#i remember really enjoying that race
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It's so cool that the f1 YouTube is gonna be streaming thw2005 San Marino gp tmr, wow an old race I actually have watched hehe :D
#too early in the morning for me to wanna watch it again but#i remember really enjoying that race#it was sooooooo tense like i was just sitting at the edge of my seat super late at night#and also involuntarily screaming super loud when michael nearly overtook nando#both him and michael were fkn insane in it and their driving was just...mesmerizing#ig tmr i shall reblog my gifsets from then!!#fighting the urge to remake it#i like my old post but im so ???? at myself from then for making two seperate posts#i mean i still have all the gifs from then so maybe i could make a new one idk#but yeah its cool to see them stream a race that i have actually watched in the course of watching an older season#like yknow i didnt watch it as a one-off bcs it was good but like watched it and experienced it in the context of the season#catie.rambling.txt
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Daniel Ricciardo on his love for the sport in an interview with Road Book Magazine during the 2024 Belgian GP [translated]
#I wasn't going to share this because honestly when I first read it I kind of felt like crying while punching something#but I think it's just another example of either CAA/Daniel's team being completely out of touch with what was going down inside RBR#and of just how much they were blindsided by Singapore#I just want him to get one season in a car that isn't fighting against him that isn't a shitbox and breaking down#where he can just really really enjoy the driving and the racing and the results on track reflect the amount of love he puts into it#also the way daniel singled out helmut's pressure at multiple points in the season really hits when you remember the comments#daniel's team made post-singapore to SMM about Daniel having been fired since Spain/Miami etc#daniel ricciardo#dr3#belgian gp 2024
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Thinking about how Daniel made the photo of him with Pierre and Patrick as the first image in that dump. He could’ve made it the helmet swap with Oscar, a group photo, or the 3 on the garage floor. Any of those probably would’ve made more sense from an engagement or aesthetic standpoint. But no he specifically chose a candid moment with the two guys who were with him every second he was in that car. Two guys who would be relatively unknown to the casual fan, but who were integral to Daniel and shared the ups and downs of this journey with him.
#woke up and remembered that post and this was the first thing I thought about#when you think about the race engineers Daniel has had in his career obviously Simon stands tall at the front#but it really felt like the connection he had with Pierre was a real renaissance back to that same level of just getting each other#they still definitely had their moments where they were figuring it out but I really feel like they were building such a strong partnership#they clearly enjoyed each other and there was so much more potential there#all this to say#I’m glad he was able to build those connections again and find people who just GOT him you know?#I’ll never forget Pierre barking on the radio with him#or the enchante or the I’m boiling for you mate!#it was good#they were good
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wow can't believe the 2024 f1 season is done
#i watched/followed only nine races and i've been having a great time with this sport#i genuinely can't remember when i was this obsessed with something that it took over so much of my time#and i'm a little glad that it did because i've had some of the most stressful months of my life this year and this was a great diversion#i've had so much fun talking to my two irl friends about it#and i've also enjoyed being on tumblr and experiencing it with the fandom#i'm excited to watch more of the old races and i am really excited for what the 2025 season will have in store#so coming up is about 3 months of lesser f1 content#f1#nivi.txt
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PART 2 OF PRISONER!GETO
prisoner!geto who can’t stop thinking about late at night, getting so worked up and horny, the most horny he’s been in a while. He’s pulling his pants down, closing his eyes while he pictures the way your scrubs clung to your body and showed off your ass. He thanks god he doesn’t have a bunkie or else he’d be in a real awkward position. He purposely gets into another fight a week later, the wound on his lip opening back up. He’s smiling to himself as he gets walked to the infirmary knowing he’ll see you there.
“Not you again,” you sigh.
“Told you I’d see you soon, doctor.” He sits on the small bed, watching as you put on gloves and examine his busted lip. He can tell you’re avoiding eye contact with him, trying your hardest to ignore his stares and slight touches. “Have you thought about my offer yet?” He asks.
You gulp, blinking as you rub the ointment over his wound. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” You play stupid, but you remember your last conversation so clearly. It makes you nervous. All he does is laugh.
“Come on. I’ll even beg.” He grabs your wrist, slowing pulling it down, a smug smirk on his handsome face. “You telling me you haven’t thought about it once since we last seen each other?” He whispers. He parts his legs, pulling you in between them. And god, you smell so good. So sweet. He could just eat you up right here.
You stand there, unable to form words because as much as you want to say no, you want to say yes. He makes your heart race and your pussy wet. What a sly bastard. With his stupid tattoos, muscles, hair and chiseled face. You hate how much effect he has on you.
“Listen,” he rubs a hand down your waist, “meet me in the supply closet by the showers during lunchtime if you’re really down.” He flashed a smile before standing to his feet and walking out the infirmary. “Bye, bye, doctor.”
Come lunchtime, you walked through the halls of the prison, mentally cursing at yourself. It’s just one time, one time. You bet he won’t even be there, that he’s just playing a stupid joke cause he’s bored with himself. And as you reach out to open the supply door, your heart beats against your ribcage, looking around to find the halls empty. You step in, seeing him leaning against the wall, the faint rays of light allowing you to make out some of his features. “Well, look who it is,” he chuckles. “Came here to help me out, doc?” He walks over to you, trapping you between him and the door.
“Shut up already and let’s get it over with.” You smash your lips on his, kissing him with such urgency and fervor. His large hands grab at your ass, squeezing and groping it as he pushes you against the wall, knocking a few things over. You both pull away, breathing heavily, lips swollen. “We gotta be quick,” you whisper, undoing his jumpsuit while he pulls down your pants.
“More eager than I am, huh?” He teases, earning an eye roll from you. “Come here.” He bends you over the small wooden table, snatching your panties off and getting a good feel of your ass. His dick jumps, pre cum already leaking from the swollen tip. He’s already so worked up, so ready to feel your wet and tight cunt. “Fuck,” he grunts, running his head over your sopping slit, nudging your clit slightly. “Already so fucking wet.”
He pushes his throbbing tip past your folds, a small gasp leaving your lips when you feel how thick he is. Inch by inch you feel the stretch, you mouth agape as you try and grow accustomed to his size. Geto’s entire body shivers, his fingers pressing into your skin so hard you’re sure he’d leave marks. “Ohhh shit,” he lets out a shaky breath. God, it’s been so fucking long since he’s had some good pussy and he can already tell he won’t last long. He finally bottoms out, feeling your walls clench around his length, sucking him in. “My god,” he laughs in your ear. “Lemme just enjoy this feeling—fuckkk—for a moment,” he moans, eyes fluttering shut.
He finally starts moving his hips, feeling his tip press against your cervix with each thrust. With each passing second, he gets faster, fucking your harder and rougher, your pussy has got him in a trance. “Pussy feels so fucking good,” he grips your hips, pulling you back towards him so you can meet his thrusts. One of his hands reach around your throat, gripping it just enough as he pulls you back against his broad chest. “Do you fuck all of your patients or am I just special?” He jokes.
“Mmmm…shut—ah—up!” You cry out, whimpering when he presses up against you, finding a new angle that makes your eyes roll back. “Just keep fucking me,”you say with a raspy breath.
“Doctors orders.” He can feel the way your pussy leaks, your juices dripping down his shaft and make his cock ache like never before. It almost hurts. He hold you tighter against him, the sound of skin on skin filling the small room. “You take it so well,” he breathes against your skin, pressing wet kisses to your neck. “So fucking well.” His thrusts grow sloppier, chasing his own orgasm. But in the distance, he hears the guards walking down the hall. “Shh, shh, shh.” His hand covers your mouth, his thrusts becoming slow and deep, letting you feel every inch of his cock, every vein, every pulse before hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you.
Your eyes squeeze shut, trying your hardest to keep quiet, the guard getting closer and closer. Their keys jingle with each step and their voices grow louder. “Atta girl. You feel how fucking deep I am…shiittt. Keep fucking squeezing me like that—yeah, yeah you’re gonna make me fucking cum.” His brows furrow as he bites down as his bottom lip in attempts to contain his moans, but his abs tense up and his entire body shakes before he’s filling you up, stuffing you with his sticky, hot cum. “No, no, don’t you dare move. Just like thattt, oh yes!” His eyes roll back, still cumming. His pushes his cum deeper inside of you, feeling it leak back out before he finally pulls out.
Geto truly wishes he could’ve had more time with you. His mouth drooling over the mere thought of how you taste, wanting to make you cum on his tongue, but for now he’ll have to settle for this. “You came inside me, asshole!” You pull your pants back up, turning to face him.
“Couldn’t let it go to waste.” He reaches out and stroke your cheek. “Right?”
“Whatever.” You swat his hand away. “Where are my underwear?” You look around the dimly lit room before realizing he was holding them.
“I’ll be keeping these for later,” he swung them in your face before stuffing them in his pocket.
“You’re such a pervert.” You narrowed your eyes at him.
“You have my cum running down your leg right now.” He places a finger under your chin, tilting it towards him as he leans down and kisses you slowly, his tongue sliding over yours before catching your bottom lip. “Mmm, thank you, doctor.” He smiles before kissing you once more.
You push him off of you, trying to process everything you just did right now. It was so wrong but it felt so right, so good, so intoxicating. “If it makes you feel any better, I get out in six months.”
“No. This was a one time thing.” You place a hand on his chest, shaking your head.
“Was it? Cause I don’t think it was. Not with the way your pussy was squeezing around me. It was almost like she was made for me.” He cups your face, forcing you to look at him. His eyes searches yours, a smile forming at the corner of his lips. “Yeah…it definitely isn’t the last time.”
#—☆classyrbf#jjk#jjk x reader#jujustu kaisen#jjk smut#geto x reader#geto smut#geto x reader smut#geto suguru smut#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru x reader smut#geto drabble#geto smut drabble#jjk smut drabble#suguru geto x reader#suguru geto smut#suguru geto x reader smut
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aaaahhhhhh i have big hopes and dreams that take time to achieve but life only moves at the pace of one day per day!!!!!! i want all the stuff i want right now.......
#this is still infinitely preferable to when i was really unwell in college and taking the 'one day per day' fact as a survival mantra#like now i just need to remember to enjoy every day as i wait and continue to maneuver myself into position to do the really big stuff#to use a racing metaphor. bc all i can think abt rn is f1.#im in the phase where we're moving out of the pits and lining up before the start. im behind the wheel but it's not time to fly yet#im in mf pole position btw. im the max verstappen of 23 year olds all the odds are in my favor#DU DU DU DU... MAX VERSTAPPEN🗣🗣‼️‼️‼️‼️
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DOUBLE FANTASY ★ JUJUTSU KAISEN
⊹₊˚. featuring threesomes with gojo satoru + geto suguru, nanami kento + higuruma hiromi, shiu kong + fushiguro toji, tsukumo yuki + kamo choso.
warnings. 18+ content — mdni, f! reader, threesomes, oral [m&f rec], spit roasting, double penetration, some degradation, choking, rough sex, squirting, sharing a cigarette, spit, clit slaps. | 4.5K words of FILTH
xoxo, juno. comment & rb if you enjoyed <3 !
GOJO & GETO.
perhaps letting your two roommates take care of you after a messy breakup wasn’t a good idea—or is it? less than an hour ago, you’d come home sobbing, cheeks wet with tears and eyes puffy.
satoru and suguru had pulled you into a tight hug, internally thankful you’d broken things off with that asshole (they’d hated when he would come around) but also sympathetic towards you. it was a tough choice, which was then promptly celebrated over margaritas and shots on the couch. one thing led to another, and before you knew it, you were pressed flush against suguru’s strong chest, body sweltering with need hotter than a fire.
“s-sugu, i don’t think you can both fit inside.”
“not with that attitude, sweetheart,” suguru murmurs, hands settling on your hips as he places a small kiss to your cheek. “come now, anything’s possible if you believe in it.”
“bleh, you sound like confucius,” satoru fake gags dramatically, lining his cock up with his best friend’s. their sticky tips prod at your folds, and your heart races faster, rattling around in your ribcage so loudly you can hear it in your ears. although you’re a little nervous, the alcohol you’ve had helps to take the edge away; you impatiently wiggle your hips forward.
“i’m sorry . . ? do you even know who confucius is?” suguru asks incredulously, flicking his bangs to the side with a jerk of his head.
“i’ve seen you read enough of—”
“don’t do this right now,” you plead, voice whiny. “just fuck me already.”
“now, honey. you’ll have plenty of time to slut yourself out for us, don’t you worry.”
“nah, she’s right,” satoru quips, wrapping his hand around their cocks. suguru inhales sharply, unintentionally jerking his hips forward for more. “you ready for us, babe?”
you nod weakly, and the three of you moan in unison as satoru pushes their cocks inside you. it’s slow at first, but the stretch is one that you’ll remember for a lifetime—the burn of being split open on two cocks melts into something euphoric as each inch passes your entrance. satoru groans hungrily, his head falling back. snowy tufts of hair obscure his diamond blue eyes that he tightly squeezes shut, and a huff of breath leaves his lips.
suguru kisses your jaw, fingers trailing along the slopes of your body before finally sweeping over the delicate skin of your throat. you breath hitches when he whispers into your ear: “we’d always hear you begging to be choked harder. don’t you remember that, satoru?”
“hngh, yeah,” he swallows hard at the memory—he and his best friend always heard everything through those paper thin walls. they’d heard your dissatisfaction and vowed to satiate you someday. “and you’d always be going deeper, deeper!”
your cheeks burn with embarrassment. had your roommates really heard everything? how did they face you so easily in the morning after being kept awake each night?
“we’ll give you everything, sweetheart.”
suguru squeezes your throat experimentally, and the corners of his lips lift when you release a moan you’d been holding back for far too long. he and his best friend slowly start to move, rocking their hips into you and developing a smooth tempo.
“both of you are so fucking big,” you mewl, back bowing off of suguru’s chest. they’re filling you up and stretching you out and just as you think it can’t get any better, satoru’s nimble fingers wander to your clit. he curiously toys with it, eyes darkening lustfully once you react how he’d been hoping you would.
“perfect size just for you,” suguru coos, yanking you down by the throat. “satoru, spank her a little.”
he obliges, reading his best friend’s mind easily—a stinging slap lands on your clit, sending prickling shocks of pleasure through your body. the tips of their cocks kiss your cervix, pushing so deep you can’t seem to breathe. satoru gifts your swollen, sensitive clit with slap after slap; the force behind each one only increases until you’re crying freely.
but you’re not begging him to stop, you’re begging him for more.
“god, i always knew you were a fucking slut,” satoru chokes out, pausing to lick some of your slick off his palm. your stomach flips around at the simple action, something hot flashing through you when he closes his eyes momentarily and savors the taste. “finally . . got you to myself.”
then he looks at suguru, who rolls his eyes. “well, for the most part.”
“no need to sound so excited,” he deadpans, huffing beneath you. “as if you’d fuck any better than that damn ex boyfriend.”
satoru scoffs in disbelief, slapping your clit with renewed strength. his hips are still moving, still burying his cock and suguru’s inside you deeper. they’ve got you entirely stuffed—maybe this would be better than some turkey on thanksgiving. your clit throbs with each punishing slap, but your eyes still roll back each time. while they bicker, your oxygen deprived brain spins with arousal and tipsiness. you shudder, going still and barely even managing to warn them of what’s about to happen.
“fuck, i’m gonna—‘m cumming,” you sob, sounding fragile just before you’re about to break. flashes of heat chase their way through you, until they finally explode out of you, in the form of a soaking orgasm. out of patterned habit, satoru’s palm smacks your puffy clit, which only prolongs your intoxicating high further. the intense contractions inadvertently push their cocks a few inches out of you, and your cum splashes on their skin, eliciting pleased groans from them both.
“baby, did you just—”
“she did, satoru,” suguru confirms, biting back a moan.
“i don’t even—i don’t know what happened,” you pant, hissing when someone’s tip bumps against your twitching clit.
“‘s called squirting,” satoru supplies, entranced as he stares at your messy cunt. a mixture of slick and cum coats your inner thighs, and he can’t help but swipe a finger across your skin and then stick it into his mouth. he releases it with a pop, and eyes suguru knowingly.
his voice is now raspy, thick with desire. “let’s make it happen again, sweetheart. we can take turns, of course. but my face comes before satoru’s.”
NANAMI & HIGURUMA.
the smooth oak wood surface of higuruma’s desk is littered with papers hastily swept to the side, and the fabric of your skirt fans out over a few of them. pens and other stationary supplies are forgotten on the floor, along with your now wrinkled blouse.
“h-holy shit—‘romi, right there! just like that.”
“one can only hope that this’ll be enough luck to carry us through the trial,” higuruma grunts, nails digging crescent shaped indents into the fat of your ass. he’s gripping you tightly, chest heaving rapidly as he vigorously fucks his cock deeper.
“ah, hiromi,” nanami huffs, pushing a few stray hairs away from his forehead. they’d escaped their neatly gelled place on his head when the three of you had rushed into higuruma’s office to discuss the final procedures before your trial. “don’t be a downer . . . this is more than lucky. we’ll win, of course.”
you sob, clawing at higuruma’s shoulders. he’d discarded his suit jacket long ago, carefully folded it on one of his bookshelves so as not to ruin the cuffs and smoothness of the fabric. now, he’s rolled the sleeves of his white shirt all the way up to his elbows, and his loosened black tie swings in your face with each of his thrusts.
“wait, hiromi,” your clammy hand pushes against his stomach insistently, “s-slow down, it’s too much, i—”
higuruma looks toward nanami for instruction, and the latter simply pauses stroking his cock. he stands, pushing back the spinning chair he’d been sitting on, and steps toward the edge of the desk. a sheen of sweat covers your forehead and disrupts the smoothness of your makeup, but nanami doesn’t take much pity on you—instead, he lightly slaps your cheek.
“need me to show you too much, angel?” his voice is low and dark, words laced with a throaty rasp that has your pussy squeezing higuruma’s cock. nanami’s eyebrow raises as he pushes your thighs apart to take a look at the mess between them.
“seems to me like she wants you to,” higuruma nods toward your pussy, then loosens his tie and collar further. “after my turn, of course.”
nanami grunts in agreement, settling on the edge of the desk beside your head instead of the chair. the desk creaks weakly from the newly added weight, and for a moment the idea of it collapsing beneath the three of you crosses your mind. higuruma snaps his hips forward, unconsciously licking the sweat away from his upper lip when he starts up.
your hand lamely pushes against his stomach again, but he shakes his head and nanami reacts immediately, intertwining his fingers with yours and slamming your hand down on the wood. whimpers leave your lips and the air is punched out of your lungs with each of higuruma’s strong thrusts; he’s so deep you can practically feel him in your chest.
“ken, i need—my clit,” you gasp, back bowing off the desk fruitlessly. your hips twist and jerk away from higuruma’s cock, for fear of being split open. “touch my clit, i need to cum—”
nanami slaps your cheek again, and your eyes roll back at the penalizing sting. “hiromi, you hear that? she wants to cum.” he mocks your words, then turns back to you, hazel eyes burning holes into your own. “and how do good girls ask to cum, baby? certainly not the way you just did.”
“‘m sorry,” you mewl, and higuruma slaps your clit and makes you shudder. “p-please, i wanna cum for you—i’ve been a good girl!”
“hm, hiromi? you think she’s been a good girl?”
you look up at higuruma pleadingly, tears gathered in your lashes and sparkling in the light. you’ve got that blissed out and dumb look on your face, completely at peace with being thrown around and shared between them.
“sluts take it,” he groans, teeth sinking into his lower lip hard. he yanks your body closer, further bullying his cock inside you. “‘nd you’ve been running from me—isn’t that right, babygirl?”
nanami clicks his tongue, and pinches one of your hardened nipples between his fingers. he looks down at you nicely, cheeks pink and hair mussed.
“maybe i’ll let you cum when it’s my turn,” he huffs, a small smile playing on his lips when you weakly moan his name as if he’ll give you permission. “for now, you’ll have to beg. now, go on and open wide, baby.”
the moment your lips part, nanami spits onto your tongue; he watches you expectantly and nodding in acceptance when you swallow, drunk on the taste of his peppermint gum.
“that’s right,” higuruma backs him up, looking down his nose at you expectantly. “speak now or forever hold your orgasm, sweetheart.”
TOJI & SHIU.
“so, princess, still up for lunch later?” shiu grunts around a chuckle, passing the lit cigarette to toji. the latter accepts it with a scoff, rolling his jade green eyes as he sticks it between his lips.
“yes,” you and toji answer at the same time, but your voice is muffled on shiu’s cock.
toji gifts your ass with a slap and exhales the smoke, handing the cigarette back to shiu with a glare. his once stagnant hips begin to move again, almost as if he’s rejuvenated from his little smoke break. shiu only laughs, cupping the crown of your head in order to ease his cock further down your throat.
“i’m surprised you’ve got the money for that, toji,” shiu teases, exhaling sharply when the tip of his cock bumps into your uvula and makes you gag. your throat constricts around his length and you let out a muffled whine in reaction to the stretch.
“you crazy or sum’n?” toji snaps, choosing to argue with his best friend while he’s balls deep inside you. his harsh thrusts make your pussy squelch, and shiu’s cum from earlier spills out onto the bedsheets below. “of course i’ve got the fuckin’ money for lunch, but you’re gonna be the one paying, dumbass.”
his fingers find your swollen clit and he pinches it, making you gasp around shiu’s cock. you choke, gagging so hard tears pool in your eyes—shiu strokes your head comfortingly as you pull off his cock, coughing hard.
“you okay, babygirl?” and he looks at toji disapprovingly, but he only continues to fuck you. the blunt head of his cock kisses your cervix lightly with each thrust, and when he feels like he’s not going deep enough, he lifts your hips to pull you back. “toji, that was mean.”
“mean . . ? shiu, my girl can fuckin’ handle it. ain’t that right, baby?” he looks to you for confirmation, quirking a brow while the scarred corner of his lip curves into a smirk.
this whole mess had started when you’d spent a night in with toji, watching movies and taking shots every now and then. you’d gotten drunk, swaying on your feet and giggling as you’d pointed to the tv screen dazedly.
“oh, toji, look! that guy looks like shiu!”
he could see the resemblance, and grunted, “damn, he does. ugly just like him too.”
“shiu isn’t ugly!” you jumped up drunkenly to defend his best friend’s appearance, waving your arms around dramatically. “he’s very good looking, actually.”
“oh, really? he doesn’t have any muscle, though.”
“toji, don’t be silly,” you laughed at your boyfriend, “‘course he does, it’s just under all those clothes of his. if he took ‘em off, you’d know what i mean!”
“so you got a crush on shiu?” toji asked in disbelief, his cheeks flaring a deeper pink as he took another vodka shot. “aw, i should let him know.”
one thing led to another, and shiu had come over for breakfast. then your little crush had gotten out, and a bet was placed—who could fuck you better? the condition for the loser was then set in place: whoever lost would buy lunch for the three of you without question.
“y-yeah, toji,” you mumble, forehead pressing into shiu’s pelvis weakly. he’d been the first to fuck you, and now it’s toji’s turn with your pussy—you’re sure you won’t walk smoothly ever again.
“can’t hear you,” toji taunts, lifting your hips and yanking you back onto his cock. the new angle forces him deeper, stretching your cunt out even further. “wanna repeat that for me, doll?”
“ngh, f-fuck,” you moan, eyes rolling back. his cock slams into that sweet, sensitive spot that’s deep inside you, and the tears that had been building in your eyes finally pour down your cheeks. the mascara and eye makeup you’d worn for the breakfast smears against shiu’s skin and makes messy tracks down your face. he curiously slips a finger beneath your chin to make you look up at him.
“aw, baby. i really can’t wait to hear who fucked you better . . . my back certainly wasn’t cracking as much as his is.”
“shut it, shiu,” toji groans, savoring the broken moans that freely leave your lips—gasping ah’s and whines that you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. “hand me the fuckin’ cig.”
shiu obliges, chuckling softly when he notices you pawing around his thighs in search of his cock. you whimper when you finally get his tip back in your mouth (with his guidance), slowly taking him in inch by inch. he groans, tossing his head back when he finally bumps into the back of your throat.
“m-mind if i fuck your mouth, doll face?” he asks, thighs twitching expectantly. a vein in toji’s forehead bulges at the way he steals his pet name for you.
you shake your head shyly, blinking slowly while toji fucks every single thought out of your head. he’s deliberately holding himself back so you’ll go dumb on his cock, unable to scream anything but his name. yes, this is how he’ll show shiu who can fuck—show him that you’re his girl, his doll face.
tendrils of smoke waft over your break before dissipating in the air as if they were never there. you shudder as toji’s fingers reach your clit, rubbing sloppy circles on the sensitive nub even though your hips rear away. you still haven’t recovered from the overstimulation shiu caused with both his tongue and fingers, but that’s okay. he’ll have you cumming on his cock regardless.
with a deep groan, shiu cups the back of your head to keep you steady, and he shoves his hips forward, his cock slamming far down your throat. you gag, but he’s merciless—doesn’t give you more than a second to breathe before he’s at it again, setting a brutal pace that matches toji’s.
“ugh, fuck—want ya to cum on this cock for me, doll,” he groans, starting to slap his fingers against your clit. your legs kick out in reaction, and you hump your hips back against his hand. toji’s fucked you so hard you can’t even feel shiu’s cum dripping out of you anymore; he’s seconds away from replacing it with his own thick load and having you hold it inside you during lunch.
you nod dumbly on shiu’s cock, starting to sob louder as your own orgasm hurtles toward you. the high is absolutely inescapable, and your watery eyes meet shiu’s when you tip your head up. to the best of his abilities, he’s sweetly talking you through it, his words jumbled although you manage to hear a few clearly.
“how ‘bout we all cum together?” he suggests, wiping a stray tear from your face with the pad of his thumb as if he wasn’t the one that caused it.
“whatever, just as long she does first,” toji warns, his husky voice carrying a tenderness that only you can hear. “got that, shiu?”
like a cheshire cat, he smiles in response, sticking the worn down cigarette between his lips. he takes a drag and thrusts as deeply as he can go before holding your head down at his pelvis. you can hear his quiet moan beneath the clapping of skin against skin and all the other noise; his cock shoots ribbons of white down your throat and he shudders when you swallow it all eagerly, looking up at him for more.
toji throbs against your cervix, and he grabs your asscheek in one of his hands to tug and slap at. “‘m gonna cum, shit . . . wouldn’t ever wanna cum outside of this pretty pussy.”
his fingers work your clit until you’re arching your back and crying out, gushing on toji’s cock with no end in sight. wetness sprays against his pelvis and abs, and he groans, fucking you through it.
“such a mess, doll,” he groans, slipping a hand around your throat and pulling you off shiu’s cock. he instead pins you against his muscular chest, looking over your shoulder through hooded eyes at shiu, who hasn’t gone soft yet. “fuckin’ love it, though.”
toji places a few wet kisses to your neck, moving close to your ear. “so, doll face? where’s lunch gonna be? shiu’s treat, of course.”
YUKI & CHOSO.
“c’mon, you don’t really plan to just sit and watch us, do you?” yuki pushes her blonde bangs away from her forehead with an enchanting smile playing on her lips. she playfully tilts her head to the side, eyeing choso and his seated form.
“well, i . . . you said you’d teach me,” he offers lamely, his reddened cheeks only darkening. he catches your eyes on him too and awkwardly crosses his legs, trying to hide the tent in his pants.
when you’d finally had enough of your boyfriend’s ineducable inexperience, you’d decided to bite the bullet and ask your best friend. yuki had been receptive from the start, her eyes gleaming while you’d explained the situation to a willing choso.
“oh, you won’t learn anything from over there,” she laughs, waving him over to the empty space beside her on the bed. “y’know, sex is pretty hands on.”
choso settles beside her, and the bedframe creaks as it accommodates the new weight. his fingers are trembling as they brush over the tender skin of your inner thighs, and his eyes widen when they come close to your dripping pussy. slick is smeared all over your skin and shining in the low light, utterly enticing to the both of them.
yuki spreads your legs further, and you draw in a sharp breath, lower lip slipping between your teeth.
“come closer,” she coos, pointing at your clit with a smirk. “that’s her clit . . . ‘s the secret to the female orgasm, choso. go on, give her a lick.”
without question, choso adjusts himself so he’s on his stomach, and he experimentally licks your clit. his silky tongue is flexed and nervous, dipping down further to taste the wetness trickling from your slit.
“f-fuck, choso,” you cry, insides lurching deliciously at the feeling. one look at yuki—her cheeks are colored pink, tongue unconsciously darting out occasionally to sweep over her lower lip—and another at choso, whose movements are gradually becoming more insistent, has a sweltering heat coiling deep in your stomach.
your hips jerk forward, pelvic bone nearly nailing him in the bridge of his nose, and choso’s head rears back in concern. “‘m sorry, are you—”
“our girl’s loving it,” yuki hisses, not even missing a beat as she cups the crown of his head, manicured nails digging into your boyfriend’s scalp as she forces his head back down. he doesn’t resist, letting out a muffled moan when his face lands directly in your pussy. slick smears across the lower half of his face and he feels the saliva pool on his tongue from how hungry he is.
choso’s nose bumps into your swollen clit, and a pitched whine tears from your throat. “need—i need more, please,” yuki settles onto her stomach beside choso, palm leaving his head. her fingers impatiently push past his chin, stroking lightly against your dripping pussy, and she quietly moans in delight.
you watch slack jawed as yuki pushes her fingers into her mouth, and her eyes squeeze shut. her hips grind against the bed, sheets rustling softly beneath her body. choso’s too caught up to notice, dark strands of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead.
“cho—ah, shit—use your fingers, baby.”
your boyfriend obliges obediently, carefully pushing his fingers inside you and tugging back to let yuki take over with her mouth.
that heat inside you ignites into an inferno the second her mouth finds your clit. her lips lightly wrap around it and her tongue sweeps over the swollen bud; to tease you a little further, she lets her teeth occasionally nibble at it.
“this what you wanted?” choso pants, voice lilting curiously as his eyes rake over your body. he’s always been rather shameless when it comes to looking you over, but after this, he’ll finally be able to back it up with a hundred percent. the heave of your chest and parting of your bitten lips is enough of an answer, but he wants to hear it from you. his fingers curl inside you, pressing into a spot that scratches the unbearable itch in your brain perfectly.
