned, and a playlist queued.

But he didn’t know that.

So naturally… you decided to mess with him.

You strolled into the practice room like it was any other day, sipping your drink, phone in hand. Baby was lounging in a chair, jacket off, tank top on, towel draped around his neck. Hair tousled. Glistening post-workout glow. Casual heartthrob chaos.

“Hey,” he said, smiling without meaning to — one of those real ones, the rare kind.

“Hey,” you replied, completely flat. You sat beside him, scrolling through your phone. “Long day.”

He blinked. “Uh… yeah. Kinda.”

Silence.

He waited.

You offered him a sip of your drink. No affection. No flirt. No sparkle.

He narrowed his eyes. “You okay?”

“Mmhmm.”

He leaned in slightly. “You sure? You're being weird.”

You shrugged. “I’m fine.”

You saw it hit him — subtle but real. A flicker of confusion in his eyes. He looked away, biting the inside of his cheek like he was trying to solve a math equation with emotions.

Then… his voice dropped, quieter.

“Did I… do something?”

You glanced at him, feigning confusion. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, then reached into his jacket pocket — pulling out a tiny velvet box.

Your breath caught. Wait what.

He opened it slowly: a simple silver ring on a thin chain.

“I know we said we weren’t doing anything big for the six-month thing,” he said, eyes still down, “but I just… I saw this and thought of you. You like little things that feel permanent.”

Your mouth parted, guilt instantly slamming you in the chest.

He looked up. “Unless… you didn’t remember. Which is fine, seriously. I didn’t expect—"

“Wait, wait, wait—” you cut in, grabbing his hand. “It’s a prank. It was a prank. I remembered. I super remembered.”

His eyes widened. “You what.”

“I was trying to get a reaction out of you,” you admitted, laughing nervously. “You always play it so cool. I thought you’d be smug and say something like, ‘Guess who didn’t forget?’ and then I’d laugh and reveal the real gift and—oh my god you bought me jewelry.”

He stared at you. “You absolute gremlin.”

You reached into your bag and pulled out a box of your own, practically shoving it into his chest. “Here. Yours. Real. Not a prank.”

He opened it to find a silver bracelet, etched with the coordinates of where you first met.

He blinked slowly.

“…You’re disgusting,” he said, voice soft.

“You love it.”

He exhaled hard — then, finally, smiled for real. That wide, boyish grin he tried to hide behind eyeliner and sarcasm. His ears were bright red.

“You seriously had me spiraling,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Because you’re soft,” you teased.

He shot you a look. “No, I’m cool. I’m smooth. I’m mysterious.”

“You were ten seconds from emotional collapse.”

He leaned closer, bumping his forehead to yours. “And you love that.”

You smiled, lips brushing his. “I really do.”

——————————

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ The “Tiny Meal” prank on Romance⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The morning sunlight filtered softly through the paper screens of the dorm room, painting golden lines across the hardwood floor. The air was still, save for the slow, even breaths of Romance beside you—hair mussed from sleep, lashes casting gentle shadows over his cheekbones.

You tiptoed out of the futon with the kind of stealth usually reserved for a trained demon hunter. You had a plan. A dumb, tiny, hilarious plan. But it was your plan, and you knew he’d either love it… or mock you for it for weeks.

You tiptoed into the kitchen, stifling a giggle. On the counter: a thimble-sized teacup. A miniature plate. A fork no bigger than your pinky nail. It had taken you a whole hour to prep these ridiculous little dishes the night before. A tiny egg (quail, of course), a single bite of toast, and a speck of strawberry jam.

All perfectly arranged on the world’s tiniest breakfast tray.

As you walked back into the room balancing the tray, you heard the soft shuffle of sheets. His voice, low and drowsy, called out:

"Mmnh... [Your Name]? Where’d you go…?"

You knelt beside the futon, holding out the tiny tray like a prize. “Good morning, sunshine,” you said, biting back a grin. “I made you breakfast.”

He blinked sleepily, then squinted at the tray. A beat of silence. Then—

“…What the hell is that?” His voice cracked mid-laugh.

You giggled. “Your morning meal, brave hunter. Protein, carbs, love. All in one centimeter.”

He sat up, the blanket falling to his lap, revealing the curve of his collarbone and the sleepy slope of his shoulders. Hair sticking up wildly, he reached out one elegant finger to poke the mini toast.

“This is… is this even edible?”

You nodded solemnly. “I toasted that piece with my own hands. Used tweezers.”

A wide grin broke across his face. That lazy, lopsided one that always made your stomach flip. “You’re unbelievable.”

Then, with exaggerated seriousness, he picked up the miniature fork between his thumb and forefinger, tried to stab the tiny egg—and immediately dropped it back onto the tray.

“I can’t do this. I’m going to starve.”

You smirked, reaching behind you and pulling out a second tray—the real breakfast, full-sized and warm.

He laughed so hard he had to bury his face in your neck. “You’re evil,” he mumbled against your skin, arms wrapping around your waist.

“You love it,” you teased, letting your fingers slide through his hair.

He leaned back to look at you, his eyes still crinkled with laughter but softening into something tender. “I really do.”

And then, with the tiniest fork in hand, he fed you the equally tiny toast piece.

“For love. And carbs,” he whispered dramatically

———————————

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ The “ignoring my boyfriend” prank on Mystery⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The moment you stepped into the training room, you could feel his eyes on you.

Mystery was already there, like always — perched casually on the window ledge, his black hoodie draped over his shoulder, sword leaning against the wall behind him. His arms were crossed, expression unreadable. He didn’t speak. He never did first.

Perfect.

You walked right past him without a word.

He watched you. Silent. Still. Barely blinking.

You pulled out your phone, scrolling with exaggerated focus. Inside, you were screaming. You knew he hated being ignored. Not in the way a normal boyfriend might pout or whine — no, Mystery just went quiet. Colder. Like ice packing itself around him.

It was part of why the prank was so fun... and a little dangerous.

He finally moved. Just one step.

“Did I do something?” he asked, voice low and distant, like a fog rolling across a lake.

You didn’t look up. Instead, you texted no one. Blinked blankly at the wall. Bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from cracking.

A long pause.

He tilted his head slightly, jaw tight. “...You’re not going to speak to me?”

You didn’t respond. Not even a shrug.

He stared at you for a few seconds longer. Then without a word, he turned and walked out of the room. No sound, no heavy footsteps — just vanished like smoke into the hall.

Your heart dropped.

“Mystery—!” you called after him, breaking character. You chased him down the corridor, nearly stumbling over your own feet.

You found him just outside the practice hall, his back to you, eyes shadowed under his bangs.

“I was joking!” you said breathlessly. “It was a prank. The ‘ignoring my boyfriend’ prank. You weren’t actually—wait, were you mad?”

He turned slowly, expression as calm as ever. But there was something just behind it — not anger, not even hurt, but a kind of distance. The kind that made your chest tighten.

“I wasn’t mad,” he said quietly. “I just figured you wanted space. So I gave it to you.”

Oof.

You stepped closer, reaching for his sleeve. “I didn’t mean to push you away. I just thought it’d be funny. You’re always so… unreadable. I wanted to see if you’d crack.”

His lips twitched — the smallest hint of a smirk. “So you were testing me?”

“Maybe a little.”

He finally turned to face you fully. “You didn’t get much of a reaction.”

“No,” you admitted. “But somehow, that made it worse.”

He stepped into your space, his voice a soft hush. “You want a reaction now?”

You nodded, breath catching.

Without warning, his hand cupped your chin gently, tilting your face toward his. His lips brushed yours, light as falling ash — but the intent behind it was unmistakable. Intense. Possessive in that quiet way only Mystery could pull off.

He pulled back just enough to whisper:

“Don’t ignore me again. I don’t like it.”

You blinked up at him, stunned.

Then he added, deadpan: “But if you do… make sure the next prank includes kissing.”

—————————

˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ The “I don’t think I like muscles anymore” prank on Abs⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

a/n: I just added the rest of the Saja Boys!!

[sixeyesonathiel]

finally birthing male manipulator satoru with girl failure reader wwww

gojo satoru was used to getting what he wanted.

and he wanted you.

not in some deep, profound way—god, no. not at first. it started as a game. a challenge. a passing amusement that piqued his interest one random thursday morning when you stammered out an apology after bumping into his desk, cheeks flushed, eyes wide. he watched you trip over your own words, clutch your pen like a lifeline, and tuck your legs up onto the chair like you could shrink out of existence if you tried hard enough.

prime target. textbook girlfailure behavior. he could spot it from a mile away.

this was supposed to be easy.

he’d start small. nothing too intense. just a little white knight routine—softboy edition. give you just enough attention to get you spinning. love-bomb in casual doses. trauma-dump-lite over late-night fries. maybe let his voice go quiet and vulnerable one evening and say, “you remind me of someone i cared about.” glance away, bite his lip, look just the right amount of broken. play the victim just enough to make you feel like you had to fix him.

he’d make you think he saw you. that he understood you.

except you, with your messy hair and oversized hoodie sleeves pulled over twitchy fingers, dodged every single one of his perfectly curated attempts like your avoidant attachment style was running military-grade defense protocols.

“you okay, sweetheart?” he asked one afternoon, leaning a little too close to your desk, silver hair slightly tousled, reading glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, his voice low and silky. lips curved into a smile that’d made stronger girls fold. “you looked a little sad today. i worry about you sometimes.”

you blinked up at him, lashes fluttering like you couldn’t believe he was talking to you. your throat worked around a half-swallowed gulp. then your face shifted. shutters slammed down. you forced a grin, lopsided and sharp around the edges.

“yeah, i’m just like this. it’s seasonal depression, but, y’know… year-round. i’m fine.”

you said it so matter-of-factly. like he was asking about the weather.

satoru froze, his hand briefly twitching near his glasses as he pushed them up slowly, searching for meaning in a world that had suddenly gone sideways.

what the actual hell.

okay. maybe you needed more.

he started sitting next to you in class. always coincidentally. elbows brushing, knees knocking. his thigh warm where it grazed yours. he sent you memes at 1:37 a.m. with captions like “us fr?” and “ur literally me,” despite you barely replying to half of them. he offered his jacket when the AC kicked on and watched the way you hesitated, blushed, and then said, “i run on spite, not warmth.”

and then, the pièce de résistance:

“i just feel like… you’re different,” he said one evening outside the library. the campus was quiet, sky the kind of inky navy that made everything feel more cinematic. he stood with hands stuffed into his hoodie pocket, a calculated slouch, glasses slightly askew, hair falling across his forehead. his voice dipped low, coaxing. “everyone else is so fake. but you? you’re real. you’ve got this… broken, beautiful thing going on.”

you tilted your head. stared. then squinted at him like he was a suspiciously priced antique. “did you get that line off tiktok?”

he flinched.

bro.

he ran a hand through his hair. a slow, dramatic drag of fingers. girls walking by giggled. he didn’t look up. he was malfunctioning.

he was trying. actually trying. not just running a script. not just playing games. he was pulling every page from the softboy manipulator playbook and rewriting it with style. the gaslight-gatekeep-girlboss starter pack, optimized for 2025.

and still. you met his carefully calculated charm with self-deprecating jokes, sarcasm, and the kind of deadpan delivery that made him question if he was losing it.

“you should save that line for someone without warranty issues,” you said, staring at him with a crooked little smile. “i come pre-broken.”

he left that encounter walking in slow motion, hoodie sleeves dragged over his hands, mouth set in a pout. if a sad indie movie montage started playing around him, he wouldn’t have questioned it.

here’s the thing, though: you liked him.

it was obvious.

he saw it in the way your gaze flickered to his mouth when he talked. the way your fingers curled tight around your notebook when he leaned in too close. the way your breath hitched just slightly when he used your name in a sentence. you were down bad.

but you were also your own worst enemy.

years of romantic misfires and silent yearning had turned you into a master of avoidance. you would rather make a joke about your emotional damage than let someone touch your heart. rather ghost your feelings than face them.

and it was frying his entire nervous system.

one night, 2:14 a.m., satoru lay on his bed staring at your latest post: a blurry picture of your cat with the caption “me.” it had two likes.

he stared at it longer than any man should. took a screenshot. set it as his lock screen for five minutes. unironically laughed.

then groaned and stuffed his face into his pillow.

“no,” he muttered. “no. she’s the one who canceled our group study session with ‘sorry i’m busy disappointing my ancestors.’”

and yet.

he kept thinking about the way your voice dropped to a whisper when you didn’t think anyone was listening. the way you fiddled with your sleeves when you were nervous. how you always sat at the edge of a group like you weren’t sure you belonged there.

you never clung to him. never fed into his savior complex. never let him be the one who "fixed" you.

and for some reason, that made him want to try harder.

not because it was a game anymore. because… well. because you were infuriating. weird. unpredictable. not like the others. god, maybe you were even kind of funny.

whatever. it wasn’t that deep.

gojo satoru: male manipulator dodged by the one girl who wanted him back… just enough to sabotage it.

and now he’s the one thinking way too hard about someone who won’t even sit next to him two days in a row.

he doesn’t like you.

he just… finds you interesting.

that’s all.

shut up.

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ YES, I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND, AND YES, SHE'S REAL! ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ streamer!au: what happens when your gamer boyfriend brings you on-screen for the first time?

contents: fem!reader. use of she/her pronouns + reader is referred to as gojo's girlfriend. toji slander bcs he deserves it.

author's note: everyone welcome streamer!gojo to the world! he'll be here for a while...

"oh, please," satoru laughs, leaning back and grinning at the screen in front of him. he tosses his hair, but it falls back into his eyes just seconds later. "no way you guys all thought i would lose that one. c'mon, have some faith in me!"

you watch satoru reply to the hundreds of comments lighting up the side of his monitor, smiling endearingly at the way he laughs at some and practically chortles at others.

it was only after the two of you started dating that satoru disclosed his streaming hobby, and to your surprise, he was pretty popular. thousands of people tuned in to watch him play some game or another every night, and well, it paid better than you'd expect.

satoru whistles, hands resting comfortably behind his head as a particular question catches his attention. "ah, do i have a girlfriend?" he muses, grinning as he shoots a quick side-glance at you. "yeah," he continues, snorting when what looks like a flurry of no fucking way's flood the chat.

he clicks his tongue disappointedly, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "what, did all eight thousand of you think i couldn't pull? thanks a lot," satoru deadpans, waving his hand and sighing dramatically. "i don't know what any of you mean. i'm a catch!"

you snicker at that, and your laughter only increases when satoru turns and gapes at you. he juts his bottom lip out, face sinking into an adorable pout at he crosses his arms. "even my own girlfriend's laughing at me," he mumbles petulantly. "hmph!"

satoru sticks his tongue out at you childishly, and you blow a kiss back. he pretends to faint before turning back to his monitor, quickly skimming the comments before he gasps. "what do you mean, she probably doesn't exist?!" he sputters, clutching his heart exaggeratedly.

the look on his face is priceless — imagine getting told by thousands of people that one, they think you can't pull, and two, that they don't even believe your significant other exists. naturally, satoru reacts as dramatically as ever. he pretends to ignore everyone in the comments before calling them out individually.

"oh, i see you, toji... fishy-guru," satoru gripes, wagging his finger at his screen. "my girlfriend exists and she's mine! don't even think about it." he pauses, squinting at the chat before correcting himself with an eyeroll. "fushiguro. whatever. either way, she's real and she's all mine."

satoru swivels his chair to face you, making an incredulous face as he gestures to the screen. "can you believe this?" he grumbles, ocean-blue eyes focused on you. "these guys don't think you're real."

you shrug, toying with the corner of his sheets as you smile back at satoru. he's so childish, but that's just one of the many things you adore about him. sure, he's an annoying brat, but at least he's a total sweetheart too.

your boyfriend extends his hand, beckoning you to come over to him. "c'mon, darling," he cooes, scrunching up his nose at you. "wanna help me prove these losers wrong?" satoru mouths please, and the puppy eyes he gives you are cute enough to convince you.

so you hop off his bed, running a hand through your hair as you stroll over to where he sits in front of his monitor. beaming like a kid on his birthday, satoru takes your hand and twines his fingers with yours.

smiling smugly, satoru pulls you on screen and into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. you watch the chat erupt with she's real's and how did he pull a girl like her's and smile, flicking satoru's forehead affectionately.

he ignores the thousands of dumbstruck users in his comments and holds you close to his chest, adjusting his grip on your waist to make his lap as comfortable as possible for you. satoru's adoring eyes are fixed on you, only you, even as his chat explodes.

suguru-geto: haha i already knew

toji-fushiguro: how the fuck did a loser like him pull her?

yuuji-itadori: gojo has a girlfriend??? what did i miss??

[humanjarvis]

blushing bandit: part 2

synopsis: when you caught caleb stealing your panties, you'd told him to ask you for the real thing next time. he disobeys.

tags: sub!caleb, dependent caleb, caleb steals your panties again, begging, facesitting, cunnilingus, handjob with used panties, mean reader, dirty talk, sexual condescension, caleb comes untouched (and then touched), overstimulation, slight aftercare, actions/positions may be anatomically challenged idk how any of that works irl pairing: caleb x reader word count: 2.3k

PART 1

a/n: so much love on the last one. i hope i did y'all justice

You’re not sure why your eyes flutter open in the dead of night until you hear the soft groans echoing down the hallway. 

As you come to your senses, a spark of anger dissolves your lethargy. It’s 2 a.m., you’d had a long day, and you really don’t feel like leaving the comfort of your bed to investigate. Whatever he’s getting up to, he can whimper his way through it alone, you think, nestling deeper into your sheets. 

That is, until you hear the faint grunt of your name float through the air, luring you in with the promise of punishment. 

With a grunt of your own, you swing off the mattress and pad down the hall, shivering from the chilled air prickling through your camisole and shorts. Great, and it’s freezing in here. Another grievance to add to the list.

Braving the cold, you come to a stop a few steps from his room, refusing to be caught in the soft light spilling from the cracked doorway. Two days before, Caleb had been reckless—he’d been moving so hastily to catch a glimpse of you touching yourself that you could’ve spotted his shadow with your eyes closed. 

No, you wouldn’t be so careless. This was your grand entrance to make, after all. You’d bide your time, make him wonder if you’d been serious about your request from earlier—if you cared enough to correct his misbehavior. 

Gingerly, you slink to the opposite wall, deftly avoiding the gleam of his floor lamp as you cross to the other side of the doorframe. 

As you peer through the gap in the doorway, holding your breath in anticipation, you expect to see Caleb disobeying the order you’d given him: to come to you for help, to ask you for the real thing. Check.

You expect to see a pair of your panties pressed against his face as he desperately fucks into his hand. Check.

You expect them to be the pair you’d so graciously gifted him two days prior, when you’d made him admit his thefts. But you’d underestimated him, it seems. No check here. 

Because pressed against Caleb’s nose are the lavender panties you’d worn during your trip to the mall this afternoon. He must’ve stolen them from your hamper while you were in the shower. With a quiet scoff, you slip into the room, your footfalls muted by his crescendoing moans and the soft rubs of skin on skin. 

Leaning against the wall in front of him, you take in his writhing form: his trembling hand molding your panties to his face, his muscled chest heaving through inhales, his swollen cock bobbing with his movements. His scrunched-closed eyes blocking the one view that might be able to get him off.

It’s when he huffs in frustration, clearly no longer able to find release without you present, that Caleb opens his eyes. Annoyed, he squints at the ceiling, then at his lamp, before finally spotting you in his periphery. 

You wear a blank expression as he meets your eyes, and flickers of alarm, then relief, then anticipation cross his face. 

Slowly, haughtily, you uncross your arms and push off the wall, stalking toward his bedside to tower over him with a sneer. As your eyes travel down his body, his length throbs under your gaze, and he moves to reach out to you before thinking better of it. With an unimpressed look that you hope masks your arousal, you quirk an eyebrow. “All that effort to disobey me and you couldn’t even come, huh?” 

His cheeks flush, and he looks down at his chest to escape your scrutiny. “I was almost about to—”

“You were almost about to give up and go to sleep with a leaking cock,” you say plainly, earning a garbled choke from the man beneath you. 

Sighing, you climb onto the mattress. “I distinctly remember telling you,” you start, crawling up his body, “the next time you want to get off, you ask me. You come to me.” 

When you reach his waist, you settle your hips onto his abdomen, resting your palms flat on his chest. “And not only do you choose your hand over my help, you also steal from me again. What do I say to that? What should I do with you?”

He feigns contemplation for a moment before smiling up at you, a coy softness in his gaze. “You could show me,” he whispers, circling his thumb on your hip. “Show me why I should come to you. What I've been missing.” 

You snort. 

“Right, of course,” you humor him, rolling your hips into the hard panes of his waist. “I should punish you by giving you a reward. Why didn’t I think of that?”

His hands, which had come up to grip your ass as you moved, flex in response to your teasing. “No,” he corrects, his breathy voice dropping an octave, “you should punish me by using me. Takin’ all your anger out on my face. I stole from you—woke you up, didn’t listen to you, right? Shouldn’t you use me? Put me in my place?”

You know what he’s doing. You fully know what he’s doing, but his display of docility has made you too wet to care. You’re sure he can feel it seeping through your shorts and onto his abs—that’s probably why his pupils push the purple from his eyes, his breaths coming out in soft pants. 

Lightly digging your nails into his pecs, you lean toward him, your cleavage hanging just before his chin. “Okay, Caleb. I’ll use you.” 

Shifting your weight, you inch further up his body, coming to kneel with your legs on either side of his head. Bracing one hand on the headboard, you start lowering yourself toward him, savoring the way he licks his lips in anticipation. 

But it can’t be that easy. If you’re doing this, you’re doing it your way. 

Halfway to his mouth, you pause, suddenly, casting an exaggerated frown down at his eager face. 

“I’m not sure I really should, though—use you, I mean. You were so ready to disobey me, I’m just not convinced. Maybe I should let you keep licking my panties and rutting into your hand—you seemed happy enough doing it earlier. What do you say?” you taunt, moving to lift off him. 

“No,” Caleb whines, bold hands coming to hold you in place above him.

You still in acquiescence—hell, you weren’t going anywhere, anyway—and tut down at him. “No?” you repeat, a mocking lilt in your voice. “Do you deserve it, then?”

You see the impish glint in his eye the moment he thinks of pulling you down himself, but you challenge him with a much less playful glint of your own. In an instant, his mischief fizzles, and his throat bobs in time with the blush blooming on his cheeks. “I deserve it,” he mumbles, his breath fanning your cunt. “Deserve to be used. By you.”

“Mm, you do? Then why don’t you say ‘please,’ Caleb?”

It’s a beautiful moment, the seconds where he almost breaks in desperation. The man who never asks for anything, suddenly forced to beg for everything. But before he can crumble, his faltering, scarlet face twitching from impatience, he schools his expression, returning to the simpering, pliable version of him that only you could bring out.

“…Use me. Let me have the real thing. Please,” he whispers hoarsely, pressing a light kiss to your inner thigh. 

With a fond, appeased smile, you finally sink down on him, aligning his nose with your clit and lips with your sticky heat. When you press flush against his face, he freezes momentarily, his fingers tightening around your hips as deep inhales flutter across your cunt. 

Recovering, he gives you a reverent, chaste kiss before flicking his tongue out, and as the tang of your flavor—right from the source—spreads across his mouth, an impulse to eat consumes his thoughts. In an instant, he parts your folds with a decisive lick, swirling his tongue to taste every part of you he can reach. 

As he explores you in warm, dutiful strokes, you thread your fingers in his hair, tugging up to bump his nose against your clit. When he feels the twitching bud, he pauses to give it an open-mouthed kiss before diving back between your folds. 

“Aw, look at you,” you giggle. “Isn’t this so much better? Imagine how much time we could’ve saved if you’d come to me earlier.” 

At your words, his lips release you with a lewd smack before latching back on with fervor. 

Emboldened by his encouragement, you tighten your hold on his hair and pull him to you, rolling your cunt against his face in a steady grind. Moaning into you at the friction, he bucks his hips involuntarily, and you grin down at him. “This fits you, don’t you think? Being used?” 

Humming against you in agreement, he burrows deeper between your legs, eyes screwed shut in concentration. 

“Eyes on me,” you order, stilling your movements to catch his attention. After a moment, his hazy violet gaze finds yours, and all the confusion he’s capable of mustering is evident on his face. “There he is,” you coo. “You didn’t want to come up, did you? Too shy to look at me?”

He shakes his head ardently, squishing your cunt harder against his lips. 

“No? What was it, then?” 

Conflicted, he whines at your prodding, clearly wanting to answer but unwilling to part from your core long enough to do so.

You laugh softly at his stubbornness before throwing your head back and resuming your earlier pace, dragging your slit up and down his ready mouth. “What, you wanna stay down there forever? Wake up under me, breathe me, live off my cum?”

As the suggestion rings through the air, a few things happen at once. Caleb’s lips detach from you with a wet pop, seemingly against his will, as his eyes roll back and he grips your hips so tightly you think they’ll bruise. 

It’s then that you feel something splatter against your spine, and you look back to catch his engorged, twitching cock spurting thick ropes of cum. As the heavy breaths that punctuate his whimpers fan into you, you conceal the smirk on your face and look down at him with a pout. 

“Already?” you whine playfully. “I haven’t even done what I wanted yet. You won’t wait for me?” 

Still recovering from his high, Caleb can only press a light kiss to your clit—a sign that it’s okay to continue. 

“I guess I’ll have to give you another,” you decide. “I’m feeling generous tonight, in spite of it all.” 

With a wink, you extend an arm to where your panties lay discarded and loop them through your fingers, wearing them like a glove. Threading your other hand in Caleb’s hair to stabilize yourself, you reach back and clasp his pulsing cock, the fabric in your fingers meeting his skin with devastating friction. 

Giving him only a moment to gasp into you, you slide your hand down his length, collecting his seed as you go and ruining yet another pair of your underwear. Once the material is coated with his cum, you repeat your movements—up and down, up and down in time with your thrusts against his face. 

Overwhelmed and overstimulated, he grinds you into him, imprinting his head into the plush pillow beneath. With nowhere left to go and everything left to give, he frantically probes at your entrance, fumbling slightly before finally breaching your hole with his tongue. You gasp at the intrusion, instinctively clamping your legs around his head in defense, which only sucks him further inside. 

Wanton moans falling from your lips, you rock your swollen clit against the bridge of his nose, claiming every part of him as you chase your release. When his flicks and swishes between your walls become too much to bear, you clench around his tongue with a breathy cry and gush into his waiting mouth. As your movements stutter from the pleasure, your hand slips from its place on his cock, and the lace border of your panties snags on his tip. The dual sensations have him coming again, painting his chest and your lower back a milky, translucent white.

In the silence that follows, the only noises in the room your intermixed, shuddering breaths, Caleb laps at your release in continued reverence. When those laps turn to suckles, you clamber off of him before he can start again.