“y-yes, cho!” and you’ve got stars in your eyes, feeling an unfamiliar pressure straining in your lower abdomen. “wanna—wanna cum on your face, please.”
“you heard her,” yuki quirks a brow, thumb working your clit in place of her tongue. she’s got a wildness in her eyes, with the lower half of her face sticky like choso’s. “let’s make our pretty girl cum together, hm?”
choso flushes all the way to his neck but nods, his two fingers pushing deeply over and over. a small sting accommodates the stretch, but is quickly forgotten when their faces push against one another’s in their rush for a taste. your slick is sweet like ambrosia, and they’re far too greedy to take turns with your cunt.
your clammy fingers push into yuki’s flowing tresses, while your other hand cups the crown of choso’s head and pushes him impossibly closer. her moans are softer than his as she finds your clit again, licking desperately, almost as if she’s begging you to cum.
meanwhile, choso places a hand above your pelvic bone, palm pressing into the soft skin—you’d mentioned that fingering wasn’t fingering without that small detail and he hasn’t forgotten it since—and it’s becoming difficult to breathe without panting. whiny moans fill the spaces in between your babbled words of bliss, and yuki knows that she won’t be able to get enough of you once this is over.
“ooh, fuck,” you sob, nearly choking on your words when your back uncontrollably arches off the bed. your fingers tighten in her hair and your nails scratch against choso’s scalp, making a mess of his once neatly tied buns. “yuki, ‘m so close, can’t hold it—”
she’d known what had been coming the moment you’d asked for choso’s fingers. she’s unable to stop herself from smiling against your clit, and choso’s tongue bumps into her own as he fights for a piece of you too. he’d initially been all for this so he could learn how to make you tick, what you really meant when you’d beg for his mouth.
his skin is hot as it pushes against hers, their cheeks puffing up a little as they fight for dominance over your clit. they’re shaking their heads all too much, and choso’s grunting while yuki does too, sending vibrations through your already sensitive clit. that pressure burns through your body, and your legs begin to tremble on either side of them as it grows more intense.
“hmph—cum for us, pretty girl.”
similarly, choso tugs away for a moment and lets out a huff, pressing down hard while his fingertips push into your sweet spot, “let us taste it, baby.”
their simple words do the trick, and with a gasp, your pussy begins to gush waterfalls right onto their faces. yuki eagerly slurps up the slick and cum from your cunt, with no regard for the way it’s still fluttering sensitively. choso barely gets a taste, only getting the tip of his tongue wet, and he pulls back with an annoyed scoff.
“yuki, that’s—”
“y-yuki!” you interrupt, voice breaking as you pathetically try to writhe away from her. with choso sitting back, she’s able to grab you by the hips and drag you close, insistently licking you through the dizzying high. “‘s too much, wait—choso!”
“yuki,” he scolds with a shake of his head, but makes no move to pull her away. honestly, if he tried, he wouldn’t be able to. “that’s no fair, i didn’t even get a taste. and she’s my girl.” choso’s words are pointed and a little whiny, and yuki just rolls her eyes.
“then come here ‘n try again. just look at her, she’s dying for more . . aren’t ya, pretty?”
#kurooh#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk headcanons#jjk imagines#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#yuki tsukumo x reader#yuki tsukumo smut#yuki x reader#yuki smut#choso x you#choso smut#choso x reader#toji smut#toji x reader#toji x you#shiu x reader#shiu smut#shiu x you#geto smut#geto x you#geto x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo smut#higuruma smut#higuruma x reader#nanami x reader#nanami smut
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The frustration that Satoru feels when he completely stops seeing you as just one of his best friends.
You’re so pretty, modeling the dress you’ll be wearing on your date with some guy who probably dims in comparison to you. Suguru says you should try the outfit without the cardigan, so you take it off for a second and do a little 360 for the trio. Shoko gasps when she sees the lacy details that were hidden by the coat and Suguru claps in validation. “You’re so gonna get some.”
Satoru just watches, cheek resting in his fist as he half listens to the little debate between Shoko and Suguru. It’s all a blur as he focuses on the one glowing in front of him.
“Satoru?” You wave your hand in front of him.
“Hm?” He blinks up at you, acting like he wasn't zoned out while staring.
“Tie-breaker. Coat or no coat?”
He had heard what Suguru said when you took the cardigan off. 'You’re so gonna get some.'
He doesn’t want that.
“You should stay layered. You might get cold later.”
Suguru groans in disapproval, falling back into the couch cushion, while Shoko grins, smugly, at her small victory.
“Coat it is.” You smile, running back to the bathroom to finish getting ready.
“You like her, huh?” Suguru asks as soon as you’re out of sight, a squint of betrayal in his eyes.
“Pfft, nah. What makes you think that?” Satoru defends.
“She asked for our opinion on the dress and you went silent," Shoko says, throwing a knowing smirk at Satoru.
“You don’t want her to get laid or something? Why’d you vote for the granny cardigan?” Suguru adds, arms crossed over his chest.
“I want to see you take care of her when she’s sick. I did it last time, and she was unbearable. Also,” he turns to answer Shoko’s remark, “what can I say? I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“A lot of her on your mind.” Suguru nods over at you.
Satoru turns, a lucent gleam in his eyes when he sees you.
“Alright, guys. I’ll be back before-“
“Don’t rush!” Shoko says, giggling at the dopey look on Satoru’s face.
There’s a smirk tugging on Suguru’s lips. “Have fun.”
“Call if you need me to pick you up," Satoru blurts, sitting up straight on the lounge chair he was seated in.
Shoko gasps and Suguru’s eyes go wide for a second.
“Uh... sure. Will do. Love you guys, bye!” You walk past your friends, opening the front door and shutting it behind you.
Your perfume had some effect on Satoru because for some reason his heart was racing and he was unable to calm it down.
“What?” Satoru asks when he notices the way his friends look at him. “I’m the only one with a car here.”
“Uh-huh, let’s put it that way," Shoko says, sharing a menacing look with Suguru.
—
You did end up having to call Satoru. Your date was the most annoying, insufferable person you had ever met and you weren't going to pretend like you were enjoying your time with him for the rest of the night. How can someone be so different the moment you’re alone together? You couldn’t stand him, so you excused yourself from the table and went to the restroom halfway through your meal.
You called Satoru, hoping he wasn't kidding about calling him if you needed a ride home.
“Hey, uh, I know this is really inconsiderate of me, but can you come pick me up from the restaurant? If you can’t it’s totally fine. I’ll stay.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I'm fine. It turns out I can’t stand this guy.” You chuckle, your hand reaching for the sensor beneath the water faucet, the cool water running through your fingers. "He's gross and just... I don't know."
“Did he do anything to you? Are you okay? ‘Cause, you know, I can kick his ass.”
“You already asked me that, 'toru. I’m okay. He’s just…” you pause, a sigh filling in the silence, “...different from what I remember. I don’t know this guy.”
Satoru is already sitting in his car. The moment you asked him to pick you up, he grabbed his keys and headed for the car.
“Give me ten minutes.”
“It takes twenty to get here.”
“Too bad. I’m running a few red lights. Sit tight.”
“Sa-”
The call ends and you’re left staring at the contact photo you have for him. You turn your screen off and stare into the mirror. You don’t know if you should stay in the bathroom until Satoru gets there or if you should go back out to the man waiting for you.
—
“So, Satoru likes her, huh?” Shoko says, leaning back in the lounge chair Satoru sat in before.
“Who would have guessed? We’ve all been friends for years and he’s never looked at her like that.”
“We should invest in some noise cancelling headphones. Who knows what could happen after tonight?”
Suguru furrows his eyebrows in confusion, so Shoko grins and demonstrates. She rocks back and forth in the old lounge chair, the chair creaking and squealing.
“Oh.” Suguru’s face further scrunches. He didn't need the image of his friends doing that together, in his mind.
—
Your phone vibrates on the sink, and Satoru’s name appears on the screen when you flip it. You quickly answer the call.
“Hey, i’m outside.”
“How do I walk out of here without seeming like a bitch? I didn’t think this through.”
“First, walk out the restaurant doors. Then, get in my car. It’s pretty simple, honestly.”
“We haven’t paid the bill.”
“Fuck it. Let him pay.”
“That’s just wrong. Alright, i’ll be out in a bit. Bye.”
“Bye.”
You sum up all the courage you have and walk out of the bathroom. Once you reach the table, you pull out some cash you have just laying around in your purse, like forty-something bucks, and set it down in the middle of the table.
“Hopefully that’s enough to cover half of it.”
“Where are you going?” Your date asks.
“To keep it polite, I have to go. Have a good rest of your night.”
You walked out of the restaurant, immediately spotting Satoru’s blue Camaro.
The second you get in, you make yourself comfortable, removing your heels and taking down your hair from its updo.
“What’s wrong?” Satoru asks, when you don’t say anything.
“It’s fine. This guy just wasn’t the one.”
Satoru’s chest feels tight now that you’re in the car. The smell of your perfume has returned and you’re glowing in the moonlight. It makes him think of the effort you put into looking the way you do, and how you ended up having to hide in the bathroom.
“Do you wanna go home?”
You’re looking in the sun visor mirror, bobby pins in your mouth as you fix your hair so that it’s not in your face once Satoru starts driving.
“Mm… whatever you want to do,” you say, muffled by the pieces of metal pressing into your lips.
It wouldn’t be whatever he wants to do, though. All he wants to do is kiss you, right now. Do something to soothe the ache you must be feeling.
“Why are you acting like this?” He asks, watching you as you place another pin in your hair.
You laugh through your nose, a bobby pin still between your lips. You put it in your hair before answering.
“Like what?” You look at him while you put your seatbelt on.
“Like this doesn't bother you. You don't have to put up a front, you know? I'm not gonna laugh at you."
The metal clicks, and you fold the sun visor back up. “Because it didn’t bother me. I’m not gonna settle for someone I hate being around."
Part of Satoru wanted this to go well for you. He wanted to see a brilliant smile on your face when you got home. So, the fact that it didn’t end up that way strangely caused some heartache for him.
“Don’t look so down.” You give him a kind smile and pinch his cheek. “I’m okay. Really.”
He tries to distract himself from the warmth that seeps into his cheeks from your quick gesture. “Well, I don’t want to go home. Is that okay, with you?”
“What’s up with you?” You ask, bringing one of your legs up and folding it comfortably on the seat.
“Nothing.”
You stare at him until he breaks out his contagious smile and laugh.
“Really, nothing. I just want to spend some time out tonight. Shoko and Suguru want to stay home and be couch potatoes."
You see your date walking out of the restaurant, phone against his ear. He doesn’t look too defeated, but you don’t want him to see you with Satoru and make any bold assumptions.
“Okay, that’s totally fine, but can we go?” Your leg goes back down, meeting the floor mat and you turn to face the window.
Satoru analyzes your behavior and your expression. Your arms are crossed, you refuse to look in his direction again. It’s weird compared to how you were acting two seconds ago.
“What?” Satoru turns to look at whatever made you shrink, and as soon as he sees him he rolls his window up. “Really?” His eyes are lidded in disappointment. It’s not in you as a person, but in your lack of respect for yourself, choosing someone so far below your league.
“He was nice when I first met him.”
Satoru puts the gear in reverse, backing out of the parking spot. “He looks stupid and on top of that he acts like it, too? God.”
“I know, I know.” You lean against the car door and stare out the window.
“What made you think you deserved him? Honestly, I can’t wrap my head around how low this is for someone like you.”
“I don’t know.”
Your responses to Satoru's interrogation kept getting shorter and shorter and he realized he was beating a horse that was already down.
“You know I care," he mumbles, breaking the heavy silence. “I don’t mean to tell you who to date and who you should be with.”
“I hate this conversation. You’re not my dad, Satoru. It’s fine.” You sit up, back against the seat and face forward. “Where are we, anyway?”
“I just followed a random road to see where it would lead. I don’t wanna go home, but I also don’t want to know where I am.”
“So, we’re lost.” You laugh.
“Hey, as long as we have phones with enough battery, we’re not really lost.”
“Right.” You grin, continuing to watch the road. You look over the steering wheel to see how much gas the car has. It’s two marks below the bold F.
“Can you tell me something?”
You turn to Satoru, giving him your full attention. He’s been more serious than you know him to be since you left the house.
“What’s up?”
“I’m not trying to rehash this father-like conversation, but as one of your best friends… what were you thinking when you accepted a date with this guy?” He glances over at you for a second. “What went through your mind when you said 'yes' to a date with him?”
“Potential love, dates, butterflies. All the stuff that goes into getting to know someone as more than an acquaintance or friend.” You fidget with the extra hair tie on your wrist.
“You want all of that?” He asks, glimpsing at you again.
You nod, silently.
“You’re pretty enough to fuck around with whoever you want, you know? I know some people who wanna do some pretty... vulgar things with you."
Your eyes go wide at how far south the conversation went. You cracked the second you looked at Satoru though. He looked somewhat proud to be friends with someone who could get some anytime.
“That’s… good to know, I guess.” Your mind stumbles over the part where he called you pretty enough.
“You’re not interested in that, though, are you?”
You wince, jokingly. “It’s just not my cup of tea. I want something more long-term.”
Satoru grins, almost like he wants to talk about himself.
“That’s not your cup of tea, is it?” You reciprocate the grin.
“No, no. Believe it or not, the last relationship I was in lasted a whole two months.”
You slapped the car door dramatically. “A whole two months?!”
“Stop it. It’s nothing, really," Satoru jokes, grinning with faux pride.
“Hey, i’m not shaming you. You’re not down with commitment and that’s fine. We're young. There's no need to rush."
“I haven’t found someone I really want to commit to. I'm not stupid enough to ignore the fact that people are really only attracted to my body. They can't stand when I open my mouth, so I figured it’s better to fuck around than to put my heart into something that won’t last without sex.”
Satoru's personality was for people with acquired taste. On the other hand, Satoru's physical appearance was for anyone and everyone. The people who could appreciate all of him would be in for the most amazing ride, because even as his friend, you could confidently say that there is no one like him anywhere in the world. You can only hum in acknowledgement of how romantically lonely he must feel.
“What?” You ask when the car stops. Satoru puts the car in park before turning it off. “We’re not out of gas, so what’s the problem?”
He unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to face you, one leg bent on the seat. He’s met with a breathtaking sight. You look stunning in that navy blue dress, and that shade smeared over your lips was calling his name. He can see part of your thigh from where your dress rides up.
“Can I talk to you about something?” The tension behind the question was enough to make your ears go red.
“Of course you can. You’re scaring me, but go on.”
He smiles, trying to lighten up the mood. He knows better than to just dump information like this on you so heavily, but he can't go home tonight without telling you how he feels. He already doesn’t expect much to come of telling you this, but it's been eating him alive and he can't keep it in anymore.
“You've been on my mind a lot, lately." He sees your slightly furrowed eyebrows. They match the unintentional pout on your lips. You’re confused and for some reason you feel nervous, like your heart might escape your ribcage.
“What does that mean?” You ask, wanting a clearer understanding. He could be worried about you in a totally platonic way. He could be wondering about what you've been up to lately. You're having trouble assuming there's romantic notes to his statement after the brief discussion you just had.
“It's exactly as it sounds. I've been thinking about you." He's not smiling, he's not laughing yet this still sounds like a joke that he’s running to mess with you.
“You done with your jokes? We could both be home right about now," you say, not intending for your words to come out as sharp as they did. His hand is suddenly cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing away a speck of glitter from it.
“You say goodnight to me in the sweetest way—like you won't see me in the morning. And the soft smile you give me before you shut the door... it lingers in my mind. I dream of it from time to time."
You're trying so hard not to lean into his touch and nuzzle your cheek into his palm, but you make no effort to push his hand away. “What are you talking about, Satoru? Don't you think you're reading into it a little too much? I do that for all three of you. Ask Shoko and Suguru.”
His hand has been on your cheek for a while now, and he’s still looking at you like he has things to get off his chest. “I know you don't say it the same way to them as you do to me." He stops, a little sigh leaving him. He’s probably making you dizzy with all of this news, based on the look on your face. He retracts his hand and rests it on his thigh. You look stunned, so he cuts to the chase. “To be even more clear, I don’t see you as a friend. It doesn’t seem right to see you that way when I can picture us doing more. Being more."
“Doing more?” You repeat, cheeks growing warm.
“Holding hands, kissing, being alone together—more.”
The heavy silence returns, both of you nervously avoiding eye contact.
“I..." you huff. "I need some air.” You unbuckle yourself before exiting the car. Your scent remains in the car even after the door shuts behind you, leaving Satoru to wonder if things are screwed with you.
Your back is against the door, your hands interlocked in front of your eyes, shielding you from the gentle moonlight. You groan, irritated by the conflicted thoughts that came with Satoru's revelation.
It’s not long before Satoru comes out and joins you, leaning on the side of his car. It's cold and he doesn't want you to get sick again. His heart could barely handle your involuntarily weak display the first time.
“I didn’t stress you out, did I?” He asks, turning his head to look at you. You shake your head, your hands still covering your eyes. “There’s really no part of you that can envision an us between me and you?”
You chuckle, a sound that makes his heart pang. “It’s funny... you know, a long time ago it was all I dreamed about.”
Now this was baffling news to Satoru. How long ago was a long time ago? A couple months ago? Last year? Three years ago? And why didn’t you say anything?
“I considered you a pursuit that was out of reach. You had—have— all these girls just throwing themselves at you, and I couldn’t be one of them, so I befriended you instead.”
“How long ago was a long time ago?” He asks, nervous to hear the answer.
“Like last year in March. It was during your phase where you would never come home.”
He feels like an asshole. Especially since not too much later, he developed similar feelings for you that he endlessly denied.
“You liked the me you never got to see?”
You both chuckled at the rhyme of his words, your broken senses of humor adding some lightheartedness to the conversation.
“I guess you not coming home was more calming because I didn't have to be nervous to see you.”
You crossed your arms. The cardigan protected you, but not enough. The cold wind was starting to nip at your cheeks. Satoru notices and moves closer to you.
“Let’s go back inside, yeah?”
You didn’t want to. You were nervous being “stranded” with Satoru already, but minimizing the space between you was even more nerve-wracking. He was your greatest temptation before, and you could easily create those labyrinths that guide him into your mind again if you got close enough.
“I’ll be fine," you say, looking straight ahead at the field of weeds in front of you.
“You’re gonna catch a cold. Get in the car," Satoru prompts. He thought back to the tired look on your face as you laid in bed sick, waiting for him to bring you warm soup.
“No," you insisted, turning away from him.
He inched closer, not wanting to look at your back. “Please, get in the car." He thought of the gracious look on your sick face when he brought you another blanket to keep you warm.
“I said no, Satoru. I don't want to get in the car with you."
You were being stubborn as hell, and something about it made Satoru’s blood boil to the point where he did whatever his mind told him to do. You were suddenly pinned to the car, your hands on Satoru’s chest to keep some distance. He blocked every gust of wind that threatened to bite at your skin, and enveloped you in his warmth. You don’t know how, but in this freezing temperature, Satoru’s hands felt like sunlight on your cheeks. His face was centimeters away from yours, his bright eyes searching for a loophole in your feelings for him. Your eyes spoke with an infinite amount of possibility, and some of it didn't make sense, so he kissed you in hopes of translating what you were trying to say.
You didn’t have any fight left in you. Not when you felt so secure in this close proximity. Now, all you wanted was to be in the car with him, alone.
The kiss was released with light breaths from both of you, a look of feeling complete on Satoru’s face. “Will you get in the damn car,” he whispers, his arms caging you against the car.
“Say please," you say in the same intimate volume as him.
“Please," he complies, allowing his eyes to flit between your eyes and your lips.
“Pretty please?" you push.
“Pretty please," he says, the corners of his lips twitching.
“How about pretty please with a cherry on top?”
“Get in the car," he says through a laugh.
You chuckle, shoving him lightly before opening the door and entering the car. Satoru gets in the drivers seat and suddenly it all feels strange. Strange, but in the best way.
The tension from before returns. There's no wind blowing to fill in the silence when you both stop talking.
“Do you ever think of me when you're alone?” It was a weird question to be asked by him, especially since you had already told him that your feelings for him were left behind.
“Never," you reply, a softness in your tone that held memories of when all you thought about was Satoru.
He's somewhat disappointed, seeing as though there's a chance he might be too late.
“Do you think that will change after tonight?” He seems to be getting closer, or at least his hands are. Your skin is irresistible and he wants to feel how soft you are. He's been craving you for so long, and you're right there.
“There’s no way to tell.” You can see how slowly his hand is traveling. A minute ago it was on his lap, now it’s on the armrest between your seats. You can’t wait any longer. The suspense might make you jump out of the car again, so you grab his hand and put it on your thigh, where your dress rides up.
“I’ll throw the question back to you. Do you think of me when you're alone?” You ask him now because he won’t give you some bullshit response at a time like this, when he’s getting everything he’s wanted for who knows how long.
“All the time,” he responds so quickly. “When I wake up, before I go to sleep, in the shower, while I brush my teeth.” There’s this foolish look on his face, like he would give anything to never lose the ability to have you on his mind all the time. "You're in there, organizing the shrine I made for you," he admits, with a grin. His thumb presses into your thigh, massaging the plush skin. It makes you nervous as hell, but you like it.
“Have you told Suguru and Shoko?”
He chuckles, remembering the conversation he had with them after you left. “I’m positive they know."
Once again, you're left staring at each other in silence, drowning in the tension you’ve created within yourselves. Satoru has yet to move his hand away from your thigh, not letting up even when he feels goosebumps spread on your skin. He tests the boundaries you have set up, finding no resistance from you when his hand reaches further up your dress.
“You’re not gonna tell me to stop?” He asks as his fingers are met with lace, a texture that makes his heart thud rapidly in his chest.
You shake your head, leaning back in the seat. His fingers ghost over the front of your panties, finding a satin bow just below the elastic band.
“Were you going to let that guy touch you? Is that why you wore these?” He hasn’t even seen them, and yet he can tell they’re the cutest thing ever.
“Maybe," you mumble, looking away in slight embarrassment.
“Can I see them?” He asks.
You nod, allowing him to slowly pull up your dress. Your heart drops when you hear him gasp.
“God, no way," he says, sounding defeated. His ears slowly turn a bright shade of red as he observes the material covering your intimate area.
“Stop,” you whine, feeling flustered by his reaction and the way he stares.
His hand returns to its previous spot, continuing to play with the part of the elastic that sticks to your hip.
“You wear these types of panties on every date you go on?”
You nod, biting your lip as his fingers move just to feel the fabric. His touch is still ghost-like—light, barely there, but it’s working you up anyway. There’s barely enough friction, yet you can feel your wetness begin to ruin the garment.
He sighs. “You know, no one deserves you.” His tone is smooth and he smiles at you, an angel taking control of his features. “Not even me, but I can make up for the one who missed you tonight.”
He spares his attention to the spot in the middle of your panties, only smiling when a breathy moan involuntarily leaves you.
“God..." you groan in embarrassment, covering your face with your hands. "I can’t with myself."
His thumb rubs up and down your clothed slit, applying pressure when he reaches your clit.
“Don’t be shy. Make as much noise as you want,” he says, luring a gasp from you.
You look away again, red-faced, feeling embarrassed beyond belief.
“What?” A low chuckle follows. His hands settle on your thighs as he leans in and tries to look at your flustered face.
“This is weird.” You look out the window, too nervous to look at Satoru.
“How come?”
You giggle. “I can’t stop seeing you as one of my friends. It’s strange to experience something like this with you.”
“I would hope Suguru and Shoko aren’t touching you like this.” His hand splays on your thigh, kneading softly. “Are they?” He asks, after a pause.
“Of course not.”
He seems satisfied with that response because he’s trying to hold back a smile, but the corners of his lips are twitching. His fingers snap the elastic band of your panties against your skin a couple more times.
“Is it too weird to go on?” He asks.
You consider the facts. He already touched you, he confessed his feelings for you before he touched you so you know he wasn't lying about his feelings for you and he doesn’t just want sex. You had those feelings for him before, but claimed to have lost them with time.
Your overwhelming thoughts are enough to put an end to what was going on. You pull down your dress, hiding the evidence of his touch, and sit up straight in the seat. “Maybe we should head home before we do something we might regret later.”
He hums and smiles, not an ounce of disappointment in his features. “No argument from me."
Satoru put his seatbelt on and watched as you did the same before starting the car. There was no need for him to set up the GPS because all he did was drive straight, so all he had to do was drive back the other way.
You didn’t expect the car ride to be so quiet. Maybe he did want things to go further. You couldn’t bear to look back at Satoru, even though you could feel him side eyeing you as he drove. There were a couple times where he turned his head to look at you when you stopped at red lights, but you knew you couldn’t look back until you had something to say. You were overthinking everything that happened until that point. What can you say when you just went through an entire roller coaster of emotions with someone you call a best friend? Someone who has now seen you in a vulnerable position.
“Did you at least eat?” Satoru asks, finally breaking the heavy silence that engulfed the car.
“Uh, yeah. I was able to get through my meal," you respond, glancing at him quickly before turning back to face the window.
He nods in acknowledgement. You see the stop sign at the end of your street, signaling the closeness of home.
Satoru parks the car in the driveway, and you finish removing your shoes. You enter the house, expecting to see Suguru and Shoko up waiting for you guys, but to your surprise, the doors to their bedrooms are shut.
“Goodnight, Satoru," you say. “Thanks again, for picking me up.”
“Yeah, no worries,” he responds. “Goodnight.”
You can’t shake the void left in your gut after your time with Satoru. You sit on your bed for a moment thinking of the intimacy that occurred between you and him. The gentleness of his touch, the lack of judgement from him when you basically told him that you dress your best even for scumbags. Something inside you was begging you to tell him how much you wanted him to sleep in your room—in your bed. And that’s exactly what you aimed for with this rush of adrenaline that surged through you. You rose off the bed quickly, and made haste to reach his bedroom.
You knocked, calling his name once. Once was all it took for him to leap to open the door.
“Can you help me with something?” You asked, hoping he held no ill will towards you and that he wouldn’t deny you.
“Sure. With what?”
You motion for him to follow you to your room, and he does with no further questions, following your bare feet as you lead him to your room.
“I tied the knot for my dress a little too tightly." You let out a quiet chuckle, your nervousness imbued into it.
“Oh, I see," he says, stifling a grin. "Turn around.” His finger circles in the air.
You turn your back to him, facing the mirror on your vanity. You can feel his knuckles grazing your lower back as he takes the time to slowly loosen the knot, the straps that once sat wrapped around your waist dropping loosely.
“There,” he murmurs, still standing behind you, looking at you through the mirror.
“Thank you,” you say so quietly that it’s almost a whisper.
Normally, that is the cue for someone to leave, but there was this branch of electricity connecting him to you. He couldn’t find a reason to step away from you, so instead he stepped closer. His arms encircled your waist, his hands interlocking above your lower abdomen. Your stomach swarmed with butterflies—blood thirsty ones that knew all too well that they wouldn't be leaving anytime soon, so long as Satoru was in your room.
He leaned in to kiss your shoulder, an act that brought goosebumps to your skin. "You look really pretty." You give in to the feeling, tilting your head to give him the entire canvas of that side of your neck. He wondered if you would be upset if you saw his kisses on your neck in the morning.
He stops and looks for your approval first because he has arrived centimeters behind the line between friends who are really comfortable with each other and something deeper. You have to let him know that it’s okay to cross this line.
“It’s okay,” you say, squeezing the hands that rest on your lower abdomen. “Don't stop."
That’s the green light he needed in order to move on. He did not hesitate at all in pulling back his arms and undoing the knot that held your dress up. He watched as the smooth velvet cascaded down your body, pooling at your feet, leaving you in nothing but those precious lace panties. You felt vulnerable with your bare chest out, but made no attempt to hide yourself.
He was frozen for a second or two, speechless at the sight before him.
“No one deserves you,” he finally says, his arms snaking around your torso. His lips start leaving behind their marks on the other side of your neck. He drags his kisses down your shoulder, biting once, then twice, resulting in a couple giggles from you.
“Close the door, please,” you say, realizing Shoko and Suguru would see what was happening if they opened their doors.
Satoru releases you only to close the door, locking it for safe measures. As soon as he’s back, he’s wrapping his arms around you before pushing both of you towards your bed. He starts stripping his clothes off, until he's left in just his boxers. His eyes never leave yours, a lovestruck smile on his face.
“You will never know how many times I’ve dreamt of this scenario."
“Stop.” You giggle, withstanding the sting of his lips on more than you neck. It’s heat on your chest and on your stomach now, his hands holding your waist so gently. You’ll look like some abstract piece of art by morning with the endless waves of kisses that Satoru gives you. He wants you so badly. Devastatingly so. He wants to prove that he is the closest to deserving you by the end of the night.
Your heartbeat is inconsolable in your ribcage. The eye contact brought some reality to the situation. He chuckles at the doe-eyed look on your face before refocusing on his task. He's nearing the elastic band of your underwear, those cute lacy ones he got to touch in the car. His touch is already affecting you, the evidence being a wet spot reemerging in the middle of your underwear.
"You're so warm and soft, and..." he sighs, your body making his mind cloud. He couldn't have ever accurately imagined how stunning you would be with just the golden street lamp's light shining through your window. "...you smell really fucking good." His hands go beneath the elastic band of your underwear, dragging his dainty fingers through your slit enough times to earn a small gasp from you, before pulling his hand out. "Bet you taste amazing, too," he says, wrapping his lips around his glossy digits. "Mhm..." he practically moans when your taste coats his tastebuds. "Sweeter than I could have ever imagined."
You don't think you'll get over Satoru saying these explicit things to you.
"More. Fuck, I need more." There's so much he wants to do to you, so little time in the night despite it only being 11:30. "God, you're so..." he cuts himself off and kisses down your stomach, impatiently—desperately. "...so pretty. So—fuck— so pretty. Gonna make you feel so good."
"Okay, 'toru, make sure to breathe," you tease, running your fingers through his soft locks as he nears your throbbing core.