Supporting yourself with your elbows, your feet planted on the bed, you take in his flushed face, drenched with your essence and a mix of your sweat. Between heavy pants, he fixes his imploring gaze on you and reaches out with a whimper, to which you quickly oblige. Crawling to the headboard, you lean your back against it and wrap your arms around his spent body, pressing a long kiss to his damp hair. 

He folds himself into your chest, nuzzling against you, and the decelerating beat of your heart steadies his. Running a hand through his soft strands, you give his scalp a brief massage before asking the question that’s been on your mind from the moment his moans disrupted your sleep. “Caleb?” you murmur into his ear. “You wanted me to hear you, didn’t you?” 

Sluggish, he looks up at you with a blissed-out smile, his unfocused eyes settling on your knowing expression. Wordlessly, he presses one kiss to your wrist, another to the valley of your chest, before nestling back down, his large hand resting on your still-leaking heat.

taglist: @mcdepressed290 @imiqz @silviex

[cameronsbabydoll]

We always get angst with ex husband! Rafe, how about somewhat of a cute(ish) moment. Like dropping your son off at kindergarten for the first time and you’re all sad and he consoles you

dropping off your son for kindergarten with ex!husband!rafe + a bonus part !!!!!

wc: 624 — a/n: i added a little bonus cause it was too hard to resist

you hated this.

you knew it was coming. you had circled the date on the calendar. you had bought the little backpack with his favorite dinosaur on it. you had labeled every damn snack and packed every little change of clothes.

but walking back to the parking lot after dropping your son off at kindergarten for the first time?

yeah. you hated this.

you didn’t even realize rafe was walking next to you until he bumped his shoulder into yours.

“gonna cry or you good?” he asked, that familiar rasp cutting through the lump in your throat.

you glared at him, sniffling. “shut up.”

but it didn’t have any bite. not when your chest was tight like this. not when that tiny classroom door had closed behind the little boy who used to need you for everything.

and rafe — who was usually all sharp grin and cocky remarks — just let you feel it.

didn’t rush you.

didn’t tease you (much).

he just walked next to you in his stupidly expensive hoodie and joggers like some casually hot, accidentally perfect ex-husband.

and when you reached your car, you paused — arms folded, staring at nothing — and he leaned back against the door of his truck, watching you.

“he’s gonna be fine,” rafe said finally. not dismissive. not patronizing. just simple. certain. “he’s a cameron. he’s yours. the kid’s bulletproof.”

you huffed a shaky laugh. “he’s five.”

“yeah,” rafe said, mouth tugging into that little half-smile. “and already smarter than half the guys you date.”

you gave him a look.

“not the time, rafe.”

he held up his hands in mock surrender, but his voice dropped a little softer when he added—

“for real, though. you did good, sweetheart.”

it was stupid how much that hit. how much it mattered coming from him.

and before you could get too emotional (or worse — cry in the damn parking lot) rafe knocked his knuckles gently against your chin.

“c’mon,” he murmured. “you want coffee or somethin’? my treat. call it…ex-husband solidarity.”

you rolled your eyes.

but you didn’t say no.

— bonus part!

you barely made it through the kindergarten pick-up line before rafe was texting you.

rafe: knew it.

rafe: my boy already a teacher’s favorite

you sighed, already bracing yourself.

sure enough — by the time you pulled up to his place for drop-off, he was already outside, leaning cockily against his range rover like this was some big victory.

“see this?” he held up the little note your son’s teacher sent home like it was a damn mvp trophy. “‘polite, helpful, very social.’ i told you. our kid is built different.”

you deadpan him. “did you read the back?”

his grin faltered just barely. flip. oh, there it was:

‘very chatty! we’ll work on using quiet voices during story time :)’

rafe squinted like maybe if he stared hard enough it wouldn’t say that.

“‘chatty’ just means charismatic,” he argued, unbothered. “that’s cameron blood.”

you gave him the look.

“rafe — he told the teacher your job was ‘being rich’ and that my job was ‘finding snacks.’”

rafe absolutely beamed.

“smart kid.”

“rafe.”

“what? accurate.”

but then — and this was the part that always tripped you up — his expression softened just enough. that proud glint never left his blue eyes, but it settled warmer.

“he’s good, y’know,” rafe said quieter, like it mattered to him that you heard it. “he’s happy. means we didn’t screw him up too bad.”

and as much as you wanted to roll your eyes or argue or tell him he was impossible —

that was the thing about rafe cameron.

nobody bragged harder about their kid.

and nobody — nobody — made you feel like more of a team when it came to him.

even if he was your annoying, smug, ex-husband.

[paucubarsisimp]

Can I request a multiple F1 grid: Trying to build the Lego F1 cars together? I just bought one and it was both fun and frustrating to build. Thank you so much if you do fill my request and of course I understand if you don’t. Have a lovely day!

lego cars

pairings: all current grid drivers x reader

summary: building f1 legos with your f1 driver boyfriend

warnings: swearing

୨ৎ lando norris

the floor was a mess of orange, black, and grey lego pieces, but your boyfriend looked entirely unbothered, sitting cross-legged in the middle of it like a kid on christmas morning.

“are we actually going to finish this tonight?” you asked, squinting at the thick instruction booklet in your lap.

lando didn’t even look up. “of course we are. we’re professionals.”

you snorted. “you drive a real mclaren, babe. that doesn’t make you a lego engineer.”

he finally looked over, a lopsided grin on his face. “speak for yourself. i’ve got the hand-eye coordination of a god.”

you held up two nearly identical orange pieces. “then explain which one of these is step 274 and which is step 275.”

lando stared at them, squinting dramatically. “…they’re the same.”

“they’re not,” you said, already laughing.

and so it went. for every five steps you made progress, lando somehow distracted you for three. whether it was joking around, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek, or making car noises as he pushed the half-built model across the table — he made it fun.

“this is kind of romantic,” he said suddenly, looking at the nearly complete mclaren between you.

you raised an eyebrow. “covered in plastic bricks, sitting on the floor, slowly losing our minds — that’s your definition of romance?”

he shrugged, inching closer. “yeah. it’s like… we’re building something together. literally and figuratively.”

you laughed, but your heart swelled a little at that. “that was either really cute or really cheesy.”

“both,” he admitted, nudging your knee with his.

when the final piece clicked into place, you both just sat there, admiring the tiny f1 car you’d brought to life together.

lando reached over and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, tugging you against him. “we make a good team.”

“you mean i follow instructions and you provide chaos?”

“exactly.” he kissed the side of your head. “perfect balance.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ oscar piastri

the floor was a battlefield of tiny lego pieces in shades of orange, black, and grey. oscar sat cross-legged across from you, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stared down at the instruction booklet.

“are you sure you’re following the instructions properly?” you asked, glancing over at him. “this is starting to look more like a spaceship than an f1 car.”

oscar didn’t look up. “it’s fine. i’ve got it under control.”

you raised an eyebrow, skeptically eyeing the growing pile of mismatched pieces around him. “you say that, but i’m starting to question your lego expertise.”

he finally looked up, smirking. “i’m an f1 driver. i can build anything. it’s all about precision and… patience.”

you bit back a laugh. “precision, huh? so you’re saying you’re totally sure that piece you just put on is supposed to be there?”

oscar glanced down at the piece in his hand, eyes widening slightly. “okay, maybe it’s not exactly in the right place, but it’s close.”

you shook your head, trying to hide your smile. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

he grinned, clearly pleased with the compliment. “that’s the plan. get by on charm and looks.”

as you worked together, it became clear that while oscar might not be a lego master, he sure was good at making you laugh. every so often, he’d dramatically announce that a piece absolutely belonged in a spot it clearly didn’t, or he’d break into random comments about how the car’s “aerodynamics” weren’t up to his standards.

“this doesn’t look like a proper racing car,” he muttered, holding up a half-finished section. “i think we need to take this back to the pits for some adjustments.”

you grinned. “if only you could bring a lego car to the team garage for a quick pit stop.”

he winked. “hey, it’s the next best thing. no tire changes, but plenty of potential.”

finally, after some back-and-forth and more than a few wrong pieces, the lego mclaren started to resemble something recognizable. oscar stepped back, crossing his arms with a proud smile.

“we did it,” he said, his voice soft but pleased.

you looked down at the completed model and grinned. “well, you did it, actually. i just followed your instructions.”

“exactly,” he said, nudging your shoulder with his. “teamwork.”

“you mean your work and me just looking pretty while pretending to know what i’m doing?”

oscar chuckled and leaned over, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. “something like that. but seriously, i’m glad we did this.”

you smiled, resting your head on his shoulder as you both admired your work. “me too. i think it looks even better because we built it together.”

he nodded, wrapping his arm around you. “definitely. and now, we’ve got the most unique mclaren f1 car in the world.”

you both sat there for a while, in the quiet satisfaction of a task completed — and maybe, just maybe, a few more moments of laughter and memories added to your time together.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ george russell

the living room looked like a miniature pit lane disaster. grey and black lego pieces covered the floor, coffee table, and parts of george’s lap. he sat, back straight as ever, holding what looked like a front wing and staring at it like it had just insulted his entire career.

“this is… incorrect,” he muttered.

you looked over from the other side of the table. “you said that about the last four pieces.”

“and i was right all four times,” he replied with a faintly dramatic sigh, “but this one’s actually wrong.”

you leaned in. “george, the instructions are literally step-by-step. just follow them.”

he gave you a flat look. “i am following them. but the piece was misprinted.”

you blinked. “you think mercedes messed up a lego set.”

“not mercedes. lego,” he corrected, deadly serious. “mercedes would never.”

you bit back a laugh. “you sound like you’re defending the honor of the factory.”

he smirked a little, then looked down at the tiny W15 replica in progress. “well… they did build this one. just, you know, full size.”

“and not out of plastic.”

“small detail.”

you shifted closer, watching him click the front wing in, still with that careful, surgeon-level precision. “i like seeing you like this,” you said softly. “focused, but not… stressed.”

he looked over at you, some of the usual pressure in his shoulders melting a bit. “it’s nice. building something without a stopwatch.”

after a few minutes of quiet building, broken only by occasional lego clicks and your cat batting a tire piece under the couch, george finally leaned back to admire the half-built car.

“she’s beautiful,” he said, proud. “and more cooperative than the real one some days.”

you raised an eyebrow. “are you giving a press quote to a toy?”

he shrugged. “i speak from experience.”

you nudged him with your foot. “can’t wait for you to give a whole post-race debrief to this thing.”

“if it finishes ahead of me, i might have to.”

you both laughed, and george reached over to take your hand, twining your fingers with his without looking away from the tiny car.

“thanks for doing this,” he said. “i know it’s silly.”

“not silly,” you said quietly. “you spend all day breaking down the most complex machine in the world. it’s nice to see you build something just because you want to.”

he smiled, then gently tapped the half-built car. “it’s a good one. but it’s missing something.”

“what’s that?”

“driver figure,” he said, holding up the little lego helmet. “every car needs one.”

you laughed. “well, you better get him in before he misses quali.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ kimi antonelli

“mate, i swear to god, this is missing a piece.”

kimi antonelli sat cross-legged on your rug, a confused frown on his face as he poked through a sea of grey lego bricks. the nearly-complete mercedes w15 sat between you, missing exactly one sidepod.

you glanced up from your half of the build. “kimi, it’s not missing. it’s under your leg.”

he froze, looked down, and muttered, “ma che cazzo…”

you tried not to laugh as he pulled the piece free, shaking his head at himself. “this is why i drive the car and not build it.”

“oh please, even george finished his set last week,” you teased. “he timed it. wrote it down. probably logged it in a spreadsheet.”

kimi rolled his eyes, smirking. “yeah, well, george also irons his socks. i’m not competing with that.”

you both laughed, but kimi’s focus returned to the tiny car in front of him. he clicked the sidepod into place with careful hands, jaw tight in concentration. despite the casual “mate”s and the chill exterior, you could tell he wanted this perfect.

“you always this serious about lego?”

“only when it’s my car,” he muttered. “first season in f1, first time with mercedes… feels kinda unreal.”

you tilted your head, voice softening. “does it feel like pressure?”

he didn’t answer right away, just ran a thumb along the smooth line of the lego chassis.

“a bit,” he admitted finally. “but… it also feels right. like i’m where i’m supposed to be.”

“you are,” you said, nudging his arm. “you’ve earned every bit of it.”

he gave you a small smile, then leaned back on one hand, holding the tiny lego driver helmet in the other. “hope the real car treats me better than this damn brick one. this thing’s falling apart every time i touch it.”

“just like the rear grip in turn 11?”

he gave you a mock glare. “vaffanculo.”

you laughed, and he laughed with you, head tipping back slightly. there was something bright in his eyes—equal parts excitement and nerves.

“george said he’s gonna come over and check it when we’re done,” you said after a beat.

kimi groaned. “he’s gonna critique it like it’s an aero debrief. 'why did you use the wrong diffuser panel, mate?'”

you grinned. “better get it right then.”

he clicked the final piece into place with a satisfying snap, exhaled deeply, then held up the finished car with both hands like it was sacred.

“look at that,” he said, pride sneaking into his voice. “first mercedes built.”

“first of many.”

“damn right,” he murmured. then, with a smirk, “mate, we’re gonna need a bigger shelf.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ max verstappen

“this is stupid.”

max said it flatly, staring down at the unopened box of the red bull lego f1 car on the table.

you raised an eyebrow. “you picked it out.”

“yeah, well. it looked cool. didn’t realize it had a thousand pieces.”

you smirked. “scared of a few tiny bricks?”

“no,” he said, already slicing open the box with a kitchen knife like it had insulted him. “i just don’t like losing. even to plastic.”

you bit back a laugh. “who are you losing to, max? it’s just you and me.”

he gave you a look. “and i will beat you, obviously.”

“this isn’t a race.”

“everything is a race.”

you sighed, but there was no real annoyance behind it. max was already deep into organizing the pieces into small piles—color-coded, of course. he wasn’t about to admit he cared, but he was treating this with the same quiet focus he brought to race sims.

half an hour in, you looked over at his side of the build. it was surprisingly perfect—sharp edges, clean lines, everything matched the instruction booklet exactly.

“you’re weirdly good at this,” you said.

he shrugged. “spatial awareness.”

“is that what we’re calling lego talent now?”

he gave a smug little smile. “don’t be jealous.”

you rolled your eyes. “you literally threatened to throw yours out the window ten minutes ago.”

“because the rear wing wouldn’t line up,” he muttered, holding up a tiny piece with disdain. “this thing is so unrealistic.”

“you drive a car that hits 300 kph in a straight line and you're mad about a lego wing?”

he grunted, snapping it into place anyway. “it’s the principle.”

eventually, you both fell into a rhythm. soft music played in the background, and the only sound was the satisfying clicks of bricks and the occasional muttered dutch swearing when max misplaced a piece.

“fuck” he hissed under his breath, digging through a pile. “it was here, i saw it—”

you held up the missing piece. “you mean this one?”

he stared. “…you stole it.”

“i found it.”

he narrowed his eyes. “i want a rematch when this is done.”

“max, this wasn’t a competition.”

“you say that,” he replied, snapping the piece into place. “but i’m winning.”

you looked over at his perfectly assembled lego rb20 and sighed.

“okay. maybe you are.”

he grinned, leaned back, and crossed his arms like a smug cat. “next time, we build monaco.”

you raised a brow. “the whole track?”

“yeah,” he said. “then i lap you.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ yuki tsunoda

“why the fuck are there so many pieces?!”

you looked up to see yuki holding a clear bag of lego parts like it had personally offended him. his eyebrows were scrunched, mouth open in disbelief, hair slightly disheveled—classic signs of a yuki meltdown brewing.

“because you picked the detailed version,” you said, trying not to laugh.

he groaned dramatically and flopped back onto the couch. “i thought it was gonna be like, 100 pieces. max.”

“you drive a formula one car and this is what breaks you?”

he pointed at the half-built lego version of his old alpha tauri car, now rebranded and reboxed under a new team name. “this thing is too tiny. my fingers are not made for this shit.”

you reached over and gently fixed a piece he’d put on backwards. “you literally have hands made for this. they’re small.”

“rude,” he muttered, popping a sour candy into his mouth. “also true.”

you smiled and went back to your part of the build. yuki followed, a little grumbly but determined, muttering in both english and japanese as he tried to line up the next wing section.

“this piece doesn’t fit—kuso!—okay, never mind, i fixed it.”

“look at you,” you teased. “problem solver.”

he gave you a side-eye. “i’m gonna throw this car out the window if one more piece falls apart.”

you leaned in close, inspecting the tiny front wing he’d just attached. “actually, this is really good. like, suspiciously good.”

he beamed. “i know, right?”

you blinked. “did you just… accept a compliment without deflecting it?”

“i’m evolving.”

he sat up straighter, brushing brick dust off his sweatpants. “honestly, it’s kinda nice. building something that doesn’t involve brake temps and tire wear.”

you looked over, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. “yeah?”

he shrugged. “everything’s serious all the time. it’s nice to just do something dumb with you.”

your smile softened. “we should make it a thing. post-race lego nights.”

“only if you promise to open the bags next time. i almost sliced my finger on that stupid little plastic edge.”

“deal.”

he held up the half-built car triumphantly. “look! it’s a car. kind of.”

“good enough for an f1 rookie,” you teased.

“oi,” he said, lightly kicking your leg. “i’m a veteran now.”

you giggled, and he reached over, placing the tiny lego helmet on the driver figure with way more care than he’d shown to the rest of the car.

“there,” he said. “now he won’t crash.”

“unlike you in austria 2022.”

“shut up!”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ charles leclerc

the coffee table was covered in little red lego bricks, most of them scattered far beyond where they were supposed to be. somewhere among the chaos sat charles, cross-legged, sleeves pushed up, brows drawn together like this was his actual ferrari on race day.

“you look stressed,” you teased, holding out a curved red piece. “you okay there, captain monaco?”

he sighed dramatically. “this is harder than qualifying in the rain.”

you grinned. “you chose this, you know.”

“yes, but i didn’t think ferrari lego would betray me too.”

you laughed, watching as he studied the instructions like it was a secret strategy briefing. he was painfully serious about it — biting his lip, double-checking every step, occasionally whispering under his breath in french.

“you do realize it’s just a toy, right?” you asked, leaning your chin into your palm as you watched him.

he glanced up, smiling sheepishly. “it’s not just a toy. it’s a ferrari.”

“ah. sacred ground.”

he chuckled, reaching for a piece but brushing your hand instead. he paused, letting his fingers rest lightly over yours for a second. “merci for helping, by the way.”

you shrugged. “i’m here for moral support. and to make sure you don’t accidentally build a mclaren by mistake.”

charles gasped, hand to heart. “that’s… that’s cruel.”

“just keeping you humble.”

as the model slowly took shape, you started to enjoy the rhythm of it — the quiet little jokes, the hum of soft music in the background, charles occasionally singing under his breath in french when he thought you weren’t listening.

at one point, he sat back and held up the half-built ferrari, inspecting it like an art piece. “it’s not perfect, but… it has character.”

“so, just like your real car?”

he smirked. “exactly.”

once the final piece clicked into place, he leaned back beside you on the floor, both of you just admiring the miniature sf-24 in front of you. the iconic red, the delicate little wings, the prancing horse.

“we should put it somewhere,” you said quietly.

“on my sim rig.”

“really?”

he turned to you, eyes soft. “of course. you helped build it. it’s important.”

you rested your head against his shoulder. “maybe next time we build something less… intense.”

he smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “like what?”

“lego monaco. or, i don’t know… a tiny lego you.”

charles chuckled. “you’d still make fun of it.”

“absolutely.”al

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ lewis hamilton

lewis hummed quietly as he picked through the lego pieces, the ferrari logo staring back at him from the instruction manual. the new team, new car, new journey—but still the same lewis, calm and collected, moving through the pieces with ease.

“you’d think after all these months i’d be used to seeing my name in red,” he said, his voice soft. “but it’s still… weird.”

you looked over at him, glancing between the almost-finished lego sf-23 and his focused expression. “weird in a good way?”

he paused, then smiled, that familiar, relaxed smile that had always made him seem like he knew something no one else did. “yeah. definitely. it’s a change, but… a good one.”

you handed him a small piece. “you’ve been in a lot of teams, but this one’s special.”

“it is,” he agreed, clicking the piece into place. “ferrari’s got history. it’s a different kind of challenge, you know? charles and i, we’ve got a good energy together, but there's pressure to live up to everything this team represents.”

you nodded. “but you’ve already built so much in your career. now, it’s just about making something new.”

he gave a short laugh. “i hope that’s how it feels when this lego car’s done. fresh start.”

you watched him attach the rear wing, his fingers surprisingly gentle as he fitted the pieces together. “i think it’s already looking good.”

“well,” he said, eyes glinting playfully, “if it’s anything like my actual car, it’s gonna be fast.”

you smirked. “you mean like the perfectly tuned car you’ve already built over there?” you teased, motioning to the tiny, almost perfect lego ferrari.

“hey,” he said with mock offense. “i told you it was gonna be smooth.”

“that’s the thing with you, lewis,” you grinned, “everything’s smooth.”

he glanced over at you with a warm smile, his eyes softening. “i like to keep things balanced. at least here, we don’t have to worry about track limits or tire wear.”

you chuckled. “yeah, but look at how much you’re stressing over these bricks.”

“mate,” he said, his tone warm but teasing, “this is serious business.”

just as he said it, roscoe trotted over, sniffing around the legos with interest before promptly sitting on a pile of tires.

“oh, no,” lewis sighed, reaching down to gently move the dog. “roscoe, not the tires!”

you laughed. “he just wants to help.”

“help my ass,” lewis muttered, chuckling. “he’s got his own ideas of how to build a car.”

“maybe you should let him try next time.”

“only if he can actually get a car across the finish line,” lewis said, shaking his head as roscoe finally wandered off to nap. he looked at you again, his expression softening. “thanks for doing this. it’s nice to just… relax for a bit.”

you smiled. “it’s fun building this with you.”

he leaned back slightly, stretching out. “yeah. this is what i needed.”

you both leaned in to finish the last few pieces, the ferrari lego car coming together bit by bit.

“looks like we’re ready for the race,” you said as the last wheel snapped into place.

“we?” lewis raised an eyebrow. “i’m the one who’s going to take this one across the finish line.”

you gave him a sly grin. “in this case, i’m the engineer.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ alex albon

alex sat cross-legged on the floor, a slight frown tugging at his mouth as he studied the lego pieces in front of him. his arms were slightly crossed, his posture just the right amount of focus—like he was working on a race car, but also maybe half-watching a documentary on the side.

“i swear, the instructions are getting longer,” he muttered, leafing through the booklet. “first it was ‘snap this piece in,’ now it’s like, ‘align with symmetry,’ and i’m just—what?”

you peeked over from your side of the table, where your own lego car was slowly taking shape. “getting overwhelmed by legos, alex?”

he gave you a deadpan look. “no. it’s just… a lot of tiny pieces. i feel like i need a magnifying glass to find the one i need.”

you smiled and handed him a small pile of sorted pieces. “here. these are for the front wing.”

he looked at you with a raised brow. “are you seriously trying to make me faster than i am right now?”

“just building the car the way it’s meant to be,” you teased, settling back down.

alex grinned, clearly not offended. “ah, i see. you’re the one setting the lap times.”

you both fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound being the soft clicks of plastic as you built. occasionally, alex would let out a sigh or mutter something like “this is ridiculous,” but he was enjoying it. it was the kind of peaceful activity he didn't always have the luxury to enjoy, with racing schedules and endless debriefs.

finally, a piece wouldn’t fit into place. alex’s frustration broke the silence.

“nope, this thing’s just wrong,” he said, holding the piece up. “it’s not even close to lining up. does this look right to you?”

you looked at it, then shrugged. “looks like a sidepod to me.”

“a sidepod?” he repeated, holding it at arm's length. “mate, this looks like it belongs in the trash.”

you snickered, but then the two of you actually took a moment to study the instructions more carefully, only to realize it was the wrong piece altogether. alex huffed, clearly trying not to laugh.

“see?” he said, still holding it up. “this is why i’m better at driving the damn car than assembling it.”

“yeah,” you said with a smile. “you’re better at handling high speeds than handling legos.”

he stuck out his tongue at you, and you both giggled, your hands working together to fix the tiny mistake. after a few more minutes, the lego car was taking shape.

“hey,” alex said, his voice slightly more serious now, “this actually looks pretty good.”

you looked over at him, admiring the completed piece. “yeah. we make a good team.”

alex leaned back, stretching his legs out and looking at the car with satisfaction. “i think we just built the best f1 car ever.”

“only because it’s the one you made.”

he flashed you a cheeky grin. “fair. but i’ve got the race car driving skills to back it up.”

you nudged him with your foot, laughing. “keep telling yourself that, albon.”

he leaned forward again, fixing the tiny helmet in the driver's seat. “maybe next time, we’ll race our cars. legitimately.”

you raised an eyebrow. “only if you’re ready to lose.”

he smirked, giving the car one last look. “oh, i’m ready.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ carlos sainz

lego pieces were everywhere—on the floor, the couch, even somehow in carlos’s hoodie pocket. he stared down at the instruction booklet, jaw clenched.

“¿pero qué coño es esto?” he muttered, turning a piece over for the third time.

you laughed from your spot on the rug. “that’s literally the front wing, carlos. we’ve built, like, four of them by now.”

“sí, but this one looks backwards,” he grumbled, snapping it in the wrong way again.

you scooted closer, gently taking it from him. “nope. trust the manual. or me, preferably.”

he huffed but gave in, watching you click the piece into place with maddening ease. “you’re scarily good at this.”

“just say it. i’m the better engineer.”

he glanced at the half-finished lego williams car between you. “i’ll admit it when i’m not being humiliated by a plastic toy.”

you snorted. “this is your car now, by the way. you should probably get used to it.”

he paused, then gave a small, crooked smile. “yeah… it’s weird seeing it like this. not red anymore. it’s a whole new world.”

you softened. “and you’re building it. piece by piece.”

he reached for your hand without thinking, fingers brushing yours as he looked down at the little blue machine. “and you're here with me. that helps.”

you smirked. “even if i bully you about legos?”

he rolled his eyes playfully. “cariño, you’ve been talking shit for an hour. qué pesada.”

“and yet… you’re still here.”

he chuckled, leaning in to kiss your temple. “i must be un poco loco.”

from the corner, your cat knocked over a bag of bricks with a loud clatter.

“joder,” carlos muttered, already crawling after them. “your cat’s trying to destroy my career.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ esteban ocon

esteban sat on the floor, surrounded by a sea of black and white lego pieces. he was intensely focused, his brow furrowed as he carefully put together the first bits of the haas f1 car. the faint sound of a podcast played in the background, but esteban barely seemed to notice. in fact, you were starting to wonder if he could hear anything over his laser focus on the legos.

"hey," you said, nudging him with your foot. "you alright there, esteban? you look like you're about to go into qualifying mode."

he looked up at you, blinking like he'd just snapped out of a trance. "what? oh, yeah, just—wait, where's the piece for the front wing?"

you picked it up from beside him and handed it over. "here. you're getting a bit too into this, don’t you think?"

he smirked, giving a quick shrug. "it’s a race, no? besides, i’m here to show you how it’s done."

you raised an eyebrow. "oh really? last time i checked, you were the one struggling to find the right pieces."