He drags his nose up and down the wet patch of your panties, audibly inhaling your scent and exhaling through shuddered breaths. He sounds feral, his aching cock creating its own pool of arousal in his boxers. The tip of his nose was covered in your slick, the remnants of you on his skin driving him absolutely crazy. Once he absolutely couldn't take it anymore, he yanked your underwear down, almost tearing the pretty fabric and tossed it onto the floor. You were soaked at the sight of his pure lust towards you. Those eyes were darker than you've ever seen them before.
He tries to be slow and gentle for you. You're the one thing he's wanted for the longest time and now he has you. You're not guaranteed to be his forever, after this, but at least the night is secured and he has this one chance to prove that he would do it right with you. That he could handle your body with a tenderness and loving that would make you weep. Everything you want in a lover will be given to you in one act of demonstrating how undeniably in love with you he is.
His attempt at slow sensuality never reaches you. His arms are hooked tightly around your thighs to prevent you from squirming away from his greedy mouth. He wants everything you give him to never end. The melodic sound of you moaning his name, the sweet nectar that just keeps drooling out of your cunt, the sting on his scalp from the firm hold you have on his hair and the tugging. He's in heaven. If the possibility of this reoccurring is nonexistent, he wants this moment to loop. For there to be a glitch in real life that allows him to replay this scenario as many times as he likes, like a story with multiple endings.
"You taste so good. So fucking good, princess. Wanna give you a taste," he rambles. He unwraps his right arm from your thigh and uses his forearm to pin it down so that he can use his fingers on you. He bends all his fingers down except for his index and middle fingers. Your slick is already streaming out of you, ready to be collected, but he can't resist the urge to dip his fingertips into your pulsing hole. "Oh fuck, you're so wet," he utters in awe, quickly tossing the idea of just his fingertips going in when his long, lithe fingers sink into you with ease.
"Satoru," you choke out, a sharp gasp following. The pads of his fingers brush against that spot within you that forces you to bite your lip. Your heart is racing. What if you get caught? How would you explain what's going on to your friends and would the dynamic of your living situation change because of it? You care, but clearly not enough to second guess this moment again, like you did in the car.
"Mmm..." he moans against your clit, his lips smacking after releasing the now throbbing bundle. "So sweet." He pulls his fingers out of you and admires the glaze that drips down to his knuckles. He wants to be selfish and put them in his mouth, but his need for you to know how good you are to his tastebuds overpowers those thoughts. "Open, pretty," he says, tapping his wet fingers against your lips. He watches with parted lips as you take his slick coated digits into your mouth, shutting your lips around them to completely suck off your essence. "Good, huh?" A pleased grin appears when you nod. "Yeah... I want it back." He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and puts them on your right breast, smearing your saliva all over your nipple until it pebbles.
All you can do is say "huh?" before your lips are enveloped by his. The kiss starts out slow— he's taking a moment to appreciate how perfect your lips feel against his. For a minute you can feel the way he innocently wants you. You have butterflies in your stomach all over again.
His hunger for you grows with every sharp breath you release and the squirming beneath his unrelenting hands on your chest. Your heart has been pounding in your ears since he slipped his tongue into your mouth and you have goosebumps from all the rubbing, brushing, and tweaking he offers your nipples, the throbbing in your cunt only intensifying as you withstand it. He thinks the whimpers that seep into your kisses are the cutest sounds ever and he doesn't want them to stop, so he glides a hand down your abdomen and gives you the touch you're missing.
You break the kiss, throwing your head back into the pillow at the feeling of Satoru rubbing your clit. He watches through gleaming eyes the way your jaw hangs and allows the sweetest moans to spill from your kissed up lips.
"Feeling good?" He asks, grinning when you respond with a moan that makes you clasp a hand over your mouth. "Yeah? That's an answer, too." He chuckles, watching intently as you crumble beneath his touch, not some zero's who made a fool out of himself.
You uncover your mouth, your sounds amplifying and flowing freely. "Satoru," you gasp. "Oh, fuck– S-Satoru!" The last words you manage to cry out before you cum without a warning.
You look way too pretty arching your back off the bed and chasing friction from his hand. Your neck looks palpable like that, exposed for him like you want him to mark it up and take a few bites.
"Let me make you feel good, pretty girl," he coos, drunk off the cute sounds of the heaves and sobs that wrack through your chest, your little whines shining through them. Lustful, lidded eyes watch as you try to wriggle away from his touch.
"P-Please," you huff out, your trembling thighs working to shut around his hand. It's too much, your peak has passed and now you're left to bear the overwhelming feeling of his unstopping fingers.
"I know, I know. It's terrible..." he murmurs. His tip is leaking so much at the sight of your body jerking and your eyes welling with tears. He really loves the way you've surrendered yourself to him. "You're so pretty." He sighs, dreamily. He stops and wiggles his hand out of the tight embrace of your thighs. You take a deep breath and blink away tears, focusing on the comforting movement of his hands caressing your thighs. He can see the way you look at his body. His chest, the sculpted muscles of his abdomen, the pale happy trail that leads to a part of him that you are unfamiliar with.
He crawls over you, his lower body wedged between your legs. "Don't be scared to touch," he says, his tone sultry. He grabs ahold of your hand and places it on his chest, initiating the contact for you. You take control and allow your hands to roam his body. Like you're in a room full of random unpressed buttons, you explore the different reactions you get from touching different parts of him. You discovered that his nipples are sensitive. He groaned into your neck when you palmed at his pecs and borderline whimpered when you focused your touch on his peaks. He shuddered when you traced along his ribs, but once you neared his stomach and waist, things got hot for you all over again. Your heart raced as he breathed into your neck due to the feeling of your nails gently scratching along his abs. He was rutting his clothed bulge against your cunt, desperate, low moans leaving him with every graze of your nails along his waist.
"F-Fuck, I can't wait anymore. Please, let me in." He whips out the cutest puppy eyes you've ever seen, and though they're unnecessary, you're not opposed to him having to resort to those means.
"Y-Yeah, okay," you breathe, feeling the throbbing in your cunt intensify when he stopped rolling his hips against you.
He's rushing, his movement stuttered and his hands shaking with desperation as he works his boxers off. He's impressed with the amount of precum that went into them, but he doesn't waste time admiring the mess any longer once he frees his achingly hard, drooling cock. It's sensitive to the touch. He'll cum if he doesn't play his cards right while lathering his length with the essence that beads at his tip. With that taken care of, he comes close to you again.
"This is gonna be the slowest start ever," he says under his breath, eyeing that sweet little smile on your face, like you understand the turmoil he's going through with just trying to get inside you. His tip nudges your clit, spreading some of his precum onto the nub as he guides it up and down your slit a couple times. He's working himself up to sinking in because he knows how wet you are. After a few more strokes, he presses just the tip in, nestling it into your warmth with a groan. You gasp as he slowly drives himself into you, the stretch his girth induces proving to be immense. He tries to steady his stuttering hips as he pushes more of his length in.
"Little more, just a liiittle more," he says through soft breaths, more to himself than you. Once he glides the rest of his length in, he feels like he's going to explode. He's throbbing so hard and you're not helping at all with the brief, inconsistent spasming of your walls. "Oh fuck... shit," he whimpers, thrusting only halfway into you. "Sorry—fuck—s-sorry... I can't-" He gasps when he thrusts the rest of the way in, spewing his load as he just grinds against you.
Your eyes widen as you watch him, his eyes shut tightly, his jaw hanging ajar to release shaky breaths. His cheeks, neck and chest are blazed, bright color smothered over his pale skin.
"Shit..." he rasps, still taking deep breaths.
You can't even ridicule him for this when he looks so fine. The laugh he let out was enough to make your thighs twitch.
"It's alright, Satoru. It's getting pretty late, anyway."
"No-the-fuck it's not," he says, looking down at you with the smallest crease between his brows. He's wanted this—wanted you—for way too long and he can't leave your room without showing you just how badly he desires you. It's a need, at this point.
A chill runs down your spine and your heart drops at his response.
"I mean, i'm not tired. Are you?" He asks, softening a little after coming in so hot with his last response.
You're not and even if you were, it's those eyes... They compel you to want to do things for his sake. They're so soft and you feel wanted beneath their force. You feel everything he said to you in the car when you peer into his eyes.
"No. I'm not tired either," you respond, which instantly puts a smile on his face.
"Good. Let me try again."
Neither of you mentioned any of what happened within that quick span of time. No mentions of him spilling the second he got inside you or you trying to end the night to save him the embarrassment, and it turned out for the better. No awkwardness once he recovered and went back to proving his love for you. He went straight into it, thrusting at a slow pace to start you off. He held onto your hips as he leaned in and kissed all over your chest, sucking your delicate skin to leave little reminders of him for you to see in the morning.
He groans, muffled by your warm skin, when you scratch the back of his head, guiding your nails through the short hairs of his undercut and down the nape of his neck. He's purring like a satisfied cat, the soft breaths he lets out through his nose grazing your neck.
With all these good feelings comes Satoru picking up the pace. His hips meet yours a little more quickly and suddenly both of you get a little more courage to make more sound.
"Fuck," you whimper. "Satoru... S-Satoru..."
"I know..." he grunts. "I know, baby. I feel really good, too."
You just look so damn pretty, with your starry eyes and your messy hair, and the way you keep moaning his name. He has to kiss you again. Each time he kissed you before was accompanied by fireworks. This time... who knows? He certainly won't unless he gains the courage to do it once more.
He leans forward and stares deep into your eyes. The level of intimacy has doubled down and you feel like your heart is trying even harder to lurch out of your chest. He's not stopping, you can feel his breath on your lips as he pants through the exertion of his hips. Then, once again, with a whimper as he closes the distance between your mouths, he kisses you. It's not fireworks this time, it's an entire fire and you kissing him back like you need him just as much is fanning the wild flames.
"Love... you," he disperses the words through his kisses. He doesn't only say it once. He says it multiple times as your lips are moving, making those pauses purposeful. "Fuck– I love you," he repeats, breaking the kiss when you don't say anything. "Come on," he chuckles. "Say it back."
"Satoru..." you say, softly.
"You say it all the time to us. What's another time?"
You bite back a laugh when you see those brilliant eyes again. He knows the effect they have on people and uses them to his advantage.
"It doesn't..." he groans, cursing under his breath when you suddenly clench around him. "...have to mean anything more than it usually does."
You're hesitant, but figure that as long as he doesn't take it as more than what he's used to—at least until things are talked through—there can't be any harm in saying what he wants to hear.
"Love you, 'toru."
The words are way too sweet, too gentle on his ears. The smile you offered as you delivered those words was devastatingly beautiful. You've said this a million times, each time so friendly, so lovingly, the meaning never feigned or faded with its repetition, but in that moment, he felt the words more than he ever did before. Your plush thighs are pressed against his hips, your hands are on his chest, and he can still smell that perfume you spritzed on your skin before you left. He's never heard you like this before, so sultry that it almost seems like an invasion of privacy.
"Again... say it again, p-please." With the scene that is playing out before his very eyes, he wants to imagine you meaning it as a term for lovers.
"I-I..." you let out a sharp gasp, your words cut off by the feeling of his cock brushing against that weak spot within you. "I love y-you, Satoru."
You're saying it to him only, right now. It's not 'I love you guys', it's 'I love you, Satoru', and he's drowning in it all. Your voice, the words, the blissed out look on your face. He's weak.
"Yeah?" He laughs, sounding almost delirious from how good he feels and how he's trying so hard not to cum.
"Mhm," you respond.
"T-That's good to know," he says, breathily. He's picking up the pace again, almost knocking the wind out of you with that first thrust in the change of pace. You're scratching up his back, wrapping your legs around his waist while he moans into the crook of your neck.
"G-Gonna cum, gonna fucking cum, again."
"Please... cum inside," you babble, nonsensically.
"Yeah? You want it inside again?" He asks, grinning when you hum and nod in confirmation. Who is he to deny you of such a simple want?
With a few more harder thrusts, he's filling you to the brim again with his warm cum. He's breathing heavily into your neck, mouthing at your skin sloppily as your cunt flutters around him. He's babbling on and on asking you if you came and if you feel good, while you're trying not to cry out too loudly from how hard you did. It's only until he unsticks himself from your tacky skin that he sees the aftermath of your orgasm. Your lidded eyes, the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the sound of your shuddered breaths brushing past your lips. He's thinking about it again. No one deserves you, but clearly, he was the closest.
He tosses himself beside you once you both come down. Your blanket is shared between the two of you, it reaches just above your chest and above Satoru's hips.
He sighs as he turns over to face you as you stare up at the ceiling. "You think they heard us?" He asks, voice low and intimate, yet a mischievous smirk that tells you he wouldn't care if they did, plays on his lips.
"Not sure. I guess we'll find out tomorrow." Now it's your turn to sigh. You don't even want to think about how weird breakfast might be in the morning.
"Hey," he calls for your attention. You turn onto your side to face him, keeping the blanket close to your body. "It's gonna be fine. What's the worst that could happen? They tease us or call us dumb?" You give him a soft smile. Normally, you're the one calling him dumb while the others agree. "Don't know about you, but I don't mind. They don't know the story, anyway. Right?"
"Right."
Time slowed down in that moment. You both just stared at each other in silence, thinking about what just happened. You were comfortable together, lying there, satisfied with your decisions. He pulled you closer by your blanket covered waist and pressed kisses into your cheek, enough to make you giggle until you started returning the kisses. To anybody, this would be considered a sight of two lovers taking care of each other after a night of intimacy. The whispered words, the quiet laughter between kisses, the gentle drags of fingers on harsh marks—it all points to love. You think things might be okay, after all.
It took a while for you and Satoru to untangle yourselves from each other. Eventually, he got up and dressed into everything but his messy boxers. You weren't going to get back into your dress so you laid back for a while and watched as he collected himself.
"Well... I'll see you in the morning." His hand is on the doorknob and he's looking at you, shamelessly raking his eyes over your body as if he's trying to memorize you all over again within the short span of his goodnight to you.
"Mhm. Goodnight."
He pulls the door open, still not detaching his gaze from you. "Goodnight," he says, his voice low, yet warm and brimming with love. He spares one more soft smile for you, before walking out and clicking the door shut behind him.
You think you finally understand why he's so hung up on the way you say goodnight.
#gojo#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru x you#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#gojo x reader#gojo fic#jujutsu gojo#gojo fluff#gojo smut#jjk gojo#gojou satoru x reader#jjk#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu satoru#jujutsu kaisen fic#jujutsu kaisen satoru#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk fic#jjk fluff#jjk scenarios
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Geto def gets off to being called a pervert
I see the vision clear as day anon, i hope you enjoy<3
Geto is so dirty in this holy........
contains: fem reader, roomate!geto, panty thief, teasing, dirty talk, degradation, praise, accidental voyeurism, mating press, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (reader receiving), cum eating, geto is nasttyyyyyy, slight crack at the end, shoko makes an appearance :p
MDNI
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔
“Suguru can I borrow that band tee you were wearing the other day? I’m about to go out with shoko.” you scrolled on some social media site on the sofa while you called out for your roommate in the kitchen.
Head hanging upside down off the armrest, looking at his naked back in your twisted view, waiting for his response.
Geto peeked his head briefly over his shoulder from the counter he faced, letting out a short laugh before he replied, wanting to ask if the ridiculous positions you came up with were actually comfortable.
Saving his smart remark for another day and responding that he didn’t care, followed by the location of the tshirt.
Picking up your body you placed one foot in front of the other, making quick work for his room, voice ringing out in the hall, “thanks!”
“Shoko said she’s heading here soon so I should probably start getting ready.” you shouted from his room, reaching for his second dresser drawer, where he said it would be.
Pulling the nob back and messing up his carefully folded clothes as you pulled out shirt after shirt, unfolding it to get a better view of the piece before shoving it back in when it ultimately wasn’t what you were looking for.
Eyebrows scrunching inwards when your sights landed on a piece of bright pink fabric shoved deep in the bottom of the drawer. Not remembering suguru ever wear anything like it, you pulled it out.
And you really don’t remember him wearing anything like this.
Because what you were holding between your fingers was your panties.
Jaw dropping slightly in disbelief, head turning back towards the doorway you just walked through, before snapping your neck back in front of you and digging deeper.
“Where are you guys going?” he questioned, yelling from the kitchen as he chopped up some vegetables, back facing the direction of his room.
A decent sized pile was forming of the undergarments you thought you had lost the deeper you looked. You were fuming.
Between Suguru and yourself, you divided the chores up evenly the day you moved in together. Him opting to be on laundry duty over trash, both splitting the dishes.
Never once did the thought even cross your mind that they might’ve been kidnapped by your usually sweet roommate; who is in charge of handling those same panties every day; when you were unable to find them anywhere in your space.
You scoffed in disbeleif at his antics, tongue poking the inside of your ckeek, making it bulge.
You heard him say your name from the kitchen when you didnt answer his question.
Wading up the thieved panties in your fist, you stormed out of his room. Stomping down the hall at a much hastier pace than before, his toned back once agains came into your view.
Geto paused his chopping, muscles in his body going rigid, because he swears you just threw something at his back.
Turning his body to face you, he looked down at the underwear at his feet, a smirk creeping onto his face when he drags his sights back up, making eye contact with your furious expression, brain racing with questions only he could answer.
"Whoops," he says, not an ounce of remorse in his tone. He could practically see the steam coming off of the top of your head when your face scrunched up in a scowl.
"What the fuck were you doing with my panties, do you have any idea how long I've been looking for some of those!?", he feels the anger in the air with your every word.
"You sure you want me to answer that?" he giggles, crossing his arms over his bulging pecs, letting the weight off one of his legs as he braced his lower back into the counter.
"Oh my god!" you shook your head, "you're such a fucking pervert!" you shouted.
"Woah, you don't even know what I did with them yet. Don't you think you're jumping to conclusions when you call me that, huh?" he retaliated, faux offense gracing his features before a more smug look took its place.
"There is no non..." throwing your hands up in search of the right word, "freaky explanation as to why you hid my PANTIES suguru!" Lip curled up in frustration again when laughed at your retort, “so I think my choice of words was fitting." you finished, referring to the name you called him.
"Haha! yeahh, you might be right." both hands dropped from his chest and slid into his pockets. "I wrapped them around my cock a couple of times when I was jerkin' off." An amused look sticking to his face when your jaw dropped in speechlessness, face turning completely red at his confession.
"Came all over the crotch of ur pretty panties too, pretended it was ur pussy." his big mouth continued spilling his dirty secrets out into the open air.
"Y-you," stuttering as you felt the air around you shifting into a heavier one, one that you both picked up on, heart racing in your chest matching the throbbing between your legs as you spoke, "pervert."
----
"F-fucking pervert, fuck!" you moaned into the air when his curved cock drilled perfectly into the most sensitive spot inside you for the nth time that evening.
Really hoping Shoko was taking her time as Suguru held your thighs open by your head, pushing your flexability to the limits as he bullied his thick cock inside your gushing pussy.
"Yeah? tell me how fucking nasty I am baby," he groaned with a smile. Eyes not being able to choose their favorite sight as he looked between where the two of you were connected; your cum making a ring form around the base of his cock; and your pretty drooling face that was looking so fucked out.
"S-so f-fucking disgusting for st-ealin' my dirty panties sugu-ru." words getting broken up by your pleasured moans as he brought his hips back till just the tip of his cock was caught on the rim of your little hole, before fucking it back in with such force it made you dizzy.
"C-cant believe you would d-o that." whining loudly when his thick thumb came down to rub circles into your throbbing bud.
Geto felt a tingling sensation of pleasure jolt through his spine at your harsh words, "M' sorry baby," he lied between his teeth, "got tired of seein’ ur cute little ass walk around the house in basically nothing." cooing at you when you squeezed your cunt tightly around his length at his filthy words, "h-had to do something about it,"
The both of you bounced against the bed as you let out loud Ah's and curses in response to his mean thrusts.
"Nothin' compares to this tho," Geto smiled, rubbing your clit faster when he noticed it made you tighten up your pussy, "Fucking ur pretty little pussy like this is so much better than my fist 'n holdin' ur panties against my face."
"S-suguru thats so nas-tyyy." you drawled out when he picked up his pace, fucking into you with such force and speed you thought you were gonna pass out.
Leaning his body into yours, practically crushing you with his weight with your legs dangling over his shoulders, he brought his face just inches from yours, lips grazing each others at his rough thrusts jolting you both around.
"Is it?" he replied to your declaration, opening his mouth and moaning against your lips before he closed the distance, " Felt so fucking good tho," he laughed against you, pushing his tongue into your mouth, his groans mixing with your squeals.
Less of a kiss and more of him just crushing his jaw into your own as he overwhelmed you with his tongue. Greedily inhaling your moans into his lungs as he continued his assult on your sensitive clit.
"Sugu' 'm gonna cum, fuck-" you mumbled against his wet lips. His own high-creeping rapidly up on him, feeling his balls tighten as they slapped against your ass.
"Me too baby m-me too," eyes squeezing together and eyebrows furrowing, thumb against your clit becoming sloppy as he started to lose himself, "gonna let this pervert fill you up, huh?" he babbled, breaking the kiss and buring his head in the crook of your neck while he messily sucked and kissed the skin there.
"Gonna take a-all my fucking cum like a good girl?" his moans raising in pitch, goosebumbs forming on the back of his neck hearing your loud whines and moans go straight into his ear.
"P-please, give it to me, please." you begged, "fu-ck, c-coming," you managed to voice before your cunt constricted around him, squelching noises increasing when your pussy forced your orgasm out around him, "oh m-y go-d" you repeated as he fucked you through it.
Getting thrown into overstimulation as he repeatedly hit your g-spot, not being able to move his thumb off your clit, or even voice him to do so, "cum inside me sugu-ru," you whimpered into his ear, helping him reach his end. Squealing at his rough thrusts losing their once steady pace when he came.
He bit down hard on your neck, groaning and whining into the skin as he fucked his cum into your womb. Timing his heavy thrusts with the ropes of warm seed spurting out of his dick, pressing his balls hard into your ass each time he did, making sure he really filled you up.
Geto’s eyes rolled back in his head feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm spasm around his twitching dick, milking him for all he was worth. "holy shittt." you voiced at how full he was making you feel.
Your overstimulation died down when his brain was no longer able to function well enough to remind him to play with your clit, something you were grateful for.
He silently lifted his head from the crook of your neck and pulled his incredibly sensitive cock out of your warmth. Staring between the two of you to watch his cum drip out of you, his mouth watering.
Your own arm being draped over your face while you tried to catch your breath, blocking you from seeing his next moves.
Holding your legs up and spread by your calves, he leaned down to your pussy and started sucking on your folds.
Caught off gaurd at the simulation you shot your hands down to his head, trying to push him off you at the intense feeling of his fat tongue on your mound.
He forced his tongue into the tight ring of your cunt, greedily drinking up your combined cum and moaning at the taste. Your thighs twitched with the need to shut around his head at the vibration.
Detaching his mouth from your pussy with a 'pop' he sat back on his heels, your calves still in his large palms as he stared at your abused pussy, licking his lips clean.
"So much fucking tastier than your panties." He grinned.
"You really are disgusting Suguru." Shaking your head against the sheets as he finally let your legs drop back down to the mattress.
"Careful, my cock likes when you talk to me like that." He teases, meaning every word as he tucks his drenched cock back into his boxers,
"Whatever, take me to the bathroom please." You said, ignoring his previous comment, "Cant stand and I need to pee." Holding your arms out to him.
He giggled at your dramatics; even tho he really did fuck the strength out of your legs; scooping his palms under your thighs as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
He raised you from the bed in a princess cradle and started walking you to the bathroom, "You need to learn how to take it easy. Seriously." you chastised, noticing the bruises and bite marks on your neck when you walked past a mirror, "If this is how you're going to treat me when we fuck, you're better off sticking to stealing my panties, at least they won't feel what you do to them." you complained, only partially meaning your words, which he knew.
"Don't act like your pussy doesn't throb when you see how I marked you up." you rolled your eyes at his retort, making it to the bathroom that neighbors a wall with the kitchen. He placed you down on the seat of the toilet before backing up and leaning against the doorway, facing the doorframe parallel to him as he let you do your business.
"I just had to listen to you guys fuck each other like rabbits for ten minutes, please don't make me listen to you dirty talk each other outside of the bedroom too."
You knew that voice.
"Shoko! good to see you, didn't realize you made yourself at home." Geto snarkily remarked.
"Your pretty roomie gave me a key you big oaf, now go hide in your room for awhile kay?" she brushed her hand in the air, signaling him to fuck off, "Was suposed to take her out but its sounding like you broke her legs so.. well just watch a movie here." she sighed.
Geto brought his attention back to you once more. He had to fight back the laugh burning in his lungs when he saw your crimson face buried in your hands, shinji posing on the toilet in embarrassment.
Stupid fucking panty thief.
“pt.2” here
#this is pure filth#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo satoru#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x reader#geto smut#getou suguru x reader#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru#jjk geto#geto x reader#jujutsu geto#geto suguru drabble#jjk suguru#jujutsu kaisen suguru#gojou x reader#gojou satoru x reader#nanami smut#choso smut#toji smut#jjk x reader smut#smut#satoru smut#kento smut
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Ma'am, I just found your profile and I'm in love with your writing. I would really like to make a request that you made (After McLaren's victory today I was inspired haha)
Could you please write a short one for Lando where he and his girlfriend enjoy the WCC celebration party so much that they don't even have time for themselves (not that it's a big deal for them), but in the next morning the reader wakes up feeling Lando half hard on her back, while they're spooning, so she decides to wake him up with a handjob. So one thing leads to another and they end up having a slow, intense and delicious morning sex.
(if you don't feel comfortable writing, please just ignore. I will totally understand)
Orange glow | LN⁴
💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Thank you so much for your support! Enjoy this one 🤍
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𐙚 summary ──── After McLaren wins the 2024 Constructors' Championship and Lando dominates the Abu Dhabi GP, the night is full of partying. But the real celebration happens in the morning, hidden between the sheets, and far away from the outside world.
𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader
𐙚 rating ──── explicit
𐙚 category ──── F/M
𐙚 warnings ──── +18, mature/sexual content, fluff & smut, descriptive language, unprotected sex, swearing, established relationship, mentions of alcohol and drinking, post-race tension, spooning, slow morning sex, shower sex, hyping each other up, reader tries to be funny towards the end, quick Lily Zneimer cameo.
𐙚 word count ──── 3.5k
𐙚 date ──── Dec. 9, 2024
𐙚 a/n ──── I literally have a list of requests piling up, but I had to jump on this one immediately after last night, oop. I'm a Ferrari girlie through and through, and I'm not going to get into the details of how many times I cried this season, however, I'm so proud of the McLaren boys, and everything they've accomplished. A season to remember for sure. Now let the horrors (winter break) begin 🥲👍🏻
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﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
THE WEEKEND STARTED with a lot of pressure, even though the odds were in their favor. And it continued that way on Sunday, after Oscar's Turn 1 incident. Luckily, Lando's teammate had managed to claw his way back into the points by the end of the race. Lando, on the other hand, had been untouchable ever since the lights went out, his car gliding through each lap with precision and speed as if he was running on hopes and old dreams.
His girlfriend watched it all unfold from the garage, her heart constantly in her throat as every sector time flashed on the screens. When the checkered flag finally dropped, she could finally breathe, knowing how much Lando has been stressing about it, especially after the weekend in Qatar.
By the time the podium ceremony begins, the entire paddock is buzzing; she's absolutely sure that no place on Earth is ever as loud as the paddock when someone wins.
Tonight, it's her boy.
In the sea of radiant faces, Lando manages to spot her without any issues and, for a brief moment, their eyes meet. He raises the bottle in her direction, grinning mischievously, before pop it on the podium step and shaking it up, drenching his team principal and the two Ferraris from head to toe.
She laughs, her chest warm with so much pride and love.
After that, it takes Lando a couple of hours before he finally makes it back to her. Post-race duties pull him in a hundred different directions — sometimes simultaneously — media interviews, debriefs, and lots of photo sessions. But when he sees her waiting outside the McLaren hospitality suite, he breaks away from the crowd without hesitation.
“What's a pretty girl like you doing here, hm? You should've waited inside,” says Lando, his voice low, but full of warmth as he wraps his arms around his girlfriend.
He smells faintly of champagne and sweat that mixed with his perfume and natural scent, a heady blend that reminds her of everything he’s just achieved for both himself and his team. The adrenaline it's still floating in the air, and she can feel the buzz of it in the way he's touching her.
“I did,” she replies, looking up at him. “But it took forever, and I got bored.”
It doesn't take long for camera flashes to capture the moment, and Lando takes off his cap to cover their faces, as he leans in to steal a gentle kiss from her before heading back inside.
THE MUSIC IS pretty much deafening, and the lights are a kaleidoscope of neon orange. The celebrations continue into the night, while Lando is — oh, so shockingly — the life of the party, moving from one group to the next with a constant drink in hand, his laughter ringing melodious above the bass.
She stays close but lets him have the spotlight. This is his night, after all, and she wants him to enjoy every single moment. Still, Lando always finds ways to include her by dragging her onto the dance floor for a song, or pulling her into photos with the team, and brushing kisses against her temple as they weave through the crowd.
It gets tiring at times, so she chooses to disappear for a couple of minutes back at their table; a good opportunity to regain control over her breathing, and maybe down another shot. This time, she finds herself watching Lando moving anything but gracefully on the dance floor. He looks like he's yelling, while aggressively gesturing in Oscar's direction, the two of them laughing over something she can’t hear. The sight makes her chest tighten with affection, though. They both seem so carefree right now, so unburdened, and she realizes how rare that is. The season has been the longest ever, and it was filled with so much pressure and expectations. But tonight, all of that has melted away.
“Having fun?” she hears a soft voice from behind her, then her senses are invaded by a faint floral scent.
She turns in her seat to see Lily, her cheeks flushed from the heat, with her smile as contagious as ever.
“More than I expected,” she finally replies, returning the smile and raising her glass to take another sip. “It’s hard not to when I see them like that,” she adds, pointing at their boyfriends.
Lily laughs, nodding slowly. “On the way here, I overheard that they want to get a tattoo in Zak's honor.”
“Oh, fuck no.”
The two girls exchange a look, their eyes locking in a silent agreement. It's their cue to step in, take control, and save their boyfriends from their drunken selves.