“don’t act like you’re not intimidated by my lego skills,” he teased, snapping the front wing into place with ridiculous precision. “i’m about to make this thing look like a real car.”

you laughed, watching as he clicked another piece into place. "sure, but we both know your real talent is behind the wheel."

"and on the lego track, apparently," he said, his grin widening. "but yeah, ollie and i—it's gonna be a killer season with haas. we’ve got chemistry already. the car feels good, and i’ve been helping him get settled. we’re both pushing each other."

you couldn’t help but smile at how invested he was in not just the car, but also the team dynamic. "you two gonna be unstoppable this season?"

"absolutely." esteban's eyes sparkled with that signature intensity. "and when we’re not fighting for positions on the track, we’ll be fighting for the best lego car at the end of the night."

he gestured to the near-complete haas car in front of him. you tilted your head, inspecting his work. "not bad, ocon. this looks pretty good."

"not bad?" he repeated, arching an eyebrow. "this is perfect. i’m practically a lego engineer."

you chuckled, adjusting a small piece that was slightly off-center. "i hate to break it to you, but your sidepod’s a little crooked."

"what?!" esteban turned, eyes wide. he immediately started fidgeting with the sidepod, mumbling in frustration. "this can’t be happening. it’s not my fault, the instructions are all wrong!"

you raised a hand, feigning innocence. "hey, if you need help, i'm here."

he sighed dramatically, but then grinned. "fine, fine. maybe you know a thing or two."

as you both worked, the car slowly began to look like a proper haas—sleek, powerful, and ready to tackle whatever challenge came its way. esteban placed the tiny driver figure in the seat and leaned back, admiring the finished product.

"not bad for a couple of rookies," he said with a smirk.

"rookies?" you teased, nudging him. "last time i checked, you're a veteran."

"don’t remind me," he muttered, but there was a playful glint in his eyes. "i’ll take the veteran status when it’s time to win, not when i’m dealing with legos."

you both sat back, taking in your creation.

"so," you asked, "who’s gonna take pole position in the lego world?"

esteban raised a brow, clearly enjoying the playful challenge. "obviously, me."

you grinned. "we’ll see about that. next time, we do a real race."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ ollie bearman

ollie was leaning over his nearly finished lego haas car, squinting at the tiny details. he’d been quietly focusing, but his attention seemed to shift as he spotted something. with a grin, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plush bear—one that was probably about as big as the driver figure in the car.

"hold on," ollie said, eyes glinting with mischief. "i’ve got the perfect touch to make this car legendary."

you raised an eyebrow as ollie carefully placed the tiny bear in the driver’s seat of the lego car, next to the little plastic figure. “seriously? you’re putting a bear in your f1 car?”

“yep,” ollie said proudly, smoothing down the bear’s little paws as he adjusted it. “this is my secret weapon. a lucky bear.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “so, you think your haas is gonna be faster because of a bear?”

ollie leaned back, admiring his work. “exactly. you’d be surprised how much extra speed a bear brings to the table.”

“uh-huh,” you said, chuckling. “and how do you know this?”

he gave you a wink. “let’s just say the bear’s been with me through some wild races. and, well, we’re a package deal now.”

you stared at the bear sitting there in the lego car, grinning. “you’re actually serious about this?”

ollie nodded with mock seriousness. “mate, you’ve got to believe in the power of the bear. it’s the most powerful underdog move I’ve got.”

"alright, well," you said, leaning back and crossing your arms, "i guess that makes your car the bear necessities of the lego world."

ollie cracked up at the pun, clearly proud of your pun game. "i see what you did there. clever."

he took a step back to admire the car, as though it was the most normal thing in the world to have a plush bear in a race car. "now that’s what i’m talking about. this car is gonna win the lego world championship."

you raised an eyebrow. "we'll see if your bear can handle the speed."

ollie gave the little bear a quick pat on the head, then turned to you with a playful grin. “don’t underestimate it. next time, we’re racing. and when my haas wins, you’ll have to acknowledge the bear’s power.”

“fine, fine,” you laughed. “but don’t say i didn’t warn you when my car blows past yours.”

ollie gave you a mock salute, already too invested in his plush-powered vehicle. “we’ll see, mate. just remember, you’ve got no chance when the bear’s behind the wheel.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ lance stroll

lance was crouched on the floor, his hands moving with surprising precision as he snapped pieces together on his lego aston martin car. the intense focus in his eyes was almost the same as when he was in the car during a race—every move calculated, every piece placed with care. it was clear that this was going to be the perfect lego build.

"you know," he said, not looking up from his work, "this might actually be harder than driving a real f1 car."

you raised an eyebrow, smirking. “you’ve got to be kidding. you’re building legos, not doing a race.”

lance glanced up, his expression serious, but you could see the glint of mischief in his eyes. “hey, it’s all about precision, okay? every piece has to be in the right place, or it’s like losing a few tenths on track. just doesn’t work.”

you chuckled, watching him intently as he worked. “you’re really taking this seriously, huh?”

he gave you a playful, almost smug grin. “someone’s gotta bring the winning attitude to the table. i’m just making sure this thing’s perfect. no shortcuts.”

“no shortcuts?” you teased, leaning over to inspect his work. “you sure about that? i think you’ve missed a piece back there.”

lance immediately straightened up, frowning as he checked the spot you pointed to. "what? no way…" he muttered under his breath, and sure enough, a piece was slightly out of place. he let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. "great, can’t even build a lego car without messing it up. might as well be qualifying for a race right now, huh?"

you grinned. "it’s all part of the process, babe"

he flashed you a look as he fixed the mistake. “process or not, this thing’s gonna be perfect. mark my words."

“perfect, huh?” you said, rolling your eyes. “we’ll see when we race these lego cars. i’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“oh, i don’t doubt it,” lance said, giving you a knowing smile as he clicked another piece into place. “but trust me, my aston martin’s gonna blow yours away.”

you crossed your arms, feigning seriousness. “i’m not so sure about that. mine’s got better aerodynamics.”

“pfft,” lance scoffed, not missing a beat. “aerodynamics? babe, this is a lego car, not an actual f1 car. it’s all about the driver’s focus.”

you laughed. “oh, i see. it’s all about the driver now, huh?”

“of course,” he said with a grin, clearly enjoying himself. “i can’t be having my lego car losing to yours, can i?”

you leaned back, arms folded. “we’ll see about that when it’s time for the race.”

lance finished up the final details on his lego car, smoothing out a few edges. he gave it a quick once-over and nodded in satisfaction.

“there,” he said proudly, sitting back to admire his work. “done. now that’s what i call a winning build.”

you took a quick glance at your own lego car, still in progress. “you sure about that?”

“positive,” lance said, leaning over to check yours out. “looks good, but i’m confident mine’s faster.”

you raised an eyebrow, your competitive side kicking in. “you want to put that to the test?”

“oh, i thought you’d never ask,” he replied with a smirk. “bring it on. my aston martin is ready for the track.”

you both leaned in, preparing for the “race,” with lance already planning his victory speech. the playful tension was thick in the air as you positioned the cars on either end of the table.

“ready to lose?” lance asked, his tone light, but with that familiar competitive spark.

“we’ll see who’s really the one losing, stroll,” you shot back, and with that, the lego race was on.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ fernando alonso

fernando sat on the floor, a serious look on his face as he examined the lego pieces laid out in front of him. his brow furrowed slightly as he picked up the pieces, inspecting each one with the kind of focus you'd expect from a veteran driver gearing up for a race. there was no casual attitude here—he was all in.

“this is more complicated than i thought,” fernando muttered to himself, snapping a piece into place.

you leaned over, watching as he worked, clearly in his element. “i thought you were used to high pressure situations.”

“this is different,” fernando replied without looking up. “f1 cars don’t have tiny pieces like these to put together.”

you grinned, a bit amused by how seriously he was taking it. “it’s just legos, fernando. relax a little.”

he looked up at you, his gaze cool but playful. “you think i can relax when there’s a lego car in front of me? it needs precision, just like an f1 car. one wrong move and it could all fall apart.”

“yeah, and i’m sure a little bit of pressure will make you build the best lego car ever,” you teased.

he smirked, snapping a piece into place with the speed and precision you’d expect from someone who’s mastered the art of fast decisions. “that’s the plan.”

as fernando continued to build, you noticed how quickly he was getting into the zone. it was almost like he was back in the cockpit of a car, moving seamlessly from one step to the next. you couldn’t help but watch in awe.

“impressive,” you said after a few moments of silence. “you’ve got this down.”

“i’ve done this before,” fernando said, his voice smooth and confident. “except it wasn’t lego. but the idea is the same—each piece counts.”

you raised an eyebrow, half-joking. “are you sure you’re not overthinking this? it’s just legos.”

“there’s no such thing as ‘just legos’ when you’re trying to create perfection,” he said, clearly not backing down from his approach. “every detail matters.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at how serious he was about the whole thing. “you’re really taking this as seriously as a race.”

he met your gaze, eyes glinting. “why shouldn’t I? if you’re going to do something, do it right. if not, what’s the point?”

you gave him a playful side-eye. “so no shortcuts, huh?”

“no shortcuts,” he confirmed, a grin spreading across his face as he placed the final piece on his car. he straightened up and surveyed his work, nodding to himself. “done.”

you leaned in to take a look at his completed lego car. it was sleek and solid, just like you expected. “not bad, fernando. looks like your focus paid off.”

“of course,” he said, leaning back and stretching. “this is what happens when you treat legos with the same respect as a race car.”

you smiled. “alright, alright. but can your lego car actually race?”

fernando raised an eyebrow. “it’s built for speed. trust me, this is going to beat whatever you’ve got.”

you grinned, shaking your head. “we’ll see about that. i’m not going easy on you.”

he chuckled, his competitive edge still sharp. “i wouldn’t expect anything less.”

as you both prepared for the final “race” between your cars, fernando gave you one last look, his eyes sharp and full of that familiar fire. “ready to lose?”

“we’ll see,” you said with a smile, lining up your cars for what was about to be an epic lego showdown.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ liam lawson

liam sat on the floor, a lego instruction manual spread out in front of him and pieces scattered everywhere. his brows furrowed in concentration as he snapped together small parts, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. the vibe was pretty relaxed—after all, he was a guy who knew how to handle intense moments, whether it was on track or with legos.

“this doesn’t seem right,” liam muttered, inspecting a piece of his lego car with suspicion.

you leaned over, glancing at his progress. “you’re sure you’re following the instructions? seems like it’s a bit… off.”

he glanced up, his face breaking into a grin. “instructions? pfft, i’m just free-styling here. it’s all about the feel.”

“free-styling, huh?” you laughed. “well, that explains why the car’s looking a little… creative.”

liam raised an eyebrow. “hey, no one said a lego f1 car had to look perfect. i’m building with personality.”

you smirked and leaned back. “personality? i think you’ve got a bit too much personality going on there.”

he chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “alright, alright. maybe i missed a piece. but hey, i’ve got this. vcarb is all about resilience, right?”

“vcarb, huh?” you teased. “starting to sound like you're trying to work some team spirit into this lego build.”

liam shrugged, snapping another piece into place. “well, you know, after joining up with isack, i figured i could at least carry the spirit of the team wherever i go. even if it’s just legos.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you’ve only been with vcarb for a minute. are you sure you’re ready to bring the team spirit into a lego race?”

“hey, i’ve had enough experience with chaos and speed to know how to pull it all together,” liam said, grinning. “besides, i’m building a car that’s meant to win.”

you looked over at the lego car he was putting together. it was definitely taking shape, even if it was a little… unique in its approach. “that’s what you keep telling me. but can it actually race?”

liam’s eyes sparkled with confidence. “you’d better believe it. when it’s time to race, this thing’s going straight to the front. just like vcarb.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “you’re a bit too confident about your lego skills.”

“nah,” liam said, snapping the final piece into place. “this is pure genius. i’m a natural at this.”

he sat back to admire his work, a look of satisfaction on his face as he surveyed the completed car. it looked like it could survive a crash, but you weren’t entirely sure it was the fastest lego car in the world.

“there we go,” he said with a grin. “that’s what i’m talking about. vcarb speed.”

you leaned over, inspecting his finished product. “well, it definitely has… character.”

“exactly,” liam said, flashing a cheeky smile. “you can’t have a fast car without a bit of flair.”

“flair, huh?” you raised an eyebrow. “we’ll see if that helps you win.”

“oh, it’ll help,” he said confidently. “just wait until we race these things. i’m gonna show you how vcarb handles speed.”

you smiled. “we’ll see about that. just don’t be too disappointed when my car blows past yours.”

liam shot you a playful look. “we’ll see, but i have a feeling your car’s not gonna stand a chance against this.”

“don’t get too cocky, liam,” you said with a grin. “the race is still on.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ isack hadjar

isack sat across from you, focused on the spread of lego pieces in front of him. the young driver’s eyes were intense, as though he was analyzing the parts the way he would a racing setup, trying to figure out how everything fit together for the fastest result. he was definitely the type who liked to get things just right.

“you know, this is harder than it looks,” he muttered, squinting at the instructions as he carefully clicked a piece into place.

you raised an eyebrow, leaning over to check his progress. “you’re really treating this like an actual race, huh?”

isack glanced at you and shrugged, his face calm but his eyes sharp with focus. “when you’re in vcarb, everything’s about precision. even building a lego car.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle. “i’m sure liam’s not treating his lego car with the same intensity. he’s probably got a plush bear in his.”

“liam’s got his own style,” isack said with a small smirk. “but for me, it’s about getting it right.”

you watched him carefully place each piece, his methodical approach almost like watching a pit crew during a race, making sure every part was aligned perfectly. “it’s like you’re building a f1 car in miniature.”

he glanced up at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “if only it was that easy. but hey, a lego car can still teach you a lot about patience.”

you leaned back in your chair, smirking. “patience, huh? i thought you were more about speed.”

“you can’t have speed without precision,” he replied, his voice calm but firm as he clicked another piece into place. “rushing doesn’t work in racing. and it doesn’t work with legos either.”

you shook your head with a grin. “you’re seriously going full-on race mode with this.”

isack shot you a playful look. “i’m always in race mode.”

you raised an eyebrow. “we’ll see how that works out when we race these cars. you’ve got all that precision, but does it actually make your car faster?”

“don’t doubt it,” he said confidently, pausing for a second to glance at his almost-finished lego car. “this thing’s going to be fast.”

you leaned in closer, inspecting the lego car carefully. it was sleek, clean, and well-constructed—definitely built with care. "looks like it might actually give mine a run for its money."

isack didn’t even look up, his hands still working quickly but steadily. “it’s not about just looking good. it’s about performance.”

"so, you're telling me your lego car is going to perform?" you teased, giving him a sideways glance.

“exactly,” he said with a soft grin. “a well-built car will always outperform one that’s just thrown together.”

you laughed, appreciating the effort he was putting into this. “alright, you’re on. but don’t be too shocked when my car beats yours.”

isack shot you a confident look. “we’ll see about that. when it comes to racing, vcarb doesn’t lose.”

he clicked the last piece into place and sat back, admiring the finished product with satisfaction. “there we go. now that’s what i call a masterpiece.”

you took a moment to check out the finished lego car. it was clearly designed for speed. "not bad, Hadjar. you might just have a future in lego racing."

he gave you a small nod, his competitive edge still sharp. “it’s all about balance. precision, patience, and speed.”

“right,” you said with a grin, “just don’t get too cocky when i beat you in the race.”

“oh, trust me,” he said, his voice calm and confident. “i won’t.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ pierre gasly

pierre sat cross-legged on the floor, the lego pieces scattered in front of him, a look of quiet focus on his face. the competitive energy was there, but it wasn’t the high-octane, race-ready kind—it was more of a calm, methodical kind of determination. he clicked a piece into place, leaned back, and surveyed his work.

“you know, i’m pretty sure my lego car is already ahead of yours,” pierre said, glancing over at you with that playful, confident grin of his.

you shot him a look, trying to suppress a smile. “is that so? i think you might be getting ahead of yourself there.”

pierre raised an eyebrow, still working on his car but never losing that casual, self-assured vibe. “it’s all about precision. i don’t build things just to watch them fall apart.”

he snapped another piece into place, his fingers moving quickly and efficiently. “unlike some people,” he added, giving you a teasing glance.

“excuse me? i’m just taking my time. rushing doesn’t always work out, you know?” you said, shooting him a grin. “maybe you should slow down a bit.”

pierre chuckled. “rushing? no. i’m just working with a bit of confidence here. there’s a difference.”

“uh-huh, confidence,” you teased, leaning closer to see what he was doing. “is that what you call it? it looks like you’re just really into this whole thing.”

he flashed you a quick, sly smile. “well, if you want your lego car to look like it was built by someone who actually knows what they’re doing, you’ve come to the right person.”

you rolled your eyes, laughing. “i think you’re taking this a bit too seriously, but fine. i’ll let you think you’ve got the advantage. for now.”

pierre paused for a moment to look over at your progress, smirking. “not bad, not bad. but if you want to beat me, you’ll need to step it up.”

“you really think you’re going to win this thing?” you challenged, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow.

“of course,” pierre said, leaning back and looking at his near-finished car. “just like on the track, i’m always going for the win.”

his fingers moved deftly as he put the final pieces together, clicking them in place with ease. “done,” he said with a satisfied grin, looking at you. “what do you think?”

you inspected his lego car, which looked sleek and well-constructed—just like he said, it had that careful precision. “i’ll give it to you, it looks pretty good. but don’t get too cocky, i’m not done yet.”

pierre leaned back, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at you with a half-smile. “you’ve got a bit of catching up to do, but i’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“i’ll show you,” you said, putting your focus back on your own lego car. “you might have finished first, but this is far from over.”

pierre chuckled, clearly enjoying the playful banter. “we’ll see who wins when it’s race time.”

you both lined up your cars, a playful tension in the air. pierre gave you one last teasing look before the race began. "prepare to lose."

you smirked. "we’ll see about that, gasly."

and just like that, the lego race was on.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ jack doohan

jack sat on the floor, a lego instruction manual in one hand and a pile of pieces scattered in front of him. his focus was intense, but there was a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he worked, clearly enjoying the challenge more than he was letting on.

“this thing’s gonna be perfect,” jack said, snapping another piece into place with a satisfying click. “i’ve got it all figured out.”

you glanced over at his progress and raised an eyebrow. “is that so? it looks a little… lopsided to me.”

he shot you a playful glare, but didn’t miss a beat as he continued assembling the lego car. “it’s called ‘character,’” he said, his voice light and teasing. “you wouldn’t understand.”

“‘character,’ huh?” you laughed. “or is it just that you’re rushing to finish first?”

jack smirked, not looking up from his work. “hey, there’s no rushing when you know what you’re doing. it’s all about precision. just wait, this thing’s gonna be a masterpiece.”

you watched him carefully add another piece to his lego car. “sure, sure. but don’t be too surprised when my car beats yours.”

“oh, i’m not worried,” jack said, still grinning. “you might have a head start, but i’ve got the advantage. i’ve got the doohan touch, you know?”

you raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. “the ‘doohan touch,’ huh? is that what you’re calling it?”

“yep,” he said confidently, placing the final piece into place. “it’s all about balance and precision, mate. just like a race car.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at how seriously he was taking it. “well, i guess we’ll see how well that ‘doohan touch’ works in a lego race.”

jack leaned back, admiring his finished lego car. “pretty proud of that one. you’ll see, it’s got speed written all over it.”

you shook your head, teasing him. “speed, huh? let’s just see if it can actually stay together long enough to race.”

jack shot you a playful wink. “don’t worry, mate. i’m confident in my work.”

you took a glance at your own car, still a work in progress. “alright, alright. we’ll see who comes out on top when it’s race time.”

“oh, we will,” jack said, leaning back with a grin that told you he was ready to win. “prepare to lose, though.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “we’ll see about that, jack. we’ll see.”

you both lined up your lego cars, ready for the ultimate showdown. jack gave you one last cheeky grin before you both prepared for the race. the tension was light, fun, and full of that competitive spark.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ nico hülkenberg

nico hülkenberg sat across from you, his expression focused but relaxed. he had a pile of lego pieces in front of him and an instruction manual open. there was no rush in his movements, just a steady, methodical pace, each piece carefully chosen and snapped into place with precision.

“you know, it’s all about patience,” nico said, glancing over at you as he placed another piece on his lego car. “you can’t rush something like this. you’ve got to get it right.”

you leaned back and crossed your arms, watching him with a raised eyebrow. “i’m pretty sure you’re taking this way too seriously, nico.”

he smiled slightly, the corners of his mouth turning up just enough to show he wasn’t offended by the teasing. “not too seriously. just enough to build a car that actually looks good.”

you glanced down at your own lego car, which was… well, definitely not looking as neat as his. “you’re not worried about the competition, then?”

nico chuckled, a low, smooth sound. “i don’t really get worried. just confident in my skills.”

“confident, huh?” you shot him a sly grin. “we’ll see how that works out when it’s race time.”

“oh, i’m not concerned,” he said with that same calm smile, moving his hands skillfully as he added another piece to his car. “i’ve done this before. racing’s all about consistency, right? well, legos aren’t so different.”

you were about to retort, but then you paused. nico had a point—he was approaching the lego build with the same level of focus and consistency that he brought to racing.

“fair enough,” you said after a moment, feeling a little impressed despite yourself. “you really do bring your race mentality into everything, don’t you?”

“it’s a mindset,” he replied with a shrug, his eyes never leaving the pieces in front of him. “whether it’s racing or building legos, it’s about paying attention to the small details and getting the right outcome.”

you leaned in to inspect his progress. the lego car looked sleek and clean, every piece perfectly placed. “not bad, hülkenberg. i’ll give you that.”

“thanks,” he said, looking up at you with a hint of pride. “but i’m just getting started. wait until you see the final result.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “i’m not sure your lego car will be able to beat mine.”

nico raised an eyebrow, his smile widening just a little. “oh? you’re sure about that?”

“absolutely,” you said, fully confident despite the perfection of his build. “i’m just getting warmed up.”

nico shook his head, still smiling. “well, we’ll see about that. i’m all about the details, but you can’t forget about speed.”

you looked at your lego car again, already planning your next move. “you’re right about that. but don’t get too cocky.”

“don’t worry,” nico said smoothly, clicking the last piece into place with a final, satisfying snap. “i’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

you looked at his completed lego car—sleek, precise, and definitely built for success. “alright, well, let’s see how that car performs when the race starts.”

nico leaned back, arms crossed, his usual calm but confident demeanor in full force. “i think you’ll be surprised.”

you both lined up your lego cars, the playful rivalry clear in the air. nico’s calm confidence was palpable, and you couldn’t wait to see how it would translate when the race began.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ gabriel bortoleto

gabriel sat across from you, legs crossed, and a pile of lego pieces neatly spread in front of him. his eyes were focused on the instructions in his hands, each movement deliberate as he began to piece the car together. there was a quiet concentration about him, a level of calmness that made it clear this wasn’t his first time doing something like this.

“you know,” gabriel said without looking up, “i’m pretty sure this car is going to be the cleanest build out of all of us.”

you gave him a sideways glance, smirking. “that so? you’re already talking like it’s a done deal.”

he finally looked up, offering a small smile. “it’s not about talking, it’s about getting things done the right way.”

you leaned back and crossed your arms, intrigued. “and how’s that going for you?”

gabriel’s fingers moved swiftly as he snapped another piece into place. “it’s going well,” he replied calmly. “just focusing on one step at a time. no rush.”

you chuckled. “looks like you’re taking this way more seriously than i thought.”

he shrugged lightly. “i don’t do things half-heartedly. if i’m gonna build a lego car, it’s going to be good.”

you took a look at his progress. the car was coming together quickly, each piece fitting perfectly. it was starting to look sleek, just like his racing style—clean and efficient.

“not bad, bortoleto,” you admitted, giving him a nod of approval. “but don’t get too cocky. my car’s going to be faster.”

gabriel raised an eyebrow, a hint of a playful smirk appearing. “faster, huh? we’ll see about that.”

“yep,” you said, leaning forward and studying your own lego car. “just wait until mine’s done.”

gabriel clicked another piece into place, his hands moving quickly and with purpose. “i’m not in a hurry. i’m just building it the right way.”

you tilted your head, genuinely curious. “what makes you so confident?”

he paused for a moment, looking over at you with a slight smile. “i know how to focus on the details. when it’s time to race, it’s the little things that matter.”

you laughed softly. “alright, alright. i see what you mean. but let’s see how that focus works when it comes to beating me.”

gabriel’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of determination crossing his face. “i don’t underestimate anyone, but i’m confident in how this is going to turn out.”

you watched him for a moment, noticing how calm and controlled he was as he continued working. there was no stress in his movements—just the quiet confidence of someone who knew what they were doing. “well, we’ll see who wins when it’s race time,” you said with a grin.

gabriel finished another section of his car, stepping back to admire it. “it’s all about the details. the perfect combination of speed and precision.”

you laughed. “guess i’ll just have to be faster than you at the finish line.”

gabriel looked at you, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. “we’ll see about that.”

the two of you lined up your cars, the playful tension between you now palpable. gabriel’s calm confidence stood in stark contrast to your competitive energy, and you both knew the race was about to be more than just a lego challenge.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, lmk if you want to be added!

[kunasthiast]

pain scale

“so, on a scale of 1 to 10 – 1 being the lowest, obvs – how much did this hurt?” you pointed at your husband’s forehead tattoo. and honestly? It’s one of your favorites on the canvas of his greek god body.

still reading his book – the brothers karamazov (yes, he’s that guy) – sukuna answered with his signature arrogant tone, “tch, easy 2.”

“babe, are you sure?” you squinted at him. “or are just remembering the wrong pain?”   

“why wouldn’t I be? this is MY tattoo, brat,” sukuna scoffed, barely glancing up from his book. “and I’ve got a really high pain tolerance – unlike someone else.”

“you’re full of shit,” you puffed out your cheeks in protest, “well, I’ll prove you wrong one of these days.”

“yeah?” he snorted, finally putting the book down on his bedside table. Sliding his reading glasses (yes, he has reading glasses) to the top of his head, he turned to face you with a smug grin.

ignoring his smugness, you pointed at those thick, black bands wrapped around his wrists, “ok, so what about this one?” 

you actually loved this tattoo on him – it was giving that geometric-tribal-looking, bold vibe. but every time you ask him about its meaning, his answer was always the same: “I dunno, I just liked it on me”

he held out his wrists proudly, “easy 2.”

“this?!” you grabbed his right wrist like you were that offended on behalf of his skin with how low he is scaling the pain on his tattoos. “this is a 2?”

“yeah, with emphasis on easy,” he confirmed, crossing his arms like he’d just won a gold medal for being the toughest guy on earth.