It’s past three in the morning when the party starts to wind down. Lando finds her near the bar, his hair a tousled, curly mess and his shirt unbuttoned. He looks exhausted but genuinely happy and satisfied, his eyes bright with the lingering adrenaline of the night.
“Ready to head back, mon amour?” he asks in a broken French accent, slipping an arm around her waist.
She nods, leaning into him. “Thought they'd never wear you out.”
“Pff. FYI, I've got plenty of energy left,” he says determined, smirking down at his girlfriend and watching as her thin fingers button up his shirt.
She giggles, knowing it's not even close to the truth, “Of course you do.”
The ride back to their hotel is quiet, proving her that she was right to not believe him earlier. Lando rests his head against her shoulder, his hand holding hers, fingers intertwined on top of her lap. She can feel the tiredness creeping in, but her heart is still skipping a beat every time Lando brushes his thumb over her knuckles.
When they finally step into their room, he lets out a long sigh, kicking off his shoes and collapsing onto the bed.
“Fuuucking hell. I can't feel my toes, is that fucking normal?” he mumbles into the pillow.
She chuckles, sitting down beside him to take her heels off. “You just turned a two-syllable word into four, so you tell me. I could barely keep up with you, baby. I'm not surprised you're absolutely wrecked,” she admits, lowering herself over his back to give him a small kiss on the cheek.
He sighs, flipping his body the other way, looking up at her with a tired but content smile. “Totally worth it, though.”
She places another kiss, to his jaw this time, her fingers gently caressing his cheek. “I'm so proud of you, pretty boy. I hope you know that.”
Lando's eyes soften, and he reaches up to take her hand in his, letting it rest over his chest. “Couldn't have done a lot of things without you... You kept me sane this season.”
She shakes her head, but he squeezes her hand, his expression earnest. “I didn’t—”
“Baby, I mean it,” he interrupts her vehemently, “Thank you.”
They don’t talk much after that, the exhaustion of the night catching up to them both. Finally, when they change and slip properly under the blanket, they fall asleep together, the hum of the city below fading into the background.
THE EARLY SUN spills into the room, casting long shadows over the tangle of sheets. She stirs first, her senses awakening to the quiet hum of Lando's soft snoring. Usually, she would push him on the other side so she won't hear him anymore, but she knows how tired he was just a few hours ago.
His arm is slung loosely around her waist, holding her close to him as if she might disappear. She shifts slightly, and that’s when she feels him — it — a familiar pressure nestled against her ass, half-hard and stirring with his own slow wakefulness.
A small smile tugs at her lips as she stays still for a moment.
The rest of Lando's body is relaxed against hers, but even in his sleep, he responds to her presence, which makes her heart race. Carefully, she reaches back, her hand slipping under the waistband of his boxers. The moment her fingers curl around his cock, Lando lets out a soft, muffled groan, instinctively pressing closer. At that, he wakes slowly, the low sound rumbling in his chest as he tightens his grip around her waist.
“Mm... ‘morning, baby,” he greets her with a thick, rough voice, filled with sleep. However, there’s a teasing edge to it as he pushes his hips more intently into her hand.
“Good morning, champ,” she murmurs in a playful tone, her hand continuing its lazy strokes, rubbing the sensitive head of his cock in circles with her thumb.
He hisses, pressing his lips against the nape of her neck, his warm breath sending a shiver down her spine. “You waking me up like this just because I won?” mumbles Lando, his lips curling into a soft smirk against her skin.
She lets out a quiet chuckle, but doesn’t reply, focusing instead on the way he hardens fully in her small fist, the weight of him in her hand so familiar and thrilling.
“Fuck, I lose it when you touch me like that,” says Lando, fully woken up by now. “Feels so good, baby.”
Hearing that, she perfects her strokes, feeling the pre-cum coating the palm of her hand, smiling mischievously when she manages to pull another moan out of his mouth.
“Do you have to be somewhere today?” she finally asks.
Lando sighs in pleasure, his hips eager to move in the same rhythm as her hand, “Not until after lunch. Why?”
He knows where she's hinting with her innocent question, but he enjoys hearing her talk.
She laughs lightly, feeling his cock begin to throb slightly in her grip. “I just wanted to celebrate some more.”
Lando's hand slides down her body, instinctively, warm and purposeful, as he grips her thigh and drapes her leg over his hip.
“Alright then,” he whispers, his voice low and filled with a lazy, husky need.
Before she can speak again, he shifts behind her, freeing his throbbing cock and lining himself up, pressing into her in one slow, languid motion, thankful he has such easy access to her so early in the morning. Her breath catches in her throat, her hand clutching at the sheets as he fills her completely, the heat of him spreading through her like fire.
“Lando,” she breathes in sharply, her voice tinged with need, her ass pushing back against him.
Lando's arm tightens around her waist, pulling her even closer as he starts to move. His pace is slow, deliberate, each thrust a deep, measured push that sends shivers down her spine. The angle is perfect, his hips pressing against her as he drives into her from behind, her leg draped over his to open her up to him completely.
“Oh, god,” she moans, bringing her free hand to the back of Lando's head, lightly tugging at his hair.
“You always feel so good in the morning, baby—fuck,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against her shoulder as he moves. His free hand slides up her body, cupping her breast under the fabric of his shirt she's wearing, and teasing her nipple between his fingers. “So warm and ready for me, I could slip inside even in my sleep, hm?”
As a response, her head falls back against his chest, her hand continuing to thread through his hair as Lando buries his face in her neck. Each thrust is so agonizingly slow, almost testing her patience, but every single one is filled with a quiet intensity that steals the breath from her lungs. His hands are suddenly everywhere — cupping her breasts, brushing over her stomach, gripping her hips as he pulls her back against him with undeniable strength.
“Shit,” he murmurs against her skin, his voice low and reverent, “You make me so fucking hard,” Lando adds breathlessly. “So perfect around my cock every. Single. Time,” he accentuates the words with each thrust.
His sleepy voice sends a fresh wave of heat through her, her body trembling as she grips the sheets tighter, trying to hold on to the feeling of him fucking her like that. Too soon, their movements grow less coordinated as they both near the edge, their breaths coming faster, blending together in the quiet room.
“Lan…” she gasps, her voice breaking as his hand slides lower, his fingers finding her clit.
“Come on my cock, baby. I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice rough with need as his fingers work in time with his slow, deep thrusts. “Let go for me.”
“Oh, fuck,” she cries out, her thighs wanting to press together in pleasure, but Lando's other hand holds her open for him, the slick sound of him pushing in and out of her pussy, an exquisite melody for his ears.
Soon enough, her body tenses, her moans turning into soft whimpers as she comes, her release washing over her in waves that leave her legs shaking. Lando follows moments later, his thrusts growing erratic before he stills inside her, his body shuddering as he presses himself as deep as he can.
They take a long moment to breathe, their bodies joined together. His hand brushes soothing circles over her stomach, his lips pressing lazy kisses to her shoulder and neck, before pulling the shirt over her head so he can feel her in his arms without any obstacles.
“You’re dangerous as hell when you wake me up like this,” he finally speaks, his voice raw.
She laughs, her body still humming with the aftershocks. “Are you complaining?”
“Not even a little,” he admits, pulling her closer and nuzzling into her neck, inhaling her scent.
They stay just like that for a while, making her wonder if Lando fell back asleep, but then he presses one more kiss to her shoulder, his lips lingering there as he shifts, pulling gently out of her. The instant emptiness draws a soft gasp from her, and they both feel the warmth of their shared release slipping between them, dampening the sheets beneath.
He lets out a quiet chuckle, his hand trailing down her thigh before slipping back between her legs. Slowly, his fingers press into her fucked out pussy, gathering as much cum as he can so he can push it back inside.
“God, you're so dirty, baby,” he murmurs against her ear, his voice a mix of affection and playful reprimand. “You should probably take a shower, I'm just saying.”
Her heart starts racing again at the sweet sensation of his fingers, but she doesn’t let him have the last word. She finally turns around in his arms, wanting to see his pretty face bathed in the orange glow of the morning. Her lips find his in a superficial kiss, as one of her hands wraps around his body, pressing firmly against the small of his back and pulling him closer. As their bodies press together, his cock rests between their stomachs, still half-hard and slick with the remnants of their orgasms.
She breaks the kiss just long enough to smirk up at him, her voice teasing as she murmurs, “Yeah? Look who’s talking.”
Lando groans, his head falling back against the pillow as he laughs softly. “Touché,” he whispers, his hands gripping her waist.
Before she can say anything else, he flips them over, pulling her on top of him with an effortless motion. She straddles his hips, her thighs pressing into his, her pussy pressing down on his length. They both exhale at the wet feeling between their bodies, but none of them dares to make another sudden move.
“I wanted to take you in the middle of the dance floor last night,” admits Lando, his hands sliding up to cup her hips, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin there.
“Why didn't you?” she counters, her voice playful as she leans down to kiss him again.
“You would've let me, wouldn't you? Fuck you where everyone can see how pretty you look with my cock inside you?”
She presses one more kiss to his lips, mostly to shut him up, “I'd let you fuck me anywhere you want, my love.”
Lando's fingers tighten around her waist, making her whimper against his jaw, “So fucking easy for me, baby. You're gonna end me one of these days.”
“Not today, though,” she exhales abruptly, fucking her hips onto Lando's length, with no intention other than teasing him.
“Behave,” he says softly, cupping the back of her head in his palm so he can pull her back into a sinful kiss.
They linger there for a while, the morning hues catching in the strands of his messy hair and the faint sheen of sweat on their skin. It’s warm, so intimate, and entirely theirs — a connection that no one can take away nor break.
Eventually, Lando lets out a mock-serious sigh, his hands sliding up her back, stopping roughly at her thighs to squeeze her. “Alright, gorgeous. Shower time. Before we ruin these sheets completely.”
She laughs, climbing off him and wincing slightly at the sticky mess between her thighs. He catches the movement and smirks, playfully slapping her ass as he sits up.
“Come on,” says Lando, taking her hand and pulling her towards the bathroom.
The shower is already steaming up when they step inside, the hot water cascading over their bodies. Lando's fingers are lazily tracing patterns on her back, hers tangling in his wet hair as they share languid kisses under the spray.
“Do you even know what you mean to me?” he whispers, his voice low and filled with adoration. His hands trail up her back, fingers tracing her curves, memorizing every inch of her, all over again. “What you do for me? God, I don't need anything else.”
Her cheeks warm, though whether from his words or the water, she isn’t sure. She tilts her head up, her smile soft and full of affection for him. “Lando, I’m just here for you. You’re the one out there doing the impossible every single day. My champion.”
He lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he presses his forehead against hers. “You're so sweet, love. But you know I'm not a champion yet, my team is.”
Her hands slide up his chest, fingers resting over his heart as she gazes at him, her voice steady and determined. “You are McLaren, Lan. You and Oscar, hold everything together. It's a great responsibility, and I've seen what it did to you this year. The good, the bad, and everything in between.”
For a moment, Lando goes silent, his eyes softening as he takes her in. The quiet between them is filled with the sound of the water, and everything he wants to say to her but can't. It'd be too soon, and he has a habit of letting his mouth loose when his emotions get the best of him.
She notices that, and she knows he's working on it, that's why she won't let the moment grow too serious, “Though, to be fair, Oscar has done you and McLaren a lot of favors this season, no?”
Lando’s startled laugh echoes off the tiled walls, and he pulls back to look at her, his grin wide and mischievous. “Oh, yeah? Is that what we’re doing now?”
Before she can respond, he presses her back against the cool tiles, his hands gripping her thighs as he lifts her slightly, her back arching under the contrast of the chilled surface and the hot water.
“Lando!” she gasps in surprise.
“You take that back,” he growls playfully, his lips capturing hers in a possessive kiss that knocks all the air out of her lungs.
Her laughter dissolves into a moan as he pushes into her again, slow and deep, filling her completely. Her legs wrap around his waist, anchoring herself against him as he pulls out all the way, only to slam back inside, setting a rhythm that’s somehow both lazy and desperate.
The shower fills with the sound of water splashing and the soft, breathless moans that escape her lips, her head falling back against the tiles as he buries his face in her neck. His hands grip her thighs harder, holding her steady as he thrusts deeper, each motion pulling gasps and cries from both of them.
“You saying Oscar’s better than me?” he teases, his voice strained but filled with humor.
“Maybe,” she jokes, breathing out sharply, her nails raking down his back as she arches into him. “But you’re doing a stellar job convincing me otherwise.”
Lando's laugh is low and breathless, turning into a groan as he quickens his pace.
For a lot of people, winning means lifting a trophy above their heads, but for him, it's the rhythm of their bodies moving together — a louder kind of triumph that manifests into delicious moans and whimpers.
It's the kind of podium he will never get tired of stepping on.
Thank you for reading!
None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎
© trashy track tales, 2024
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EPISODE 3: A TASTE OF HONEY IN DEFEAT
satoru thought he would have no problem winning a bet he proposed, but a month is too long to go without a taste of anything this sweet.
themes/content: smut. edging, handjobs, mean-ish dom!reader, satoru being whiney lmao, premature ejaculation + he cums inside, light bondage (satoru receiving). (wk: 2.1k)
a/n: this is part of @luv-lies no-nut-november collab!!! so excited to have been a part of this, hope you all enjoy >:3
“You know I trust you, but don’t you think the ropes are a bit much?” Satoru giggles as you tighten the final knot around his wrists, shoulders bulging and arms stretched overhead.
“I know you trust me - it’s you I’m worried about, ‘Toru.”
“What, worried I won’t be able to keep my hands off you?” The smirk painting his features veers into a grimace as he winces, straining against the tightening rope.
“No. I’m worried you won’t be able to keep your hands off yourself.”
Pink lips draw into a pout. “Aw c’mon, you know I’ll be good! I’m the one who made this bet in the first place, remember?”
You hum as you tug his hands down, testing the strength of the woven cerulean adorning his skin. The headboard shakes with the movement.
“And yet, you were so willing to break the rules.”
It had been quite a sight, truly - your dear Satoru, splayed across the bed, whimpers and moans falling from his lips like honeyed rain. They landed heavy in your ears, sticky and sweet. When the door creaked open, he made no effort to stop the fervent motions of his fist up and down his cock. He was flushed from head to toe, too lost in his own pleasure to recognize the sound of your footsteps approaching. It was only when your hand rested atop his that he jerked up, clouded eyes turning apologetic.
“I know I wasn’t supposed to, I know, I just couldn’t wait-” he had babbled.
“It’s okay,” you purred, rubbing soothing circles into his skin. “But you knew the deal, remember? I’m the only one allowed to touch you this month, right, Satoru?”
“I know, I know, I’m sorry-”
“And how close you were to cumming, too.”
“I wasn’t going to, I swear-”
You hummed and squeezed his base, earning a gasp. “You know it’s not good to lie, either. Remember, you made this bet, sweetheart. Were you really so willing to throw it all away? To lose?”
“I wasn’t going to lose, I promise, I just needed something-”
He was getting worked up, panicked thoughts racing through his mind. He braced on his forearms to sit up, but with a purposeful push you guided him back onto the sheets.
“It’s okay, my love. If my poor baby is so needy, I’ll take care of you. I’ll give you something.”
His eyes widened when you pulled the ropes from under the bed, eyeing him like your next meal, a starving predator ready to pounce. And here was your prey, so ready for the taking, offering himself to you as a good piece of meat should.
And now, he’s tied up like one, too.
“I wasn’t even going to break the rules,” he whines impatiently.
Sitting back, you admire your work: your strong, determined Satoru spread and waiting. Trailing a finger down his stomach, his skin burns hot in its wake.
“That’s certainly not what it looked like to me.”
“I-”
“Because to me, it looked like you couldn’t handle going even a month without touching this needy little cock of yours.”
He pouts. “I’m not little,” he huffs.
A giggle bubbles from the back of your throat, bouncing past your lips.
“And besides, I can handle it, I swear! I made it almost the whole month, I did, I just-”
Tilting your head, you gaze down at him. “What, got too desperate? Poor Satoru, ‘The Strongest,’ couldn’t even follow the rules of a bet he made?”
Blue flashes against white as he rolls his eyes. One hand ruffles his hair, cooing down at him.
“It’s okay, baby, I’ll make you beg to break this silly little bet of yours.”
“Whatever,” he scoffs, hiding the way pink creeps up his neck and decorates his cheeks, stained like flower petals. He’s soft like them, too.
A light chuckle lands in the air when your palm grazes up his length. He twitches in your hold, warm skin on warm skin.
“H-hah, see?” His mouth hangs open between the words. “Told you I could handle it.”
It’s gentle touches at first, to ease him into it: slow strokes, light fingers. And yet, he’s still wrapping his throat around whimpers.
“Aw baby, I haven’t even done anything yet.”
Your lips curl into a smile, breath hot behind them. The words come out syrupy, dripping in sugar (and Satoru has always had a sweet tooth). His stomach aches in hunger - hunger for your hands, your body, your control. Whatever you plan to do to him, he’ll swallow it whole, bigger and bigger bites until his cheeks swell and all he can taste is you.
The grip around his base tightens, running up and down. Something about your skin is so much softer than his, untainted by the cruelty he lives through, only dirtied by desire. It spreads over his skin, glistening white and sticky.
When whines begin to twist through the silence, his eyelashes fluttering to bat away the impending tears, he doesn’t have to say it - he’s close.
Just as his muscles begin to tense, you rip your hand away.
There’s a choked little cry he lets out, hurt like an animal you spared from death. One that was ready for it, for the warmth and comfort it provided.
“Why’d you stop?” His voice is strained already, a high-pitched draw across his vocal cords. His eyes are sparkling and wet.
A peck to his cheek sends shivers down his spine. “Because you’re not supposed to finish, remember, silly? I’m just helping you hold up your end of the bet, after all.”
A sound like untuned violins, haunting and beautiful all the same, plays from his throat. You giggle at the music.
“C’mon, Toru - you wanted this, remember?”
“I know,” he grumbles, scrunching his nose. “Fine, fine, do whatever you want.”
You smile.
(You would have anyways)
Your gaze falls upon the aquamarine rope, the matching eyes, before trailing back down his steadying chest.
It stutters when your fingers trace up the veins of his cock.
It heaves when you cup a palm around his balls.
You squeeze.
“F-fuck,” he groans, hips lifting off the bed.
There’s a word living at the tip of his tongue, its shape burning into his mouth.
Harder.
Luckily, you know your Satoru - you know what he thinks, feels, wants. And as a lover should, you happily oblige.
The sound he makes is garbled and choked, utter nonsense. It came straight from the depths of his body, a pure animalistic response, one he couldn’t have controlled if he tried.
Already, he’s beginning to tremble in your palm - it’s getting easier to do this, make him shake like a lost leaf floating through the autumn air, held captive by the gusts of your wind. Up and down, he travels with you, because of you.
Again, you pull your hand away.
Again, he whines.
“Noooo,” he mumbles, more to himself than anything. It was automatic, the expression of displeasure, ripped from him with the loss of your warmth on his.
“What’s wrong baby? You want me to stop?” It’s more fun when he has an out, when he could say no and chooses not to. When he wants this just as badly as you. “You know you-”
“No.” It's more breath than sound. “No, please. Keep going.”
And as a lover should, you happily oblige.
Precum drips down his length, covering him in remnants of desire. They cling to his skin like silky webs, woven from devotion and need. Each slick pump of your hand up and down creates more and more and more, a beautiful pearl at his slit forming one moment only to be spread by your circling thumb in the next.
Each time you reach his base, you squeeze. Each time you reach his tip, you twist. In this dance you both twirl and breathe and feel in beat, holding on to one another with sweaty hands and tired muscles.
“Remember, you can give up whenever you want,” you coo, the sweet glue of a trap.
But Satoru doesn’t dare taste, doesn’t dare step inside - he knows better.
(Right?)
“I’m not - fuck - giving up.” He tries to throw you a smile, but it lands at your feet.
Fists clench into each other, nails digging into his palms. You almost feel bad, the way he’s beginning to writhe within the ropes. It must hurt, you think, the texture soft but never soft enough - it’s nothing compared to you. In spite of his anguish, he knows better than to give up this easily. You haven’t even really begun, not yet.
When his eyelashes flutter closed, you know to pull your hand away.
He’s getting more subtle, the only sign of his impending pleasure a soft flicker of white and blue. But you recognize it, of course - his pleasure lives everywhere in him. In the way his breath catches, in the way his skin burns hot, in the way he gets all too loud or all too quiet.
There’s barely a sound this time. Instead, he just frowns, displeasure spreading across his sweet features. His lower lip sticks out, and he stares at you with cloudy eyes.
“I know, baby, I know. But this is what it takes if you want to win.”
The words don’t ease the growing ache in his core, but your voice does. Every vowel blurs the pain, every consonant gives him something to cling to. He’ll climb himself out of insanity on your breath.
Again, you wrap around him and drag him closer to the edge. Unable to pull his gaze away, he stares down it, looming, waiting. The free fall must feel nice, the wind against his skin, for a moment before he hits the ground. But with a firm hand on the back of his head, you just hold him there. It’ll be his choice whether he decides to jump. Or rather, when he decides to jump.
Another choked groan leaks from his lips when you pause. There are no words left for him to say, nothing but the agony of desire. He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut as if it’ll make the leap any less tempting.
Hushed whispers, not quite praise, tingle his mind. Little hums of “I know,” or “there, there,” dance from your throat, and he writhes.
Distress always looked so pretty on him. Pretty tears, pretty red cheeks, pretty pouts and pretty cries. Perhaps it’s a curse that he looks like a fallen angel when he weeps - if he looked more grotesque, you wouldn’t feel the urge to bring him back into the jaws of pain.
But he lets you comfort him nonetheless, preen his wings and kiss his tears.
This time, when you stop, he thrashes. His skin burns, crisp like it had been warmed by the sun for too long. Everything is too tight, his hands, his arms, his shoulders, his stomach. They need to be loosened; they need to be released.
“Please.”
It’s so quiet, it’s almost not a word, just little sounds from his tongue.
“What was that, baby? I couldn’t quite hear you.”
Tears stream from glossy eyes when he looks at you. His lips quiver as he speaks.
“Please, I wanna cum. Please.”
The smile spreading across your face is cold and knowing; he looks beautiful as he falls.
“I know you want to, but-”
“I lose.” He’s panting, gasping through the plea. “I lose, I give up, I don’t care, just, please.”
Hot tears melt beneath your thumb as you swipe them away. His mouth hangs open, as though he could swallow the air, hold it inside him and let that ease the aching. But the only thing that can help him now is you, the only thing he can stomach.
“Okay, baby. I’ll take care of you.”
A loose smile flows across his face, easy like gentle waves lapping at the corners of his thoughts. The sentence itself barely makes sense to him at this point, garbled in his lust-clouded mind. But he knows you’ll help him now; he welcomes the push over the edge.
Straddling his lap, you guide him to your entrance. Sticky and hot, he presses into you. Just as his tip enters your warmth, he hurls himself into the wind.
Everything in his body trembles, muscles tightening and contracting out of time. Eyelashes flutter, whimpers dance like petals as he comes undone.
The only thing he can do is twitch inside of you, pearly strings pulsing with each erratic breath.
Finally, he opens his eyes to find you smiling. Warm lips press along his cheeks, dried tears salty on your tongue.
“Well, you certainly lost this time,” you hum, resting your forehead against his; he looks at you like you created the earth itself, your breath in the wind and your heartbeat in the sun. “But there’s always next year, right?”
#𝒩nn ⟡ collab event#q writes#oneshot#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#gojo#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#satoru x reader#jjk#jjk fanfic#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk gojo#jujutsu kaisen gojo#jjk smut#gojo smut
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she’s always a woman | max verstappen
an: this fic is a special birthday fic for my lovely friend anto!! happy birthday love!! hope you enjoy your special day <3 also let’s just pretend that lewis wasn’t battling max for the championship in 2021 instead it’s max and the reader
tw: jos mention and narcissistic mother
Max couldn’t really remember why your friendship ended. He was always there when you needed a shoulder to cry on, when you had a bad race and needed some support, etc. He was always there so when you stopped talking to him, he was confused and hurt.
KARTING DAYS
At the time, the boys you raced against hated being beat by a girl. It was humiliating! A girl was faster than them? No way! But when Max Verstappen saw how fast you were, he was amazed. You made it look so easy.
“How many trophies do you have now?” Seven year old Max asked you as you two shared a bag of gummy bears, your favorite snack.
“I haven’t counted. What about you?” You questioned.
“I haven’t counted either.” He replied.
It was a long day of practice and all Max wanted to do was spend time with you and eat gummy bears. He noticed how you only ate certain colors like red, blue, orange and yellow. He asked why only those colors and your response was that those colors were your favorites, all the other colors looked unappetizing.
Spending time with you was something Max loved about karting. Most of the boys you competed with would rather lose than hang out with a girl, but not Max. He liked being around you. And it seemed like you liked having Max around too so it made no sense to Max why you stopped talking to him.
As time went on, Jos Verstappen kept a close eye on you. He certainly didn’t want some girl distracting his son. He kept telling Max how much of a bad influence you were, but of course Max didn’t listen. Why would he? He liked you and you liked him.
Unlike Max, your mother’s words went to your head.
“He’s just like the other boys, sweetheart. When you least expect it, he’s going to leave you heartbroken.” Your mother told you one day after another successful win. She watched the way Max stood next to you on the podium and clapped for you.
“But he’s my friend.” You said lowly.
“What did I say about this sport? You are not here to make friends, they are not your friends and neither is he. He’s competition and if you want to keep winning then you need to keep away from that boy!”
The next time Max saw you, he was the heartbroken one. Every time he kept trying to get your attention, you ignored him and turned the other way.
Did I do something wrong? Maybe I forgot her birthday? No, it was a month ago and we ate chocolate cake together.
All day Max was wondering what he did to make you upset. He had even brought a tiny bag with only red, blue, orange and yellow gummy bears for you. He had spent an hour picking out your favorite gummy bears and now you weren’t talking to him. . .
Little Max Verstappen had his first heartbreak at the hands of his first love.
The next day he figured you would start talking to him, but it was like he didn’t even exist in your world. He was starting to lose hope.
“Good, now you won’t have any distractions.” Jos told him after Max mentioned how you had stopped talking to him.
“But she wasn’t!”
“She was.” Jos confirmed.
Max stayed quiet. He knew it was no use trying to argue with his father.
As you both grew up, Max was beside you at every podium even if you weren’t on speaking terms. He hoped that maybe one day you would speak to him. He also kept a plastic bag in his bag with your favorite gummy bears to share with you in case that day ever came.
2021 SEASON
Max was both nervous and excited for the last few races of the season. Both you and him were battling for the championship. It was like a dream come true for him, both of you in Formula 1 and now you’re both in the championship picture. He wouldn’t have it any other way. To Max, it would’ve been better if you could at least acknowledge him.
It was after the Brazilian Grand Prix when Max wanted to congratulate you on your win, but had to wait until you finished with your interviews. He was eager to talk to you.
The post-race interviews were a whirlwind, but the moment that caught your attention was when a reporter, eager for a headline, asked you about Max Verstappen.
“We've heard that you and Max were childhood friends. What’s the story there? You two seem to be fierce competitors now. Was there any friendship left between you, or is it all business these days?"
Your smile tightened. It was the last thing you wanted to discuss, but you were a professional, and you knew better than to let your personal life spill over into the press room. Your gaze flicked to the corner where Max was conducting his own interviews, but you quickly refocused on the question.
“Max and I... we were friends, sure," you said coolly, your voice steady but your tone sharp, almost as if you were trying to distance yourself from the memory. "But that was a long time ago. I don’t really have time for friendships anymore. Racing’s my focus. It always has been."
“But you were so close back then," the reporter pressed. "Is it hard to battle him for the title, given your history?"
You shrugged, trying to maintain your composure. "Racing's not about who you used to be friends with. It’s about who’s the best right now. And I’m focused on being the best."
“So, no hard feelings?" he asked, genuinely curious.
You didn’t miss a beat. "No time for feelings," you replied, your lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Just results."
After finishing all your interviews, you walked back to your driver’s room. All you wanted was to lay down and take a much needed nap, but the sweet voice of a Dutchman stopped you. It had been years since you heard Max say your name.
Before you could say anything, Max stood up abruptly and walked toward you, his stride purposeful. He reached out, grabbing your arm with a firm grip, pulling you into your room without a word.
“Let go of me, Max," you whispered, but your voice cracked.
“No," he said simply, his tone rough, but his eyes were soft—something in them that you hadn’t seen in years. "I’m not letting you walk away again."
Your heart skipped a beat. His eyes searched yours, that fierce intensity you remembered from your childhood still present, though now mixed with something else—pain, perhaps. The unspoken hurt you both carried for so long hung between you two.
“Max," you began, but he cut you off.
“Why did you stop talking to me?" His voice was quieter now, but the question hung in the air, sharp and urgent. “Everyday i asked myself ‘did I do something wrong? Did I say something that hurt her?’ What is is? Why?”
Your throat tightened. You took a shaky breath, your eyes lowering to the floor. "You were my competition," you muttered. "And my mother… she made it clear. She said you would take everything from me. That I needed to stop talking to you or I’d lose everything." Your chest constricted, and you felt a sudden wave of bitterness rise within you. "She said you were nothing more than a threat to my future, and I had to focus—focus on winning.” It pained you to even remember all the talks your mother had with you about Max.
Max stared at you for a moment, taking in your words. The silence that followed was thick, the air between them charged with everything unspoken. Then, slowly, he stepped closer.
“I never wanted to take anything from you." His eyes were filled with a quiet sincerity that made your stomach twist. "I never asked for this. I never asked for us to be enemies."
Your breath hitched as a knot formed in your chest. You stepped back, your hands trembling. "But that’s what she wanted. She wanted me to beat you, to prove I was better. To make sure you didn’t have what I could have." Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a flood of emotion you had long kept hidden. "I—"
Your words faltered as you felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to fall. You tried to hold them back, but the weight of it all—the pressure, the competition, the years of silence—was too much. You turned away, pressing your palms to your face, feeling the dam break inside you.
Max didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, his arms enveloping you in an instant. You stiffened at first, surprised by the warmth and steadiness of his embrace. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, couldn't think. But then, something inside you snapped, and you collapsed into him, your body shaking as the tears finally came.