“you’re insane,” you said as you stared at him like he’d grown two heads (more like arms), “are you even human?” 

“i told ya,” sukuna shrugged. “pain’s a choice, babe.”

“i know, but what the fuck? that’s like… right by your veins! youuur bones!”

“and?” he blinked at you, deadpan.

“you could’ve died?!”

“well, I’m still here, aren’t I?” he shot you that irritatingly smug grin. “now tell me… why are you suddenly so curious?”

“…nothing,” you muttered.

“oh c’mon,” sukuna was grinning wider now, scooting closer to your side of the bed, “what is it, baby? wanna tell daddy what you’re planning?”

“hmm…” you tapped your chin dramatically before leaning on his broad shoulders. “lemme think about it… nope.”

“you’re really gonna play this game?” he narrowed his eyes. 

you giggled and before you could escape, your husband tackled you onto the bed, pinning you beneath him as his warm laughter filled the room.

–––––----------------------------------------------------------------------

a few days later, you came home from a girls' day out with your best friend — tired, giddy, and sporting a suspiciously wrapped patch of second skin on your left wrist.

you tried to be sneaky, casually sliding your hand into your hoodie pocket the moment you stepped inside, but sukuna wasn’t stupid. he noticed you right away. he always does.

“what’s that?” he drawled from the couch, eyes narrowing.

“what’s what?” you shot back, feigning innocence.

“that.” his gaze flicked to your suspiciously hidden wrist.

“… nothing.”

“spit it out, babe,” he warned, closing and setting his book down on the couch — the brothers karamazov, because of course he was still reading that — and standing up.

before you could escape, sukuna had you cornered against the wall, tugging your wrist free like he was unwrapping a Christmas present.

“wait, wait, wait!” you squeaked like a little mouse, but it was too late. 

he peeled back your sleeve, revealing the fresh tattoo peeking out from under the second skin.

for a moment, sukuna just… stared. his face didn’t change, but his fingers ghosted over the fresh ink like he wasn’t sure if it was just a pen drawing or sticker or a real one. his thumb traced the crimson marking – it’s a mini replica of his forehead tattoo.

and you swore, there was a flicker of something in his eyes. surprise? softness? maybe a little bit of both!

then… he laughed. loud, smug, and way too pleased with himself.

“oh my god,” he barked between chuckles. “you really got it?”

“yeah,” you grumbled. “and don’t laugh — this shit hurt. don’t ‘easy 2’ me, that was a solid 8, maybe 9. felt like someone was carving my bones.”

“pfft,” sukuna scoffed. “it’s just a thousand ants biting you at once. that’s nothing.”

“oh, really?” you shot back. “then I hope you enjoy sleeping on the couch tonight.”

that wiped the smirk off his face for about three seconds before he grinned again — that obnoxious, smug grin that you really love and made you want to throw something at the same time.

“i told you I had a high pain tolerance,” he said smugly.

“you’re a liar,” you muttered. “there’s no way that was a 2.”

“well, now you’ve got my mark and a war story to tell,” sukuna teased, stepping closer. “guess that means you’re stuck with me forever now.”

“pfft,” you scoffed, folding your arms. “I was stuck with you before the tattoo, dumbass.”

“oh yeah?” his voice dropped lower as he leaned in. “then tell me... was it worth it?”

you opened your mouth for a snarky reply, but before you could speak, sukuna grabbed your wrist again — this time pressing his lips firmly to the fresh ink. his mouth lingered there, warm and deliberate, before he murmured:

“looks good on you.”

and damn it, even after 5 years of being married to this arrogant bastard, you’re still blushing.

[cigarettesuga]

꒰꒰⠀⠀⠀too good at pretending.⠀✸⠀(⠀ myg ⠀)

pairing: idol!fwb!yoongi x producer!fem!reader

genre: smut, slow-burn tension, hidden feelings, late-night studio rendezvous, slice of chaotic intimacy, mutual pining masked as indifference

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), fingering, teasing, rough sex, oral tension, light dom!yoongi, semi-public sex, dirty talk, marking, overstimulation, slightly possessive behavior, soft aftercare if you squint, mutual denial of romantic feelings, mention of work-stress/mental fatigue, they’re both bad at feelings but good at sex

word count: 4.3 k

summary: it’s after midnight in a nearly-empty hybe building, and she’s still buried in deadlines and demos, jaw clenched and hands in her hair — until the only person who knows her chaos in silence shows up, just as worn out and just as emotionally unavailable. but when yoongi finds her in studio 3A, looking like she hasn't slept and biting down on her own frustration, the air shifts. and when he pulls her into his lap and tells her to be quiet if she doesn’t want the whole floor hearing — neither of them is thinking about feelings. only about relief. except everyone knows — even if they don’t say it out loud — they’re already each other's. just too damn stubborn to admit it.

lu's note: hey there i just wanted to pop up and say that requests are open, i'm on a writing spree and hopefully i'll update more regularly now that i'm almost done with the semester. i'd like to know if you want to see something abt any of the guys... just send a whisper ;)

⠀⠀⠀⠀m.list | latest

the building's nearly dead.

just the low hum of fluorescent lights and the distant echo of someone vacuuming in another hallway. most people had cleared out hours ago — normal people, anyway. the ones with boundaries. sleep schedules. lives.

but not them.

yoongi stretches his neck as he turns the last corner, a paper cup of half-warm coffee in his hand, and there she is.

exactly where he figured she’d be.

her back’s to him, shoulders tense, hands tangled in her hair like she’s trying to physically pull inspiration from her skull. he watches her for a second before saying anything — mostly because it’s kind of fascinating, the way her frustration makes him want to smile. not in a cruel way. more like... fuck, of course it's her. of course she's making herself crazy over something that probably already sounds better than half the shit on the charts right now.

he leans against the doorframe. takes a sip.

“you know you’re not getting paid overtime for this, right?”

she doesn’t jump. just groans without turning around. “don’t start, yoongi. not tonight.”

he chuckles, low and quiet. walks in.

“been trying to reach you.”

his voice is softer now, casual, like this isn’t the third time he’s walked past her empty studio earlier, pretending he wasn’t checking in. “thought maybe you finally ran off to join that noise-pop cult you keep threatening me with.”

“almost did,” she mutters, fingers flying over her keyboard. “but then this demo started sounding like a crime against humanity and i couldn’t leave it like that.”

he settles into the chair beside hers — not close enough to touch, but close enough to be there.

his usual spot.

“play it.”

she hesitates, chewing her lip, and for a second he thinks she’ll argue. but she presses spacebar and leans back, arms crossed.

the track fills the room — unpolished, raw, still bleeding at the edges. but there’s something real in it, something aching and sharp.

and he knows her well enough to hear the exhaustion between the beats.

the trying too hard.

it ends. silence settles.

he nods once. slow.

“doesn’t suck.”

she scoffs. “great. can’t wait to put that on the album review.”

his smirk twitches. “i mean. it doesn’t suck as much as i expected, considering you’re trying to mix in what sounds like a dying printer.”

her mouth drops open in fake offense, and he can’t help it — the corner of his lip lifts again, amused.

this. this is why he came. not because he needed to hear the track. not because he didn’t trust she’d get it done.

but because she looks like a goddamn hurricane when she’s like this, all untamed and brilliant and so deep in her head that it scares him a little.

and he knows the world doesn’t always get the calmer version of her. the one that leans into the quiet. the one that lets herself just be.

but she gives him that version. even when she’s falling apart. especially then.

“take a break,” he says gently, pushing the coffee toward her. “you’re spiraling.”

she looks at the cup, then at him.

and for just a second — just one — her eyes soften.

but then she rolls them. “you’re annoying.”

“you like it.”

“unfortunately.”

he doesn’t say anything to that. just sits there beside her, letting the silence stretch, letting her know she’s not alone — that even when she forgets how to breathe, he remembers. for both of them.

the moment’s quiet.

too quiet for how fast his pulse is moving.

he watches the way her shoulders rise and fall — clipped, uneven — like she’s trying not to fall apart, like holding herself still is the only thing keeping her from unraveling right there in the middle of waveforms and midi tracks. and that shouldn’t do anything to him. he tells himself that every single time.

but fuck, there’s something about seeing her like this — worn down, raw around the edges, still fighting anyway — that guts him more than he’ll ever admit out loud.

he takes a step closer.

then another.

and when he’s close enough to feel the heat of her back through her hoodie, he bends a little, eyes on the crown of her head.

presses his lips there — soft, brief. a barely-there kiss that shouldn’t mean anything but always does.

her hand twitches on the mouse.

he pretends not to notice.

instead, he lets his hands find her arms, slow and easy, fingers tracing lightly from her elbows to her shoulders and back again. not squeezing, not rushing — just being there. reminding her she’s not in this alone, not tonight. maybe not ever, even if neither of them will dare say it.

his mouth finds her hair again, this time to whisper, low and amused, “you keep this up and you’re not getting anywhere with the song.”

her breath stutters — a soft exhale.

and she leans back the tiniest bit, like her body knows something her pride won’t admit.

“maybe,” she says, voice quieter now, “i just need to relax…”

he hums, and it comes out more like a growl than a laugh.

his thumbs drag slow circles into her arms now, a little firmer.

not suggestive — not yet — just intentional.

“yeah?” he murmurs, mouth still ghosting against her hair. “you want help with that?”

there’s a pause. one of those heavy ones, where a whole universe of unsaid things pass between two people who keep pretending they don’t care.

she doesn't say yes.

she doesn't have to.

her body shifts back into him, barely-there contact that might as well be a plea. her eyes stay on the screen, like she’s still pretending this is about the music — like the way her thighs press together slightly isn’t an answer in itself.

he leans closer, lips a whisper away from her ear.

“say the word.”

his voice is lower now. soft, rough, dangerous.

and god, if she says it?

he’ll make her forget what stress even feels like.

her hands on his hips feel deceptively casual — light, teasing — but he feels the tremor beneath her fingertips. the tension riding up her spine even though her voice comes out cool, steady.

"you know i’ll say yes, right?"

he looks down at her, lips quirking into that crooked half-smile — the one that always makes her roll her eyes like she’s not secretly addicted to it.

"yeah," he murmurs, brushing his thumb over the top of her arm. "but consent is sexy. and i’m nothing if not respectful."

her laugh is soft, almost a sigh, but her eyes never leave the screen, like it’s some kind of anchor. or maybe a shield.

he knows how much she hates vulnerability.

knows how much she hides behind work.

but when she leans into him like that — trusting him, choosing him — it undoes something in his chest every single time.

"c’mon," she says, still in that whisper, glancing toward the studio door. "we can’t take too long… we don’t know who’s still on this floor."

and he wants to say, let them fucking hear,

but instead, he lets her guide him — lets her take control the way she always does when she needs to feel like she’s not drowning.

her hand slips into his, fingers cold from hours on the mouse, and he follows as she leads him toward the tiny couch in the corner of the room, worn down from too many late-night naps and occasional power plays like this.

he sits down first, legs open, arms resting on the back of the couch like he’s not already burning for her.

she stands in front of him, hair messy, hoodie half-zipped, pupils dark and pulled — and it takes everything in him not to reach for her right away.

but he doesn’t have to.

because she climbs onto his lap with no hesitation, knees bracketing his thighs, arms sliding around his neck like she’s done it a hundred times — like it’s muscle memory now.

and maybe it is.

he exhales, hands settling low on her waist as she leans in, their foreheads brushing for a moment. a charged pause.

“you good?” he asks, voice barely there.

her mouth tilts into a smirk that doesn’t reach her eyes — not yet — and then she kisses him.

it starts slow, all lips and warmth and quiet desperation. not rushed. not rough.

like they’re trying to remind each other that even in chaos, this is the one place they always come back to.

his fingers press into her back, her hips roll into his without even meaning to, and the tension between them unravels thread by thread.

her hands are in his hair now, tugging, anchoring herself as their mouths move together in sync — and he swears she tastes like frustration and espresso and whatever scent drives him fucking insane every time she walks past him in a hallway.

somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears the vacuum whir down the hall again. a reminder of where they are. who they aren’t supposed to be.

but it doesn’t matter right now.

not when she’s sighing into his mouth like this.

not when she’s melting into his chest like maybe she’s tired of holding the whole world up by herself.

he kisses her deeper — just once — before pulling back just enough to whisper against her lips,

“five minutes.”

she breathes a laugh, breathy and wrecked.

“we’re gonna need at least ten.”

his fingers curl into the waistband of her sweatpants, slow and deliberate — a quiet warning and a promise all in one. the fabric bunches beneath his grip, and he tugs just enough for her to feel it, to know what’s coming next.

but then —

the vacuum hums closer, louder, just outside the door.

they both freeze.

he leans in, lips brushing her ear now, voice low enough to blend with the rumble in the hall.

“you’ll have to be real quiet if you don’t wanna get caught, pretty girl.”

his voice does that thing to her — that husky drop, the weight of intention threading through every syllable. she shifts against him, hips tilting just slightly like her body’s answering before she can think, and that’s all he needs.

he helps her out of the sweatpants — slow and careful, keeping her steady as she steps out of them one leg at a time. it’s practiced, familiar, intimate in a way that makes the air in the room shift.

and then she’s back in his lap, straddling him again, bare thighs brushing denim, skin against skin with only a whisper of lace in between.

her hoodie’s still on. her converse are still on — something about that is stupidly hot, chaotic and casual like everything about her.

his hands trail up her thighs, thumbs skating along the edge of her underwear, a slow tease that makes her bite her bottom lip.

he leans back just enough to take her in — flushed cheeks, messy hair, mouth slightly parted, and that signature don’t fall for me look in her eyes that he knows is all smoke and mirrors.

“lace, huh?” he murmurs, fingertips brushing just under the hem of her panties. “you really didn’t plan on finishing that demo tonight.”

her nails dig into his shoulders in response — not enough to hurt, just enough to say shut up and keep going.

he grins, letting one hand slip up her hoodie, dragging his palm along warm skin, the curve of her waist.

“we’re on a clock, baby,” he whispers, thumb circling higher now, just barely grazing. “think you can stay quiet for me?”

and yeah, he says it like a challenge.

like he already knows she’s not gonna make it easy.

her breath catches — barely audible but unmistakable — as his thumb draws slow, lazy circles over lace. there’s nothing rushed about him, no urgency in the way he touches her. just quiet control. patience that only makes it worse.

or better.

depending on how you look at it.

she shivers under his hand, biting her lip so hard it might leave a mark, trying to keep it together even though her thighs are already trembling around his.

he smirks against the crook of her jaw, amused and maddeningly calm, as if they aren’t one thin wall away from getting caught, as if she isn’t already this undone and he’s barely even touched her.

“you’re shaking,” he whispers, breath hot against her skin. “and i haven’t even done anything yet.”

then his fingers slip under the lace — slow, deliberate — and she gasps, soft and sharp, her hands grabbing at his shoulders like they’re the only solid thing in the room.

he grins, lips brushing her cheek.

“uh-uh,” he murmurs, nudging his nose along her jaw. “remember what i said.”

she nods, swallowing hard, eyes glassy and unfocused.

and that’s when he guides her hand.

takes her wrist gently and brings it down, pressing her palm over his own hand, over the fingers teasing slow, torturous circles just where she needs them most.

“use my fingers,” he whispers, low and rough. “you know what you like.”

and she does.

her hand trembles as she starts to move — guiding him, hips rocking in quiet desperation. it’s messy, it's intimate, and so fucking real.

he lets her take control, but never lets go — his other hand pressing firm at the base of her spine, grounding her, holding her there, reminding her that she’s safe, she’s seen, she’s his — even if they’ll never say it.

every breath she exhales into his neck sounds like a confession.

every roll of her hips says i need you louder than words ever could.

and yoongi, voice barely audible, lips pressed to the shell of her ear, breathes out the one thing he knows will wreck her:

“that’s it, pretty girl. just like that.”

his breath is hot against her skin — ragged now, catching with every sound she makes, every tiny gasp she tries to swallow back like it’s not unraveling him completely.

his fingers move slower, deeper. stretching her gently, curling just enough to make her spine arch into him. he knows her body by now — every twitch, every soft curse under her breath, every time she presses her mouth to his shoulder to keep from moaning too loud.

she’s trying to be good. to be quiet.

and he’s not making it easy.

“so fuckin’ wet for me already,” he murmurs into her ear, voice low and dark and laced with a smile she can feel. “this what you needed, huh? not a break. just my fingers inside you while the whole building’s still awake.”

his lips trail down her neck, open-mouthed kisses that go from soft to claiming real quick — he sucks just under her jaw, enough pressure to leave a mark that won’t fade by morning. something she’ll complain about later with a smirk, trying to act like she’s mad, like she doesn’t love it.

she whimpers — the sound small and stifled, but there — and his teeth graze her skin right after.

“shh…” he soothes, lips brushing the red bloom he just left behind. “you’re doing so good, baby. so fuckin’ pretty like this, falling apart on my lap, hoodie on, shoes still on — god, you’re such a mess for me.”

his fingers stretch deeper now, his rhythm steady but ruthless — working her open while his free hand tightens on her hip, pulling her flush against him, letting her feel just how hard he is under her.

“you feel that?” he breathes out, grinding her down a little. “feel what you do to me?”

she nods, desperate, mouth parted and gasping — but he doesn’t stop.

he can’t.

not when she’s trembling like this, thighs twitching, hands clawing at his shoulders, his name falling off her lips in broken whispers she probably doesn’t even realize she’s saying.

not when she’s losing herself and still trying to hold it together, still trying to not moan loud enough to echo down the hall.

he kisses her collarbone, trailing down with slow reverence before whispering against her skin — filth laced in affection:

“come for me, pretty girl. be quiet if you can… but fuck, don’t hold back on my account.”

she’s trembling in his lap now — her entire body shivering with the aftermath of it, hips stuttering as she rides it out against his hand, making a mess all over his fingers, on his jeans, like she’s got nothing left to give.

but the way she’s gasping his name, barely even trying to be quiet anymore, the way her hands are still gripping his shirt like she’s starving — that’s when he knows.

she’s not done.

not even close.

"yoongi," she breathes, voice wrecked, pleading, pulling at his shirt now like she’ll unravel if he doesn’t do something now.

he kisses her jaw, quick, and helps her up without a word, hands strong and steady under her thighs as she finds her footing again, legs shaky, lips kiss-bitten and slightly parted.

“c’mon,” he says, voice low, firm, laced with need so thick it’s almost a growl. he turns her gently, guides her to lean over the back of the couch, her knees sinking into the worn cushions — and fuck, the sight of her like that?

it nearly undoes him.

she pulls off the hoodie in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere behind her, hair falling wild and messy down her back. the black lace underwear’s still clinging to her thighs, barely pushed down, an afterthought now — and something about it makes his brain short-circuit.

he stands behind her, hands trailing down her spine, over the soft slope of her hips.

he could tease. he wants to tease.

but not now.

not when she’s already shaking for him, not when she’s arching her back just right, looking over her shoulder with that desperate, wrecked little expression that makes his cock twitch against his zipper.

he leans in, one hand sliding up her back, pressing down between her shoulder blades.

“you want it like this?” he whispers against her ear, hot and low.

she nods, frantic.

he barely tugs the underwear any further, just enough to expose her, to have her. he likes the way it looks bunched on her thighs, messy and rushed, like they never really had the patience to undress properly.

like they never do.

then he undoes his belt, the quiet clink loud in the stillness of the studio.

and just before he sinks into her, he leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of her spine, and mutters — low and reverent — like she’s the only thing he believes in,

“let me take care of you.”

his hands are rough now, no more of that slow build-up — it’s fast, all heat and urgency, all of it fueled by the risk, by how easy it would be for someone to walk by and hear the unmistakable sounds slipping out from under the door.

his fingers dig into the swell of her ass, spreading her open, thumbs pressing into skin like he owns it. he squeezes, slaps once — quick and sharp — just to watch her jolt forward on instinct, breath catching as she reaches for something to bite down on.

she grabs the old throw blanket folded lazily on the armrest — some gifted merch no one ever uses — and she sinks her teeth into it, moaning into the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping her from getting caught.

yoongi’s head falls back for a second at the sight of her like this — needy and wrecked and his, half-naked with her shoes still on, knees digging into a couch they’ve both crashed on too many times.

and he’s fast now. fucking into her like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality, low groans escaping his throat every time she clenches around him, every time her hips grind back like she’s just as desperate.

“look at you,” he pants, leaning in close, chest to her back. his hand tangles in her hair, not too hard, just enough to pull her head back so he can get to her ear, mouth brushing the shell of it. “biting that blanket like you don’t want the whole damn building to know how good i’m fucking you.”

she moans louder at that — muffled but loud — like the filth in his voice is winding her tighter.

“so fuckin’ needy,” he whispers, hips snapping into her, rhythm relentless. “you were practically begging for it, weren’t you? making a mess all over my hand, whining in my lap like a pretty little slut…”

he kisses the corner of her jaw, slow and messy.

"you think they’d still respect you if they saw you like this? bent over, drooling into a blanket while i fuck you stupid?"

her whole body shudders at that — hips twitching, back arching — and he grins, breathless.

“didn’t think so,” he murmurs, voice like velvet and smoke. “now be good, baby. stay quiet, take it all — and don’t you dare cum until i say so.”

yoongi swears under his breath, voice low and ragged, eyes locked on the slick, messy glide of her body swallowing him whole — over and over again. the mess she’s making of him, of herself, of the damn couch cushions. it’s obscene. it’s art.

he can’t look away.

the way her thighs tremble.

the slick sounds echoing in the tiny studio.

the blanket still caught between her teeth, now damp with spit and moans she’s too scared to let out.

it’s almost too much — almost.

he slows suddenly, pulls out with a slow drag that makes her gasp and arch back instinctively, trying to chase the friction.

but he’s already palming himself, thick and flushed and dripping — dragging the head of his cock right against her swollen clit.

“yoongi—” she breathes, voice high and strung out, hips bucking back, needing more — needing anything.

he grins, lazily, running himself along her, smearing her wetness in tight little circles. messy, filthy pressure, just enough to make her legs shake.

“fuck, look at this,” he groans, thumbing her open again just to see the way she twitches. “you’re so wet for me, pretty girl. making a goddamn mess all over my cock, and i haven’t even finished with you yet.”

he pushes in just the tip — enough to make her cry out into the blanket — and pulls back again to rub slow circles against her clit, dragging the head across her like he’s trying to brand her with it.

“you like that?” he murmurs, watching her hips try to press back into him. “like how it feels when i tease you like this? you want more?”

she nods desperately, a muffled please slipping out around the fabric in her mouth, and it’s so sweet, so fucking perfect, it makes his grip on her hair tighten just a little.

“you’re gonna lose your mind if i don’t give it to you, huh?” he growls, circling her clit again, wet and hot and just enough to make her shake. “but i like watching you fall apart like this. so messy, so loud without even saying a word.”

he leans in close again, lips ghosting over her ear, voice lower than before — dangerous.

“keep that blanket right there, baby. ‘cause when i finally fuck you again… you’re gonna need something to scream into.”

he can feel it building — low in his spine, thick in his blood, the kind of tension that’s impossible to slow down once it starts burning through his veins. she’s soaked, her thighs trembling against his, back arching every time he drags himself over that perfect spot, and he’s dangerously close to losing it.

he pulls her up gently, not because he wants to be sweet — though he is, in his own way — but because he needs a better angle. needs to see her face, her wrecked little expressions. needs to feel her falling apart with him.

“come here,” he mutters, helping her shift, guiding her down onto her side, her legs curling slightly as he lays behind her. he hooks one arm under her knee, holding it up to keep her open, the other snaking around her waist to pull her flush against him.

and then he’s back inside her — deeper like this, slower for a second, but heavier, more intense.

“fuck, baby,” he grits, mouth pressed to the back of her neck, teeth grazing skin. “you’re so tight like this… you were made for this.”

she lets out a breathy, muffled moan — lips parted, eyes fluttering — and it’s so much, the intimacy, the sweat, the quiet gasps between them. the danger of getting caught still sharp in the background, echoing with every thrust.

he’s close — too close — and when she reaches behind her, fingers barely brushing his hip like she’s trying to pull him even deeper, that’s what does it.

“shit—” he groans, deep and rough, burying his face in her shoulder as he pulls out quickly, hand wrapping around himself.

in just a few rough strokes, he’s coming hard — hot and messy, thick spurts landing right across the black lace of her underwear still tangled around her thighs. he pants against her, forehead pressed to her back, hand steadying himself against her hip as the tremors run through him.

“fuck,” he whispers, breathless. “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

they’re still tangled like that — her on her side, flushed and slick, his cum cooling on her thighs and lace — when a knock slices through the air.

sharp.

loud.

too real.

they both freeze.

she shoots him a wide-eyed look over her shoulder, and yoongi curses under his breath as he scrambles for her hoodie, tossing it over her bare chest while trying to zip himself up with one hand.

“(y/n)-ssi?” a voice calls politely from the hallway. a young male staffer, probably an intern. “i was told to remind you about the morning meeting. they asked if you could check your email before you leave.”

yoongi presses a finger to his lips, mouthing don’t laugh when she lets out a wheeze and nearly chokes on it, face buried in the blanket again.

“thanks!” she croaks out after a second, voice not nearly as steady as she wants it to be. “i’ll check in a bit!”

silence. footsteps retreat. door remains mercifully shut.

yoongi leans down, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, voice smug and low and just as wrecked as she is.

“you owe me a new pair of jeans,” he murmurs.

“and maybe a warning next time you decide to look that fuckable in sweatpants.”

-quietly always, cigarettesuga.

[inseobts]

could I please request a Luffy x fem Reader where the crew sees a bounty of another pirate and the reader goes on to make comments about how attractive he is which makes Luffy all jealous, thank you!

Jealousy on the Sunny

luffy x fem!reader

words count: 1.7k

tags: fluffy, sfw, humour, jealous luffy

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The Straw Hat crew sits around the dining table on the Sunny, finishing up a meal Sanji prepared. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the deck as the ship sails smoothly across the sea.

Nami, flipping through a stack of fresh bounty posters, suddenly pauses. She raises an eyebrow, then smirks.

“Look at this guy,” she says, sliding a poster to the center of the table “His bounty just shot up to 400 million berries.”

Curious, you lean forward, along with the rest of the crew. The poster features a tall, broad-shouldered man with messy black hair and a sharp jawline. A confident smirk stretches across his face, and there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes.

You stop whatever you were doing to look “Damn. He’s kinda hot.”

The room goes silent.

A fork clatters onto a plate. Usopp chokes on his drink. Zoro raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, while Sanji scoffs.

But the real reaction comes from Luffy. Sitting next to you, your captain stops chewing his meat mid-bite. His usual carefree grin fades, replaced by a slight frown. He stares at the poster, then at you.

“You think he’s hot?” Luffy asks, his tone unusually flat.

You shrug, taking another look at the poster “I mean, yeah? Look at that smirk. And those arms—he definitely works out.”

Sanji rolls his eyes “Tch. As if a bounty makes someone attractive.”