Max didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just held you, his hand gently rubbing your back, grounding you in the moment.
"I’m sorry," you whispered between sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You kept repeating.
His grip tightened ever so slightly, as if offering you the comfort and understanding you had been denied for so long. "You didn’t deserve any of that." You clung to him, unable to stop the flood of emotions that had been building for years.
Eventually, the tears slowed, and the sobs turned into shallow breaths. Max didn’t let go. He stayed, a quiet anchor, as if he would hold you for as long as you needed.
When you finally pulled back, your eyes were swollen, your makeup smudged, but you felt something lighter—something like relief, like a door you hadn’t realized was closed had finally opened.
“Does your dad know you’re here?” You wiped away the tears.
“I don’t really care about him right now,” Max responded. He took your hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “You need me right now.”
“Max, I don’t want you to get in trouble. You need to leave.”
“I’m a grown man. He can’t tell me who I can and any talk to.” He said.
“Then . . . I don’t care what my mother says either,” You declared. “You know, she said we couldn’t talk anymore because you were my competition. That I shouldn’t get too close to you. She thought it would make me weak."
“Your mom never understood that... you’re not my competition. You never were. You were my best friend. And I . . . I miss that.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Max.”
QATAR
The camera lights flickered on, and the usual hum of the media circus surrounded Max Verstappen as he sat in front of the press. Another victory under his belt, but the atmosphere in the room felt different today—slightly more tense than usual. The 2021 season was in full swing, and the rivalry between Max and his childhood best friend and fellow F1 driver, had become one of the most talked-about stories of the year.
“Max, earlier this week, someone that you knew quite well was quoted saying, ‘No time for feelings, just results,’ when talking about your past friendship. Given the intensity of your current rivalry, how do you feel about that statement?”
He took a breath and leaned forward, his voice steady but laced with an undeniable undercurrent of emotion.
“she’s one of the most focused and driven people I know. I don’t think anyone truly understands what it’s like to be in her head—how much racing means to her. She’s an artist, in every sense of the word, when it comes to driving. She doesn’t do anything halfway.”
A brief silence fell over the room. Max seemed to weigh his next words carefully.
“We’ve both been through a lot over the years, and yeah . . . I get why she said what she did. This sport can make you say things you don’t always mean. It can make you choose things—like cutting ties with people who used to be your family, just so you can win. But trust me, it’s not easy for her. Or for me.”
His voice softened slightly, the edge of competition giving way to something more genuine—something rooted in your shared history.
“She’s not the kind of person to just forget about things or people. I know her better than anyone,” He continued. It was as if he could talk about you all day and never get bored. “As for the championship, yeah, It’s just the way it is. But that doesn’t change the fact that I respect her more than anyone. She’s a hell of a driver, and I know what she’s capable of.”
Max leaned back slightly, the cool exterior of the driver once again overtaking his emotions. He was a fighter. And this season, he wasn’t just fighting for the title.
ABU DHABI
It had been weeks since your last conversation with Max, but occasionally you would sneak glances at each other. Maybe even smile at him, which caused the media to wonder if your friendship had finally been restored.
The paddock was bustling with the usual pre-race energy—team members darting around, engineers checking telemetry, and drivers preparing for what would be a pivotal race. But Max Verstappen was not focused on the usual chaos. He was standing in front of your motorhome, his jaw clenched as he faced a woman who had been an obstacle in his life for far too long: you mother.
All he wanted to do before the race was to wish you good luck but he had one problem that came in the form of your mother.
“This is a pivotal moment for her career, Max. The championship is on the line. She needs to focus.” Your mother spoke.
Max’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t need you to tell her how to focus. She’s not a child anymore. She’s not your puppet.”
She smirked, her gaze calculating. “Oh, I know exactly how to handle her. You, on the other hand, have always been a distraction. Just like you were when you were kids. I told her back then that you were competition. And look where we are now—competing for the championship.”
Max took a step forward, his voice low but sharp. “You don’t get to control her anymore. She doesn’t deserve the way you treated her. She never did. She’s not some tool for you to use to further your own agenda. She’s a person. A damn good one, too.”
Your mother raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smug grin. “And now you think you have feelings for her? After all these years? You’re wasting your time, Max.
Max’s chest tightened, a sudden rush of frustration coursing through him. He had always felt something for you—something deep and complicated—but he hadn’t realized how much until he saw you again. How could he not? The way you made him laugh, the way you understood him in a way no one else did. The way your presence grounded him when the world felt chaotic.
“I’m not wasting my time,” Max snapped, his voice rising. He was no longer just angry; there was something more vulnerable beneath his words. “I... I care about her. More than you’ll ever understand. And I’m not going to just stand by and watch you tear her down again.��
Her eyes widened, the smugness on her face faltering for just a moment. She hadn’t expected that. But she quickly recovered, her icy demeanor back in place. “You think you can just waltz in and change everything, Max? You think she’s going to forget the way I’ve always looked out for her?”
Max’s pulse was racing now. “You’ve never looked out for her. You’ve held her back. You’ve made her feel like she couldn’t trust herself. Do you know how many times she’s questioned her worth because of you?”
Before your mother could reply, Max spoke again. “If you think for a second that I’m going to back off now, you’re wrong.”
Your mother glared at the Dutchman. “I’ve spent years in Formula 1, fighting for every ounce of respect, and now I’m fighting for her, too. And I’m not letting anyone—least of all you—tell me what I can or can’t feel about her.”
His words hung in the air between them, the weight of them settling in. He turned to leave, but paused at the door of your motorhome, looking back one last time.
“Tell her,” Max said, softer now, “Tell her I’ll be waiting at the finish line. I’ll always be waiting.”
Maybe your mother would pass on the message, maybe not. Either way, Max would still be waiting for you.
The roar of the crowd still echoes in the distance, but it’s muffled, almost surreal, as you stand behind the barriers, your helmet under your arm, heart still racing from the intensity of the race. The buzz of the paddock feels far away, and your body is heavy with exhaustion and disappointment. You finished second—close, but not close enough. Max had done it. He’d won the championship, after all the drama and all the battles that had led them to this final, decisive moment.
You lift your eyes and see him, standing by his car. Max, in his usual composed way, looking like he belongs there, like he's always belonged there, standing among the team and the media, all his focus, all his attention fixed on you. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips when he spots you, but it’s the way he’s standing, waiting, that hits you. Like he said he would.
You hesitate for a moment, thinking about your mother’s words, about everything that has always been said about Max—his arrogance, his rivalry, the fact that he’s always been competition. But this, here, this feels like something different. He’s not the enemy anymore. At least, not in the way they used to think of each other.
You take a breath, and then, almost instinctively, you walk toward him. As you step closer, you hear the whisper of her mother’s voice in the back of your mind, a warning you’ve heard so many times before. Stay focused. Don’t let him distract you. He’s your competition, not your friend.
But your steps don’t falter. You reach him, and when you do, you look up at him, your gaze soft, not the hardened competitive stare it once was. Max’s grin deepens, though it’s filled with something almost bittersweet.
“I heard you were waiting for me,” You said, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Your voice is steady, but there’s a touch of vulnerability in it, something you can’t quite mask.
Max’s eyes soften, and for a moment, it feels like time pauses. He looks at you as if he’s not seeing the driver, the fierce competitor, but the girl he used to know—the one he used to race against in karting, the one who once shared the same dream, the one who still, in some ways, understands him better than anyone else.
“I told you I would,” he replies quietly, his voice low and calm. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”
Your mind flashes back to the words he said to your mother, the promise he made—I’ll always be waiting.
“You won. Congratulations.”
Max’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a certain warmth in the way he looks at you, a quiet understanding that goes beyond just racing. He takes a step closer, his voice a little softer now. “You’re better than you think. I have a feeling you’ll take it away from me next year.”
You shake your head, but there’s no bitterness in your gesture. “Next year,” you repeat. Your fingers press the edge of your helmet tighter, almost like you’re grounding herself in this moment. But there’s something else too—a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time. “Maybe. But I’m just glad you’re here.”
Max’s smile is genuine now. “I’ll always be here. Waiting for you to finally beat me.”
You laugh—a real laugh this time, one that’s not forced. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that one day,” you say, your voice a little lighter. “You should go with your team, I’m sure they’re waiting to drown you in champagne.”
Max chuckles, then steps forward. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, standing in the midst of the chaos, everything else fading into the background. You breathe in, realizing just how much this—this moment—matters more than the championship itself.
“So, Max, you’ve just won the title, but there’s a lot of talk about your competitor. She’s been called ‘too emotional’ in the past by some. What’s your take on how she handled this title fight?”
Max turns towards the reporter, a protective energy surging in him. He absolutely hated doing interviews, all he wanted to do was get back to you. “Well, for one, I think anyone who says she’s ‘too emotional’ is clearly not paying attention. She’s one of the most focused drivers out there. Honestly, anyone who thinks you can compete in this sport at the level we’ve been at, especially in the last few races, without being deeply passionate—well, they don’t understand what it takes.” He glances over at you, who’s trying to hide a smile while also looking frustrated with the question.
While you were a few feet away from him doing your own interview, you could hear Max. You tried hard to listen to the interview questions, but all you wanted to do was listen to what Max had to say.
“isn’t it a bit too much? The way she gets in her own head. She’s been—well, let’s just say, a bit of a perfectionist this season.”
Max shook his head, chuckling at the reporters words. “But, you know, that’s exactly why she’ll be winning a championship someday soon. I have no doubt about it, but I’m excited for the day she takes my championship away.”
Max could hear you burst into laughter at his words. His smile grew ten times bigger. “Seriously, though, she’s one of the most talented drivers I’ve ever known. she’ll steal the show when you least expect it. And maybe she’s a little bit hard to understand at times, but that’s exactly what makes her great.”
The reporter nodded. “Are you saying she’s like, uh, the Billy Joel song?” He asked confused.
Max grinned, clearly amused by the confusion. “She’s always a woman to me. Maybe I’m not the best person to explain it, but you get the idea.”
You chuckled once again as you heard Max. He really had a way with words.
“And one day, I’ll be watching her take the title with the same respect I have for her right now.”
That’s when you decide to step in after finishing your interview. “Maybe, Max. But for now, I think I'll let you have your moment. You’ve earned it.”
“We both did. I owe it all to you.”
#formula 1#f1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#f1 imagine#f1 x you#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen one shot#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen imagine#mv1 x reader#mv33 x reader#mv33#mv1 fic
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So I read a lot of stories similar to my requests. But I just think you are the best author on tumblr, so I wanna ask you😅☺️
Secret marriage with Oscar. They married really young and the drivers reaction. She is always at the races, but just in the shadows. The only one that knows is Charles, because he is Oscars "dad" 😭😍
Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!
-xoxo babygirl 💕
Secret marriage
The F1 paddock buzzed with the usual energy and tension. The race weekend was in full swing, and every driver, mechanic, and team member was focused on the task ahead. It was Friday afternoon, and most of the drivers had just finished media sessions and were now lounging around in the driver's hospitality suite, swapping stories and strategies. Oscar was among them, scrolling through his phone with a relaxed expression.
Nearby, Lando noticed a familiar face in the crowd. A woman, sleek and stylish, with a British Vogue ID around her neck, had been lingering around Oscar’s side of the paddock all day, chatting with him occasionally before darting off to interview other drivers. Lando squinted, intrigued.
“Oi, Oscar,” Lando called out, leaning back in his seat. “Who's that Vogue chick? She’s been following you around like a shadow.”
Oscar glanced up from his phone, trying to keep his expression neutral. “Who, Y/N? She’s just here for work. We know each other pretty well.”
George, who overheard the conversation, raised an eyebrow. “Pretty well? Mate, you guys looked like you were practically whispering sweet nothings before she left the garage.”
Oscar shrugged, but his eyes glinted with mischief. “Maybe we were.”
Lando sat up, fully interested now. “Wait… what? Are you and Miss Vogue dating?”
Oscar chuckled, keeping his cool. “Not exactly.”
Pierre, catching onto the conversation, leaned forward. “Come on, spill the beans! There’s definitely something going on.”
Oscar finally sighed, looking up at his friends with an amused smirk. “Well… actually, Y/N and I… we’re married.”
The room fell silent.
George blinked. “You’re what?”
“Married,” Oscar repeated, his tone casual as ever. “Been married since we turned eighteen, actually.”
The explosion was immediate. Lando gasped, practically jumping out of his seat, while Pierre clapped a hand over his mouth in shock.
“No way!” Lando exclaimed. “You’ve been married this whole time?”
Oscar nodded, barely reacting to the chaos unfolding around him. “Yep. Just never made a big deal out of it.”
“You’re telling me,” George said, his voice high-pitched with disbelief, “that you’ve been secretly married for… what? Three years now?”
“Three and a half, actually,” Oscar replied calmly, clearly enjoying their reactions. “We wanted to keep it private. Just worked out that way.”
Pierre looked like he was about to faint. “Mate, do you realize we never even knew you had a girlfriend, let alone a wife?”
Oscar gave a little shrug. “Guess I’m good at keeping secrets.”
George put his hands on his head. “I thought I was the reserved one around here! But this? Oscar, this is next level. How did we never catch on?”
Oscar chuckled, glancing over at Y/N, who was currently chatting with a journalist a few feet away. “She’s at most of the races. Just… behind the scenes.”
“I don’t even know what to say,” Pierre muttered, shaking his head in amazement.
Just then, Charles strolled into the room, looking curious as he caught the tail end of the conversation. “What’s everyone freaking out about?”
Lando grinned, looking ready to explode with excitement. “Charles, you’re not gonna believe this. Oscar’s married! Secretly married, since he was eighteen.”
Charles’s reaction was far more subdued. He simply nodded, a knowing smile spreading across his face. “Ah, yes. I know about Y/N.”
The room went silent again as every driver turned to gape at Charles.
“You knew?” George demanded, wide-eyed.
Charles gave them a smug shrug. “Of course. I’ve known for ages. I’m Oscar’s ‘dad,’ remember?” He winked, referencing the Monaco joke that had become a running gag between them. “It’s my job to know these things.”
Oscar snorted, smirking over at Charles. “Guess you can’t keep secrets from your ‘Monaco dad.’”
Lando threw his hands up in the air. “You’re all insane! Charles knows, Oscar’s been married for years, and we’ve all been left out!”
Pierre shook his head, still processing. “Wait, how did you find out, Charles?”
Charles leaned back, crossing his arms with a grin. “Oscar told me after our Monaco podium. Said he needed someone to know in case he ever needed advice. Before we went partying, I met Y/N and let me tell you, she is a lovely girl. And, you know, as his ‘father’ in the paddock, it was only a matter of time.” He gestured grandly, making everyone laugh.
George narrowed his eyes playfully. “So all this time, we could’ve been calling him ‘married man Oscar’ instead of ‘little Oscar’?”
Oscar rolled his eyes, amused. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t exactly a talking point. We wanted to keep things between us. Y/N’s work with Vogue keeps her busy and traveling too, so it worked out.”
Oscar turned his head towards Y/N, calling out softly with his arm outstretched. " Love, came here for a second, please."
Y/N approached just then, noticing the group staring at her with a mix of shock and admiration. “Is everything okay?”
Pierre looked at her, still in awe. “So… you two are really married?”
She glanced at Oscar with a smile, nodding. “Surprise?”
Lando leaned in, grinning like a kid at Christmas. “How have you kept this a secret all this time? You must have some insane spy-level skills.”
Y/N laughed. “I wouldn’t say that. We just wanted to enjoy it without all the attention.”
“Respect,” George said, tipping an imaginary hat to her. “You two might be the most low-key power couple I’ve ever seen.”
Charles looked proud, wrapping an arm around Oscar’s shoulder. “That’s my boy.”
Oscar rolled his eyes, shoving Charles off. “Alright, alright, let’s not make a big thing out of it.”
Lando looked at Oscar, eyes still gleaming. “Mate, this is a big thing! You’ve been living like some kind of undercover superhero. ‘Married Piastri’ is a whole new level of cool.”
Pierre nodded eagerly. “Right? It’s like finding out Clark Kent was Superman all along.”
Oscar chuckled, clearly enjoying his friends’ reactions. “Well, maybe now that you guys know, I’ll bring her around a bit more.”
Lando lit up. “Please! And maybe you can finally get that double date with George and Carmen going!”
George chuckled. “Right, because that’s exactly what we need. A bunch of drivers swapping marriage advice.”
Pierre smirked, nudging Oscar. “You’re making the rest of us look bad, you know. Now everyone’s gonna ask why we’re not secretly married.”
Oscar smirked back. “Hey, don’t blame me. You all had just as much chance to find out as Charles.”
As the group laughed, Y/N leaned into Oscar’s side, whispering, “Well, I guess the secret’s out.”
Oscar grinned, wrapping an arm around her. “Guess so. But I don’t mind. Not if it means we don’t have to sneak around anymore.”
Charles rolled his eyes playfully. “Alright, alright. Now, can we get back to racing, or are you going to give us a honeymoon slideshow too?”
The group burst into laughter, and Oscar looked around, more comfortable than ever. His secret was out, but he couldn’t be happier to finally share it with his friends.
#formula 1#formula 1 x reader#xoxo babygirl 💋#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri x reader#lando norris x reader#george russell x reader#pierre gasly x reader#charles leclerc x reader#secret marriage#oscar piastri
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love is a kick to the stomach
max verstappen - sequel to: lust is a loaded hand gun
tags: smut/fluff, pregnancy & kids, falling in love, dad!max, body worship, tenderness, plot, cowgirl position
a/n: this was made possible by the support of over a dozen people asking for a sequel! i hope you enjoy it <3
"are you sure you're going to be fine on your own?" your former teammate charles asked as he helped you pack the last of your suitcases. your apartment in monaco was bare, and for good reason, you were going home.
you replied with a shrug, "i'll be fine. i mean if i could sustain a driving career for as long as i did. i can handle raising a baby." you rubbed your lower back a little bit.
charles said,"i guess so, you know, monaco isn't a terrible place to raise a child." he gestured to himself with raised eyebrows.
"as much as i'd love to." you said, "i think people will start to raise eyebrows when they see max's look-alike running around. plus, i guess it's a way to get away from it. something simpler for my kid."
you hadn't spoken to the father of your son, max didn't know you were pregnant. and it was the best for everyone if he never knew that you had a child with him.
you remember the first time you held nicolas in your arms, it took you close to ten hours for you to deliver him. you had to say, the aches and pains of racing were nothing compared to the rising anxiety and pain of delivering a child. didn't help he was stubborn like this father. you tried not to think about max too much during the moments of lessened pain. part of you wanted him there, while you were determined to raise your child alone. the moments of weakness you felt during delivery made you want to hastily unblock max's number and call him before the next contractions came.
"okay, okay. just you and me, baby, just you and me." you told yourself as you laid in the hospital bed with your belly swollen from the months of carrying your son. you hissed through your teeth as another contraction hit.
in the end, you had nicolas. or nico as you called him. tired, over-heated as you pushed out your baby. the nurse told you it was a boy. wrapped in a blanket as he was placed on your chest. you could only describe it as maternal warmth as you cried. this was your baby. your little nico. "congratulations." the nurse told you as you held onto him gently. when you gave birth to your son, max was in monaco streaming with the rest of the redline team. fully unaware that you just had his child.
you lived a quiet life after that, but sometimes you could still feel the rumble of the track in your soul. it pulled you in, there was no reason for it to come back. there was no way you could, nico needed his mother and you made the choice to start a family of your own.
"nico!" you giggled towards your toddler, nico was now close to three years old! you picked him up from his spot at the coffee table, surrounded by papers and markers. you gave him a kiss on the cheek and said, "remember uncle charlie?" you swayed a little with the child in your arms.
the little boy nodded, "uh-huh." charles sent you and nico christmas presents every year. he even visited once or twice during summer break and spent a week with the two of you, he loved the time away from the hustle and bustle of racing. nico knew uncle charlie mostly because of leo, you had to teach him how to be gentle with the dog.
"well, he is inviting us somewhere. we're going to see him race, just like what mama used to do." it was the pre-season testing, it would be nice to see everyone. see how things changed in the three years since you left, "i know you've been asking about the cars." you smiled at the little boy.
nico really was the son of two racers, even now he was colouring pages of cars and he learned some of his colours from the cars in your neighbourhood. his expression light up, "the cars?"
you chuckled and said, "yes! we'll see the cars go really fast." it felt somewhat silly to say that raising a child felt more fulfilling than any of the titles you won.
it was almost more challenging with more rewards. driving was intense and lit an inferno in your stomach. but, you were constantly swarmed by the media with people yelling in your ear at all times. you were both hated and loved by the press, the organization and the fans. and while parenthood was harder in a lot of ways, it was nice. it was quieter. you saw friends, you found interest in painting, you read all the books you bought on your travels as a racer. the best part about having a kid was having a travel buddy. you weren't your stats or your trophies, you were just you.
but driving was a drug, and you also wanted to see the cars go very fast. so within a couple of weeks you were on the track for the pre-season.
"and that nico, is a racing car." you pointed towards the red ferrari car. a similar one to the one you drove. and you watched your young son light up the way you did all those years prior.
-
you knew you were going to see max. it was stupid to think that you could not see him. he had won the previous year's wdc, he was everywhere. so while you spoke to lewis and charles, you caught sight of him. and he caught sight of the toddler in your arms.
charles looked over to where your gaze was and said, "oh shit." then tried to shift over to sort of usher you and nico away from the gaze of max. but you reached out and touched your former teammates shoulder.
"it's fine..." you assured him. the past year, as it felt like nico was growing so much everyday. the feelings about max had resurfaced. while you believed that you and your network of friends and family could raise nico just fine. max didn't know that nico existed. a night of passion was just that in max's mind.
you shifted your toddler in your arms and looked over to max. you smiled and gave him a small wave. and you could see the expression cross max's face.
nico let go of the front of your shirt and made child's grabby-hands towards the man. and max took a bold step forward, and then another, and then another before he was crowded in your space. an expression across his face as he looked down at you and nico.
"hey." you said.
"hi." he replied. he raised his hand for a moment, but stopped himself. he swallowed and asked, "who is this?"
you looked down at the boy who was holding onto your shirt once more. you smiled at max, "nicolas. but everyone calls him nico. he's my son."
our son.
max swallowed and looked at the boy. he patted him on the top of the head and smiled, "well, hello nico. your mama was an amazing driver." he looked at you once more before you were pulled away by charles to see the rest of the ferrari team. max watched you walk away, just as he did all those years prior.
-
"can i watch nico?" charles asked while
"i can watch him just fine. i've been doing it for three years." you chuckled as you grabbed a chip from the bag and ate it.
charles crossed his arms and looked at you, "when was the last time you had a break? plus me and alexandra are thinking about, maybe, having a child once my career winds down." he smiled a little, "want to make sure that i can handle a three year old."
you looked to your son on the carpeted floor playing with the duplo blocks that you had brought with you. you then looked to charles and asked, "so you're probably assuming that if you can handle the son of me and him, you can handle your own child?"
charles nodded, "the child of ferrari's princess and mad max. must be a handful." he laughed a little.
"he's not the son of satan, charles." you playfully shoved your former teammate. and he shrugged. you were thankful in a way that you didn't go with charles' plan for him to father your child. you felt like that would've been more complicated than what you had now, since you liked charles' current partner.
"take the night off or at least a few hours. go do something for yourself." charles gave you a sympathetic glance. and you had no choice to concede.
he was right, since nico's birth you had no time for yourself unless he was asleep. but usually you fell asleep too. in the end you dressed nicely, in a pencil skirt and a white blouse. you had your purse on hand and told charles to text you if there were any issues. and you made nico promise you to be good. you kissed the boy's cheek before you headed out.
you ended up at a bar. it wasn't busy and you blended in with the other patrons. the press didn't bother you too much, you had been out of the spotlight for long that it was mostly making the public aware that you still existed and now you had a kid.
"well, well, well." a man's voice caught your attention. you looked up from your phone to see max by your table, "has ferrari's princess finally come back to her castle."
you swallowed, "hi, max."
"where's the little one?"
"with charles tonight."
max nodded, "i was going to make a joke about him being the father... but i know that's not true." he sat down across from you at the table. he rested his forearms on the table, his watch shined in the low light of the bar, "what happened?"
"nothing happened. i just retired."
"with my son... a son i knew nothing about." his voice was low, "why didn't you tell me? do you think so low of me i wouldn't have tried to help? you ran off back home and blocked me..." there was a look in his eyes.
"i didn't want to burden the world champion." you lied as you took a sip of your stiff drink. you felt tension in your shoulders as you took a sip. your heart rattled in your chest, "i didn't expect you to do anything. i didn't need you to."
max reached across the small table and took a hold of your wrist to bring your closer. then he locked his fingers with yours. he said, "maybe i wanted to... did you never think i wanted to be a father?"
you swallowed, "no." you assumed he didn't. not after everything, you heard enough of his father's berating in your karting career. the angry dutch words followed by insults in english so everyone knew what was being said. and that apprently only scratched the surface of what had been done to him. you thought max was a good fit because he would be so disinterested in being a parent. but as he looked at you, hand in yours. you realized you made a grave error. you said, "being a parent isn't easy."
max chuckled, "i know. i'm not stupid. i thought about that night we shared, it comes back to me. i've never wanted someone the way i wanted you. and to know you carried my child, it only pulls me in more."
you took another sip of your drink with your free hand and said, "and what are you going to do about it, verstappen?" you may be a mother now, but you were ferrari's princess, the temptress on wheels. you'd still go toe-to-toe with any man.
max simply smiled.
-
you ended up in max's hotel room. his hands on you like they were all those years ago. he touched you the way a lover would as the two of you passionately made out. you moaned against his lips and you held onto his strong shoulders.
"i thought about you every day of your retirement. i wanted to know what happened. i thought you were sick." he kissed along your neck, his hands at your waist.
"i mean, i did have quite the stomach bug. took ten hours to get him out." you moaned a little bit as his lips grazed over your pulse point. you could feel a surge of pleasure through you. you had been with anyone intimately since max. you didn't have time for dates let alone hook-ups.
"i should've been there. i would've been there in a heartbeat. you, me, nico... a family." he said as he looked to you once more and you toyed with the material of his shirt, "i always had a fondness for you. you let nothing stop you."
you smiled, "i always thought you wanted a model... not a driver."
he pressed his chest against yours and looked into your eyes, "maybe in another time. i wish i could've seen you pregnant." he swallowed as his hands touched your breasts.
you chuckled lowly, "someone wanted a milf?"
he shook his head as he pressed his forehead to yours, "no, no. i wanted to see your body change from what we made. the child we made together."
"but racing..."
he groaned, "fuck it. choose between another trophy taking up space in my apartment... or a home with you and nico. such a hard choice, don't you think?" he chuckled as he held you so close to him. he groped your breasts, "a man who finds more fulfillment in pieces of plastic and metal than having a home to go to is a stupid man."
you chuckled, "i guess i didn't want to be your wag either."
he shook his head, "i don't think you can be a wag if you played the sport. if you are worried about there being expectations placed on you, then don't worry. if you can't drive, then i'll drive twice as hard for us. any ten second gap i have will be twenty seconds, because i know you only expect the best."
you felt warmth in your cheeks. and eventually he led you to the bedroom. you ended up on the bed with max undoing your button up. you giggled, "ah, does someone like mothers?"
he groaned with his nose against your heated skin, "only when they had my kid... nico looked exactly like me." he said as he got the button up off your shoulder.
you moaned, but then yelped as he pushed you back onto the bed. you looked up at him, "i'm on birth control." you licked your lips as you got out of your bra and max took off his t-shirt, "fuck, now i remember why i wanted to have a baby with you."
he put his hands on his hips and smiled. tiny waist, broad shoulders. a certain strength to him, but he didn't look like a dehydrated mess. he was strong in a way that excited you, but you also knew that he loved a good meal. long before he gorged himself on your cunt, he happily ate the meals you cooked. you remember he even said, "you'd make a great wife." which honestly sowed the seed that led to nico.
the night of passion that led to the making of your son. you could feel max's eyes wander across your body and he licked his lips. he said, "you look good. bit more curves than when we last were like this."
"yeah, i had an eight pound baby." you chuckled as you got the rest of your clothes off. max's hungry gaze lingered, "i got a few more curves that a track as carry him for nine months, you know he was three days overdue."
"stubborn." max laughed as he unzipped his jeans, "just like his mama."
you narrowed your eyes, "no, just like his old man." and max was all over you. the kissed became hungry and needy. neither of you had been intimate with another person since the night you made nico. three years ago. you were busy with a baby while max couldn't get you out of his head. he tried to find another woman, he tried to be close to someone. but you always pulled in the back of his mind.
both of you were into the hotel room and max kissed at your breasts. your breasts were roughly average size before you got pregnant. the training and weight guidelines for racing prevented you from having a big chest. but you went up at least a cup and a half during your pregnancy. and max loved kissing the heated skin.
"fuck." you gasped. both naked on the bed, moved against one another. it was like being in a familiar place. you knew max's body just as you did all those years ago. you kissed him and ended up straddled max's waist.
he was up against the pillows and your knees on either side of him. your hands roamed his chest and he shuddered. he looked up at you with those blue eyes, "please, fuck. please, give me a chance. give me a chance to be there for you and nico.."
you swallowed, you never expected that from max. a man on the top like that wouldn't easily quiver at the aspect of being a father. but max wanted it. he wanted the family. he wanted a home. you sighed to yourself, you guessed an apartment full of trophies wasn't enough.
you put a hand on his chest before you sank on his cock, "max. if nico decided not to peruse racing.... would you still love him?" that was a conversation you had to have with yourself. you loved racing, that was your passion for years. but you promised yourself to never be the parent that you saw early in your career. twisting their children to make them conform to the parent's standards. to force them into racing.
he said, those blue eyes gazed up at you, "if nico wanted to race. i'm behind him a hundred percent. if it doesn't, nothing changes... he is still my son. i'm behind him through everything."
you leaned down to kiss max on the lips, "fuck, max." you sank down onto his cock and continued to kiss him. you splayed your hands across his broad chest and continued to move against him.