“Not the bounty, just—y’know, the whole vibe,” you say, waving your hand “He’s got that mysterious, dangerous look.”

Luffy pouts, still staring at the poster like it personally offended him. He squints at it, then at you “But he’s not even smiling properly” he argues.

You chuckle “Not everyone grins like an excited puppy all the time, Luffy.”

Luffy’s pout deepens “I do not look like a puppy.”

Usopp, watching the scene unfold, snickers “You kinda do, though.”

“Shut up.”

You tilt your head, still looking at the bounty poster “I bet he’s got a cool voice, too. Deep and smooth.”

Luffy abruptly crosses his arms “You don’t even know him.”

“True, but I can imagine.”

Luffy frowns harder. He looks between you and the poster, then suddenly snatches it off the table and crumples it in his hands.

“Oi, what the hell?” Nami scolds.

Luffy grumbles, stuffing the balled-up paper into his pocket “This guy’s stupid. I don’t like him.”

You blink “Luffy, are you… jealous?”

His expression twitches “No.”

Zoro snorts “Yeah, sure.”

Luffy huffs and leans closer to you, nudging his forehead against yours “I’m way cooler than that guy..." he insists.

You bite back a smile “Oh?”

“Yeah! I can stretch, I have a ship, and I’m gonna be King of the Pirates,” he lists proudly, puffing out his chest “That guy probably doesn’t even have meat on his ship.”

Sanji sighs “Luffy, everyone has meat on their ship—”

“Not as much as ours!” Luffy argues, still pressing close to you. His lips form a small pout as he stares at you expectantly, waiting for confirmation.

You can’t help but laugh “Okay, okay. You’re way cooler.”

His face instantly lights up, his signature grin returning “See? I knew it!”

The rest of the crew groans at how easy you went on him, but you don’t care. Luffy tugs you closer, resting his chin on top of your head, still grinning.

“That guy’s dumb. You don’t need to look at other pirates,” he says “You’ve already got me.”

You shake your head fondly “Yeah, yeah. I guess I do.”

Luffy hums happily at your words, wrapping his arms around you in a loose but firm hold. His warmth seeps through your clothes, and the familiar scent of sea salt and adventure clings to him. He’s content now, his jealousy already forgotten.

The rest of the crew, however, is not as quick to move on.

Nami crosses her arms “You’re seriously going to let him win that easily?”

You shrug “What can I say? I like my captain.”

Sanji scoffs, lighting a cigarette “Tch. You have no taste.”

Usopp shakes his head, grinning “Nah, she just knows that if she keeps teasing him, Luffy might actually go pick a fight with that guy.”

Luffy perks up at that “Oh! Should I?”

“No!” everyone shouts in unison.

You chuckle, resting your hand on his chest “Luffy, you can’t just fight someone because I said he looks good.”

“Why not?” Luffy tilts his head “I don’t like it when you say that about other guys.”

You smirk, deciding to tease him just a little more “But what if he is strong?”

Luffy immediately sits up straight, his expression serious “I don’t care. I’d still beat him.”

You laugh, patting his cheek “Relax, Captain. I don’t care about him. You’re the only pirate I’m interested in.”

Luffy beams, pulling you closer again “Good! ‘Cause I already decided—you’re mine.”

Your heart skips a beat at how easily he says it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The crew groans again, muttering about how unfair it is that Luffy gets away with everything. But you?

You just smile and let him hold you, knowing that no other pirate could ever compare.

Luffy is still grinning, completely satisfied with himself, but you’re not done yet. His arms are wrapped tightly around you, his warmth soaking into your skin, and that smug little smile on his face is just too cute.

You tilt your head, looking up at him “So… if I’m yours, what does that make you?”

Luffy blinks “Huh?”

You smirk, fingers tracing lightly over his chest “If I’m yours, then you’re mine too, right?”

His grin falters for a second, a faint dusting of red creeping up his cheeks. He’s never really thought about it like that “Uh… yeah,” he mumbles “I guess so.”

You hum in amusement “Good.” Then, before he can react, you lean up and press a soft kiss to his cheek.

Luffy freezes. His entire body goes stiff, and for once, he’s completely silent.

The crew erupts.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—did she just—?!” Usopp practically chokes on his own words.

Zoro snickers “Didn’t think I’d ever see Luffy speechless.”

Sanji groans dramatically, gripping his chest “Why must I suffer like this?!”

Meanwhile, Luffy slowly lifts a hand to his cheek, eyes wide. He turns to you, mouth slightly open, like his brain is still catching up to what just happened.

You giggle at his reaction “What? You can call me yours, but I can’t kiss you?”

Luffy’s face breaks into the widest, happiest grin you’ve ever seen “No, no, you can! Do it again!”

You laugh, shaking your head “Maybe later.”

“Aw, c’mon!” He starts leaning closer, obviously wanting another one.

You place a hand on his face, pushing him back slightly “You’re acting like a little kid.”

He pouts “So? You kissed me first.”

“And you got greedy right away” you tease.

Luffy huffs but doesn’t let go of you. Instead, he nuzzles into your neck, still grinning “I like it,” he mumbles “You should do it more.”

Your heart flutters, and you roll your eyes playfully “Maybe if you stop getting jealous over random bounty posters.”

Luffy immediately lifts his head “Okay! I promise! No more getting jealous!”

You raise an eyebrow “That fast?”

“Yep!” He grins “As long as you keep kissing me, I don’t care about anyone else!”

You shake your head, laughing “You’re ridiculous.” But as you look at him, at his bright smile, his happy, expectant expression, you sigh in defeat.

“…Fine.”

You lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips this time. It’s soft, warm, and sweet, just like him.

Luffy practically vibrates with excitement “Hehehe.”

The crew groans.

“Great. Now he’s never gonna shut up about this” Zoro mutters.

You just smile, because honestly? You don’t mind at all.

Luffy is still grinning like an idiot, arms wrapped snugly around you, his forehead resting against yours. His excitement is contagious, and you can’t help but smile too.

But then he tilts his head, eyes dropping to your lips.

“Hey,” he says softly “Kiss me again.”

Your heart skips a beat. The way he’s looking at you, curious, eager, completely focused, makes your face heat up.

You roll your eyes, pretending to be unimpressed “You’re so greedy.”

Luffy just grins wider “Yep.”

You hesitate for a second, but honestly, you don’t really want to resist. So, before you can overthink it, you reach up, cupping his face in your hands. His skin is warm under your palms, sun-kissed and slightly rough from all his adventures.

Then, you close the small distance between you, pressing your lips against his.

Luffy goes completely still. For a second, he’s not even breathing. But then, just as you start to pull away, his arms tighten around you, and he kisses you back... messy, unpracticed, but so incredibly Luffy.

His lips are warm, soft, and he leans into you like he never wants to let go. It’s not a deep kiss, not rushed or desperate, just pure and full of excitement.

When you finally break apart, he stares at you, eyes wide and shining.

Then, his entire face lights up.

“WOAH!!” He bounces slightly, still holding onto you “That was awesome! Do it again!”

You laugh breathlessly, shaking your head “Calm down, Captain.”

But Luffy is anything but calm. He turns to the rest of the crew, still grinning like he just found a new adventure.

“Did you guys see that?! She kissed me!! On the lips!!”

The crew collectively groans.

“Yes, Luffy. We saw” Nami says, rubbing her temples.

Zoro smirks “Bet you won’t shut up about it for a week.”

“I won’t!!” Luffy declares proudly, hugging you closer “This is the best day ever!!”

You sigh, laughing as he nuzzles into you “You’re impossible.”

“But you like me anyway” he says smugly.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t deny it “…Yeah. I do.”

Luffy beams, squeezing you tighter “Good! ‘Cause I really, really like you too!”

You smile, resting your head against his chest. The bounty poster is long forgotten, because really, no one else in the world could ever compare to him.

[jupiterpilgrim]

Swallow the Pill

Kim Minjeong (Winter) x Male Reader

word count: 17K

The duffle bag is halfway zipped when your phone buzzes on the dresser. You glance over, one hand on a folded towel, already thinking it’s the group chat. Maybe they’re early, maybe someone forgot sunscreen—typical. Instead, the name “Winter” flashes on the screen. The towel drops from your hand as you frown at it.

Winter...

You haven’t heard from her in a few days, not since that weirdly intimate coffee date where she’d kept looking at you like you hung the moon. Cute, sure, but intense. A little too much. You two weren’t even a thing. A couple of drunken makeouts at parties, a handful of late-night texts, and maybe one date that leaned dangerously into feelings territory. That’s it.

Her message is short and loaded:

"Hey, are you busy?"

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard for a second. You start typing.

"Kinda. Packing for the beach. What's up?"

The reply comes back fast, like she was waiting for you to answer.

"I’m sick. Really sick. Can you come over?"

You squint at the screen, reading the message twice. Sick? What the hell? You fire back.

"What do you mean sick? Like hospital sick? Are you okay?"

She sends an emoji—one of those pitiful, droopy ones—then another message:

"No hospital. Just the flu or something. I feel awful. Need help."

It takes a second for it to sink in. She must be joking. You stare at the phone, genuinely confused. She has friends, right? Family? Someone closer to her than the guy she’s hooked up with two or three times?

You type:

"Why me? Don’t you have someone else? Friends? Relatives? A neighbor?"

The response is instant:

"Everyone’s busy. And you’re close.

Please, daddy."

Your stomach lurches at the word. She called you that last time you were together too, whispered it in your ear with a grin, like she knew exactly how to get under your skin. You run a hand down your face and reply:

"Don’t call me that."

"Sorry. Please, though. I’m really sick. Can’t even get out of bed. Just need a little favor."

She adds a sad face this time, really driving it home. You stare at your duffle bag, then back at the phone, then back at the duffle.

You’re not her boyfriend. You’re not even really sure what you are. A fling? A pastime? The guy who texts back at 2 a.m.? And yet, there’s this strange pull. The idea of her alone in her apartment, small and helpless, buried under blankets, sniffling. It needles at you.

You type one last message:

"What exactly do you need me to do?"

Her reply is shameless.

"Take care of me. Bring some meds or soup or something. I’ll owe you big."

You know you should say no. You know you should zip the bag, throw it over your shoulder, and walk out the door to meet your friends. But something makes you hesitate.

Is it guilt? Curiosity? Some twisted sense of responsibility for this girl you don’t even know that well? You sigh, tapping out your final surrender.

"Fine. Be there soon."

You throw the duffle bag in the closet. Goodbye, beach. Goodbye, carefree weekend of sun and booze and forgetting your responsibilities.

Winter, you think, had better be worth it.

—

The plastic bags rustle against your leg as you climb the stairs to Winter’s apartment, the fucking elevator is being fixed, and it gives you more time to think about what exactly you're doing. You should have just told her to order delivery. Or called one of her real friends. Or just—anything but this. But here you are, with cold medicine, snacks, and a pint of strawberry ice cream you’re pretty sure she likes because she mentioned it that one time when you were half-listening.

Her messages played through your head the whole drive over. Fever. Headache. Sneezing. She hadn’t sounded dramatic—just miserable enough to guilt you into dropping your plans.

Her door is slightly ajar, probably because she didn’t want to get up to let you in. You knock anyway, a couple of quick raps, and her voice floats out, soft and faint.

“Come in!”

You push the door open and step inside. The place is small, tidy, and unmistakably her. Neutral tones with little bursts of pastel here and there. A fluffy pink throw draped over a beige couch. A single framed photo of a seaside sunset on the wall. It smells faintly of lavender, like one of those candles she’s probably obsessed with.

And there she is, sprawled on the couch, wrapped in the thinnest blanket imaginable. She’s wearing this oversized long-sleeve shirt that probably hits mid-thigh. Her dyed-blonde hair’s a bit of a mess, and her cheeks are faintly flushed. She looks like some kind of sickly cherub, both pitiful and oddly… attractive in her vulnerability.

“Hey,” you say, unsure where to stand, so you hover awkwardly by the door. “How’re you feeling?”

She shifts, sitting up just a little, her voice soft and nasal. “So-so. Better now that you’re here, though.”

You ignore the flutter of something in your chest and hold up the bag. “I got some stuff. Medicine. Snacks. Ice cream, too.”

That perks her up. Her eyes brighten a little. “Ice cream?”

You mumble something barely audible, already heading to her tiny kitchenette. “Yeah. Strawberry. Figured it’d help with the sore throat or whatever.”

She murmurs a soft “thank you” as you stash the pint in her freezer, then return to the living room. You glance around for a place to put the rest of the stuff and end up dumping it on her coffee table. She looks at you with those big, tired eyes, and you feel like you’ve just handed over some priceless treasure instead of a few basics.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” she says quietly, though there’s a small, pleased smile tugging at her lips.

“Well, I’m here now,” you reply, shrugging. Then, unable to help yourself, you add, “Though it’s a shame it’s under these circumstances.”

Her lips quirk. “Yeah. I was the one missing you, and this is what I get. Karma’s cruel, huh?”

You kneel beside the couch, reaching out almost automatically to check her temperature the old-fashioned way. The back of your hand brushes her forehead, warm but not alarming. Her skin is smooth, softer than you’d expected.

“Doesn’t feel like much of a fever,” you say, trying to sound neutral.

“It’s mild,” she admits, leaning into your hand slightly like it’s instinct. “But I still feel awful. Weak. Kinda lightheaded.”

“Mm.” You pull your hand back, studying her for a moment. “Have you eaten anything today?”

She hesitates, her gaze sliding to the side. That’s answer enough.

“Of course not,” you mutter, exasperated but not surprised. “All right. Medicine first, then you’re eating something. I didn’t give up my beach weekend to watch you wither away on this couch.”

Her laugh is soft and a little hoarse, but it’s there. “You’re bossy. I like it.”

You don’t bother replying, already rummaging through the bag for the cold meds. She watches you the whole time, a small, lazy smile on her lips. It’s like she knows something you don’t, and for some reason, that makes you a little nervous.

You pull a pill packet out of the bag and pop one free, holding it out for her like you’re a nurse on shift. She looks up at you, her nose scrunched. “What is it?”

“Magic,” you deadpan, before grabbing the nearest glass off her coffee table, rinsing it in the sink, and filling it with water. You return and plunk it in her hand. “Just take it. It’s for the headache and fever.”

Winter pouts but obediently swallows the pill, washing it down with the water. Her throat bobs as she drinks, and for some reason, you notice her lips lingering on the rim of the glass. You shake it off and clear your throat. “You got anything in the kitchen? Like, soup stuff?”

She blinks, like she has no idea what you’re talking about. “Maybe? I think there’s... carrots? And, um, potatoes?”

“Perfect,” you say dryly, already heading to the fridge. “Soup à la ‘whatever I can find.’”

She props herself up on her elbow, watching you rummage through her cabinets. “Do you even know how to make soup?”

“Nope,” you reply without missing a beat. “But YouTube does.”

Her laugh is soft and raspy. “Good luck, Gordon Ramsay.”

You glance back at her, smirking. “Keep that energy, sick girl.”

—

It takes longer than you’d like—turns out soup’s a bit more complicated than just dumping water in a pot and crossing your fingers—but eventually, you’ve got something that vaguely smells edible. It’s hot, steaming in a bowl, and you’re honestly a little proud of yourself.

You bring it over and hand it to her. She takes it with both hands, peering into the bowl like it’s a work of art.

“Wow,” she murmurs, a small grin tugging at her lips. “It looks legit.”

“Don’t jinx it,” you mutter, sinking into the armchair across from her.

She spoons some up, blowing on it gently before taking a sip. Her eyes widen just slightly. “Hey, this is actually good.”

“You sound shocked,” you say, leaning back. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

She grins, small and sheepish. “Sorry. I just didn’t expect you to... you know... be so domestic.”

You shrug, trying to play it off. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. This was a one-time deal.”

She finishes the soup slowly, savoring each bite like it’s some kind of rare delicacy. When she’s done, she sets the bowl aside and looks at you. “Thanks. Really. I feel better already.”

You wave her off, standing up and brushing your hands on your jeans. “No big deal. If anything happens, just shoot me a message.”

Her head tilts. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” you say plainly. “There’s still soup in the kitchen. You can heat it up later if you’re hungry. And like I said, message me if you need anything else.”

Her hand shoots out, grabbing yours. Her grip is soft but firm, and it stops you in your tracks. “Don’t go.”

You hesitate, looking down at her. “Winter...”

“Part of the treatment depends on you staying with me,” she says, her voice light but pleading. Her eyes—big, dark, and slightly glassy—fix on yours. It’s unfair. A total cheat code.

“Come on,” you sigh, trying to pull back. “I’ve already—”

“Please,” she interrupts, tugging you closer. “I get clingy when I’m sick. I need you here.”

You groan, exasperated but helpless. Her face is too damn convincing, her voice too soft. Before you know it, you’re sinking down onto the couch next to her, and she’s leaning into you, her arms sliding around your waist in a loose, warm hug.

“You're too dramatic,” you mutter, but your arms move on their own, wrapping around her small frame.

She lets out a quiet sound—half sigh, half happy grunt—and burrows into your chest like she’s been waiting all day for this. “Thank you,” she whispers.

You sigh again, defeated. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t milk it.”

She just smiles against you, holding on tighter. And somehow, you don’t mind.

—

It’s one of those nights where nothing feels rushed, where time slips by in lazy waves. You’re at one of your friends' house, slouched on his shitty couch that’s seen too many parties and not enough Febreze. A game’s on in the background, the volume turned low enough that no one’s paying attention, and the room smells like pizza grease and beer. Everyone’s in that late-night haze where conversation loops into nonsense—who’d win in a fight between Superman and a shark, or the ethics of hot dog toppings.

You’ve got a cold beer in your hand, halfway through your third or fourth, when your phone buzzes on the armrest.

It’s Winter. She had sent you other messages earlier, But you didn't see them. Or you chose not to.

For a second, you just stare at her name on the screen. It’s been a week since you hooked up at that party, and yeah, you’ve texted a bit. Casual stuff. Songs, memes, “what’s your favorite color” bullshit. You’ve been trying to keep it light. She’s cool, and that’s the problem. Cool girls are trouble. They make you think too much, want too much, and you’ve got enough on your plate without adding emotions to the mix.

Still, curiosity wins. You pick up the phone and open the message.

"What r u doing?"

Simple. Innocent. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard. You could lie. Say you’re busy. But why bother?

"Chillin at a friend’s. What about you?"

Her reply comes quick.

"Thinking about you."

You blink at the screen, your brain short-circuiting for a second. The bottle in your hand feels heavier.

"Oh yeah?"

She doesn’t reply right away this time. It’s maybe two minutes of nothing, enough time for one of your friends to ask you a question about the game, for someone else to start laughing about God-knows-what. You nod along, distracted, and then your phone vibrates again.

"Yeah... You were really fun at the party. ;) I kinda wanna see you again."

Your heart does this stupid skip thing, and you tell yourself it’s just the beer. She’s probably just bored. Horny. You tell yourself to play it cool.

"Is that so?"

The next message hits different.

"Come over."

Two words. That’s it. And then, right after, the low blow: a picture.

It’s not outright explicit, but it doesn’t have to be. She’s in these tiny-ass pajamas—shorts so loose you can see the curve of her thigh, a top hanging off one shoulder like it’s about to slide off completely. Her blonde hair’s a little messy, like she’s been rolling around on her bed, and her lips are pouty, her eyes big and innocent, like she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing.

She knows. She fucking knows.

Your friends are still talking, still laughing, oblivious to the war happening inside your head. You take another sip of your beer and stare at the photo.

"What’s the catch?"

She replies with another picture. This one’s worse—or better, depending on how you look at it. The shorts have ridden up higher, and her hand’s resting on her bare thigh, just teasing enough to make you swallow hard.

The caption?

"No catch. Just... us."

You’re toast. Game over. Whatever thin line of resistance you had is gone. You drain the rest of your beer in one long gulp and stand up, grabbing your jacket.

“Where you going?” one of your friends asks, looking up from his half-dead vape pen.

“New plans,” you say, keeping it vague, keeping it casual. No one needs to know.

You text Winter on your way out the door:

"On my way."

Her reply comes immediately, a simple:

"Good. Door’s unlocked. You already know the address."

And just like that, you’re heading into the night, her photos burned into your brain and your chest pounding like you’ve already lost a game you didn’t even know you were playing.

—

The elevator hums faintly, a low mechanical noise that fills the silence as you lean against the wall, hands shoved in your jacket pockets. The building smells faintly of floor cleaner and old carpet, and the dim light overhead flickers every few seconds. You glance at the number ticking upward, trying to focus on anything but the flood of memories crowding your head.

The party. You hadn’t planned on much. Show up, grab a drink, maybe stick around long enough to prove you weren’t a total recluse. You weren’t exactly in a social mood, but your friends had dragged you along anyway, saying something about getting you out of your funk. You weren’t even there ten minutes before you saw her. Kim Minjeong.

Winter, as she likes to be called.

She’d practically lit up the room. Blonde hair catching the crappy strobe lights, this magnetic energy that somehow felt both chaotic and easygoing at the same time. You’d been nursing your beer, trying to stay inconspicuous, when she caught your eye and grinned like she already knew all your secrets. It wasn’t long before she was laughing at some half-assed joke you made, her laugh contagious, her hand brushing your arm. Flirting came naturally, her words laced with playful teasing.

And then—your place. Her legs wrapped around you, her breathy moans filling the room as your name spilled from her lips. The way she pulled you closer like she couldn’t get enough, the way her nails dug into your back when you made her come. This story was repeated at another party, then another. And now...

The elevator dings, snapping you back to reality.

You step out into the hallway, the carpet muffling your steps as you make your way to her door. Your stomach twists—anticipation, nerves, maybe a bit of both. The memory of her last message sits heavy in your chest. "Door’s unlocked."

You knock lightly anyway, out of habit, before pushing the door open.

And then she’s there.

Winter launches herself at you like a bullet, arms flinging around your neck, her body colliding with yours so fast you almost stumble back. Your hands fly to her waist instinctively, steadying her, and she clings to you like you’ve been gone for months.

“You came,” she breathes. Her face is so close to yours, her warm breath brushing your cheek, her big eyes looking up at you like you’re the answer to every unspoken question.

“Yeah, I—”

Before you can finish, she presses her lips to yours.

Her kiss is needy, urgent, like she’s been waiting all night for this moment. Her hands move to your hair, fingers tangling in it as she tilts her head to deepen the kiss. You tighten your grip on her waist, her small frame fitting against you perfectly. Her lips are soft and slightly sweet, probably from whatever she’d been drinking before you got here.

You walk her backward, barely breaking the kiss long enough to navigate, until you feel the edge of the couch hit your legs. You sit down, pulling her with you so she lands on your lap, her thighs straddling yours.

“Miss me?” she teases, her lips brushing against yours as she speaks.

“Not sure,” you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm, though your hands are already sliding down her sides. “Depends on how much trouble you’re planning to cause tonight.”

Her grin is wicked, her eyes sparkling as she cups your jaw. “A lot. Is that gonna be a problem?”

“Probably,” you murmur, leaning up to kiss her again.

She hums against your mouth, her fingers tracing along your jawline. “Good,” she whispers. “I like being your problem.”

You laugh, pulling back just enough to look at her. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Mm, you love it.”

You don’t respond, but the way your hands grip her hips says enough.

Her lips barely leave yours as she speaks, her words soft and breathy between kisses. “Why didn’t you answer my calls earlier?”

The question lands like a curveball, and for a second, you freeze. Her hands are still in your hair, her hips firmly planted on your lap, but she’s pulled back just enough to study your face. Her eyes are sharp, curious, and maybe a little accusing.

“I was busy,” you reply, trying to sound casual as your hands settle on her waist.

Winter narrows her eyes, her head tilting slightly like she’s not buying it. “Too busy to pick up the phone? Really?”

You sigh, leaning back into the couch, though your hands don’t leave her hips. “I answered your texts, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, after I sent about ten,” she counters, her lips twitching like she’s trying not to smile.

You smirk, raising an eyebrow. “More importantly, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

She seems to consider that for a moment, her fingers idly playing with the hair at the nape of your neck. “Okay, fine. You get a pass... this time.”

“Oh, thank you, Your Highness,” you tease, earning a playful swat on your shoulder.

Her grin softens, and then she tilts her head, giving you a look that’s somehow both sweet and devious. “So... you don’t secretly have a girlfriend or anything, right?”

The laugh escapes you before you can stop it, loud and genuine. “What? No. Where’d that even come from?”

Winter shrugs, but there’s a sly glint in her eye. “I don’t know... You’re kinda hot. Feels like you’d be someone’s boyfriend already.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Trust me, I’m not. You’re not sharing me with anyone.”

“Good,” she says, her tone a little too triumphant. She leans down again, her lips brushing yours. “Because I don’t like sharing.”

You chuckle against her mouth, your fingers giving her hips a light squeeze. “Noted.”

There’s a brief lull, the kind where the weight of the moment lingers, and then she pulls back slightly, her eyes locking on yours. “Hey,” she starts, her tone shifting to something softer. “Wanna get coffee tomorrow?”

You blink, thrown off by the sudden suggestion. “Coffee?”

“Yeah,” she says, sitting up a little straighter on your lap. “Like, a casual thing. No big deal.”

You hesitate, your mind running in circles. Coffee. That’s... date territory, isn’t it? Things between you two already feel fast, tangled, intense. The memory of her in your bed is still fresh, and now she’s talking about coffee like it’s nothing.

“Don’t you think we’re moving kinda fast?” you ask, your voice careful.

She tilts her head, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she smirks, her tone light and teasing. “It’s coffee, not a wedding. What’s the big deal?”

You exhale, shaking your head with a small laugh. “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Pretty much,” she replies, her grin widening. “So, is that a yes?”

You stare at her for a moment, her face close to yours, her weight warm and solid on your lap. Something about her makes it impossible to say no.

“Fine,” you mutter, smirking. “But you’re buying.”

She laughs, leaning in to kiss you again. “Deal.”

Winter shifts on your lap, her legs straddling you more comfortably as she leans in close, her arms loosely draped around your shoulders. Her expression is playful, but there’s a flicker of something deeper in her eyes.

“So,” she starts, her voice soft and sweet, “tell me something about you. Something real. Like... what do you do for work?”

You smirk, leaning back into the couch. “What, now you’re interviewing me?”

“Yep,” she says with a grin. “Can’t just make out with a stranger all the time. Gotta know who I’m dealing with.”

You let out a breath. “Alright. Well, I just left college not too long ago. Now I’m working this boring office job—data entry and spreadsheets. Real thrilling stuff.”

Winter tilts her head, her blonde hair falling over one shoulder. “Office job, huh? So you’re, like, a suit-and-tie kind of guy now?”

“More like khakis and button-downs. Nothing fancy.”

“Hmm,” she muses. “Doesn’t really suit you.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, well, it pays the bills. What about you? What do you do?”

Winter’s smile widens, and she shrugs a little too casually. “I’m a stylist. Hair, makeup, fashion—the whole package.”

“Wait, really?” you ask, your eyebrows shooting up.

“Why’s that so surprising?” she teases, leaning in closer, her face inches from yours.

“I don’t know. I just didn’t peg you for that. But I guess it makes sense. You’ve got the vibe.”

“Thanks,” she says, clearly pleased with the compliment. Then, out of nowhere, she drops the bombshell: “Oh, and I already knew you before that party.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” she says. “We went to the same college.”

“Are you serious?” You sit up straighter, your hands tightening slightly on her hips.

Winter nods, biting her lip like she’s trying not to laugh at your shock. “Yep. Saw you around campus all the time.”

“Why didn’t you ever talk to me?”

Her cheeks flush slightly, her confidence faltering just a bit. “I was shy back then. Plus, you were always surrounded by other girls.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “I wasn’t surrounded by girls.”

“You were,” she insists, grinning. “And I thought you were cute, so I didn’t want to deal with the competition.”

You lean in slightly, your voice dropping. “Well, I thought you were beautiful at the party, you know. Everything about you—your clothes, your hair, your smile. You kind of lit up the whole place.”

Winter’s smile softens, and she looks at you like you just handed her the world. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” you reply firmly. “It’s the truth.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your breaths mingling.

“Do you think about me after we had sex? I mean, whe I leave?” she asks, her voice quieter now.

You pause, the question hanging heavily between you. Instead of answering, you turn it back on her. “Do you think about me?”

Her response is immediate. “Of course I do.”

You blink, a little taken aback by her honesty.

“I kept thinking about our kiss,” she continues, her hands sliding down to rest on your chest. “About your hands on me. The way you were so... affectionate and strong at the same time. And how mysterious you are. Like, you give just enough to make me want more.”

Her words wash over you, leaving you almost speechless. You swallow hard, her gaze locking onto yours, and before you can stop yourself, the truth spills out.

“I thought about you too,” you admit. “Just a little. The way you moaned in my ear, soft and slow. The way you pulled me closer, like you couldn’t get enough. And...” You trail off, your hands sliding down to cup her ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “I couldn’t stop thinking about this tight little ass of yours.”

Winter lets out a small gasp, her cheeks flushing red, but the sly grin creeping across her face tells you she likes it.

“Is that so?” she teases, her voice trembling slightly as she rocks her hips against your hands.

“Yeah,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss her again. “It’s burned into my brain.”

Her laugh is breathy and soft against your lips as she kisses you back, her arms wrapping tighter around your neck. “Good. That’s exactly what I wanted.”

Winter’s hips shift subtly in your lap, her thighs squeezing against yours like she’s testing how far she can push you. Her breath is warm against your neck, her lips brushing the shell of your ear as she whispers, “Show me how much Daddy missed me.”

Your grip on her tightens instinctively, your hands digging into the curve of her ass. Something about the way she says it, soft but deliberate, ignites a spark in your chest and sends it straight to your groin.

“You’re gonna regret saying that,” you murmur.

She doesn’t respond with words, just tilts her head, offering her neck like a challenge. You lean in, your teeth grazing her skin, and she lets out a quiet gasp, her fingers tangling in your hair to pull you closer.

Your touch grows firmer, your hands roaming her body like you’re staking a claim. Winter notices—of course, she does—and the sly smile spreading across her lips only feeds the fire.

“Take this off,” you mutter, your fingers toying with the hem of her top.

Winter doesn’t hesitate, raising her arms obediently, her gaze fixed on yours. The top slides up and over her head, revealing her bare chest underneath. No bra, just smooth, pale skin and her small, almost flat breasts. Her nipples are soft, pink against the lighter tone of her skin, and for a moment, all you can do is take her in.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your voice thick with something between awe and desire.

Winter blushes slightly but doesn’t look away, her confidence unwavering as she leans closer, her hands resting on your shoulders. “Well?” she teases, her voice softer now. “Aren’t you gonna touch me?”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your lips find her chest, warm and delicate against your mouth. You kiss along the curve of her small breasts, your hands sliding up her sides until your thumbs brush against the soft skin beneath her nipples. Winter sighs, her head tilting back slightly, her fingers tightening on your shoulders.

You take your time, your lips closing around one nipple, kissing it before flicking your tongue over the sensitive peak. Her skin tastes clean, warm, slightly sweet, and you can feel her chest rise and fall against your mouth as her breathing quickens.

“Oh,” she murmurs, her voice soft but needy. “That feels so good.”

Your hand moves to her other breast, your fingers gently teasing the nipple as you kiss and suck on the first. Winter shifts in your lap, her thighs pressing tighter against yours as she arches into your touch.

“God, I missed this,” you mutter against her skin, your lips dragging across her chest to give her other nipple the same attention.

Winter lets out a soft, breathy laugh, her fingers slipping into your hair. “You're making it hard to believe that you were thinking about me just a little bit.”

You look up at her, your lips brushing her skin as you smirk. “Maybe I've been thinking about you too much.”

Your mouth trails upward, leaving her chest for her soft, exposed neck. Winter tilts her head to the side, offering it to you like it’s the easiest decision she’s ever made. You kiss along her skin, slow at first, testing, and then your lips part, and you suck gently.

Her breath catches. “Oh, fuck,” she whispers.

You grin against her neck, dragging your tongue along the spot where you know her pulse is fluttering wildly. “I’m gonna leave marks,” you murmur, your voice low and rough. “So you don’t forget me.”

Winter’s fingers slip from your hair to your shoulders, her nails digging into your shirt-covered skin. “Do it,” she pleads, her voice breathy and desperate. “Please, daddy, mark me.”

Something about the way she says it sends a shiver down your spine. You latch onto her neck, sucking harder this time, your teeth grazing her skin just enough to make her gasp. She writhes in your lap, her hips shifting against yours as soft moans spill from her lips.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” she murmurs, her voice trembling with pleasure.

You move to a new spot, just below her jawline, and suck again, harder this time. Winter whimpers, her hands slipping under your shirt. Her touch is cool and electric against your bare skin, her little nails dragging lightly at first and then scratching down your back.

“Shit,” you hiss, the sting from her nails mixing with the heat of her body against yours.

She smirks, her confidence peeking through as she lifts your shirt higher, exposing more of your skin. “If you’re gonna mark me,” she says, her voice soft but teasing, “I’m marking you too.”

Her nails dig in harder this time, her hands roaming your back and sides with purpose. You feel the faint burn of each scratch, and it only makes you want her more.

You pull back just enough to look at her, her flushed cheeks, her lips slightly parted, her neck now adorned with faint red marks from your mouth. “You’re trouble,” you mutter, your hands sliding back to her hips, pulling her tighter against you.

Winter grins, biting her lip as she looks down at you. “Your trouble,” she says, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

“Maybe,” you admit, leaning in to suck on another spot just below her ear. Her moan this time is louder, her nails dragging down your chest in response.

Your hand slides down Winter’s side, sneaking under the hem of her loose shorts. The moment your fingers brush against her panties, you freeze.

“Shit,” you mutter, pulling back slightly to look at her. “You’re soaking wet already?”

Winter’s cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look embarrassed—if anything, she looks proud, biting her lip as she gazes down at you. “Just from your kisses,” she whispers, her voice soft and teasing.

You raise an eyebrow, your fingers dipping further, sliding over the slick heat of her pussy through the thin fabric of her panties. “You’re telling me this is all because of me?”

She lets out a soft gasp, her hips shifting against your hand. “It’s because I’ve been thinking about you. All night. You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, your thumb brushing against her clit through the damp fabric. Her reaction is instant—a sharp intake of breath, her nails digging into your shoulders as she presses closer.

You lean in, biting her lower lip just enough to make her whimper. The faint taste of her cherry lip gloss lingers on your tongue, sweet and sticky, and you pull back with a smirk. “You’ve been thinking about me, huh? Let’s see just how much.”

Grabbing her waist, you lift her slightly, laying her back on the couch. Winter looks up at you with wide, eager eyes, her breathing quick as your hands slide to her shorts.

“Let’s get these off,” you say, your voice rough.

She lifts her hips obediently, letting you pull the shorts down her legs. The thin fabric catches for a moment on her thighs before slipping away completely, leaving her in nothing but a tiny pair of panties, already darkened with wetness.

“Goddamn,” you murmur, tossing the shorts aside. “I missed this. Missed the way you taste.”

Winter squirms under your gaze, her lips parting as she whispers, “Then come and get me.”

You take off your jacket and throw it on the floor before you push her legs apart, pale and soft under your hands, guiding her closer to the edge of the couch. You remove her panties in one smooth motion. The sight of her drives you insane—her pink folds glistening, practically begging for your tongue. You kneel between her legs, hands sliding up her thighs, your thumbs brushing just close enough to tease.

“Patience,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss the inside of her thigh. Her skin is warm under your lips, the faint scent of her arousal filling your senses as you trail kisses along her thigh, inching closer to where she needs you most.

Winter moans softly, her fingers tangling in your hair. “Don’t tease me,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

You smirk, your lips brushing against her skin. “But you like it, don’t you? Makes it even better when I finally give you what you want.”

She whimpers, her hips shifting toward your mouth. “Please, daddy,” she breathes. “I need you.”

You grin against her skin, dragging your tongue up the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, savoring every shiver and gasp. “You’ll get me,” you murmur, your voice low. “But I’m gonna take my time first.”

Your fingers glide lower, grazing her entrance, and the slick heat against your skin makes your cock throb. “You’re dripping, Winter,” you murmur, teasing her as your fingers just barely slip inside before pulling back.

She arches her back slightly, her hips chasing your hand, desperate for more. “Please,” she whispers, her voice soft and breathy.

“Please what?” you ask, your tone laced with mock innocence. You drag your fingers through her wetness, just enough to make her gasp, but you don’t give her what she wants.

Winter whines, her nails digging into the couch as her thighs twitch against your shoulders. “Please... suck me. I need it,” she begs, her voice trembling.

“Need it?” You smirk, your fingers circling her clit lightly, watching the way her body reacts to every touch. “I don’t think you’ve begged enough.”

Her head falls back against the couch, and she lets out a frustrated moan. “Daddy, please,” she pleads, her voice breaking. “I’ll be good. Just—please. I need your mouth on me.”

“Better,” you murmur, leaning in until your lips are just a breath away from her. You can feel the heat radiating off her pussy, the scent of her arousal making your head spin. “But I want to hear you beg like you really mean it.”

Her hips buck again, and she whimpers, her voice desperate now. “Please, daddy, please suck me. I need your tongue. I need to feel you. I’ll do anything, just—fuck, please!”

That’s all it takes to break you.

“Good girl,” you mutter before diving in.

Your tongue runs flat against her slit, slow and deliberate, savoring the way she shudders under you. The taste of her—sweet, salty, perfect—hits your tongue, and it’s almost overwhelming. You groan against her, your hands gripping her thighs to keep her open as you suck gently on her swollen clit.

“Oh my God,” Winter gasps, her back arching off the couch. “Fuck, yes—just like that.”

You don’t stop, your tongue swirling around her clit before dipping lower to tease her entrance. She’s so wet, the slickness coating your lips and chin as you lap at her like you can’t get enough. Her moans grow louder, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulls you closer.

“Fuck, daddy,” she moans, her hips grinding against your mouth. “You’re so good at this—oh, fuck—don’t stop.”

You hum against her, the vibration making her cry out. Your tongue plunges into her, tasting her from the inside, while your thumb comes up to rub slow circles on her clit.

“Shit, you taste so good,” you mutter, your voice muffled against her. “I could do this all fucking night.”

Her breath catches, and her moans turn into desperate little whimpers. “Oh, fuck—I’m so close, please, don’t stop, please—”

Her begging drives you wild, your tongue glides along Winter’s folds, teasing her clit as you feel her squirm beneath your touch. But as much as her gasps and whimpers fuel your hunger, you decide to take it further. Your fingers slip down between her legs, sliding easily over her soaked pussy.

“Fuck,” you murmur, glancing up at her flushed face. “You’re so wet, Winter. You always get this messy just thinking about me?”

She nods weakly, her lips parting to answer, but all that comes out is a shaky moan as you press one finger inside her. The heat and tightness make your cock ache, and when you add a second finger, you’re rewarded with a sharp cry that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You remember last time?” you ask, curling your fingers inside her, finding that spot that made her melt before. “That sweet cream you gave me? I want it again.”

Winter’s head falls back against the couch, her hips bucking into your hand as your fingers pump into her. “Oh my God,” she moans, her voice high and needy. “Daddy, I—fuck—I’ll give it to you, just don’t stop!”

“Good girl,” you growl, your pace quickening. Your fingers thrust into her slick pussy, the sound obscene, wet, and fucking addictive. You can feel her walls tightening around you, and as you pull your fingers out slightly, you watch as a thin, creamy slickness clings to them.

“There it is,” you say, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “That’s what I wanted.”

Winter’s face is a mess of pleasure, her moans coming louder and more desperate as you keep going. “Oh, fuck, daddy, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” you cut her off, leaning in to suck on her clit while your fingers keep working her. “You’re gonna cum for me, Winter. I want all of it.”

She cries out, her nails digging into the couch as her thighs tremble around your head. “I’m close—fuck, I’m so close!”

You redouble your efforts, your tongue swirling over her swollen clit while your fingers curl and thrust, hitting that spot inside her with relentless precision. Her moans turn into frantic gasps, her body tensing as the pressure builds.

“Come on, baby,” you murmur against her, your breath hot on her sensitive skin. “Give it to me. I want to taste all of you.”

Her body arches off the couch as she lets out a broken scream, her pussy clenching hard around your fingers as she cums. You keep going, licking and sucking at her clit, swallowing every drop of her as her juices coat your tongue. Your fingers slow but don’t stop, drawing out her orgasm until she’s shaking and gasping for breath.

Finally, you pull back, your lips and chin glistening with her arousal. Winter looks at you through half-lidded eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tries to catch her breath.

“Fuck,” she whispers, her voice hoarse and trembling. “You’re so fucking good at that.”

You grin, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you meet her gaze. “Told you I missed your taste.”

Her laugh is soft and breathy, and she reaches out to pull you closer.

“And I missed you,” she murmurs. “Every fucking inch of you.”

You lean up, your lips crashing against Winter’s in a desperate, heated kiss. She doesn’t hesitate, kissing you back with just as much intensity, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulls you closer. Her taste lingers on your tongue, sweet and salty, and when her lips part to deepen the kiss, you can feel her shiver against you.

Between kisses, her breathless voice cuts through. “I need you,” she whispers, her tone thick with want. “I need your cock, daddy.”

Her words are gasoline on the fire already burning in you. You tug your shirt off over your head, tossing it aside. Your hands drop to your belt, unbuckling it with quick, impatient movements. Winter watches you, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling as she stares at the bulge straining against your underwear. The sound of your zipper fills the room as you shove your pants down, kicking off your shoes and stepping out of everything, leaving only your boxers.

Your cock is rock-hard, the fabric damp where precum has seeped through. Winter’s hand reaches out, slender fingers grazing the outline of you through the thin material.

“Fuck,” Winter whispers. She slides her hand inside your waistband, freeing you in one swift motion.

The moment your cock is out, her small hand wraps around it, stroking you slowly at first, her touch firm but teasing. Her thumb glides over the head, spreading the wetness there as her lips crash against yours again.

“You’re so fucking hard,” she murmurs against your mouth, her strokes growing bolder.

“For you,” you growl, biting at her lower lip as your hips thrust lightly into her hand.

Her grip tightens just enough to make you groan, but you pull back, grabbing her wrists to stop her before this ends too soon.

“Turn around,” you command.

Winter obeys instantly, her movements eager as she twists to lie on her belly on the couch. You guide her legs up, positioning her so her knees rest on the arm of the couch, her ass raised in the air and her thighs trembling.

The sight of her like this—completely vulnerable, her pale skin flushed, her pussy glistening and ready—makes your breath hitch. You step behind her, standing on the floor, your cock twitching as you grip her hips, lining yourself up.

“Beg for it,” you demand.

Winter lets out a soft whine, her head turning to glance back at you. “Please, daddy,” she starts, her voice shaking. “Please fuck me. I need you so bad. I need your cock inside me.”

“That’s not good enough,” you growl, gripping her ass and squeezing hard.

Her voice grows louder, more desperate. “Please, daddy, I’ll be so good for you. I’ll take all of you. Just—fuck, please! I need you to fill me up. Don’t make me wait anymore.”

You smirk, the raw need in her voice sending a shiver down your spine. “That’s better,” you mutter, your hands sliding up her thighs as you position yourself.

“You’re gonna feel every inch of me, baby,” you promise, your voice dark and full of intent. “And you’re gonna love it.”

You don’t bother teasing. Gripping Winter’s soft hips firmly, you position yourself at her entrance, the slick heat of her pussy already pulling you in. And then you push forward, slamming into her in one smooth, powerful thrust.

Her gasp is sharp, a mix of surprise and raw pleasure. “Oh, fuck!” she cries, her body jerking forward on the couch.

“Damn,” you mutter under your breath, pausing just for a second as her pussy clenches tight around you. “You’re fucking tight, Winter. So goddamn tight.”

She moans in response, her head turning slightly to glance back at you. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted, and her eyes are already hazy with need. “Don’t stop,” she begs, her voice breathy. “Fuck me harder. I need it.”

“Careful what you wish for,” you growl, pulling back and slamming into her again. Her cry of pleasure spurs you on, and soon you’re setting a brutal pace, your hips slamming against her ass with every thrust.

Her pussy grips you like a vice, impossibly tight and hot, and each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure through you. You grab a handful of her ass, squeezing the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks as you drive into her over and over.

“Shit,” you groan, your voice rough as your hips snap forward. “You take it so fucking good. This tight little pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Winter moans, her voice high and needy. “Yes, yes—don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

Her hands claw at the cushions, her body rocking with every thrust. You lean over her slightly, one hand gripping her hip while the other slides up her back, pressing her down into the couch. The new angle has her crying out, her pussy clenching even tighter around you.

“Fuck, Winter,” you mutter, your breath ragged. “You’re so goddamn wet. So tight. Feels like you’re trying to milk my cock.”

Her moans grow louder, more frantic, each one making your cock throb inside her. “More,” she whimpers, her voice breaking. “I need more. Please, fuck me harder. Use me.”

You oblige without hesitation, your grip on her hips tightening as you pound into her mercilessly. The sound of your hips slapping against her ass fills the room, mixing with her desperate moans and your own rough grunts.

“You love this, don’t you?” you growl. “Getting fucked like this, bent over and taking it. You’re such a good little slut for me.”

Her response is immediate, a loud, breathless moan as her back arches. “Yes! I love it—I fucking love it!”

Your thrusts don’t falter, hips slamming into Winter’s ass with relentless force, the wet, filthy sounds of her tight pussy taking you driving you insane. Her body shakes with every thrust, her moans coming louder and louder, each one dripping with desperate need.

And then you glance down at her ass—small, pale, and bouncing every time you slam into her. The sight sends a wicked idea flashing through your mind, and without thinking twice, you bring your hand down hard against her cheek.

The smack echoes in the room, and Winter cries out, the sound somewhere between a moan and a gasp of shock. “Fuck!” she whimpers, her head snapping up as her back arches.

You grin, your hand tingling from the impact. “You like that?” you growl, squeezing the soft, warm flesh you just marked.

“Yes,” she moans, her voice high and breathless. “Do it again.”

Your hand comes down again, harder this time, the sound sharper, and Winter’s reaction is immediate. She moans loudly, pushing her ass back toward you like the filthy little slut she is. “More,” she begs, her voice trembling. “Please, spank your good girl’s ass. I need it.”

“Yeah?” you say, your tone low and mocking as your hand rubs over the red print blooming on her cheek. “You need me to mark this pretty little ass of yours?”

“Yes,” she gasps, writhing beneath you. “Mark me. Use me. I’ll take whatever you give me.”

The words flip a switch in you, and your hand comes down again, and again, each slap leaving a red handprint against her pale skin. Winter cries out every time, her moans turning to shameless, wanton whimpers as she pushes back into your hand, her pussy clenching tighter around your cock.

“Look at you,” you taunt, your voice thick with satisfaction. “Bent over and begging to get your ass spanked like a little whore.”

“Because I am,” she whimpers, her voice trembling. “I’m your little whore. Please, don’t stop. Spank me. Fuck me.”

Your hand comes down one more time, the slap ringing out, and Winter practically screams, her hips jerking forward before slamming back against you. Her ass is warm under your palm, the flesh reddened and glowing, and you can’t help but grab it, squeezing hard as you bury yourself inside her again.

“God, you’re such a slut,” you growl, your grip on her hips almost bruising. “Taking my cock so fucking well. You love being dominated, don’t you? Being used?”

“Yes,” she cries, her voice breaking as she gasps for air. “I fucking love it. I love the way you use me.”

Her pussy grips you like a vice, her walls fluttering around you as you pound into her, each thrust sending shockwaves through both of you. But neither of you is there yet—this is just the beginning, and you’re nowhere near done with her.

Your thrusts are relentless, Winter’s high-pitched screams filling the room, each one tearing through you like fuel on a fire. Her once-pale ass is now completely red, the heat radiating from her skin as you give her one last hard slap. The sound echoes, and she cries out, her body trembling beneath you.

“Get up,” you order.

Winter doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even question you. She pushes herself up from the couch, her legs shaky as she stands, looking over her shoulder at you with wide, obedient eyes. Her chest rises and falls, her flushed body trembling slightly as she waits for your next move.

You don’t give her time to think. Grabbing her by the waist, you lift her with ease, her small frame light in your hands. Her arms instinctively wrap around your neck, and her legs lock around your waist, pulling herself closer to you.

“Good girl,” you murmur, your cock brushing against her slick entrance as you position her. “So fucking obedient. You make me so goddamn hard.”

Her breath hitches, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, “Anything for you, daddy. Use me however you want.”

“Fuck, Winter,” you growl, the words making your cock twitch.

You push into her slowly, her wetness making it easy, but her tightness still squeezes you. Both of you moan at the same time, the sound mingling in the air as you bury yourself inside her.

Her voice is soft, trembling. “Oh my God... you’re so deep, daddy.”

“That’s because you’re made for me,” you reply, your voice low and rough as your hands grip her thighs. “Every inch of this tight little pussy is mine.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, her nails digging into your shoulders as you start to move. You lift her up, her body sliding along your cock, slow at first, letting her feel every inch as you fill her completely.

“Fuck, you’re so good at this,” she murmurs, her lips brushing your neck as she moans softly in your ear. “I love being your fucktoy.”

You groan, your grip on her tightening as you pick up the pace, moving her up and down on your cock like she’s nothing more than a doll in your hands. Her moans grow louder, each one hitting your ear and making your cock throb inside her.

“Yeah, that’s it,” you mutter, your voice thick with lust. “Moan for me. Let me hear how much you love being fucked like this.”

“I love it,” she whimpers, her hips moving in time with yours, her voice high and needy. “I love the way you use me. You make me feel so good—so full.”

“You’re my good girl,” you growl, biting at her neck as you fuck her harder. “And it’s my fucking job to ruin you.”

Her cry is almost a scream, her nails dragging down your back as she clings to you. “Yes,” she moans, her voice breaking. “Ruin me, daddy. Fuck me however you want. I’m yours.”

Your grip tightens on Winter’s thighs as you start pounding into her harder, your movements raw and unforgiving. Her gasps turn into high-pitched moans, her breath hitching with every thrust as her body clings to yours.

“This what you wanted so bad?” you growl, your voice rough against her ear. “You called me over just to get fucked like this?”

“Yes,” she cries out. “Yes, this is what I wanted. I needed your cock—I needed you to fuck me. Make me cum, please!”

“Fuck, you’re so naughty,” you growl, biting her neck lightly as your hips snap forward, driving her down onto your cock with brutal force. “A little slut, calling me in the middle of the night just to get used like this.”

“Yes!” she moans, her voice breaking, her hips grinding against you. “I’m your little slut—I love it! I love being your whore!”

Her words fuel something dark and primal in you, and you slam her down harder, her body bouncing against yours like a rag doll. “Yeah?” you snarl, your tone dripping with dominance. “Then be a good slut and cum on my cock. Right fucking now.”

Winter’s cries rise into screams as you adopt a brutal rhythm, your hands gripping her ass and thighs tightly, throwing her body onto your cock like she’s nothing more than your personal toy. Her moans are loud, desperate, raw, and you can feel her body trembling, teetering on the edge.

“Cum,” you command, your voice firm and unrelenting. “Cum for me, Winter. Now.”

Her body stiffens, her head snapping back as she lets out a long, broken scream. Her pussy clenches hard around your cock, her thighs quaking as waves of pleasure crash through her.

“Fuck!” she cries, her hands gripping you tighter, her nails digging into your back. Her entire body convulses, her moans turning into incoherent whimpers as her orgasm consumes her.

You lean in, attacking her neck with kisses and light bites, your breath hot against her skin. Her eyes roll back, her lips parted in silent screams, and you hold her tightly, keeping her steady as her body jerks uncontrollably in your arms.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” you murmur against her skin, your tone softer now. “My good girl. You did so good for me.”

Winter’s breathing is ragged, her body limp in your arms as she comes down from the high. You shift your grip, holding her gently, your lips brushing along her jawline and cheeks, peppering her with soft kisses.

“You’re amazing,” you whisper, your hands smoothing over her back. “You deserved every second of that.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, her face burying in your neck as she clings to you. “You’re gonna kill me,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse but full of satisfaction.

“Not yet,” you reply with a smirk, kissing the top of her head. “I’m not done with you.”

Slowly, you lower her to the ground, setting her on her knees in front of you. She goes willingly, her legs trembling but obedient, her wide eyes looking up at you as she licks her lips.

Winter smiles, her voice soft and teasing. “Ready for more, sir?”

You look down at Winter, kneeling in front of you like the perfect little slut she loves to be. Her blonde hair is messy, her cheeks flushed, and her lips slightly parted, still red from all the biting and kissing. She looks wrecked, and it’s fucking beautiful.

“Yes,” you say, your voice low and full of hunger. “I’m ready for more. But the question is—are you?”

She nods eagerly, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as her eyes flicker down to your cock. It’s still rock hard, slick with her arousal, twitching slightly as you step closer.

You grab the base, stroking it slowly as you guide it to her face. The swollen tip brushes against her soft cheek, and her breath hitches, her hands coming up to rest on your thighs for balance. You drag your cock across her flushed skin, over her delicate jawline, and finally against her lips.

“You see this?” you murmur, smirking as you tap the head of your cock against her mouth. “This is what you do to me, Winter. You’ve got me so fucking hard, and now I’m thinking about marking this pretty little face of yours.”

Her eyes flutter shut for a moment, a quiet whimper escaping her lips as she presses a soft kiss to the head of your cock. “Do it,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need. “Please, cum on my face. I want it. I want you to mark me.”

Her words send a jolt straight to your core, but you’re not letting her off that easy. You grip her chin gently, tilting her face up to meet your gaze. “If you want it so bad,” you murmur, your thumb brushing over her lower lip, “you’re gonna have to earn it. Make me cum, Winter. Show me how much you want it.”