"shit." he shuddered. he felt a certain euphoria that left him needy for more. never had he had soemthing like this. not since the last time he had you. it was a amazing. to have you so close once more. he wrapped his strong arms around you and moved against you. the kisses shared between you two were hot and heavy, it left him feeling tense in a good way. to have you on top of him, close to him was a feeling he wished he could never forget.
even after three years you still occupied his mind in ways that left him shuddering against you. after three years, after all this time, he still wanted to map your body with his tongue. even the changes post-pregnancy. he held onto you and kissed at your heated skin. he wished he was there, seeing the progress of you carrying nico. to be a father. he moved against you, he held you. he loved you, but he had been holding onto that love for some time. unable to properly display it, and to find out you had a child with him only fueled the passion for you. the two of you moved against one another, you both felt the intense pleasure from the heated movements against one another.
this was how you should've been a long time ago. if max had known you wanted a baby, he would've happily had one with you. but he should've been there for every moment of it. even if you couldn't race because of the pregnancy, max would kiss every winning trophy in your honor, he'd race for both of you. and then come to the paddock with you and nico, a family of three. a family he always wanted.
he wanted to kiss you in front of the cameras. even if you were retired, he wanted to make you feel that every winning was for both of you. he kissed at you heated skin and you moaned, he felt the warmth of love in his gut. you two should've been married by now, a house somewhere quiet. it didn't even have to be in monaco. max would happily pack up his racing sim gear and his cats, and move to anywhere you desired. he hoped that you two could be a family.
to come home after a triple header and see you and nico. the boy looked so much like him. those round cheeks, those wide eyes. the excitement on the track and his need to be close to his mother (you). it screamed a young max, but max wanted to be a better father. he wanted to be present, he wanted to be there for his son.
he groaned, "please, please. let me into your little family." he kissed as your larger breasts and moved against you. the pleasure was deep inside of him. to have you once more felt like a dream.
you held onto his short hair for a moment, you groaned a little bit as you felt the immense heat between you two. you leaned down and kissed him on the head with such tenderness. this wasn't the kind of sex you had all that time ago, this was something more softer. more gentle. less like a means to an end, and more like you two were becoming familiar with each other's bodies again.
"you look perfect," he said lowly, "i'm surprised you hadn't picked uo a husband after all the time." he held on a little tighter and worked your body against him. the pleasure shot through the both of you which only spurred you on the move faster.
your bucked your hips against his, you felt the inferno in your belly as you held his face and kissed him once more. if he wanted to be in nico's life then you'd allow it. you'd let max be involved, be the father he wanted to be. you thought his trophies were more important, but seeing him, his eagerness to be in nico's life made you realize that he wanted a family, a home. you kissed him once more as the two of you thrusted against one another.
you knew racing would always pull you back in eventually. it had that effect on people. it was infectious, even tucked away in your domestic life. you still sat on the couch with your rambunctious toddler and watched the races at odd hours.
"why do you want a life with me and nico, you could have any-"
"i don't want to hear it. nico deserves a father and you deserve a loving partner... hell, maybe even a husband." he said with total conviction as he moved against you. the pleasure felt like it was going to boil over soon.
you moved against him, eagerness in your movements. you couldn't think of anymore things to prevent max from being part of your family. your movements staggered and you felt the pleasure bloom into something more. you hissed, "fuck," while you moved against him. you felt the inferno in your soul, the need for him in ways you didn't need any other man.
this was the father of your son, and you carried feelings for him just as you carried nico. the combination of you two, the affection you had for one another in a brief moment. it was something you wanted to expand on. you wanted to love max verstappen.
you held onto the father of your child. you came around his cock and arched your back. you felt the fury of lust through your body as you moved against him. you laid a heavy kiss on his lips as your pussy clenched around his cock, "fuck." you said, words muffled by the kiss. max wrapped his strong arms around you and moved against you further. you felt his cock nudge against some of your softest areas and it made you toes curl through climax.
he groaned into the kiss and continued to move against you. a few more heavy strokes and he finished inside of you. he practically melted against you and you smiled against his lips with affection. his brain felt swamped with emotion as he said, "i love you."
and without thinking you replied, "i love you too, max." then kissed him once more with total affection for one another.
max swallowed as he held you as you slowed your pace to a stop. he craned his neck to press his cheek against your soft stomach, "don't leave again... please."
"max." you panted and combed your fingers through his hair. he held onto you tighter as if you were going to slip away.
he said, in a tone you never thought you could hear from a world champion, "don't.. don't leave." this was supposed to be simple. max was a means to a child, but he wanted to be in nico's life. he wanted to be a father.
you wrapped your arms around him and held him close to your abdomen. you exhaled deeply and said, "i don't want to pressure you into being a father... if you're going to be in his life, you're going all in. he needs stability."
max lifted his head to look at you. those blue eyes dazzled in the low light of his hotel room. he held onto you a little tighter, not enough to bruise however. he said, "i'm all in. you, me, and nico." like a promise.
maybe it was the post-orgasm hormones or maybe because you became a tad more in touch with your emotions after having a child. but when max said that, you cried.
-
"go nico! go, go!!!" you shouted as your nine year old sailed past the finish line in first place and you broke into a grin. your husband wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close into a kiss. you laughed into the kiss and said to your husband, "oh man. ow, ow. okay, okay!" you looked down at your swollen middle, "someone isn't happy about the excitement."
"sorry there, little one." max's hand rubbed your swollen middle. his wedding band gleamed in the afternoon light. you were welcoming a son in four months and could already feel the commotion of racing.
you smiled at max for a moment before your son got out of the cart and you were moving as fast as you could to greet him. with his helmet off, you cupped your son's chubby cheeks. he was looking more like max every day, but smashed records the way you did.
you were soon a family of four. you didn't live in your home country and max had moved away from monaco when you got married. max was a good father, as he picked up nico with ease.
"you did amazing, nico. good job!" he beamed at the little boy and the boy beamed back at him. you knew that people shouldn't have children to heal a part of themselves. you learned that when you were pregnant the first time. but when max gave praise to your son, he was giving the young boy the support he never got. that if nico was going to eventually end up in formula one, it wasn't going to be the way that max was brought up.
he'd do it right.
stern when he needed to be. you'd both push nico to be the best, but also give him the love a wide-eyed, chubby cheeked boy needed. and as you leaned down as best as you could to kiss your son on the cheek. you felt like a family. it felt like home.
you were confident that you could've raised both nico and your future son by yourself. but it was an adventure you'd rather share with max. <3
#bunny writes#reader insert#formula 1#formula one imagine#formula one smut#f1 smut#formula one fanfiction#f1 x reader#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen smut#max verstappen#mv33 x reader#mv33#mv33 smut#mv1#mv1 x reader#mv1 fic#mv1 imagine#mv1 x you#red bull racing#mv33 fic#the bakery#mv33 imagine#rbr
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Overtime
Summary: Sometimes, working overtime isn’t all that bad.
Pairings: Loki x Female Reader
Warnings: Smut, 18+ minors DNI, sex, cunnilingus, teasing, light bondage, office romance.
Series: Overtime (I don't have a masterlist for this, but if you enjoy these idiots, check out Daylight, a sort of sequel).
A/N: This was largely written prior to season 2 and posted right before episode 4, so it’s not entirely canon compliant and the parts that are may be compliant by accident.
Also, @give-me-a-moose and I were on a similar wavelength about Loki angrily reading romance novels and I would strongly recommend checking out her fic The Imagine Nation if you too are enthralled by this idea.
You don’t think that Mobius intended to keep Loki’s desk behind yours.
“It’s temporary,” he tells you apologetically. “He just needs somewhere to go for now, until I figure out what to do with him.”
“You’re talking about him like he’s a stray cat that you found,” you say.
“You won’t even know he’s there, I promise.”
“You’re still doing it.”
Mobius sighs and puts on his most sincere, earnest expression—the one that he always uses when he’s about to ask you for a stupidly massive favor.
And it’s only because you almost never, ever see this look from him that you back down.
“Okay, fine,” you say. “But he’d better be on his best behavior.”
Mobius puts his palms together and tips them toward you. “Thank you. You will not regret this, I promise.”
You sigh and shake your head. “Just remember this next time you’re budgeting for raises.”
But then—in a move that you certainly don’t expect—Loki ends up sticking around. And, in the subtle way that the stray you’ve been feeding slowly turns into your cat, Loki’s temporary desk becomes his permanent desk. And strangely enough, Mobius’ assurances turn out to be more correct than not: Loki does a lot of fieldwork and is often away; when he is at his desk, it tends to be because he is working on more complicated missions, the ones that require poring over mountains of files looking for patterns and trying to untangle the slippery mess of time itself.
Your work is decidedly less glamorous than Loki’s—almost no fieldwork, lots of files. Endless files. Some days you feel as though you must have seen every file in the TVA’s extensive library and then you’re immediately proven wrong by another wing of filing cabinets that you swear wasn’t even there before.
Although he is generally well-behaved as your desk neighbor, Loki’s presence has a way of distracting you. Even if you didn’t know who he was, your gaze would still naturally drift his way, lingering on those regal cheekbones, that ink black hair, that cunning smirk. The way that the fabric of his dress pants clings to his thighs certainly doesn’t help, to say nothing of how his forearms look with his shirtsleeves rolled up. He can make your heart start to race with no more than a casual glance in your direction and god help you if he gives you one of those devastating smiles. Luckily, you don’t think he takes that much notice of you. You have the sort of pleasantly dull exchanges of coworkers who don’t really know each other and he is almost painfully polite to you. It’s a strong departure from the way he interacts with others—with others, he is bold, charming, sarcastic, talkative, a far cry from the more subdued, almost courtly tone he strikes with you. It’s a difference that is so stark that you can’t help but attribute it to some sort of negative feeling on his end.
“How’s it going with Loki?” Mobius asks you during a one-on-one meeting a couple of months after Loki’s temporary desk becomes his permanent desk. “He’s behaving himself, right?”
“It’s been fine,” you say, “though truthfully, I don’t think he likes me all that much.”
“What? Of course he likes you,” Mobius says. “Why wouldn’t he like you? You’re lovely.”
You shrug. “I dunno, he’s just different with me than he is with everyone else. Like…overly polite. It’s like he thinks I’m going to send him to the principal’s office or something.”
“Let me get this straight,” says Mobius. “First you were worried that he wouldn’t behave himself and now you’re worried that he’s too well-behaved?”
Privately, you realize he has a point. Outwardly, though, you’re not going to admit it. The sardonic tilt of Mobius’ mouth suggests that he knows this.
“No, I just…I don’t think he likes me all that much,” you say. “And he’s entitled to that. People don’t like each other all the time, it’s not a big deal.”
This is also a little bit of a lie—you do wish he liked you. Loki is so magnetic it’s hard not to want his attention. And with the matter of your silly little crush, well…that doesn’t help either.
Mobius sighs. “I think you’re overthinking this. He likes you, sometimes it just takes him a little time to warm up. He’s a bit of a prickly guy.”
You bite down the urge to point out that you’ve seen him warm to other people almost immediately. This conversation has already gone on longer than you want and you are edging dangerously close to having to admit that you care so much because you have a big stupid crush on him, which is obviously unacceptable.
“Well, the point is that it’s fine,” you say quickly, trying to project an aura of cool confidence. “I don’t have any complaints, he seems like he’s settling in, so let’s move on. Did you have any feedback on my recent report?”
The furrow between Mobius’ eyebrows deepens just slightly, the only indication that he doesn’t fully believe you. But for whatever reason, he decides to let it go and follows your change in topic without further comment.
This is one of the reasons you like Mobius as much as you do: he always seems to know the right moment to push and the right moment to bend.
You’re not sure if your relationship with Loki would have changed had it not been for the problem of Charles Berlitz.
The joke around the office is that after Mobius convinced Loki to work for the TVA, he needed something new to obsess over and Charles Berlitz was the next best option. It’s hard to say exactly who Berlitz is, as he has a tendency of showing up, well…everywhere. He is quite literally in every timeline, at least as far as anyone can tell. Sometimes he is an author, penning serious, scholarly essays on outlandish theories like the Bermuda Triangle and the Philadelphia Experiment. He seems to have a fondness for all manner of schemes—he was responsible for introducing both homeopathy and multi-level marketing to no fewer than sixty different timelines. His ability to peddle bullshit naturally led him to politics—pick any rebellion, coup, or campaign on any given timeline and there’s a good chance you’ll also find Charles Berlitz.
Scammers and con artists are not atypical in your line of work, but what makes Charles Berlitz an enduring mystery is that he has never been found. You can have reputable documentary evidence that Berlitz was present at a certain time and location, but if you show up to investigate, he is never there. There have been some glimpses over the years—a shadowy face in the back of a crowd, the hem of a cloak disappearing behind a corner—but nothing concrete or substantive.
“Our ghost in the timeline,” Mobius had said in one of his more poetic moments at an all staff meeting, his voice overly hushed and dramatic. You had seen Loki roll his eyes and you had to fake a coughing fit to hide your laugh.
Time moves differently at the TVA, so it’s hard to say how long Mobius has been working on this case when he makes a breakthrough, but it’s not terribly long after your conversation about Loki. A campaign button had been found in an apartment that Berlitz rented for two years in the French Quarter. That particular campaign button could only have existed in one specific timeline and its distribution was limited. You aren’t entirely clear on all of the details, but Mobius seems to have a plan.
And unfortunately, that plan involves you giving up most of your weekend to work.
It’s near quitting time on what passes for a Friday at the TVA. Loki has been in today and you can hear him starting to pack up. Technically, he’s got twenty minutes of work left, but you’re not about to tell him that.
You doodle absently on your notepad. Technically, you’ve also got twenty minutes of work left, but realistically: nothing is happening.
“Oh, great, you’re both still here.”
In general, this phrase has never meant good news for you and when you look up, you see Mobius with a sizable armful of files.
Also not a great sign.
Mobius plunks the stack of files directly on your desk. “There’s been a development with Berlitz. I need you both to review these now.”
“It’s Friday,” says Loki, affronted. “Surely it can wait until Monday.”
“No can do. I need this done by Sunday at the latest,” says Mobius. “This is an all hands on deck situation.”
Loki glances pointedly at the office around you, which has already started emptying out for the weekend.
“All hands on deck, but most hands are already in the field,” Mobius concedes. “Which is why I need the two of you—” He points to you. “You because you’re good—” He gestures to Loki. “And you because you’ve got desk duty.”
“I beg your pardon—” begins Loki.
“He’s grounded,” Mobius says to you in an exaggerated stage whisper.
This is not surprising to you: you had heard a rumor last week about an incident that had occurred on a mission to the inauguration of Richard Nixon and you suspect that these two events are likely connected.
You look at the pile of paperwork on your desk. You could probably get through it on your own in a couple of hours, but if Loki’s helping, maybe you still have a shot at having Saturday to yourself. You bite back a sigh. “What do you need me to find?”
“Anything that mentions anyone from the Lucchese crime family or Nero Variant N2815,” says Mobius. “I’ll go get the rest.”
Your heart sinks. Farewell, Saturday. “There’s more?” you say.
“It’ll be triple overtime, I already got it approved!” he calls over his shoulder
You sigh and glance at Loki who is scowling at the pile of files as though they’d wronged him personally.
There’s a long moment of silence before you speak. “Is there any truth to the rumor I’ve been hearing about the Nixon inauguration?” you ask.
“If it involved a hot air balloon, then yes,” he says rather tonelessly.
“Well.” You pause as you stare at the pile of papers. “At least it was worth it.”
That at least earns you a hint of a smile.
*
Several hours later, your stomach is growling and you’ve developed a rather impressive crick in your neck.
You lean back in your chair, stretching your neck to the side and rubbing the knot that is pulsing in your upper trapezius. Office work has done nothing positive for your posture in general, but tonight’s work has you hunched over more than usual and your neck is aching.
You and Loki have made good progress, but your pile of finished and sorted files is scarcely comparable to the full cart that Mobius had brought in. Back when the evening was new and you weren’t quite so tired, you’d been optimistic about possibly having half a Saturday free from work; that hope has slipped away the longer the evening has dragged on. Now you’re hoping that you’ll still have a bit of Sunday to yourself and even that feels unlikely.
Your stomach growls again. You should probably eat something—you’d worked through your regular dinner hour in a fit of misplaced optimism. The cafeteria is closed this time of night, but there’s a vending machine not far from your office that has shitty coffee and mostly edible sandwiches.
You stand and stretch, stifling a yawn as you turn around. “I’m gonna grab a coffee and some dinner,” you say. “Do you want anything?”
Loki looks up at you from the file in front of him, blinking somewhat dazedly and running a hand through his messy curls. “I’d like to stretch my legs a bit, if you don’t mind the company.”
You honestly didn’t expect him to want to join you. It’s a pleasant surprise, certainly, but also a little nerve wracking in the way that interacting with Loki always is. He’s so handsome and aloof and you’re not quite sure how to talk to him without acting like a total fool.
But you’re also not about to say no, either.
“Of course,” you say, “I don’t mind at all.”
The TVA is unusually quiet at this time of night—the steady hum of fluorescent lights and the murmur of distant voices is all that accompanies the tap of your shoes on the linoleum. It only heightens the jittery, nervous feeling you get from Loki—like your stomach is filled with drunk, lightning struck butterflies.
“Are you finding much?” asks Loki as you enter the hallway together.
You shrug. “A bit. Mostly on the Nero variant. I’m not having as much luck with the Luccheses.”
“I’ve got all of their property transfers, I think,” he says. “Renato Lucchese never met a vineyard he didn’t like.”
“Or racehorses, from what I understand,” you say. “I think that’s how he lost most of his money.”
You arrive at the vending machines. Loki looks at the vending machines and then back at you, a somewhat puzzled and troubled expression on his face.
“This is what you meant when you said you were going to get coffee and dinner?” he says.
You shrug. “Yeah, what’s wrong with this?”
He points at the coffee machine. “Mobius calls that machine Satan’s coffeemaker, does he not?”
“Yes, but I know how to trick it into giving me something that’s almost palatable,” you say.
Loki gives you a rather dry look. “Something that’s almost palatable?”
“I mean, I’m just trying to manage your expectations. It’s still pretty shitty coffee, it just tastes less burned.”
He looks at you for a long moment before tilting his head toward the hallway. “Come on, let’s go.”
It’s your turn to look skeptical. “What are we doing?”
“We’re going out for dinner.”
*
He takes you to a twenty-four hour diner called Frank’s that’s maybe a five minute walk from the TVA. It’s one of those places with yellowing Formica tables and big booths covered in red faux leather patched with the occasional square of duct tape. It smells like coffee and grease with a faint odor of cigarette smoke despite the prominent no smoking signs.
“I wouldn’t have thought this kind of place was your style,” you say as you sit down in a booth next to the window.
“I’ve expanded my horizons,” he says, sliding into the seat across from you.
An older woman with greying blonde hair approaches your booth. She wears a nametag reading “Connie” in big capital letters, a sticker of a pink cat stuck on the space next to her name.
“How y’all doin’ tonight?” she says as she hands you each a laminated menu. She looks at Loki. “You want your usual?”
“Please,” he says.
“You got it.” She turns to you. “How ‘bout you, hon, can I get ya started with something to drink?”
“Coffee would be great.”
“All right, I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
You raise your eyebrows at Loki as she walks away. “You eat at diners and you have a usual order. My expectations are being completely upended.”
He returns your pleasantly amused expression. “And you have vending machine coffee for dinner. It’s a revealing night.”
“I mean, I don’t actively seek it out,” you say. “It’s a convenient option that I exercise only when I have no other choice.”
“No other choice?” A sly smile curls at his lips. “Do you not have the entire array of space and time at your fingertips?”
“Well, first of all, we aren’t supposed to use TemPads for personal errands without a supervisor’s approval.”
“Technically.”
“No, actually. It’s in the personnel manual. Like verbatim.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You would put yourself through the egregious physical suffering of vending machine coffee simply to appease the capricious whims of our cruel overseer Miss Minutes?”
You bite back a laugh. “You know she’s not actually our boss, right?”
“I can’t discount that possibility. She wields a concerning amount of power within the organization.”
Connie is back with your drinks—coffee for you and tea for Loki. “Sunday Special?” she asks Loki as she sets a metal teapot and empty mug in front of him.
“Please,” he says.
“You got it.” She looks at you. “Didya get a chance to look at the menu or do you need a minute?”
You’re feeling a little daring. “I’ll try the Sunday Special as well.”
“All right, two Sunday Specials comin’ right up,” she says, collecting your menus.
“So, what’s in a Sunday Special?” you ask Loki as you take a sip of your coffee.
“Boiled fish eggs, mainly,” he says, pouring the hot water into his tea mug.
“Liar,” you say promptly.
He raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t even look at the menu, how could you know?”
“Places like this don’t serve fish eggs,” you say. “Way too unusual and definitely the wrong price point.”
“I suppose you’ll just have to see,” he says with a playful glint in his eyes. The easy charm that you’ve seen him use with the others is on full display and it’s enough to make you giddy. Maybe he doesn’t dislike you after all.
“Well, if it’s fish eggs, you’re picking up the bill,” you say, “and I’ll be getting something else instead.”
“You’d really hold me responsible for your impulsive dinner selections?”
“Yep. And I don’t even feel bad about it.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you could be so unforgiving.”
“Well, you don’t know me all that well.”
“To be fair, you keep to yourself quite a bit.”
“A little bit,” you say. “But also to be fair, you haven’t really asked.”
“On work time?” he says, widening his eyes in mock horror. “That would mean write ups for both of us, I couldn’t let that happen.”
“I think I know enough about you to know that getting in trouble is not one of your primary concerns.”
He gives you a sly smile, like you’ve caught him out and he likes it. “That’s a diplomatic way to put it.” He takes a sugar packet from the dispenser on the table and tears it open before pouring it into his mug. “Well, we’re on break now, so you can safely tell me something about yourself.”
You drum your fingers on your coffee mug. “What do you want to know?”
“Well, this can’t be the only part of your life. Who are you outside the TVA? What did you do before this?”
That giddy feeling comes to a screeching halt and you take in a long, slow breath. It’s a simple question, one that most people can answer to some degree. For you, though, it’s a bit more complicated.
“Well,” you say. You take a sip of your coffee, mostly to give your hands something to do. “I don’t actually know—I chose not to remember when they gave me the option.”
You’re surprised by how gentle his eyes are when you look up. “My apologies,” he says, “I didn’t realize.”
“It’s okay,” you say and you really do mean it. “You couldn’t have known.”
Usually, you say something like this and then gently redirect the conversation, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes you want to continue. Like maybe he understands difficult things and doesn’t mind hearing about something that others would shy away from.
“When they told us everything and said they could fix our memories…” You clear your throat and focus your gaze just above his shoulder. “It’s weird, but I just had a feeling that it wouldn’t be good for me to know…that something really bad had happened. So I asked Mobius to check for me, just to be sure…” You swallow, blinking hard.
You remember how sad Mobius’ eyes were, how he’d gently placed a hand on your shoulder and said, “I think you’re making the right call, kid.”
“It’s not really okay, is it?” Loki says softly.
You shrug. “I mean, it’s…it is what it is.”
“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”
“It’s not a lie—”
He raises a skeptical eyebrow and you remember that he is, in fact, the god of lies.
“It’s more like…I can’t really miss what I don’t know, but at the same time, the reality of that absence hurts a little. So maybe not exactly okay, but not exactly not okay, either.”
There’s a lot of kindness in his gaze and you have to look away because it makes your head spin and your breath catch in your throat. “I’m not really sure if that makes sense,” you say.
“It does.”
There’s a silence between you, but it’s not uncomfortable.
“Do you…do you think you’d want to forget if you had that option?” You’re not entirely sure what prompts the question and you regret it almost as soon as it leaves your mouth. “I’m sorry, that’s probably too personal.”
He shakes his head and there’s a warmth in his eyes that you don’t expect. “I rather think I owe you one.” He pauses, running a finger around the rim of his mug. “Sometimes I do,” he says finally. “It can be quite painful remembering.” He worries his lip between his teeth. “But I’m not sure who I would be without the knowledge of my past, either.” His gaze flicks back to you. “What’s it like for you? Do you feel like you know who you are without those memories?”
It’s a good question—one you’ve never been asked. “I mean, it’s hard to say for sure. I think I do,” you say. “Sometimes I wonder if I was different in my timeline. Maybe I was kinder because I had different experiences that made me more empathetic. Maybe I wasn’t—maybe I was worse. Maybe I had a villain arc.”
He chuckles. “That doesn’t seem likely.”
“I dunno, maybe it explains the vending machine coffee and my fish egg related threats,” you say and you feel almost giddy when he returns your smile. “Or maybe I’m the same and all those experiences that shaped me are just scars I can’t see.” You shrug and take a sip of your coffee. “At the end of the day, though, that timeline is gone. I’m all that’s left. It’s sad, but it’s also freeing, in a way.”
He nods. “Mobius has said much the same.”
You smile slightly. “Our philosophies are similar, I suppose, though I think there are probably more bits of his past self in his present self than he realizes.”
Loki grins. “It’s the jet skis, isn’t it?”
“I mean, I just don’t think most normal people spend that much time expounding on the reliability of the Yamaha engine versus the pure, raw power of the Kawasaki.”
Loki holds up a finger. “But have you gotten the lecture about Yamaha’s braking system?”
“I think I have that memorized at this point.”
“‘The perfect choice for families.’”
“‘You just tap the brakes. Just tap them. Perfectly smooth stop every time.’”
“‘Reliability meets affordability.’”
“‘You can’t say no to that.’”
You think you probably could have riffed on this for a bit, but you’re interrupted by the arrival of Connie with your dinner.
The Sunday Special turns out to be a fairly traditional breakfast—eggs, hash browns, two fluffy pancakes, sausage, toast, a little bowl of strawberries.
“Definitely lots of fish eggs in this meal,” you say to Loki after Connie leaves.
His smile is small, but genuine. “You haven’t looked under the pancakes yet.”
You feel it then, but you don’t fully understand until later that this dinner has unlocked something important between the two of you. After months of awkward, stilted conversation, it’s like you finally understand how to talk to each other. And you’re surprised to find that even outside of your big stupid crush, you actually like Loki. You like his sly smiles and his dry humor and how easily the two of you fall into a routine of playful banter. You click in a way that surprises you, in a way that makes you mourn the lost potential of all those awkward, stilted months and feel giddy about the possibilities ahead.
Dinner is over too soon and you walk back to the TVA feeling revived from the coffee and the conversation.
Disaster awaits you back at the office, though: you’d left a stack of the Nero variant files on your desk and evidently the construction was too precarious, as the entire pile had tipped off your desk and spilled to the floor, contents scattered everywhere.
“Fucking hell,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair. You’re not sure whether you want to laugh, cry, or scream. Possibly, it’s all three.
“Here.” Loki is bending down on the floor to gather the files. You studiously try to not ogle his ass or thighs. Or at least not obviously. “Clear off some space on your desk—I’ll help.”
Twenty minutes later, you’ve set up an entirely new system—Loki has dragged his chair over to your desk and the cart of unsorted files sits between you, like a surly metallic chaperone. And even later when you’ve sorted out all of the files from the floor, he remains parked at the end of your desk, a stack of new, unsorted files in front of him. Admittedly, it’s a lot more efficient for you to work like this: privately, though, it gives you a warm glow that has nothing to do with workplace efficiency.
“I’ve invented a new game,” he says some time later.
“What’s that?”
“Every time either one of us finds documentation showing Renato Lucchese losing money on a racehorse he was told was not a good investment, I get to have a drink.”
You look up at him. “Look, I know you’re a god and everything, but I am pretty sure that will kill you.”
He sighs and tosses the file into the Lucchese pile. “I think it would add a little excitement to the evening, don’t you?”
You raise your eyebrows and look back at the file in front of you. “You mean this isn’t your idea of a fun Friday night?”
“My idea of a fun Friday night includes far fewer files and a lot more debauchery,” he says, taking a new file from the cart.
You glance at the clock. “Well, it’s only eleven. I don’t usually start body shots until after midnight.”
“What are body shots?”
For one horrifying moment, you think that you’re going to actually have to explain this to him, but then you get a good look at his expression.
He’s teasing you.
“You’re an ass,” you say, swatting him on the shoulder with the file you’re holding.
He wags a finger at you. “That’s workplace violence. I’m going to have to report that.”
You lean back in your chair and return to your file. “I’m pretty confident that you’ll be put off by the amount of paperwork that process requires.”
He shakes his head as he returns to his own file. “Uncontrolled bureaucracy is how bad actors escape accountability.” There’s a brief pause. “And…there’s another racehorse.”
You continue on like this for the rest of the evening, occasionally chatting and Loki proving definitively that the Renato Lucchese racehorse drinking game could not be played without resulting in a fatality. It’s nice, though. Yes, it’s sorting files and yes, it’s not the most intellectually riveting task you’ve ever done, but spending time with Loki is nice. It’s because of this that you find yourself trying to stay awake, pushing past your looming exhaustion.
But around two, you can’t quite fight the heaviness of your eyelids any longer and you doze off in the middle of a report on the sinking of the Lusitania.
“Hey.” Loki is gently shaking your shoulder. The way he says your name in that deliciously deep voice makes you want to swoon and you’re glad that you have the ready made excuse of sleepiness to explain any embarrassing behavior on your end.
“I think you’d better call it a night,” he says gently. “Get some sleep and come back with fresh eyes.”
“What about you?” you say. “Are you going to do the same, or are you just all talk?”
He smiles at you and it warms you to the very tips of your toes. You could bask in that smile like a cat in a sunbeam.
“I’m starting to fade a bit myself,” he says
“Very convenient,” you say and he grins at you.
“Come on, I’ll see you back home.”
Part of you wants to protest—there’s really no need for him to walk you home—but a larger, louder part of you wants to let it be, prolong the magic of tonight for just a little longer.
There’s a comfortable silence between the two of you as you walk out of the office together.
“What time do you think you’re going to come in tomorrow?” he asks as you approach the residential wing. “It’s probably sensible to coordinate our efforts a bit.”
“Yeah, that’s a good point,” you say. “I was thinking nine, but that will be dependent on how much coffee I have.”
“Yes, about that,” he says. “I cannot stand idly by and watch you torture yourself with vending machine coffee.”