She doesn’t waste a second. Her hands wrap around your shaft, small and delicate against your thick cock, and she leans in, her tongue flicking out to tease the head. You let out a low groan, watching as she works, her eyes locked on yours the entire time.

“Good girl,” you mutter, your hand resting on the back of her head. “Show me what that pretty little mouth can do.”

Winter’s lips part, and she takes you in, her tongue swirling around the tip before sliding down your length. Her mouth is warm and wet, and the suction she creates has your knees threatening to buckle. She starts slow, her movements deliberate as she takes more of you, her hands stroking what her mouth can’t reach.

“Fuck, that’s it,” you groan, your fingers tangling in her hair. “You look so fucking good like this, Winter. Taking me so well.”

She moans around you, the vibration making you curse under your breath. Her head bobs, her pace quickening as she gets more confident, more eager. Spit drips down her chin, her hands twisting at the base of your cock, and her soft little whimpers drive you closer to the edge.

“Shit, baby,” you mutter, your voice rough. “You’re so fucking good at this. Keep going—just like that.”

Her response is to take you even deeper, her throat constricting around you as she gags slightly, but she doesn’t stop. Her nails dig into your thighs, her moans growing louder, and you can feel yourself getting dangerously close.

“Fuck, Winter,” you groan, your grip on her hair tightening. “You’re gonna make me cum all over that pretty face of yours. Is that what you want? To be covered in me?”

She pulls back just enough to speak, her lips slick and swollen. “Yes,” she gasps, stroking you with both hands. “I want it so bad. Please, cum for me, daddy. Mark me. I’ll take all of it.”

Her words are your undoing, and you feel the tension coiling tight in your core as she wraps her lips around you again, sucking you with even more determination.

Winter’s lips work over your cock like she was born to do it, her soft, pink mouth gliding along your length while her tongue swirls and flicks against the sensitive underside. Every movement sends jolts of pleasure coursing through you, making it harder to keep your composure.

Her eyes glance up, locking onto yours, and fuck—it’s like she knows exactly what that look does to you. Wide, innocent, framed by her messy blonde hair, and full of something sinful. The combination of her gaze and the wet, obscene sound of her sucking you is almost too much.

“Goddamn, Winter,” you groan, your head falling back for a moment as you let yourself get lost in it. “You’re so fucking good at this. Just like that. Don’t stop.”

She doesn’t. She doubles down, taking you deeper, her lips stretching around your cock as her tongue continues to tease. You can feel her saliva dripping down, making a slick mess of her chin, but she doesn’t seem to care. If anything, she moans softly, the vibrations shooting straight through you.

“Fuck,” you hiss, your fingers tightening in her hair. You glance down, and the sight of her small hands now cupping and massaging your balls makes your knees nearly give out. “Shit, baby, that’s... that’s so fucking good.”

Winter’s only response is another moan, muffled around your cock. She speeds up, her hands stroking what her mouth can’t reach, her tongue flicking over your tip with each pass. You can feel the pressure building in your gut, that telltale tightness letting you know you’re close.

“Fuck, Winter, stop,” you growl, pulling her off your cock with a wet pop. You’re panting, your cock twitching in your hand as you take a step back.

She looks up at you, her lips swollen and slick with spit, her chest heaving. “Why’d you stop me?” she asks, her voice sweet and breathless.

“Because,” you say, gripping your cock and stroking it slowly, trying to hold back. “I’m gonna make a fucking mess of your face, and I need you to beg for it.”

Her eyes light up, and she leans forward slightly, her hands resting on her thighs. “Please,” she says, her voice soft and needy. “I want it. I want you to cum on me, daddy. I need it. Please, baby, please.”

“Shit,” you groan, the sound of her sweet little pleas making it impossible to hold back.

You stroke yourself faster, the slickness of her spit making it easy as you aim at her gorgeous face. Winter watches you, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, her expression full of anticipation.

“Fuck,” you growl, the tension snapping as you feel yourself tip over the edge. “Here it comes, baby. Take it all.”

The first hot spurt of cum hits her cheek, followed by another and another, painting her face in thick, messy streaks. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move—she just sits there, taking every drop like the good little slut she loves to be.

“Fuck, Winter,” you mutter, your strokes slowing as the last few ropes of cum land on her lips and chin.

Her lips curl into this filthy little smile, and she doesn’t waste a second. Her fingers are already working, sliding through the mess, gathering your cum like it’s something precious, smearing it across her cheeks, her forehead, even brushing it down to her neck. She spreads it out deliberately, almost artfully, until her face glistens with it, sticky and marked like she wants everyone to know exactly what she’s done. Exactly who she belongs to.

Her tongue flicks out, tasting the corner of her lips, humming softly as if savoring the flavor. She's in no rush to get clean, it's like Winter feels like she doesn't need to—she just leans into the mess, into the filth, wearing it like a badge of honor.

"You taste so fucking good, daddy,” she murmurs, her voice low and thick with satisfaction. Her eyes stay locked on yours as she drags her fingers to her lips, sucking one clean with a soft, wet pop. She grins wider, teeth flashing. "I could eat this off me all night.”

You smirk, brushing a thumb across her cheek to gather some of the cum she missed. “Clean me up,” you say, stepping closer and holding your cock in front of her mouth.

Winter leans in without hesitation, her tongue flicking out to lick along your length, cleaning every inch of you with slow, deliberate strokes. She takes you into her mouth one last time, sucking gently, her eyes fluttering shut as if savoring the moment.

“Good girl,” you murmur, stroking her hair as she finishes. “You’re fucking perfect.”

—

The TV hums softly in the background, some late-night infomercial filling the quiet, but you’re not watching it. Your eyes are on Winter, her head resting on your lap as she sleeps. Her soft blonde hair falls over her face, her lips slightly parted, her breathing slow and steady. She looks so peaceful like this, curled up on the couch under your hand.

You stroke her hair absentmindedly, your mind drifting. It’s not the first time you’ve been like this with her, and that’s what’s messing you up. You think back to that night at her apartment—the way she kissed you like she’d been waiting her whole life for it, the way she moaned your name, the way she asked you to mark her, the way she fell asleep in your arms afterward.

And then, the morning after. That was unusual for you. Normally, you’d wake up, maybe share some awkward small talk, and then you’d be gone. No texts, no calls, just a memory and a closed chapter. But with Winter...

You remember how she clung to you that morning, burying her face in your chest, refusing to let you go. How you didn’t mind staying in bed with her, your arms wrapped around her, her warmth sinking into you. It was so... different.

Now here you are again. Winter on your lap, completely comfortable with you being here. And you, sitting here like an idiot, unable to tear yourself away. If only she wasn’t so cute, so sweet, so... fucking irresistible.

You sigh quietly and glance at the clock. It’s late, and you know you shouldn’t stay. Carefully, you slide your hand out from under her head and shift her onto the couch, laying her down gently. She murmurs something in her sleep but doesn’t wake up. You grab a blanket from the armrest and drape it over her, tucking it around her small frame.

You pause for a moment, just looking at her. God, she’s beautiful. Too beautiful.

Shaking your head, you grab your jacket and head for the door. You’ve got your hand on the doorknob when you hear a soft, groggy voice behind you.

“Where are you going?”

You freeze, turning to see Winter sitting up on the couch, her eyes heavy with sleep but full of confusion. She looks at you like a child caught waking up to an empty room, her expression tugging at something deep inside you.

“I was just leaving,” you say quietly. “You were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you.”

She gets up slowly, the blanket falling off her shoulders as she shuffles over to you. Her arms wrap around your waist, her cheek pressing against your chest. “Stay,” she murmurs, her voice soft but firm.

You hesitate, your hands hovering awkwardly at your sides. “Winter...”

“Why do you always run away?” she asks, her voice muffled against your shirt.

“I’m not running away,” you say, though it sounds weak even to your own ears.

She pulls back slightly, looking up at you with those big, questioning eyes. “Yes, you are. You did it the first time, and the second, and—God, you always do this. Why?”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t... I don’t do relationships, Winter. That’s not my thing. I’m not trying to hurt you—I just...”

“Just what?” she presses. “What are you so afraid of?”

You hesitate, the words caught in your throat. Finally, you take a deep breath and say, “Maybe I like you more than I should. And I don’t know how to deal with that.”

Her eyes widen slightly, and you feel her grip on your shirt tighten.

“Relationships are messy,” you continue, your voice low. “They’re complicated. And I’m not good at that shit. I don’t want to fuck this up, Winter. I don’t want to fuck you up.”

She blinks at you, her expression softening. “You’re not fucking me up,” she says quietly. “You’re... you’re making me happy. And I think I make you happy too. Or am I wrong?”

You look at her, the vulnerability in her eyes. “You do,” you admit. “You make me feel things I don't want to feel, Winter.”

“Then stay,” she whispers. “Just for tonight. Stop running, just... stay with me.”

Her words hang in the air, and for once, you don’t have a reason to say no. Letting out a heavy sigh, you throw your jacket back on the couch and wrap your arms around her and pulling her close, resting your chin on top of her head.

“Alright,” you say quietly. “I’ll stay.”

Winter hugs you tighter, her body relaxing against yours. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice soft and full of relief.

Winter tugs you back to the couch, her small hands wrapped around your wrist as she pulls you down beside her. The blanket slips off the couch as she curls up next to you, her head resting against your shoulder.

“How’re you feeling?” you ask, glancing down at her.

“Better,” she murmurs, her voice soft and still a little groggy. “Just a little cold.”

You tilt your head, your brow furrowing slightly. “Want me to grab you something from your closet? A hoodie or something?”

She shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips as she looks up at you. “No. You’re already enough to warm me up.”

You roll your eyes, though the corner of your mouth twitches upward. “You’re so clingy.”

“And that's why you like me,” she shoots back, leaning into you a little more.

You sigh, letting the moment settle for a bit, but then Winter shifts, sitting up slightly to face you. There’s something in her eyes now—a mix of curiosity and determination that instantly puts you on edge.

“So,” she starts, her tone deceptively casual. “Why are you so anti-relationship?”

“Winter…” you warn, already feeling the weight of the conversation she’s trying to start.

“Nope,” she says, cutting you off with a shake of her head. “Don’t brush me off. You just admitted you like me, so now I get to ask questions.”

You groan, leaning your head back against the couch. “This is why I don’t talk about shit like this.”

“Too bad,” she says firmly, poking your chest with her finger. “Spill.”

You let out a long sigh, dragging a hand down your face. “Fine. You want the story? Here it is.”

Winter doesn’t say anything, just waits, her eyes locked on you, her expression soft but focused.

“It was high school,” you start, your voice quieter now. “I was seventeen. She was… everything. Or at least, I thought she was. We were together for two years—serious, like, talking-about-the-future serious. Then, out of nowhere, she dumped me. Said she was bored. Two years, and she just… walked away like it was nothing.”

Winter’s face twists in disbelief. “Are you serious? She said that? That she was bored?”

You nod, a bitter laugh escaping you. “Yeah. And she was already hooking up with some guy from her physics class a week later. Guess I wasn’t exciting enough.”

“That’s fucking awful,” Winter says, her voice soft but filled with anger on your behalf.

“Yeah, well, it kind of destroyed me,” you admit, rubbing the back of your neck. “I was stupid enough to think it was love, you know? Thought she was the one or whatever. But after that, I decided I wasn’t gonna deal with that shit anymore. Relationships are messy, and people suck.”

Winter doesn’t say anything right away, just stares at you like she’s trying to piece you together. Finally, she asks, “So, what? You’re just gonna live the rest of your life alone?”

“Pretty much,” you say with a shrug. “I’m not living in the 50s, Winter. I don’t need to get married or settle down to be happy.”

Her brow furrows, and she shifts closer, her hand resting lightly on your knee. “I’m sorry you went through that. I really am. But…”

You raise an eyebrow. “But?”

“But,” she continues, her voice firm, “not everyone’s like her. Not everyone’s gonna break your heart.”

You scoff lightly. “Right. Until they do.”

Winter shakes her head, her hand squeezing your knee. “I’m not saying you have to trust everyone. I’m just saying… maybe you shouldn’t shut the door completely. You’re not the same person you were back then.”

You glance at her, her face so earnest it almost hurts to look at her. “What are you getting at?”

She takes a deep breath, her hand moving to cover yours. “I’m saying… give me a chance. Let me show you that relationships don’t have to be messy and painful. That they can be good, too.”

“Winter…”

“Just think about it,” she says softly. “I’m not asking for forever. I’m asking for a chance. For us.”

Her eyes search yours, and for the first time in years, you feel the walls you’ve built around yourself start to crack, just a little.

“Why me, anyway?” you finally ask. “There are so many guys out there—guys who actually want to date, who don’t have all this baggage.”

Winter sits back a little, still close but giving you enough space to think. Her eyes stay locked on yours, though, unwavering. “Because none of them are you,” she says softly, her tone leaving no room for doubt.

You blink, caught off guard by the simplicity of her answer. “What does that even mean?”

She smiles, a small, almost shy curve of her lips. “It means I don’t want someone else. I want you. You’re funny, and you’re smart, and you’re—” She pauses, her cheeks flushing slightly. “You’re different. In the best way.”

You snort lightly, trying to deflect the compliment. “Different how?”

“You just are,” she says, leaning forward. “Remember that night I couldn’t sleep, and you were up playing video games? We messaged for hours, just talking about the dumbest shit.”

You do remember. She’d been wide awake at 2 a.m., texting you about how she hated the sound of the neighbor’s wind chimes. You’d been mid-match, only half-paying attention at first, but then she’d started making jokes, and somehow you’d ended up talking until the sun came up.

“Yeah,” you say after a moment. “That was... pretty cool.”

“Exactly,” she says, her smile growing. “You made me feel better that night without even trying. And it wasn’t just that. It’s everything. The way you talk, the way you think. You don’t even realize how... captivating you are.”

You glance away, the intensity of her gaze making your stomach twist. “You’re overselling me, Winter.”

“I’m not,” she says, and before you can argue, she climbs into your lap. Her movements are smooth and confident, and suddenly, she’s straddling you, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders.

“You’re scared,” she says softly, her face inches from yours. “And I get it. But if you give me a chance, I promise you won’t get tired of me.”

You look at her, her wide, earnest eyes, her lips slightly parted, and you know she’s being honest. You sigh, leaning your head back against the couch. “I already know I wouldn’t get tired of you,” you admit, your voice low. “That’s the problem.”

Her brow furrows slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...” You pause, your hands instinctively settling on her waist. “What if it’s the other way around? What if you get tired of me?”

She stares at you for a moment, and then, without saying a word, she leans in and kisses you. It’s soft at first, her lips brushing against yours gently, but then she deepens it, her hands sliding up to cup your face. It’s not just a kiss—it’s an answer.

When she finally pulls back, her voice is firm. “I’m not going to get tired of you.”

You stare at her, her words settling somewhere deep inside you, and you can’t find it in yourself to argue.

She smiles again, softer this time, her fingers tracing along your jaw. “So... is tomorrow’s coffee still on?”

You chuckle, shaking your head slightly. “As long as you’re feeling better.”

She grins, her eyes lighting up. “Deal.”

Winter’s hand moves slowly over your chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns against the fabric of your shirt. Her gaze softens, though there’s a playful glint in her eyes. “So,” she starts, her tone low and inviting, “what do you think about celebrating this new phase of ours… in bed?”

“You’re sick, Winter.”

She tilts her head, her lips curving into a sly smile. “I feel cured already.”

You raise an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Do you?”

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, leaning in closer, her fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt to brush against your bare skin. “And if I’m not, maybe you could… help with that?”

Your laugh is soft, though your body betrays you, your hands already resting on her hips. “You really think I’m gonna fuck you when you’re sick?”

“Why not?” she counters, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “Are you saying you’d stop just because of that?”

“Yes,” you say firmly, though your grip on her hips tightens slightly. “Because I actually care about your well-being, even if you don’t.”

Her smile widens, and she leans closer, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, “For the sake of my well-being, I need to be fucked really hard. By you.”

You pull back slightly, giving her an incredulous look. “And how exactly is that supposed to help?”

She shrugs, her fingers sliding further up your chest. “It’s alternative treatment,” she says, her tone teasing. “I’m pretty sure it’s good for circulation or something.”

You shake your head, fighting a grin. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re already hard,” she points out, shifting her weight slightly to grind her hips against your lap. The motion is subtle, but it’s enough to make your cock twitch, the heat of her body pressing against you.

“Winter—” you start, but she cuts you off, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.

“Don’t tell me you’re hard from the thought of fucking a sick, vulnerable girl,” she says, her voice dropping to a provocative whisper.

You smirk, your hands sliding down to squeeze her little ass. “You don’t look very vulnerable right now.”

She laughs softly, her breath warm against your neck. “You’re right. I’m not. In fact, I’m fucking horny.”

Her words send a jolt straight through you, and before you can second-guess yourself, you’re standing, lifting her effortlessly into your arms. Winter squeals softly, her legs wrapping around your waist, her hands locking behind your neck.

“You’re so fucking naughty,” you mutter, carrying her toward the bedroom.

“And you’re irresistible,” she counters, grinning.

You glance down at her, her flushed cheeks, her bright eyes, her lips slightly parted. “You are too,” you admit, your voice quieter. “Too fucking irresistible for your own good.”

She leans in, brushing her lips against yours in a soft, teasing kiss. “Then don’t resist.”

You step into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind you before lowering her onto the bed. She looks up at you, her messy blonde hair splayed across the pillow, her lips curling into a pout. “Promise you’ll be affectionate with me after?” she asks, her voice soft but laced with mischief. “I'm so sensitive.”

You laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Sensitive? You? That’s the last thing you are.”

Her pout deepens, though the glint in her eyes gives her away. “I can be sensitive!”

“Sure you can,” you tease, your hands already sliding under her shirt. “But I think we both know you’re a lot more dangerous than that.”

She grins, her hands tugging you closer. “Dangerous or not, I’m all yours.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you murmur, lowering yourself over her as your lips capture hers in a kiss that promises everything she asked for—and more.

As you pull back from the kiss, standing over Winter while starting to unbutton your shirt, she suddenly shifts, adopting this dramatic, old-Hollywood expression. Her eyes widen with mock innocence, her hand fluttering delicately to her chest.

“Oh, Doctor,” she says in an exaggerated, breathy voice, like a starlet from a black-and-white film. “Are you sure this… treatment is absolutely necessary?”

You blink, momentarily thrown off. “What?”

“This treatment,” she repeats, pointing vaguely between the two of you. “It feels so… unconventional. I’m not sure I should be here.”

The way she’s looking at you, like she’s trying to win an Oscar, makes you snort. “What the hell are you doing?”

She gasps, putting a hand to her cheek like you’ve just scandalized her. “I’m your patient, Doctor! You mustn’t mock me in my time of need!”

It finally clicks, and you shake your head, chuckling as you play along. “Oh, I see how it is,” you say, pulling your shirt off and tossing it onto the floor, already working on your pants. “Well, don’t worry, Miss Winter. You’re my favorite patient. The most beautiful, the most well-behaved. You deserve the best care.”

She covers her mouth like she’s shocked, then peeks through her fingers with a mischievous grin. “Oh, Doctor, you must say that to all your patients.”

“I don’t,” you say firmly, now standing in just your underwear. You slide your hands slowly down her thighs, her skin soft and warm beneath your palms. “You’re the only one I touch like this. The only one I care for in such a… special way.”

Winter bites her lip, pretending to be shy as she squirms under your touch. “Doctor,” she whispers, her voice trembling with fake innocence. “Promise you’ll take good care of me?”

You smirk, leaning down so your face is close to hers. “I promise. That’s my job, after all.”

Her cheeks flush, and she looks up at you through her lashes. “You make me feel… strange things, Doctor.”

You raise an eyebrow, playing along. “Strange things? What kind of things, Miss Winter?”

She hesitates, biting her lip like she’s embarrassed. “Well… down there,” she says softly, gesturing vaguely toward her hips. “You make me all… wet.”

You fight back a grin, your hands tightening slightly on her thighs. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” she continues, her voice growing more dramatic. “And I’ve been having such impure thoughts about you, Doctor. Thoughts about your… hands. And your lips. And other things.”

You let out a low chuckle, leaning down to kiss her, slow and teasing. “That does sound serious,” you murmur against her lips. “But don’t worry, Miss Winter. I know exactly how to solve this.”

She gasps softly, her hands tangling in your hair as she kisses you back, her voice a little less dramatic now and a lot more needy. “Oh, Doctor,” she murmurs, her tone shifting into something real, full of anticipation.

You grab the hem of Winter’s oversized shirt, lifting it slowly, and the sight of her bare thighs makes your breath hitch. But when you lift it higher and realize she’s not wearing panties, her pussy already glistening, you pause.

“Fuck, Winter,” you mutter, your eyes locked on her. “You’ve been walking around like this the whole time?”

She grins, her cheeks flushed but full of mischief. “Maybe. It's more practical to simply not wear panties around you.”

You slide a hand between her legs, your fingers brushing against her wetness, and she gasps, her hips jerking slightly. “Soaked,” you murmur, rubbing her gently. “You’re soaked already. You’ve been like this the whole time, haven’t you?”

“Since you walked in,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I’ve been dreaming about this cock since you got here.”

You lean in, kissing her hard while your fingers work her pussy, sliding along her slick folds. She moans into your mouth, her hands reaching down to grip your cock through your underwear. The pressure is just enough to make you groan, and she strokes you, slow and deliberate, her fingers wrapping around your length.

“Dreaming about me, huh?” you say, pulling back just enough to look at her flushed face. “Were you even sick, Winter?”

She hesitates, biting her lip before confessing, “Maybe… I'm not that sick.”

You smirk, shaking your head. “Yeah, I’m noticing that.”

Your fingers slide inside her, and she lets out a sharp gasp, her nails digging into your shoulders. She’s tight, hot, and so wet it’s almost obscene. You move slowly at first, curling your fingers just right, and her moans grow louder, her body arching into your touch.

But then you pull your fingers out, watching as they glisten with her slickness. Without a word, you bring them to her lips. “Suck,” you command softly.

Winter’s eyes widen slightly, but she obeys, parting her lips and taking your fingers into her mouth. Her tongue swirls around them, slow and sensual, and the sight of her makes your cock throb painfully.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” you mutter, watching the way her lips move, how she looks up at you like she’s daring you to lose control.

You pull your fingers from her mouth with a soft pop, her lips shiny with saliva, and you smirk. “Open your mouth,” you say, your voice rough.

She does as you ask, her lips parting slightly, and you spit, the act filthy and intimate. She takes it without hesitation, her tongue darting out to taste it before you lean in and kiss her hard, your hand gripping the back of her neck.

Your other hand comes up to her cheeks, holding her face as you pull back slightly. “Tell me,” you murmur, your thumb brushing over her flushed skin. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need.

“That’s not polite,” you say, smirking. “Ask nicely.”

Her eyes darken, and she bites her lip before speaking again. “Please, daddy. Please fuck me. I need you so bad. Please.”

You grin, leaning down to kiss her again before pulling back. “Lie down,” you command.

Winter obeys, sliding back on the bed until she’s lying flat, her legs spreading instinctively. You strip off your underwear, your cock springing free, hard and already leaking.

“Condom?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

She shakes her head, her lips curling into a sly smile. “You know we don’t need it.”

You raise an eyebrow, smirking. “I like to be polite.”

She giggles, her laughter soft and breathy. “You don’t look so polite when you’re fucking me like an animal.”

You climb onto the bed, positioning yourself between her legs, your cock brushing against her entrance. “And you love it,” you say, rubbing the head of your cock along her slick folds, teasing her.

“Fuck,” she whispers, her hips shifting as she tries to take you in. “Yes, I love it. Please, don’t tease me.”

You lean down, your lips brushing against her ear. “Then beg louder,” you murmur.

Winter’s whines turn into outright begging, her voice trembling as her hips tilt up, desperate to pull you in.

“Please,” she whimpers, her hands gripping the sheets. “Please, I need it so bad. I’ll be your little whore, I promise. I’ll be good, daddy. I’ll do whatever you say—just fuck me already.”

Her words make you grin, the filthy desperation in her voice hitting you in all the right places. You look down at her, her angelic face flushed with need, her wide, pleading eyes fixed on you, and you can’t help but marvel.

“How can you look so sweet,” you murmur, your voice low, “and be such a little slut at the same time?”

Winter moans at the words, her thighs trembling as she spreads her legs even wider. “I’m your slut,” she whispers. “Only yours. Please, please, don’t tease me anymore. I need you.”

“Yeah?” you growl, gripping her hips tightly. “You’re mine, huh? My needy little slut?”

“Yes, daddy,” she cries, her nails digging into the sheets as her head tilts back. “All yours. Please, just fuck me!”

You don’t make her wait another second. With one powerful thrust, you bury yourself inside her, all at once, hard and fast. The sheer heat and tightness of her pussy make you groan, your fingers digging into her hips as her scream of pleasure fills the room.

“Fuck, Winter,” you growl, barely able to hold yourself back. “You’re so fucking tight.”

She’s writhing beneath you, her back arching as her hands grab at your arms, her moans coming high-pitched and desperate. “Yes, yes, fuck—just like that!”

You don’t waste time easing into it. You pull back and slam into her again, setting a violent, unrelenting pace that has the bed creaking and her cries growing louder with every thrust. Her pussy clenches around you, slick and hot and perfect, pulling you deeper every time.

“Goddamn, you take it so good,” you growl, leaning over her as your hips snap against hers. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To get fucked like this?”

“Yes!” she screams, her nails raking down your back. “Yes, yes—fuck me harder! Use me, please!”

“You love being my slut, don’t you?”

“I love it,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “I fucking love it. I’ll do anything—just don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

Her legs wrap around your waist, locking you in place as her body trembles beneath you. Her moans are constant, her cries mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin. The sight of her like this—messy, desperate, completely lost in you—only makes you go harder, driving into her like you’re trying to ruin her.

“You feel so fucking good,” you groan, your grip on her tightening as you pound into her mercilessly. “This pussy was made for me, wasn’t it? Made to be fucked like this?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Winter cries, her voice shaking as she clings to you. “It’s yours—only yours. Please, I can’t take it—please don’t stop!”

Your cock drives into her over and over, each thrust rougher, deeper, more unrelenting than the last. Winter’s high-pitched moans fill the room, her thighs trembling as her hips push up to meet yours, desperate for every inch you’re giving her.

You bring your hand up to her throat, wrapping your fingers around it, just enough for her to feel it. Winter gasps at the touch, her eyes fluttering open to meet yours, and her lips part in a soft, breathy moan.

“You like this, don’t you?” you growl.

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need. “I love it. I love how you make me feel.”

You smirk, leaning down slightly, your hand tightening just enough to make her breathing shallow. “You love being submissive, huh? Love being at my mercy?”

Her head tilts back, her eyes rolling slightly as she moans louder, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her. “Yes,” she whimpers. “I love it. I love being yours.”

The sight of her—so completely lost in the pleasure, so willing to let you take control—sends a jolt of heat through you. You squeeze her throat a little harder, watching the way her body reacts instantly, her back arching as her pussy clenches around your cock.

“Fuck, Winter,” you mutter, your hips snapping against hers. “You’re so fucking perfect like this. You’re made to be my little slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she cries, her voice strained but dripping with need. “I’m your slut—your good little slut. Please, don’t stop, daddy.”

You lean down further, your lips brushing against her ear as your hand stays firmly on her throat. “You like being choked, don’t you? Like how it feels when I take control?”

Her eyes roll back again, her body shuddering beneath you. “Yes, yes—I love it,” she gasps, her voice barely audible now. “Please, don’t stop. I’ll do anything for you.”

“Yeah?” you growl, your other hand gripping her hip hard enough to leave marks as you thrust into her relentlessly. “You’d do anything for me?”

“Yes,” she moans, her nails digging into your arms. “Anything. I just want to please you.”

You tighten your grip on her throat slightly, watching as her lips part in a silent cry, her body arching off the bed. The way she looks right now—eyes hazy, mouth open, completely at your mercy—drives you insane.

“Good girl,” you mutter, your pace never faltering. “You’re such a good little slut for me. Taking my cock so well.”

Her moans grow louder again, her body writhing beneath you as you push her closer and closer to that edge. But you’re not done yet—you want her completely undone, begging for more, completely yours.

Your cock slams into Winter’s soaking wet pussy with relentless force, the violent pace making her body bounce with each thrust. Her moans are high-pitched, desperate, and completely filthy, and you can feel the way she’s tightening around you, her body trembling as she gets closer and closer.

“I’m close,” she cries, her voice breaking, her nails clawing at the sheets. “Fuck, I’m so close!”

The moment the words leave her mouth, you slow down drastically, pulling almost all the way out and thrusting back in painfully slow. Winter whines loudly, her hips trying to chase yours for more friction, but you grab her waist, holding her still.

“What did you just say?” you growl, your voice low and dangerous. “You don’t cum unless I say so.”

“Sorry, daddy,” she whimpers, her eyes squeezing shut as her hands grip the sheets tightly.

“Do you?” you challenge, raising your hand and slapping her cheek firmly, just the way you know drives her wild. Her head turns with the impact, her lips parting in a sharp gasp, and her eyes flutter open, looking at you with a mix of surprise and arousal.

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

“Louder,” you demand, your hand gripping her chin to make her face you. “Speak clearly when I’m talking to you.”

“Yes!” she cries, her voice louder now, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glazed over. “I understand. I’ll be good, I swear!”

“That’s better,” you mutter, giving her one more light slap for good measure.

Without another word, you lift her off the bed with ease, her small frame fitting perfectly in your hands. You reposition her so she’s sitting in your lap, her back pressed against your chest. The intimacy of the position contrasts sharply with the dominance in your touch as you slide back into her, burying yourself deep.

Winter lets out a choked cry, her hands grabbing at your thighs as you hold her firmly against you. Your chest presses against her back, your arms wrapping around her waist as you start to move again, slow and possessive this time.

“Fuck,” you mutter, your lips brushing against her ear. “You feel so fucking good like this. You’re mine, Winter. My good girl.”

“Yes,” she moans, her head falling back against your shoulder. “I’m yours. I’ll be good, daddy—I promise, I’ll be good for you.”

“You better,” you growl, your teeth grazing her neck as your hands roam over her body, gripping her hips and pulling her down onto your cock with each thrust. “If you want to cum, you’re gonna have to earn it. Be the perfect little slut for me.”

“I will,” she gasps, her body trembling against yours. “I’ll do anything for you. Just don’t stop.”

You hold her tighter, your thrusts growing faster, deeper, the angle making her whimper and cry out with every movement. Her head rolls against your shoulder, her lips brushing against your neck as her hands grip your thighs desperately.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” you murmur, your voice rough with lust. “You take me so well. You were made for this, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” she cries, her voice breaking. “Made for you. Only for you.”

Your cock drives into Winter slowly, each deliberate thrust making her squirm in your lap. Her back is pressed tightly against your chest, her flushed skin damp with sweat, and her whines are soft and desperate, filling the room like music. You can feel how badly she wants it—the way her pussy clenches around you, her hips trying to push down to take you deeper. But you don’t let her.

Instead, your hand slides up to her throat, fingers wrapping around her delicate neck, and you give her a firm squeeze. She gasps at the contact, her head tilting back against your shoulder, exposing her throat to you.

“You really like this, don’t you?” you murmur, your voice low and teasing. “The way I fuck you. The way I tease you.”

“Yes, daddy,” she whimpers, her hands gripping your arms for support. “I love it. I love everything about it.”

You squeeze her throat a little tighter, your lips brushing against her ear. “You sure about that?” you ask, your thrusts slowing even more, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in agonizingly slow. “Because if you’re not, I can stop. I won’t let you cum.”

“No!” Winter cries, her voice high-pitched and panicked. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

You chuckle darkly, your free hand sliding down to grip her hip, keeping her firmly in place as you continue your slow, deliberate pace. “Then tell me,” you growl. “Tell me how much you love this cock.”

“I love it,” she whines, her voice trembling with need. “I love your big, thick cock. I love the way it fills me up, the way it drives me crazy.”

Your cock twitches at her words, and you tighten your grip on her throat just enough to make her gasp. “Yeah?” you murmur, your tone still teasing. “You love the way I fuck you, don’t you? The way I make you beg like this?”

“Yes, yes,” she moans, her head rolling back against your shoulder. “I love it so much. You make me feel so good—so fucking good.”

You smirk, your lips grazing her jawline. “You’re not just saying that, are you?” you ask, your hand flexing around her throat. “Because if you’re lying, Winter, I swear I’ll stop right now.”

Her body shudders, and she turns her head slightly to look at you, her eyes glassy with desire. “I swear,” she says, her voice breaking. “It’s true. I love it. I love the way you fuck me. Please don’t stop, daddy. Please, let me cum.”

You study her for a moment, her trembling body, her wide, pleading eyes, the way her voice shakes with desperation. There’s no denying how much she means it, how much she needs this.

“Good girl,” you murmur, your grip on her throat easing slightly as you press a kiss to her cheek. “You’ve been so good for me.”

Winter moans softly, her hands tightening on your arms. “Does that mean I can cum?” she asks, her voice hopeful and needy.

“Not yet,” you reply, your smirk growing. “But soon. I’ll make sure it’s worth it.”

Your hands move up from Winter’s waist to her chest, cupping her small breasts as you start to squeeze and knead them. Her soft moans grow louder, her nipples hardening against your palms as you gradually pick up the pace, your cock sliding deeper and harder into her with every thrust.

“You like this?” you growl, your lips brushing against her ear as you whisper. “You like how I fill you up, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whimpers, her voice trembling. “I love it. I love how deep you are. Please, don’t stop.”

Your fingers pinch her nipples, twisting just enough to make her gasp, and you lean in closer, your breath hot against her ear. “I’m gonna fuck you every day,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing. “Every chance I get. I’m gonna make you scream so loud the neighbors’ll know exactly how good I fuck you.”

Winter shudders in your arms, her head tilting back against your shoulder as a moan tears from her lips. “Fuck,” she cries, her nails digging into the sheets. “I’d let you. I’d let you ruin me every fucking day.”

The way she says it, so shameless and raw, makes your cock twitch inside her. You smirk, gripping her hips tightly as you pull out slowly, savoring the way her pussy clings to you. Then you shove her forward, letting her fall onto her hands and knees.

“Get on all fours,” you command, your voice rough with need.

Winter scrambles into position, her pale little ass sticking up, her glistening pink pussy on full display for you. She looks back over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed and her lips parted as she waits.

“Good girl,” you murmur, stroking her ass lightly before positioning yourself behind her.

Her pussy is already full of creamy slickness, and when you slide back into her, the wet, obscene sound it makes drives you wild. “Shit,” you groan, your hands gripping her hips as you start to fuck her hard, the bed creaking beneath you.

Winter’s moans grow louder, turning into screams as you pound into her, your cock hitting her deep and fast. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” you growl, your hips slamming against her ass. “So wet and messy for me.”

Her cries are almost incoherent, her body jerking forward with each thrust. “Yes! Yes! Fuck me harder!” she begs, her voice breaking.

Your gaze drops to her ass, watching the way it bounces with every thrust. Her tight little hole quite inviting as you fuck her, so pink and tempting. You reach out, rubbing your thumb against it in slow, deliberate circles.

Winter gasps, her head snapping up as her back arches. “Oh my God,” she moans, her voice trembling. “Yes, touch me there—please, more!”

You keep rubbing, teasing her hole with your thumb as your cock slams into her harder, deeper. “You like that?” you growl, watching the way her body responds to every touch.

“Yes,” she cries, her hips pushing back against you. “I love it—don’t stop, please!”

Your grip on Winter’s hips tightens as you pick up the pace, your cock slamming into her soaking pussy harder and faster. Her screams are music to your ears, high-pitched and raw, echoing off the walls. Her ass bounces against you with every thrust, the creamy slickness of her pussy making every movement wet and obscene.

At the same time, your thumb continues massaging her tight, virgin asshole, slow, deliberate circles that make her body shudder beneath you. Her moans turn breathless, desperate, her hips twitching as she pushes back against your hand.

“You like it when I play with your ass, don’t you?” you growl, leaning forward slightly, your breath hot against the back of her neck.

“Yes,” Winter moans, her voice trembling with need. “Fuck, yes—I love it!”

“You’re such a fucking slut,” you snarl, your thumb pressing more firmly against her entrance. “Getting off on me fucking your pussy and playing with your ass at the same time. That’s what you are—a needy little slut.”

“Yes,” she cries, her voice breaking. “I’m your slut—only yours. Please, don’t stop!”

You grin, knowing how much she loves hearing you call her that, and you feel her pussy clench tighter around you, her body trembling as she edges closer to the brink.

“I’m close,” she warns, her voice shaky and frantic. “Fuck, I’m so close!”

Your pace becomes brutal, your hips slamming against her ass as you drive into her harder, deeper, faster. At the same time, you press harder on her asshole, teasing her entrance with your thumb.

“You’re gonna cum with my finger in your ass, aren’t you?” you growl.

“Yes!” she screams, her voice raw. “Yes, yes—please, make me cum! I need it!”

You smirk, pushing your thumb in slowly, just enough to stretch her a little, and her reaction is instant. Her back arches sharply, and she lets out a guttural moan, her nails clawing at the sheets.

“Fuck, Winter,” you groan, your cock driving into her harder as your thumb moves slightly inside her. “You’re so fucking tight everywhere. Such a perfect little slut for me.”

Her cries grow louder, her body shaking violently as she teeters on the edge. “I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna fucking cum!” she screams, her voice echoing through the room.

“Do it,” you growl, your grip on her tightening as you fuck her relentlessly, your thumb pressing deeper. “Cum for me. Let me feel it.”

Winter’s entire body tenses, her head snapping back as a scream tears from her throat, so loud it’s a miracle the neighbors don’t start banging on the walls. Her pussy clamps down on your cock, her hips jerking uncontrollably as her orgasm crashes over her, wave after wave of pleasure leaving her shaking and gasping for air.

“Fuck,” you mutter, feeling the way her body spasms around you, completely undone.

Her cries eventually fade into soft whimpers, her body going limp beneath you as she collapses onto the bed, her chest heaving. You pull out slowly, your thumb sliding from her ass, and you smirk as you watch her shiver from the aftershocks.

“You’re fucking perfect,” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to her back.

You hold Winter close against your chest, showering her neck and shoulders with tender kisses as she catches her breath. Her body is still trembling from the intense orgasm you just gave her, her pussy dripping wet and sensitive. You stroke her hair gently while whispering in her ear.

"Such a good girl for daddy, cumming so hard on my cock like that. You're perfect, baby."

Winter preens under the praise, a proud smile spreading across her flushed face. She's never experienced pleasure this intense before - her whole body is still tingling from the force of her climax. Your words make her feel cherished and special.

"The neighbors definitely heard what a naughty girl you are," you tease, making her bury her face in the mattress with an embarrassed whimper. Her ass wiggles enticingly as she squirms.

"I bet they heard every single moan and scream while I was pounding your tight little pussy. Now everyone knows what a dirty girl you are for daddy.”

Winter's embarrassment only makes her more aroused. She can feel your hard cock still buried deep inside her, and she desperately wants to make you feel as good as you made her feel.

"Please daddy," she whimpers needily, turning her head to look at you with big innocent eyes. "I want to make you cum now. Will you...will you cum in my ass?"

Your cock twitches inside her at those filthy words coming from such a sweet mouth. Hearing your innocent submissive good girl beg for anal makes your head spin with lust.

"Is that what you want, baby? You want daddy to fill up your tight little asshole with cum?" You give her ass a firm squeeze.

"Yes daddy, please," she moans. "After you played with my ass, I can't stop thinking about having you inside me there. I want to feel your hot cum filling me up."

"Fuck, you're such a dirty girl," you growl, your cock hardening even more. "Begging daddy to cum in your virgin ass like a little anal slut."

Winter whimpers and pushes her ass back against you needily. "Please daddy, keep fucking my pussy and when you're about to cum, just put the tip in my ass and fill me up. I want to feel it so bad."

"Stay right there on your stomach like a good girl," you command, repositioning yourself between her spread legs. Your cock is still buried in her dripping pussy, and you start thrusting again at a steady pace.

Winter moans and arches her back, presenting her ass to you perfectly. "Does daddy like my tight little holes? They're all yours to fill up however you want."

Her dirty talk drives you wild and you pick up the pace, fucking her pussy harder. "Keep talking like that baby, tell daddy what a naughty anal slut you are.”

"I'm your anal slut daddy," she pants between moans. "I want you to stretch my virgin asshole and fill it with your hot cum. I've been such a good girl, please give me my reward."

You spread her plump ass cheeks apart with both hands, exposing her tiny pink asshole. The sight of that tight virgin hole makes your cock throb with need. You start fucking her pussy even faster, your heavy balls slapping against her clit.

"Look at this perfect little asshole," you growl. "So tight and pretty, just begging to be filled with daddy's cum. You want it bad don't you baby?"

"Yes daddy, please! I need it so bad," Winter begs shamelessly. "Cum deep in my ass, mark me as yours. I want to feel your hot cum dripping out of me."

Her filthy words push you closer to the edge. You spread her ass wider, watching your cock slide in and out of her soaked pussy while her tight asshole clenches and relaxes invitingly.

"Such a dirty little anal virgin," you pant. "Begging daddy to take your ass and fill you up. I'm going to cum so deep inside that tight hole."

Winter's moans get louder and more desperate. "Please daddy, I'm ready for you. Put it in my ass and fill me up with your cum. I want to be your anal slut."

You can feel your orgasm building as you pound her pussy relentlessly. Her tight walls squeeze your cock perfectly while she continues begging for anal.

"Daddy please, I need your cum in my ass so bad. Make me your anal princess. Fill up my virgin hole."

When you're right on the edge, you pull out of her dripping pussy. With one hand you spread her ass cheek wide, exposing her tiny pink hole. With the other, you guide the head of your cock to press against her virgin entrance.

The tight ring of muscle resists at first, but then the head of your cock pops inside her ass. The incredible tightness sends you over the edge instantly. Winter cries out as she feels your hot cum start flooding her virgin asshole.

"Fuck baby, taking daddy's cum so deep in your ass," you groan as you empty your balls inside her. "Such a good anal slut for me."

Winter moans and shivers as she feels each hot spurt of cum filling her ass. The head of your cock stays snugly buried in her incredibly tight hole as you finish cumming.

When you finally pull out, your cum immediately starts leaking from her stretched asshole. You spread both of her cheeks wide apart to watch the erotic sight of your white cum dripping down toward her pussy.

"Look how pretty your ass looks leaking daddy's cum," you praise her. "Such a perfect little anal princess."

Winter whimpers and wiggles her ass. "Thank you daddy. I loved feeling you cum in my ass."

You continue admiring the view of your cum trickling from her freshly-fucked hole. Her virgin ass took you so well, stretching perfectly around the head of your cock.

"We're definitely doing that again baby," you tell her, giving her ass a playful smack. "Now daddy knows what a naughty anal slut you can be."

Winter blushes but smiles proudly, happy to have pleased you. She can still feel your hot cum inside her ass, marking her as yours.

You lay down beside her and pull her into your arms, peppering her face with soft kisses. She snuggles against your chest contentedly while your cum continues slowly leaking from her ass.

"Such a good girl for daddy," you murmur. "Taking my cock in your virgin ass like that. Did you like having daddy's cum filling you up?"

"Yes daddy," she says shyly. "It felt so naughty but so good. I loved feeling you cum inside me."

You stroke her hair and hold her close, letting her bask in the afterglow of her first anal experience. Her body is completely relaxed against yours, thoroughly satisfied.

"Next time I'll fuck that tight ass properly," you promise. "Really stretch you open and fill you with cum over and over."

Winter shivers with arousal at your words. "Yes please daddy. I want to be your anal slut whenever you want."

You spend the next little while cuddling and exchanging soft kisses, your hands roaming over her curves possessively. Winter occasionally squirms as she feels more of your cum trickling from her ass.

"Should we get cleaned up baby?" you ask after a while, noticing the mess of cum between her legs.

"Not yet," she says, clinging to you. "I like feeling your cum inside me. Makes me feel like I'm yours."

You smile and kiss her forehead. "You are mine baby. My perfect little anal princess."

—

You sit across from Winter at a small café table, the sunlight spilling through the large windows and catching the golden streaks in her blonde hair. She’s wearing a light yellow sundress that flares out just above her knees, a little bow tied at the waist. The dress shows just enough skin to drive you crazy while still looking effortlessly cute. Her white sneakers complete the look, giving her an innocent, casual charm that feels so uniquely hers.

Winter’s playful smile is fixed on you, her chin propped on her hand as she stirs her iced coffee lazily with a straw. She’s got that look, the one that says she knows something you don’t. Probably feeling like she’s already won whatever unspoken game you’re playing.

“You’re really feeling better?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you take a sip of your drink.

She nods, her grin widening. “Completely cured.”

“You sure? Because you got better awfully fast. Makes me wonder if you were even sick in the first place.”

Winter lets out a soft laugh, twirling the straw between her fingers. “That’s because of you,” she says, batting her lashes mockingly. “You were such good… medicine.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Medicine, huh? Pretty sure I broke a few ethical guidelines as your doctor.”

“Yeah, well,” she teases, leaning forward slightly, “I’m not complaining.”

She looks too damn proud of herself, and you can’t resist poking at her.

“Hey, you spilled some coffee on the table,” you say, pointing to where she spilled it.

“Oh, you're right! Hand me a napkin.”

You pick up a napkin and slide it toward her. “Here. Do you clean by yourself or do you want daddy to help you?” you ask, purposely raising your voice a little.

The shift is instant. Winter’s playful confidence crumbles as her cheeks turn bright red, her eyes darting around the café to make sure no one heard.

“Are you insane?” she hisses, grabbing the napkin and glaring at you. “Don’t say things like that in public!”

You chuckle, leaning your elbows on the table. “Why not? You seemed to love it in bed yesterday. Hell, you couldn’t stop saying it.”

Her face gets even redder, and she throws the napkin back at you, hitting you square in the chest. “I was dying of embarrassment even leaving the house today!” she exclaims. “I’m pretty sure the neighbors really heard everything.”

Your laughter only makes her more flustered, and you lean back, grinning. “Hey, you asked for it. Literally.”

Winter groans, burying her face in her hands for a moment before peeking out at you. “You’re insufferable.”

“You chose the insufferable,” you say smoothly.

She tries to hold her annoyed expression, but a small smile slips through. “Whatever,” she mutters, picking up her coffee again.

“So,” you say after a moment, tilting your head. “You gonna call me daddy again later?”

Winter glances up at you, her lips twitching as she tries not to smile too much. “Yeah,” she says softly, her eyes meeting yours. “I love calling you that.”

There’s a moment of silence, charged but comfortable, before you clear your throat. “Anyway, why’d you pick this café again? There are like, fifty others places we could’ve gone to.”

Winter shrugs, stirring her drink again. “Last time didn’t count.”

“Didn’t count?”

She looks up at you, her expression soft but serious. “You dodged all my questions last time. You didn’t even seem like you wanted to be there.”

The guilt hits you instantly, and you exhale, leaning forward. “Yeah, I… I’m sorry about that. It wasn’t you, though. It’s just…” You pause, lowering your head. “You already know the reason.”

Winter nods. “I know. But it still kind of sucked.”

You nod, meeting her gaze. “You’re right. It did. I didn’t handle it well, and I’m sorry. But I’m here now. And this time, I won’t run.”

Her smile grows, slow and genuine, lighting up her entire face. “You promise?”

“Promise,” you say softly.

Winter leans forward, resting her chin in her hand again, her grin turning playful once more. “Good. Because I wasn’t gonna let you run anyway.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, I’m starting to figure that out.”

For the first time in a long time, you feel it—something steady, something warm. Maybe this time it’s worth the risk. Especially with her.

[shouyuus]

sfw; but slightly suggestive OKAY but going off of this drabble

like imagine popstar!reader doing a tiktok live and everyone in the comments being like TRY THE KISS PROOF LIPSTICKS and you read some of them out loud, blushing like --

"well, i can't lie -- i did get a few pr packages --" you glance off screen and vi says something. you laugh, crinkling your nose and a second later, vi appears behind you, casually slinging her arms around your shoulders, putting her chin on top of your head.

her face isn't entirely in the frame but chat is losing it already.

"they want us to try the lipsticks, don't they?"

you laugh, nodding, lacing your hands with hers, trying to catch comments as they start to fly by.

you heave a sigh, but you can't help the smile on your face as vi leans down to peer at the comments as well.

"whoa, people are really passionate about this, huh?"

she sounds way too smug. you roll your eyes, giving her bicep a tiny pinch. she hisses and frowns down at you, but you bat your lashes and look up at her with a bright smile.

"can you go grab the pr boxes under my desk?"

vi quirks a single eyebrow.

you sigh, "please?"

vi grins, leaning down to peck your lips before leaving the frame to grab the boxes. you turn back to the chat, your cheeks bright with color.

"chat, #confirmed she bottoms," you read out loud before breaking into a fit of giggles, "it's called having manners!" you say, but your eyes are twinkling with mischief even as vi shuffles back with a bunch of boxes balanced in her arms.

she puts them on the table before nudging you off your seat, tugging you back till you're settled in her lap and she can hook her chin over your shoulder. you reach out to adjust the angle of the camera, still blushing, before grabbing one of the boxes.

"alright then -- let's see what these are made of."

you put the first one on, leaning close towards the screen to apply a smooth layer of the lipstick, smacking your lips and glancing down at the carton.

"allow to dry for 30 seconds for a matte, kiss-proof finish," you read, glancing up at the live and then towards vi.

vi grins, "think it's been 30 seconds?" but her eyes are honed in on your mouth as she licks her own lips.

"mm, close enough," you say, squeaking as vi tugs you forward for a long kiss. it leaves you breathless and a little lightheaded, gulping down air when she finally pulls away, smacking her lips.

"well --" she says, wiping at her own mouth, "it's not bad -- but it kinda tastes weird."

"yeah," you agree, "kinda... bitter?"

vi makes a face, and both of you dissolve into laughter for a few seconds before you reach for a makeup wipe off camera and attempt to wipe your lips clean.

"3 outta 5 stars," vi says, smiling as you cap the lipstick and reach for another one.

the second one tastes better but smears pretty quickly, and you're left leaning over vi's mouth, trying to clean the color off her lips as much as your own.

she glances down at the comments before snorting.

"course the color's not gonna stay if you're trying to suck her lips off her face, fam," she reads out loud, "those ain't kisses -- that's someone trying to finish the bottom of their milkshake with a straw that doesn't quite reach."

you laugh, burying your face in her neck for a second before turning back to the live, "guys!"

vi shrugs, "i mean, you guys asked for this." she squints at the screen once more, "would pay real life money to make out with either one of you, tbh, lipstick or no."

she smirks, tightening her hold on your waist as you reach for another box.

"sorry bubs, no amount of money's gonna convince me to make out with anyone else but her."

you slip open the third lipstick, shooting the camera a quick grin.

"same."

the third lipstick smells faintly like strawberries, and it glides on with a glossy sheen. you wonder if the camera can catch the way vi's pupils dilate; the shade of pink is almost a perfect match for the color of her hair.

"mm... smells nice," vi murmurs, tugging your chin towards her. a thick groan rumbles from her chest to yours as she kisses you, licking into your mouth. you make a high-pitched noise at the back of your throat and immediately try to pull away, afraid that the camera mic might catch it, but vi's hand catches the back of your neck and presses you closer.

"fuck... tastes nice too --" she whispers, breaking away just long enough for you to suck in a breath, your lashes fluttering like moth wings across her cheeks, and then you're drowning in her again, feeling the delicious drag of her tongue across your lips as she coaxes you open for her.

after another long minute of kissing, you pull away, panting.

the comment section's lost all semblance of decorum --

sweet lord tag ur p0rn!

yall im married and ive never felt more single

this is insane to do on live ur gonna get banned

ive watched literal sesbian lex more pg than this wtf

"o-okay -- seems like we have a winner!" you say, holding up the last lipstick to the screen. beneath the table, vi's fingers are digging into your thigh as you bite back a groan as she buries her face in your neck.

"yep, that's definitely my fav too," she says, though her voice is slightly muffled by your skin and you fight down a coarse shiver as she purposefully grazes her lips along the soft spot just beneath your jaw.

"cool! well -- i think that's all the time -- we've still gotta make dinner and --" you cut off as vi inches her fingers beneath the hem of your skirt.

you catch one last glimpse of the comments before you close the stream --

just say ur gonna fck and go

be safe! rmbr to hydrate!

keep the stream on u cowards!!!

the live ends and vi groans as she hoists you up, sinking her teeth into the delicate skin of your neck, walking the pair of you towards the bedroom.

"v-vi --"

"you really should wear that lipstick more often..."

"what, the strawberry one?" you ask, even as she tosses you onto the bed and you bounce once on the massive mattress, her crawling over you to cage you beneath her.

"mhm. really does... taste good..." she says, her voice trailing off as her eyes catch on your lips again, pink and shiny from the residual lipsticks and her spit. she leans down with a debauched moan, licking into your mouth.

it's a long time before you get to actually making dinner that night. but later that night, you post a picture of your hand holding the strawberry lippie with the caption:

#certified 💋-proof! had dinner and dessert, and this baby didn't budge at all!

but of course, your followers aren't fooled. and it only takes about 20 minutes after your post goes up for #SexProofLipstick to trend on just about every single social media platform.

you get a call from your pr manager the very next morning telling you that the brand is asking you to be the face of their new line of kiss-proof lipsticks, and that "they'd love for your girlfriend to be part of the campaign as well."