“Well, the cafeteria will be open, so I was going to torture myself with cafeteria coffee, which is at least thirty percent less over brewed.”
He clicks his tongue. “You’re not making a compelling case for yourself.”
“To be fair, it’s quite late and I’ve been staring at files for hours.”
“All the more reason to get decent coffee,” he says. “We’re going out for breakfast.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Oh, we are?”
“Consider it an intervention,” he says. “I’ll come collect you at eight.”
You’re not quite sure if this is just his natural confidence and swagger coming through or if he’s flirting with you and this counts as a date.
“Where are we going?”
“I know a place.”
*
The place in question turns out to be a food cart in Central Park in 1998.
“Should I even bother asking if you have supervisor approval for this?” you say, looking skeptically at the time door glimmering before you.
Loki scoffs. “I don’t have a supervisor.”
“You do. It’s Mobius.”
“That can’t be right, we’re peers.”
“You’re absolutely not. Did you read any of the onboarding materials?”
He ignores your question. “I don’t see why I’d even need a supervisor, honestly.”
You snort. “Need I remind you of what happened at the Nixon inauguration?”
He spreads his hands in front of him. “It’s not my fault that I’m the only one with a sense of humor.”
“I’m not entirely sure that was the problem,” you say. “Gerald Ford is never going to be the same, from what I understand.”
Loki waves a dismissive hand. “He’ll be fine, the tail isn’t permanent. Now, are you coming or not?”
You roll your eyes at him and make a halfhearted complaint about proper protocol, but you know that you’re walking through that time door and not looking back. You knew that before he even posed the question.
The food cart is owned by a man named Samir who has a wide smile and booming laugh. He talks to Loki like he’s a friend and he tells you that you have the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen. You are fairly certain he’s exaggerating, but you stuff a few extra bills into the tip jar anyway.
“I can’t believe you fell for that,” says Loki as you walk away, each carrying a coffee and a brown paper bag with a breakfast sandwich.
“Fell for what?” you say, batting your eyes at him. “I do have beautiful eyes.”
“I’ve heard him say that on at least thirty separate occasions.”
“Yeah, but this time he really meant it. I could tell.”
He rolls his eyes and leads you to a park bench overlooking a wide, grassy field. The leaves are just starting to change and the air has a little bit of a bite to it.
You sit down on the bench and take a sip of your coffee.
“It is good coffee, I’ll give you that,” you say.
“See,” says Loki, “you can’t go back to that vending machine sludge after this.”
“I mean, if it’s eleven o’clock at night and I’m on a deadline, I can.”
“Darling. You have a TemPad.”
“Loki. Read the personnel manual.”
He wrinkles his nose. “It’s not really my genre.”
You roll your eyes and take out your breakfast sandwich. “What is your genre?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Is that a serious question?”
“Of course it is,” you say. “I love talking about books.”
He gives you a slight smile and takes a sip of his coffee. “A little bit of everything, honestly,” he says. “Philosophy. Magical theory. History. Politics. Anything from Asgard, really, though it can be a bit more challenging getting some of those titles.”
“I’ve had pretty good luck with the Library of the Sacred Timeline—have you checked there yet?”
He frowns. “I’m not familiar.”
“Oh, you’d like it—it’s on the eighteenth floor. It’s intended to be a collection of the greatest works of literature from as many branches of the timeline as possible,” you say. “It started as a research project, but people liked it and it just kind of evolved into this huge collection. They’ve actually got a pretty sizeable collection of books from Asgard.”
It’s like you’ve told him that his personal paradise had been located on the eighteenth floor this entire time. “Will you show me?”
He is practically vibrating with the sort of anticipatory, manic energy that you typically would associate with Christmas morning right before you tear into presents. It’s sweetly endearing.
“Of course.”
Ten minutes later, you’re leading him through the winding hallways on the eighteenth floor. You’re not surprised he hasn’t heard about the library—it’s a bit out of the way and the eighteenth floor is so poorly designed that it’s not terribly easy to find.
The design of the library is a sharp departure from the rest of the TVA. The shelves and floors are made of the kind of dark mahogany that you typically see in the kind of estates that look like something directly out of a Jane Austen novel. Worn oriental rugs muffle your footsteps on the creaky wood floors and the air smells faintly of dust and paper.
There’s a subtle change in Loki when you walk through the doors—almost like a muscle in his shoulders finally relaxes and he seems truly at home for the first time since he arrived.
You touch his hand. “This way.”
You lead him into the stacks, back to the far corner, right after the books from Alfheim.
“You can borrow whichever ones you like,” you say softly. “There’s a sign out sheet at the front desk.”
He nods, though you don’t think he really hears you—he only has eyes for the shelves, his gaze sweeping across the spines like they’re old friends. You’re about to excuse yourself to give him a little privacy when his brow furrows and he exhales sharply. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”
“What is it?”
They have the entirety of the finest Asgardian literature at their disposal. Untold centuries of the writings of our greatest minds—” he plucks a book off the shelf, “—and they choose to include this?”
The title looks fairly innocuous—a red, leather bound book with the title The Cloistered Heart embossed in gold script on the front. You take the book from him and open it. “What’s the problem with this?”
“It’s inconsequential fluff, literary pablum of the highest order.”
This is the Loki that you’re more familiar with and a smile curls at your lips. Almost on cue, you flip the book open to a chapter titled “The Wedding and Bedding of Aloisa.”
You bite back a laugh and look up at him. “It’s a romance novel.”
“Precisely my point,” he says. “To think that this is on the same shelf as Nielsen and Auber.”
“That’s kind of how libraries work,” you say, flipping further into the book. The phrases “throbbing length” and “eager moans” draw your eye and you have to tamp down another laugh. “Oh, and it’s a sexy romance novel.”
“It appeals to the lowest common denominator, yes.”
“What, so you’re too good for a bodice ripper?”
He scoffs. “I prefer to do the bodice ripping myself, not read some overwrought description of it.”
You are glad you’re looking at the book because you’re pretty sure you’d disintegrate if you had to make eye contact with him while he delivered that line. “Oh spare me,” you say lightly, snapping the book shut and drawing it to your chest. “I’m gonna read this.”
He blows out a puff of air. “It’s a waste of your time.”
“I’ve got lots of time, I can afford to waste it,” you say cheekily. “Besides, I’m curious to see what kind of book turns the god of mischief into a pearl clutching prude.”
Loki sputters. “Prude? Darling, let me assure you, I’m no prude—”
“I’ll leave you to browse,” you say with a grin as you turn away from him. “Come find me at the front when you’re ready to go.”
You’re a few chapters into the book when Loki rejoins you at the front of the library, a small stack of books tucked under his arm.
You close your book with a snap. “This book is a delight. I think your real issue is just that you’re no fun.”
He scoffs. “I’m very fun.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
You bicker playfully back and forth as you check out your books and leave the library. A quick glance at your watch tells you that you spent much more time there than you’d planned. You can’t quite bring yourself to worry about that, though, not with the memory of Loki’s wonderstruck expression burning so bright in your mind.
There’s a bit of a lull in the conversation as you wait for the elevator.
“Thank you,” he says softly.
“For what?”
“For showing me that.”
“Of course. I’m sorry you didn’t know about it sooner.”
He looks at you, lips parting slightly like he’s about to say something. His tongue swipes briefly over his bottom lip and you would swear that his gaze drops to your mouth for just a second.
For just a second—one heady, slightly irrational second—you think he might be about to kiss you.
The ding of the elevator arriving breaks the spell, startling you just a little. You run a hand through your hair, trying to give off the impression of composure even as your heart beats wildly in your chest.
Loki gestures to the elevator doors. “After you.”
There is a group of analysts in the elevator already, chatting animatedly and completely obliterating any chance you may have had at recapturing that moment.
You try not to dwell too much in contemplating what ifs or timeline branches—often, it feels too much like work, something Mobius might assign you.
But you know that the possibility of that moment—what if the elevator had been a hair slower, what if those analysts had taken a different route, what if you were braver—you know that’s something that’s going to haunt you for a while.
*
You wouldn’t give up that time in the library for anything—it’s one of those moments that feels formative, something that you’ll return to again and again for one reason or another.
But it’s also true that it’s time that you probably could have used for sorting files and as Saturday ticks on, you can’t help but wish you had a way to pull another hour out of somewhere.
“We’re not going to be able to make this deadline, are we?” you say with a sigh.
It’s getting late into the evening and the cart of files still to be sorted still remains depressingly full, despite the fact that you’d brought both lunch and dinner back to your desk so you could continue working.
Loki eyes the remaining files. “I think we might. We made good progress today.”
You rub your eyes. “My brain feels like it’s about to leak out my ears.”
Loki takes the file you are working on and sets it back in the stack of unsorted files. “I think that might be a sign it’s time to turn in,” he says.
“There’s still so much left.”
“There’s still tomorrow.”
You reach for the file. “Well, let me just—”
He pulls your hand away from the pile. “You can come back to it in the morning. Besides, if you’re this tired, you’re not going to do good work anyway.”
He squeezes your hand and drops it. It’s brief enough to still be friendly, but unusual enough to make you wonder and send your mind racing back to that moment by the elevator.
You shake the thought away. It’s late and you’re tired.
You heave a world weary sigh and slump back in your chair. “I hate it when you’re right.”
To his credit, he only smirks a little. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”
Once again, there’s no reason for him to do this, but once again, you’re inclined to let him.
You pack up for the evening and walk out of the office side by side. You’re trying very hard not to think about the fact that this is likely the last night that you’ll do this, that tomorrow the assignment will be over.
As you near the residential wing, you start to hear distant shouts. If you inhale deeply, you catch a very faint whiff of explosives—you’re not sure what kind.
“I think someone brought work home,” you say with a sigh.
This happens from time to time—things get out of hand in the field or something happens when retrieving an asset or a target and all hell breaks loose at the TVA. Mobius had once referred to it as “bringing work home” and the name had stuck.
“Wasn’t there an incident in this wing not long ago?” asks Loki.
“Yes.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I had to call off the next day—I got no sleep that night.” You listen carefully, trying to determine the source of the noise and the status of the problem. “But maybe it’s almost over,” you say with an optimism you don’t fully feel. “Sometimes these things are resolved really quick.”
Your heart continues to sink the closer you come to your home. The acrid burn of explosives only increases and you think you catch the low, dull roar of something not quite human.
And indeed, when you turn the final corner, you are immediately stopped by an electric blue barrier being monitored by a hunter. G-21–you’ve worked with her on a couple of missions before.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” slips out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.
“There’s an ongoing incident in this area,” says G-21 and you almost want to laugh because no shit.
“How long do you think it’s gonna be closed off?” you ask.
She shrugs. “We’re at a code 54 right now, but it’s probably gonna escalate.”
With pitch perfect timing and before you can even try to remember what a code 54 means, there’s an almighty crash and a low bellow.
“Go!” she yells before running toward the commotion amid frantic calls for backup.
Loki is grabbing your wrist and pulling you into a run.
Your standard issue work shoes are comfortable enough on a day to day basis, but you certainly want to have words with whoever decided that leather soled shoes with absolutely no grips were a good choice for a building floored almost entirely in linoleum. In a low stakes situation, it’s meant occasionally you wipe out in the cafeteria and hurt nothing but your pride. In this situation, it means that Loki’s firm grip on your hand is the only thing keeping you upright.
But there’s a small mercy in that while you can still hear distant crashes and shrieks, whatever is happening down that hallway doesn’t seem to be following you and eventually, you both slow to a brisk walk and Loki drops your hand.
You haven’t even had a chance to consider where you are going to sleep tonight. You could probably curl up on that terrible couch in the office and just plan on getting up early enough to run back to your place for a quick shower and a change of clothes…assuming the incident resolves by then—
“You can stay with me,” says Loki, as though he can hear you trying to sort this out.
“Oh, that’s okay, I’ll just—”
“If you say you’re going to sleep on that terrible couch in the office, I will personally take you to the most boring governmental proceeding I can find and leave you there until you come to your senses.”
“Sounds like a great place to fall asleep,” you say.
His eyes glint, but his tone brooks no arguments. “You’re staying with me tonight.”
You sigh, but you can’t think of a counterpoint. “When did you get so bossy?”
“Darling, I’m a prince,” he says with a bit of a wry smirk. “It’s my birthright.”
Loki lives on the opposite end of the residential wing and his place looks quite a bit like yours—he’s got an extra window in the kitchen but the floor plan is otherwise the same. A lot of his furniture is standard issue, but there are little details that make it seem more personal: an area rug with a bit of fraying on the edges, a painting of what you think is an Asgardian landscape, a vase filled with dried flowers so delicate they look like they might disintegrate if you were to touch them. And books—so many books. Books on shelves, stacked on the coffee table, tucked into the little rack that you know is meant to hold magazines. Hardbacks, paperbacks, leather bound, dog-eared, well-worn and brand new. It’s no wonder he was so excited about the library.
“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll get some things for you.”
You sit down and he disappears down the hall. You idly examine the books stacked on the end table next to you. Many are quite clearly from Asgard and it sparks a pang of sympathy—it’s like his homesickness is on full display in his living room and there’s something sweet and sad about seeing that vulnerability laid so bare.
He returns a few minutes later with a pair of pajamas, a toothbrush, and a hand towel.
“Here,” he says, handing you the pile. “Bathroom’s just down the hall. I’ll make up a bed for you.”
“Thanks.”
In the bathroom, you realize that the pajamas he’s given you aren’t the standard set you can order from the TVA. These are made of a dark emerald silk that ripples over your skin like water, and somehow, that makes it feel a thousand times more personal than if he’d loaned you a standard set. They don’t fit quite right on you, but they’ll work well enough for tonight.
You brush your teeth and attempt to get through as much of your evening routine as you can before collecting your clothes and exiting the bathroom.
When you return to the living room, you expect to find that he’s made up a bed for you on the couch. These living units only have one bedroom—it would be quite reasonable to have you sleep on the couch.
You do not expect to find a pajama clad Loki stretched out reading on the couch, a blanket over his lap and his head propped up on a pillow like he intends to sleep there.
You exhale slowly. “Please tell me you are not giving up your bed.”
“Don’t be absurd, of course I am,” he says without even looking up from his book. “The point of this was to prevent you from sleeping on a couch, not simply put you on a couch in a different location.”
You wish you had something to throw at him. “You don’t even fit on that couch.”
“Luckily, my knees bend. Besides, you’re a guest,” he says, as though that settles it.
You roll your eyes and plunk yourself down in the armchair across from the couch, setting your pile of clothes on the floor. “I’m not moving until you give up the couch.”
He finally looks up from his book. “You’re really going to do this?”
You examine your fingernails, flicking away an invisible speck of dust. “I’m not the one being unreasonable. I’m simply meeting you at your level.”
“If you think that I’m being unreasonable and you’re also saying you’re meeting me at my level, does that not mean you are admitting that you are being unreasonable?”
“It’s nearly one o’clock in the morning. I’m not arguing semantics with you.”
“Fine.” His eyes glimmer as he sets his book down and slowly rises to his feet. “But you’re still not sleeping on the couch.”
“Oh, you’re going to be so disappointed when you realize how wrong you are,” you say. You think you see your opening and you try to play it cool.
He’s walking toward you, leaving your path to the couch wide open. In your head, you can see exactly how this works: you’ll spring from your chair and dart around the coffee table before diving onto the couch like a baseball player sliding into home plate, soundly defeating Loki. Easy peasy.
Instead, what happens is that you spring to your feet and Loki moves with inhuman speed, grabbing you around your waist and pinning you to the front of his chest, stopping you in your tracks almost immediately.
“I suppose I should have expected that,” he says. Your back is facing him, but you can almost hear the dry, sardonic look he’s giving you.
“Probably,” you say. “God of mischief and all.” You struggle fruitlessly against his iron grip. “You can let me go now.”
He laughs. “I’m afraid I can’t. It was clearly a mistake to trust you. I won’t be making that error again.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, trying again to squirm away from him. “Let me go.”
“The interesting thing about all of this is that you’ve made a rather substantial tactical error,” he says, continuing as though he can’t hear you.
“You’re bluffing,” you say with more confidence than you feel.
“Fascinating theory,” he says, “but I don’t think it’s going to work out for you.”
With that same ridiculous speed, he’s suddenly spinning you around and lifting you, tossing you easily over his shoulder.
“Hey!” you shout in protest.
“I warned you,” he says, his voice full of mirth as he carries you toward the bedroom.
This is not exactly how you’ve imagined being carried off to bed by Loki.
Though, admittedly, you do have a nice view of his ass.
“This is ridiculous,” you say.
“You brought this upon yourself.” He’s walking into the bedroom and a moment later, he’s lifting you from his shoulder and tossing you unceremoniously onto his bed.
You scramble to your feet and try to lunge toward the door, but he’s clearly expecting that. Before your feet even hit the floor, he catches you around the waist and hauls you back to the bed. Your back hits the mattress and you try to leverage the momentum to propel yourself back onto your feet.
He catches you immediately and you find yourself back on the bed again.
“I don’t mean to be patronizing,” he says, failing to bite back a laugh, “but it’s adorable that you think you can outmaneuver me.”
That is deeply offensive and the only way you can earn my forgiveness is by letting me take my rightful place on the couch.” You can’t quite keep the laugh from your voice.
He grins. “Not a chance.”
You attempt to dive off the opposite side of the bed, only to have him grab you by the ankles and pull you back. You manage to dislodge him and lunge in the opposite direction, only to be immediately thwarted.
It becomes increasingly hilarious the longer it goes on and soon your sides are aching from laughter. Loki is laughing too, but it doesn’t seem to affect his strength or speed at all.
Eventually, he wrestles you back down onto the bed and you are fairly certain there’s no way out of this one—he’s got your wrists pinned above your head and his legs locked around yours. You’re both a little out of breath.
“Yield,” he says.
You shake your head. “Never.”
His gaze flicks to your lips and back to your eyes. “Yield.”
“No.”
Something has changed. There’s an electricity and intensity that crackles in the air between you, possibilities blooming in both of your gazes. It feels a little like that moment by the elevator, but you’re afraid to hope, afraid to even wish because the idea of him wanting you still feels as impossible as capturing smoke with a net.
But the way he’s looking at you, the way his gaze keeps drifting between your eyes and your lips…that’s not nothing.
“Yield.”
You lick your lips, your heart beating wildly. “No.”
Is it just your imagination, or did his breath hitch when you licked your lips?
“Yield.”
God, he’s so close and you want him so badly.
“No.”
He looks again at your lips and this time, he closes the distance between you.
They call him Silvertongue—you’ve heard the jokes, you’ve rolled your eyes at all of them. But as he kisses you, you realize that there’s an element of truth there because only seconds in and you’re ready to sign away your soul to live under the power of Loki’s tongue. The slow, warm slide of it against yours, the way he guides your mouth against his, the way he lets out a soft sigh as he tastes you—you would give up everything if it meant you could stay like this.
“Yield,” he breathes against your lips.
“No,” you say.
He deepens the kiss, catching your lower lip between his teeth and gently tugging until you whimper and arch against him.
He still has your hands pinned against the bed, his grip unyielding when you try to wrestle them away.
“Let me touch you,” you say when he draws back. You want to touch him everywhere—run your hands along every muscle you’ve admired from afar.
“Then yield,” he says with a grin, his eyes flashing with devilish intent.
You consider this for a moment. You could give in—there aren’t really any stakes at this point and you’re pretty sure you’re both going to end up sleeping in his bed tonight anyway. But that glint of mischief in his eyes also promises some intriguing possibilities if you stand firm.
“No,” you say.
“Such a pity,” says Loki, though his expression is one of hungry delight.
His hands slip free of your wrists then, but they stay pinned to the bed by some invisible force.
“Cheater,” you say.
“I think this is only fair,” he says, his hands sliding to your hips. “I’m clearly the victor, am I not entitled to my prize?”
You shiver. “Your prize?”
“Yes.” He kisses down the column of your throat. “My lovely, lovely prize.”
“How can I be your prize if I’m also your competitor?”
“You think too much,” he mumbles against your neck.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Generally, it’s not.” He sits back on his heels between your legs, looking you over with satisfaction. “But in this case, it’s distracting you from more pressing matters.” His hands creep under the hem of your shirt, stroking the small of your back, thumbs tracing teasingly along the waistband of your pajama pants.
“Have I mentioned how much I enjoy seeing you in my clothes?” he asks. There’s a husky depth to his voice and a hunger in his eyes that sends a flood of arousal to your cunt.
“You have not,” you say.
“A casualty of too much thinking,” he says solemnly, his thumbs gently grazing the skin at your hipbones. “You look utterly delectable. I almost want to leave them on.” His eyes glitter with mischief. “Almost.” His hand strays to the bottom button on your pajama top. “May I?”
You nod. “Yes.”
He slips the button free and slowly makes his way up until your shirt is open. He carefully pushes the fabric aside, baring your breasts to his sight and touch.
You’ve never felt more beautiful seeing Loki stare at you, lips slightly parted, eyes wide and hungry. He trails one hand up your stomach and rib cage and slowly brushes a thumb over your nipple. You gasp and the sensitive skin puckers and stiffens as he palms your breast, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“Gorgeous,” he murmurs as he lowers his mouth to your breast, his tongue and lips taking up the role of his hand, while his other hand moves to cup your other breast. You whimper, wishing you could run your hands through his hair. “That’s it,” he purrs, “I want to hear all the sounds you can make, my love.”
You rock your hips forward and arch your back as he lavishes attention on your breasts. It’s the most delicious kind of torture, having him so close, but not being able to touch him.
He’s taking his time, which you both love and hate. He feels so good, but you need him to touch you, you need to touch him, you need him inside of you. You wait until you can’t take it any more and breathe his name like it’s a prayer.
You wonder if this is what he was waiting for because with little more than a brief smirk and a wicked look, he starts kissing his way back up your chest and neck. You whimper when his lips meet yours and you can feel him grin as he kisses you. He fits his hips against yours, angling himself so that his cock rubs up against your clit just right and you moan into his mouth. You can tell that he’s big and part of you wants to savor the anticipation even though you feel like you might go mad if he doesn’t fuck you now. You rock your hips against him, trying to feel that friction.
His large hands frame your face, one hand sliding to cradle the back of your head so he can draw you deeper, the other trailing from your cheek to your throat.
Both hands soon stroke down your sides, lingering teasingly at the waistband of your pajama pants. He hooks his thumbs underneath the waistband and you lift your hips. He slides your pants down maybe an inch and you can feel him smiling as he kisses you. You lift your hips again and your waistband creeps down another inch.
“Loki.” His name falls from your lips with a sigh.
“What is it, my love?”
“Touch me,” you breathe. “Please.”
You lift your hips again and this time, he pulls the fabric fully down and off your legs. He guides your legs apart and stares appreciatively at your bare cunt, his teasing expression replaced by a rapt awe.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs.
You believe him.
His hands stroke your thighs, seemingly in no hurry, despite your pleading whimpers and the way you arch against the mattress. He draws his thumb gently along your slit, barely grazing your clit.
“Do you know what an utter distraction it’s been sitting behind you?” he asks, tracing your clit in the slowest, lightest circle.
You arch upward, hands still bound by his magic. “Tell me,” you breathe, your hips rising to chase his hand.
“Every time you stood up, I could only think about bending you over the desk.”
You manage a sly smirk. “And here I thought you didn’t like me much at all.”
His thumb presses a little more against your clit and you moan.
“I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you,” he says, rolling his thumb in a slow circle. “I kept you at arm’s length partly as a matter of protection.”
For who?”
“You,” he says. “I’m not fully redeemed in some eyes and you being involved with a dangerous variant—”
“You’re not,” you say.
“Some would disagree.”
“Well, they’re wrong,” you say. “You’re not a dangerous variant. You’re Loki Laufeyson and I want you just as you are.”
There’s something unreadable in his expression and it makes you wonder how many people have told him that he can just be himself.
“You should be careful saying such lovely things to me, you know,” he says solemnly.
You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really? And why is that?”
“Because it makes me want to do very wicked things to you.”
You’re surprised you’re not shaking, you want him so badly. “What kinds of wicked things?”
“Oh, all manner of wicked things.” He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, his tongue swiping briefly against your skin. “Things with my mouth...” His thumb rolls over your clit again, his index finger teasing your entrance before retreating. “…my hands…” He drags his gaze over your naked form before locking eyes with you. “My cock.”
A shiver works its way up your spine. “So if I talk about how I think you’re really clever and funny and I find it unbelievably sexy, what sort of wicked thing would that merit?”
The intensity of his gaze makes you shiver again. He crouches down and presses another kiss against the inside of your knee, slowly moving upward. “If you keep talking like that, I’m not going to let you leave my bed for days.”
“You know that’s not a disincentive, right?” you say, sucking in a sharp breath as he nips at the soft skin of your inner thigh. “I’ve wanted you for such a long time, Loki.”
“I’ll make it weeks if you’re not careful.”
“Again, not a disincentive.” You gently tug at your bound wrists and find that they’re still firmly secured. It’s exhilarating, even though you really wish you could run your hands through his hair, especially if he ends up where you think he’s going.
“What else should I tell you?” you muse as he continues his agonizingly slow path along your thigh. “You know, half the reason I kept to myself was that I wanted you so much I was certain that I’d make a fool of myself.”
That earns you a few circles of your clit with his thumb, but his progress up your thigh remains slow. You have a theory about what might move the needle, though.
“I know you like to act like you’re this sort of barely reformed villain, but I think there’s more good in you than you’d like people to believe.”
This time, he moves up to the crease where your thigh joins your hip, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath ghosting along your labia. His tongue traces a line along your skin and you briefly wonder if you’ll be able to hold it together enough to deliver the last part.
“And,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “yesterday and today made me want you even more because I feel like I finally saw who you really are and you’re even more wond—”
Your words abruptly give way to a breathy moan because his perfect, skilled tongue has finally found its way to your clit.
You had a plan from here, but whatever it was has dissolved into nothing under the skilled caress of Loki’s tongue. You suspected he would be good at this from the way that he’d kissed you earlier, but you could not have imagined that it would feel like this.
“Oh my god, Loki.” Your thighs are already quaking. You tug again at the invisible bonds on your wrists, but they hold fast. Something about the way the bonds are keeping you gently stretched along the bed combined with how his large hands have your thighs spread open seems to heighten every sensation. There’s no wiggling away from him or adjusting yourself so that you feel more or less of the onslaught of his tongue on your cunt. You are completely at his mercy and you’re not entirely surprised that you fucking love it.
He slides a finger into your aching channel and your cunt shudders around the thick intrusion. The warm, roiling center of your orgasm starts builds in your hips with every stroke of his tongue, spinning faster and faster, like ocean winds whipping up into a hurricane. Your back arches and his tongue presses flat against your clit, and suddenly you know that this is going to be what takes you over the edge.
Loki seems to know it too, at least from the way that he presses his tongue more firmly against you, one arm slung across your hips to hold you in place. His other hand slides two fingers inside you, rocking and curling against that aching, tender spot.
You whimper, your hips bucking wildly. It’s so good and so much and you are almost there.
You look down at him then, his hair wild, hollowed cheeks flushed pink as his tongue works you over, his eyes closed like he couldn’t imagine anything more blissful than being in between your legs while you come undone.
This is ultimately what tips you over the edge. The storm that has been forming inside you is finally let loose and you arch your back and cry out in a wordless scream as your climax crashes into you.
Only then do the bonds around your wrists release and your hands fly down to grab his hair as your body shakes with pleasure.
It takes a moment for you to get your breath back and reacquaint yourself with the concept of speech, but when you do, you find Loki looking up at you, his expression pure mischief.
“And to think you wanted to sleep on the couch.”
“It wasn’t that I wanted to sleep on the couch, it’s that—” Your voice cuts off as his tongue starts stroking your clit again.
“It’s what?” he asks in between strokes, his smirk obvious in his voice. The lingering ripples of your orgasm are coalescing around the path of his tongue, tightening that coil in your belly again.
“Fuck—you’re not playing fair, you can’t just—” You lose your sentence to a low moan that rises up from your chest. “You can’t just—fuck, yes—you can’t…oh god, yes, just like that.”
His laughter rumbles against you as your hips start rocking against his mouth. How are you already so close?
“You can’t just—fuck—win an argument by—”
You’re trying to say that he can’t expect to win an argument by making you come and you think he might understand this based on how determined he seems to be to prove you wrong. His fingers curl again until he finds that soft, tender spot that is so often the key to your unraveling.
You have stopped trying to complete that sentence—you moan, your hands tangling in his hair, urging him on as the swell of your climax rushes up, inevitable as a tidal wave looming over a seaside village.
You cry out as it crests and breaks, falling down over you in a rush of tingling pleasure that feels like champagne and fireworks all at once.
“Now, what was it you were saying, my love?” he asks as he releases your clit a moment later. “Something about how I can’t just win an argument by making you come? I couldn’t quite hear you over the sound of you coming completely undone on my tongue.”
“Oh, you think you’re so smart,” you say, giving him a stern look as he crawls up your body.
“You know what I think?” he says, settling himself on his side next to you. “I think you liked submitting to me.”
You shiver before you can even think about hiding it and his smile turns decidedly vulpine.
“You did, didn’t you? You liked having your hands bound and being completely at my mercy while I licked your pretty cunt until you came undone in my mouth.”
“You are enjoying this far too much,” you say.
“I am enjoying it the correct amount.”
You realize your hands are now free to explore his body and you tug at his pajama shirt. “I think you’re wearing too many clothes,” you say.
He gives you a wicked grin as he lets you pull his shirt over his head. “Yes, perhaps it’s time we even things up.”
You pull the shirt away and rake your eyes over him greedily, your hands following the path of your gaze. He is as perfect as you imagined, unfairly beautiful in the dim light of the bedroom.
You hook your thumbs into the waistband of his pajama pants and lower them an inch, a cheeky parallel of how he teased you earlier. His lips curl into a sharp smile when he realizes what you’re doing.
“Interesting strategy.” There’s a bit of a growl in his voice, a rough desperation that makes your cunt clench. “But I think you forgot that I have the upper hand here.”
He raises his hand and with a twist of his wrist, his remaining clothes dissolve in a shimmer of green and he is bare before you.
Your breath catches in your throat. His cock commands your immediate attention, nudging up against your thigh—he’s big, as you suspected, but completely bare and rock hard, he somehow seems longer and thicker than he had when he was grinding against you.
He pulls you into a slow kiss as you reach for his cock. You wrap your hand around him, delighting in the silky hardness of him, the way he throbs in your hand and the low groan he makes as your hand moves from base to tip and back, the way his hips thrust along with you. Your cunt clenches in anticipation.
After a moment, though, he places his hand over yours, slowing your movements.
“I need to be inside you,” he rasps.
“Yes,” you breathe.
He rolls on top of you and you’re not sure that you’ve ever felt anything quite as wonderful as the heat of his bare skin and yours pressed together. This feeling means intimacy, a closeness that you’d longed for but never expected even in your wildest daydreams.
He pulls you into a kiss, slow, soft, and languid, like you have all the time in the world and he intends to take it. It’s decadent and dreamy and perfect.
But the heavy weight of his bare cock resting against your stomach combined with the ache between your legs—an ache that would be so perfectly soothed by the hard column of flesh currently throbbing against you—proves to be a force too powerful to resist for very long.
You cant your hips against him, snaking one leg around his waist, hoping he’ll get the hint.
He does.
He braces himself on one hand, the other sliding between your bodies to rub his cock along your slick folds. He positions himself at your entrance, waiting for your breathy plea to begin to ease himself slowly into you.
He fills and stretches you in the most wonderful way, but even more than that, he feels like home. The thought strikes you quite suddenly and you’re not entirely sure about everything it means, but you know it’s good and right.
He pauses for just a moment, seeming to savor the feeling.
“You feel better than I ever imagined,” he says.
You quirk an eyebrow at him. “You imagined?”
He gives you a hungry smile as he leans in to kiss you. “Like I said: it has been an utter distraction sitting behind you.”
His rhythm is slow and easy, like he wants to take his time learning every inch of you and memorizing how you react to his touch. His mouth moves over yours in a slow kiss that’s somehow both languid and demanding, his tongue gliding in and out of your mouth in the same rhythm of his hips rocking into you. His cock bumps up against that sweet spot inside of you that his fingers had teased earlier, each stroke inching you closer to bliss.
He shifts the angle of his hips so that his pubic bone grinds against your clit and it feels so good you almost see stars. You can feel your orgasm building, your cunt growing slicker and tensing around his thrusting cock.
He draws back to look at you, eyes hazy with a loose, dreamy kind of pleasure.
“Do you have any idea how good you feel?” he breathes.
You are shaking. “Loki, I’m gonna come.”
“I know you are,” he purrs. “Let go for me, let me feel you, my love.”
With two more thrusts of his hips, you unravel.
He groans as you tremble around him, but mostly, he watches your face, rapt by the way you throw your head back against the bed and gasp his name like it’s the only thing that will save you.
“You’re beautiful when you come,” he breathes. “Absolutely stunning.”
He waits until you catch your breath before he kisses you again, slow and sensual. His hips are still rocking in that beautifully slow rhythm and you don’t know how it can still feel so good.
He keeps moving against you, his touch and his low murmurs of praise invoking a symphony of sensations. He presses deeper and your body sings with every thrust, your muscles tensing and tightening around him like you never want him to leave. Your climax swells again and you come with a whimper, your whole body shaking as he fucks you through it.
You want him to come, want to hear the sounds he makes and feel his sweet, hot release burning inside of you.
“I want you to come for me,” you breathe.
He grins at you. “Oh, I will, but not yet. You’re not done yet.”
You whimper. “Loki—”
“Two more, my love, two more and then I’ll come for you.”
Somehow, you give him three. By the second one, he’s panting and his words have become rough, his voice a growl as he utters some of the filthiest praise you’ve ever heard. The third builds quickly after that and you know instinctively that you’re going to take him over the edge with you this time.
You fight to keep your eyes open against the tidal wave of pleasure blooming again in your hips. You need to see him come undone.
As in everything else he does, he’s unfairly beautiful—he throws his head back, letting out a low groan that you can feel all the way to the tips of your toes. His cheeks are flushed, a few ink dark curls plastered to the light sheen of sweat on his forehead. You can feel him emptying himself inside you, his release hot and hard won.
It seems to last a long time and it’s another minute before his hips slow to a halt. He kisses you, so soft and sweet it would almost seem chaste were it not for the fact that his cock is still throbbing inside of you.
After a moment, he slowly eases out of you, rolling over onto his back, his arm snaking around your waist and pulling you to him like he can’t bear to be parted from you even for a moment.
You curl up against his side, your legs tangling with his. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours before resting your clasped hands on his heart.
You could fall in love like this, you think sleepily to yourself.
You don’t know it then, but you’re right.
*
Time moves differently at the TVA, but a couple years later, there’s a ring in a box on your desk.
Loki likes a spectacle and you’d daydreamed about a traditional wedding, but when you talk it over, you both agree that you want to do something different, something quiet, something just for the two of you.
“I do think we should tell Mobius beforehand,” you say to Loki.
“Isn’t the point of eloping that no one knows until after it’s done?” says Loki.
“Yes, but I feel like we could make one exception,” you say. “If we’d done a full wedding, I would have asked him to give me away.”
Loki’s gaze softens a bit then and he pulls you close. “All right. But we only tell him right before we leave. The man can’t keep a secret.”
But Mobius doesn’t seem terribly surprised when you tell him—in fact, he seems far more concerned about your wedding gift.
“I didn’t have a chance to wrap it yet,” he says. He’s retrieved a large picture frame that had been propped against his desk, though he keeps it turned away from you. “So…this also requires a bit of an overdue confession for context.”
You raise your eyebrows. “A confession?”
“A confession,” says Mobius.
“Will I be angry about this?” asks Loki at the same time you say, “Is this like a go to jail confession or a misdemeanor confession?”
Mobius gives a good natured chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “God, the two of you. Always so dramatic. No wonder you ended up together.” He takes what feels like an unnecessarily long drink from the coffee mug on his desk. “It’s not bad, I promise.” Another sip of coffee.
Loki sighs. “He always does this,” he says to you. “Have you noticed? Whenever he has something that you want to know, he stalls and drags it out just to torment you.”
“Okay,” you say, “but you jumping in to bicker with him probably doesn’t help.”
“I’m not bickering,” says Loki. “I’m simply pointing out that he’s stalling—”
“What was it you were saying, Mobius?” you say brightly, nudging Loki with your elbow.
Mobius’ eyes twinkle. “See,” he says to Loki, “I always liked her. It’s a good match.”
You don’t have to look at Loki to know he’s rolling his eyes, though he also makes a point of surreptitiously pinching your ass, a detail you hope Mobius doesn’t notice.
“Anyway,” says Mobius, taking a deep breath, “it was pretty clear to me from the start that you liked each other. And you also seemed absolutely determined to get in your own way.” He points to Loki. “Especially you with your whole stilted Asgardian prince thing.”
Loki frowns. “What are you talking about?”
Mobius sighs. “Anytime you like someone, it’s like your brain gets a factory reset and you get all overly polite and courtly.”
Loki scoffs. “I don’t do that at all.”
“You do. It’s deeply weird. You’re like a mannerly robot.”
Loki turns to you. “Darling, tell him he’s being absurd.”
You reach over and squeeze his hand. “You did call me ‘my lady’ a couple of times in the early days.”
Loki sighs and looks back at Mobius. “What was your point in mentioning this?”
“Well,” says Mobius, “you seemed pretty determined to get in your own way, so nothing was happening. And eventually I got sick of all of the pining, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.”
“What do you mean?”
Mobius pauses, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “There wasn’t a breakthrough with Berlitz that weekend. What there was was a surplus in the overtime budget and a high priority indexing project for Archives.”
Your lips part as your brain slowly puts the pieces together. Mobius’ eyes twinkle.
“Wait,” you say, “you lied to us?”
“I did not lie,” says Mobius, his demeanor suddenly becoming very serious. “That would have been wrong.” He nods at Loki. “Also, it would’ve tipped him off and that would have ruined the whole thing. I simply failed to mention that the cart of files that I gave you needed to be sorted for indexing for the Archives department and I peppered in a couple of unrelated things about Berlitz.”
“But the office was empty that weekend,” says Loki.
Mobius snaps his fingers. “Right. I did make some adjustments to the schedule that weekend.”
“And the disturbance that prevented her from returning home on Saturday night?”
Mobius spreads his hands wide and grins. “All me, buddy. Paid G-21 five hundred bucks for that one.”
Loki pauses for a moment and then looks at you. “I don’t think I can be mad about this. I’m genuinely impressed.”
“I mean, I can’t argue with the results, but Jesus, Mobius, you could’ve just set us up on a blind date,” you say.
“Ah, but that’s not as fun,” Mobius says. “Plus, it wouldn’t have made for as good a wedding gift.” He turns the frame around and hands it to you both.
It’s both your timecards from that pay period, neatly framed side by side. Your eyes well with tears and Mobius smiles.
“Honestly, I’m just relieved it’s not a jet ski,” says Loki.
“He's deflecting,” you say to Mobius in an exaggerated whisper.
“I know,” he whispers back.
But you can’t help but notice that Loki’s eyes are brighter than normal.
“Okay, now get out of here,” says Mobius. “You’ve got a wedding to get to.”
Twenty minutes later, you’re wearing a simple white dress and standing with Loki in front of a time door, your hand clasped in his.
“Technically, we don’t have a supervisor’s approval for this,” you say with a wry smile.
He looks at you, eyes dancing with mirth. “I had Mobius sign off on the paperwork while you were getting ready.”
Your heart swells and your smile is so wide that you feel like your face might split in two. “Then hurry up and marry me, Laufeyson.”
He grins and tugs you through the time door.
-------
But wait! There's more: I don't have a masterlist for this, but if you enjoy these idiots, check out Daylight, a sort of sequel.
#loki smut#loki x reader#loki x reader smut#loki laufeyson smut#loki x female reader smut#loki x female reader#loki laufeyson#loki fanfiction#loki fanfic#tva loki x reader
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Arrangement Crossed | K.Mg
Pairing: Mingyu x reader
Genre: arrange engagement au
Summary: Mingyu started to enjoy the arrangement between him and you. What should he do?
Why do birds suddenly appear everytime that you near? Just like me i long to be close to you. - Close To You by Carpenters
Mingyu sprinted from his car, heart pounding, as he rushed toward the scene. One of the doctors at the hospital had mentioned that a fire had broken out in a Gangnam district building—your building. His breath was ragged as he pushed through the crowd, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene. Paramedics and firefighters swarmed the area, the flames now subdued, but the remnants of the fire still smoked in the air. A police officer stopped him from moving closer.
"My fiancée lives there," Mingyu gasped, his voice tight with anxiety.
Just as the officer held him back, he spotted you in the distance. You were casually walking, still in your pajamas, holding a half-eaten ice cream cone. Mingyu's eyes widened, watching as your expression changed the moment you took in the sight of your charred apartment building.
"My apartment!" you exclaimed, your voice laced with frustration as Mingyu hurried over to you.
Mingyu quickly examined you, scanning for any signs of injury. A wave of relief washed over him when he realized you had been safely outside while the fire ravaged your home. His tense shoulders relaxed for the first time since hearing the news.
"Where were you?" he asked, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you seemed so unfazed by the chaos around you.
You blinked, a bit dazed by everything. "I was out for a meal..."
Mingyu glanced at his watch—half and an hour left before his surgery. "I'm glad you're alright. I’ll drive you to my place for now. I’ve got surgery in an hour."
The procedure went smoothly, but exhaustion weighed heavily on him as he sat in his office afterward. All he wanted was to go home and collapse into bed. But he hesitated, remembering that you were now at his apartment. The two of you had never really shared a space before, and the thought made him uneasy. After all, this wasn’t a typical engagement.
A year ago, your families had arranged for you two to be engaged. It was strictly business—a merger of two powerful legacies. Your family owned the hospital where Mingyu worked, while his family operated a successful medical and paramedical equipment company. It made sense for the families to align themselves, and though the proposal had taken him by surprise, Mingyu agreed to the engagement. What really caught him off guard was that you agreed too.
From what Mingyu knew, you ran a small homemade Korean restaurant near Seoul University. It wasn’t a huge enterprise, but it had a loyal customer base thanks to its affordable prices and excellent food. When news of the engagement broke, everyone speculated that your family needed Mingyu to step in and continue running the hospital, especially since you showed no interest in taking it over yourself. Mingyu knew he benefited a lot from this arrangement—more than he was willing to admit sometimes.
It was nearly morning when Mingyu finally arrived home, expecting you to be fast asleep. He took a quick shower, hoping to unwind before getting some rest. But when he stepped into the living room, he nearly jumped out of his skin. You were sitting on the couch, staring into the darkness.
"You scared me!" Mingyu muttered, his heart still racing. "Why aren’t you sleeping?"
You shot him a sharp look, your voice dry. "My house just burned down. How could I possibly sleep soundly?"
Ah, right. He had forgotten that small but important detail.
"Right... of course." He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, make yourself at home. Feel free to use the kitchen if you want breakfast. I’ll head to bed."
Mingyu retreated to his room, hoping for some much-needed rest. But as he lay there, he found sleep impossible. His mind kept drifting back to the strange reality that the two of you were now sharing a roof. It wasn’t that he didn’t like you—far from it. You were smart, independent, and capable. But the idea of being engaged, living together, and yet still feeling like you were strangers unnerved him in ways he couldn’t quite explain.
"Yeah, she's fine. She's alright. She's with me. I'll handle things with the building owner about her place. You don’t have to worry, sir." Mingyu reassured your father over the phone as he finished getting ready for work.
Despite having only gotten three hours of sleep, Mingyu needed to be at the hospital for an early morning meeting as the branch director. He had already filled your father in on last night’s fire, assuring him that you were safe and staying with him for the time being. Ending the call, he stepped out of the closet and made his way to the kitchen, where he was greeted by the sight of you preparing breakfast.
You were wearing one of his shirts.
"I’ll call you later, sir," Mingyu said quickly before hanging up, his eyes immediately locking with yours as he entered the kitchen.
You glanced at him briefly, then gestured for him to sit down as you placed the plates on the table. Mingyu couldn’t help but stare for a moment. You must have noticed because you spoke up.
"I didn’t have any clothes with me," you explained, a hint of self-consciousness in your voice. "I borrowed your shirt, if you don’t mind."
Mingyu nodded. "It's fine."
An awkward silence lingered for a moment before he asked, "Is there anything you need to do today?"
You thought for a second. "I definitely need to get some clothes first. And maybe check on the restaurant."
Mingyu thanked you for the food as you joined him at the table. He picked up his spoon, and as soon as he took a bite, his eyes widened in surprise. The breakfast was incredible. He had visited your restaurant a couple of times and knew you were the mastermind behind the recipes, having graduated with a degree in culinary arts. But still, he hadn’t expected his simple morning meal to taste this good.
"How about your belongings?" he asked between bites. "Anything important you need to check, like documents or valuables?"
"Luckily, I left all my important documents at my parents' place," you said, relieved. "But I do need to talk to the building owner about the fire and the damage."
Mingyu nodded thoughtfully. "I’ll go with you."
You both finished breakfast in comfortable silence, and as Mingyu got up to leave for work, he thanked you again for the meal. Before heading out, he made a few calls, one to the aunt who cleaned his house regularly, asking her to pick up some women’s clothes for you, and another to the building manager to arrange an extra parking space for your car.
As he drove to the hospital, he reflected on the morning. He hadn’t expected starting the day with you to feel so... easy. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like if your engagement weren’t just a business arrangement. The thought lingered in the back of his mind as he went on with his day.
"Doctor Kim, thank you for the meal!" the nurses chimed in as Mingyu passed by the emergency room station during his daily rounds.
He blinked in confusion, unsure of what they were referring to. Then, he spotted the neatly packed meals from your restaurant sitting on the counter. You had sent food to his staff. It was thoughtful—something he hadn't expected but appreciated. Mingyu smiled and waved to the nurses, telling them to enjoy the meal before heading to his office, where he found a meal from your restaurant waiting for him as well.
Mingyu quickly shot you a text: Thanks for the meal, everyone’s enjoying it.
You didn’t respond, and Mingyu wasn’t surprised. He rarely texted you, and from what he had observed, you were just as busy as he was. He could understand if you weren’t glued to your phone all the time. Besides, it’s not like he was your priority when it came to messaging.
Over the past week of living together, Mingyu had noticed that the two of you had fallen into a quiet, predictable routine. You would both wake up early, have breakfast together, head off to work, return late in the evening, and go straight to bed. The cycle repeated itself day after day, with only a few short exchanges of "How was work?" or "Did you sleep well?" in between. It was strange to be living under the same roof, sharing meals, and yet feeling like you were still strangers in many ways.
That morning, you casually mentioned that you had signed the lease on a new apartment, not far from your restaurant.
"Do you want to go furniture shopping with me?" you asked over breakfast.
"Sure" Mingyu agreed without hesitation.
And now, here he was, sitting on his couch in a casual outfit, waiting to go furniture shopping with you. It felt like an odd thing to be doing with someone who was supposed to be his fiancée, yet didn’t quite feel like one. Still, Mingyu couldn’t shake the curiosity growing inside him—the thought of spending more time with you, learning more about you beyond the polite small talk and daily routine. He wasn't sure if it would change anything between you, but part of him wanted to try.
"This couch looks good. It fits a lot of people," Mingyu said, running his hand over the fabric as you continued to browse.
You shook your head, clearly unimpressed. "I don't get visitors."
Mingyu chuckled, leaning in a little closer. "What about friends? Boyfriend, maybe?" he teased with a playful grin.
You scoffed and held up your left hand, flashing the engagement ring in front of him. "In case you forgot, I’m engaged."
Mingyu’s eyes flickered to the ring, and he was momentarily struck by the sight of it. You always wore the ring, even though the engagement had been arranged. He, on the other hand, rarely wore his—only during major events or family meetings where it was expected. His profession didn’t really allow for accessories, so he often went without it. But seeing you wear it regularly was a subtle reminder of the commitment hanging between you both.
"Right, how could I forget?" he replied, smoothly continuing the conversation as if the ring hadn’t stirred something unspoken inside him.
Despite the casual banter, the moment felt a little heavier than it should have. He couldn't quite shake the realization that the ring—a symbol of their engagement—was more present in your life than his. It was a quiet declaration, whether intentional or not, that you were his fiancée.
When it came time to pay, Mingyu insisted on covering everything, even after your countless protests. He waved off your refusals, casually brushing them aside as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to take care of it.
"A rib for dinner?" Mingyu requested once he done paying. How dare you to refused.
*
After ten days of living together, Mingyu realized how quiet and empty his place felt without you around. He found himself looking for any excuse to see you, whether it was a quick text, a call, or even dropping by your restaurant. Without fully realizing it, the relationship between the two of you had begun to shift into something he hadn’t expected.
At this point, almost all of your staff knew him. They had even started referring to him as "the boss's handsome fiancé" every time he walked through the door. This month alone, he had visited your restaurant 8 times—sometimes for a meal, sometimes just to drive you home. And he was relieved that you didn’t seem uncomfortable with his presence. In fact, you appeared to be getting used to it, just as he was.
One afternoon, as Mingyu made his rounds at the hospital, he overheard a group of nurses whispering as he passed by, his name mentioned in their conversation.
"If she's the daughter of the owner, then she must be Doctor Kim’s fiancée, right?"
Mingyu, always the friendly type, chimed in with a grin. "I heard my name."
The nurses looked a bit startled but quickly filled him in. "Doctor Kim, the owner's daughter was brought into the emergency room after being assaulted. Isn't she your fiancée?"
What?
Mingyu’s stomach dropped. Without wasting a second, he grabbed his phone and immediately dialed your number. It rang, but someone else picked up.
"Y/n?" he asked, his voice tight with concern.
"Ah, Mr. Kim? She left her phone behind. She's at the hospital right now. A crazy person caused a scene and she got hurt."
Mingyu didn’t wait for more details. He bolted to the emergency room, his mind racing. When he got there, he hurried to the nurses’ station and asked for your whereabouts.
They directed him to a bed where he finally saw you—sitting up, your arm and head wrapped in bandages, while a doctor carefully tended to your injuries. Relief washed over him, but it was mixed with a surge of worry and anger at what had happened.
He approached you cautiously, his heart still pounding in his chest.
You looked up at Mingyu and smiled, a wave of relief washing over you as soon as you saw him by your side. As the doctor finished tending to your wounds, he greeted Mingyu and explained that you would need to wait for the results of the X-ray, as you had hit your head during the incident.
Once the doctor left, Mingyu turned his full attention to you, his eyes scanning over your injuries with a mixture of concern and relief. Without saying a word, he gently pulled you into an embrace, holding you close as if making sure you were really okay.
"I'm so glad it wasn't worse," he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with emotion. He pulled back slightly to look at you. "What happened?"
You took a deep breath, trying to calm the lingering tension from the day. "There was this drunk guy, making a scene in the restaurant. He was about to hit one of my staff, so I stepped in. I got pushed and my head hit the table. This," you pointed to your bandaged arm, "is from some shattered glass."
Mingyu sighed, his jaw tightening in frustration. "I'm calling the police," he said firmly, standing up as if ready to take action immediately.
But you reached out and grabbed his hand, stopping him. "It's already been reported. My staff handled it."
Mingyu paused, looking down at you, the worry still clear in his eyes. Though the situation had already been dealt with, his protective instincts were hard to turn off. He sat back down next to you, still holding your hand, as if to reassure himself you were safe now.
Your mother, the vice president, appeared in the emergency room, her presence commanding attention as she quickly made her way toward you. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of her, though you could see the worry etched in her expression.
"My heart dropped when I heard my daughter was in the emergency room. Are you okay, honey?" she asked, her voice laced with concern as she reached out to touch your arm.
"I'm fine, Mom," you reassured her with a small smile, trying to ease her worry.
Mingyu stood quietly to the side, observing the exchange with a sense of relief. He was glad to see how close you were with your family, something he hadn’t really gotten to witness much before.
Then your mother turned her attention to Mingyu, who stood respectfully behind her. Her gaze softened as she acknowledged him.
"Thank you, Mingyu. I heard you’ve been taking care of my daughter, especially after she lost her apartment in the fire. And now you're here again," she said, her gratitude clear.
Mingyu bowed slightly, feeling the weight of her words. "It's my pleasure, ma'am," he responded with sincerity.
Your mother waved off the formality with a warm smile. "No need for 'ma'am.' Call me Mother. After all, you're part of the family now—my daughter's fiancé."
The words caught Mingyu a little off guard, though he masked it with a polite nod. He glanced at you, noticing the subtle shift in the room. The formality of your engagement suddenly felt a bit more personal, more real.
After spending some more time talking with your mother and assuring her you were okay, the X-ray results came back clear. The doctor recommended rest and monitoring for the next few days to ensure there were no lingering effects from the head injury. With that, Mingyu insisted on taking you home.
As you left the hospital, Mingyu walked by your side, his hand resting gently on your lower back as he guided you to the car. The day had been exhausting, but knowing that Mingyu was there gave you a strange sense of comfort. It was a feeling that was becoming more familiar lately.
The drive home was quiet, with Mingyu occasionally glancing over to check on you. You stared out the window, your mind still processing everything that had happened, from the fire at your apartment to the incident today. You felt the weight of it all, but at the same time, there was a sense of relief that you weren’t alone in dealing with it.
When Mingyu pulled into his apartment complex, he parked the car and quickly came around to your side to help you out. You couldn’t help but smile at how attentive he was.
As you sat on the couch, trying to unwind from the long day, Mingyu hovered nearby, clearly still worried. You noticed his eyes flicking over to you every few minutes, as if checking to make sure you were really okay.
"You really should rest," he said, standing up and grabbing a blanket from the nearby chair. "I can see you're exhausted."
"I’m fine, Mingyu," you protested softly, though you knew you needed the rest.
He walked over, gently draping the blanket over you, his hands lingering for a moment as he looked down at you. “Just lie down, please. Doctor's orders,” he added with a small, teasing smile, trying to lighten the mood.
You sighed, giving in. The exhaustion was catching up with you, and the couch felt more comfortable with the blanket wrapped around you. As you shifted to lie down, Mingyu crouched down beside you, his expression softening as he watched you settle.
"Better?" he asked, his voice quieter now.
You nodded, pulling the blanket closer. “Yeah, better.”
He lingered for a moment before standing up again, running a hand through his hair. "I think I’ll stay out here with you, just in case you need anything.”
"You don’t have to—" you started to protest, but Mingyu was already grabbing a pillow for himself and setting it on the other end of the couch.
"I know, but I want to," he said simply, lying down beside you, keeping a respectful distance. “We both need to rest anyway. This way, I’ll be right here if anything happens.”
You turned your head slightly to look at him, noticing how comfortable and natural he seemed lying next to you. The tension that had been hanging in the air for weeks felt like it was slowly fading, replaced by an unexpected sense of ease.
"Alright," you murmured, closing your eyes.
Mingyu lay there quietly, the soft rise and fall of his breathing the only sound in the room. He wasn’t saying much, but his presence was steady, reassuring in a way that made you feel safe. After a few moments, he shifted slightly closer, his hand brushing against yours under the blanket. He didn’t say anything, but the gesture spoke volumes.
You didn’t pull away. Instead, you let the quiet warmth between the two of you settle in, realizing that maybe this arrangement between you wasn’t so bad after all.
As you drifted off to sleep, you could feel Mingyu relax beside you. The weight of the day slowly lifted, and with him lying there next to you, it felt easier to rest.
As evening approached, the soft glow of the setting sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm light over the room. You and Mingyu had both woken up from your nap, feeling more rested but still shaken from the day's events. Mingyu sat up, glancing over at you with a gentle smile.
“Do you need anything?” he asked, his voice still soft but with a hint of concern.
You shook your head, feeling more at ease now. “No, I’m okay. Thanks for staying with me.”
He nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Actually, I should probably check and clean your wound properly. Just to make sure it’s healing well.”
You hesitated for a moment but then nodded, realizing it would be reassuring to have him take care of you. Mingyu moved to get a first aid kit from the bathroom, then returned and sat next to you on the couch. As he began to carefully clean the wound on your head, his concentration was palpable.
The proximity brought an unexpected intimacy. Mingyu’s breath lightly brushed against your skin, and you could feel the warmth of his body close to yours. You glanced up at him, and for the first time, you noticed how dangerously close his face was to yours. The closeness made both of you acutely aware of each other, and suddenly, your cheeks flushed a soft pink.
There was a moment of shared awkwardness where neither of you knew quite what to say. Mingyu’s fingers brushed lightly against your forehead, and a nervous laugh escaped both of you simultaneously. The sound was light and shy, a clear indicator of the tension and the new feelings stirring between you.
Mingyu’s hands paused as he looked at you, his eyes meeting yours with an earnest expression. The silence between you was thick with unspoken emotions. He seemed to be gauging your reaction, his gaze shifting from your eyes to your lips.
Without breaking eye contact, Mingyu leaned in slowly, and you felt a rush of anticipation. For a heartbeat, everything seemed to stand still. Then, ever so gently, he pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was tender and soft, a simple yet profound gesture that spoke volumes.
You responded instinctively, your lips moving against his in a hesitant, exploring dance. The kiss deepened just slightly, filled with a mutual tenderness that neither of you had expected but both seemed to crave. When Mingyu finally pulled back, his expression was a mix of relief and uncertainty.
“Sorry,” he said quietly, a slight blush still visible on his cheeks. “I just... I needed to do that.”
You smiled softly, reaching out to gently touch his face. “It’s okay. I think I needed it too.”
Mingyu’s smile was more relaxed now, a genuine warmth in his eyes. He resumed cleaning the wound with a renewed calm, the previous tension replaced by a new, comforting closeness. As he finished, you both settled back into the couch, the space between you now filled with a quiet, shared understanding.
Mingyu set aside the first aid kit and took a deep breath, his gaze locking with yours. “I... I know this might sound sudden, but I think we need to talk about where we go from here.”
You looked at him with curiosity and a hint of apprehension, waiting for him to continue.
He shifted slightly, his expression earnest. “I know our relationship started out as a business arrangement, and things between us have been... different from what I expected. But after spending time with you, especially today, I’ve realized something.”
You watched him closely, feeling a flutter of anticipation in your chest.
“Mingyu, what is it?” you asked softly.
He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us. About how we’ve been living together, how you’ve been there for me in ways I didn’t expect. And honestly, I’ve come to realize that I really like you. More than just as my fiancée. I want to be with you, not just because of our families or the arrangement, but because I genuinely care about you.”
His words hung in the air, and you could feel the sincerity behind them. Mingyu reached out and took your hand in his, his touch gentle and reassuring.
“I want to start over,” he continued, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “I want us to settle everything that’s happened and move forward. I want to take you out on dates, to spend time with you as someone I truly treasure. Not just because it’s what’s expected, but because it’s what I genuinely want.”
Your heart raced as you listened, his confession a mix of relief and excitement. It was clear that Mingyu wasn’t just fulfilling a duty anymore—he was speaking from the heart.
“I’ve felt the same way,” you admitted, squeezing his hand. “I never expected this arrangement to lead to something real, but it has. I’ve come to care about you a lot, and I’d like to see where this could go, too.”
Mingyu’s face brightened with a hopeful smile. “So, are we starting over then? Taking a chance on something that’s more than just an arrangement?”
You nodded, a smile of your own spreading across your face. “Yes, let’s start over. I’d like that.”
With a sense of newfound clarity and excitement, Mingyu leaned in and kissed you again, this time with a deeper sense of commitment. It was a kiss that promised not just the continuation of an engagement but the beginning of something much more meaningful.
As the evening drew on, you and Mingyu talked more about your hopes and plans for the future, feeling a sense of anticipation and warmth. The journey ahead was still uncertain, but now it was a journey you were both eager to take together, as partners who truly cared for each other.
*
“Because you’re handsome?” Mingyu chuckled softly, clearly amused by your answer. He had asked you why you accepted the engagement in the first place, and he hadn’t expected your candid response.
“Of course, you’re very handsome and attractive,” you said with a playful glint in your eye. “But beyond that, I didn’t have anyone special, and I didn’t want to go against my parents’ kind intentions, especially when it didn’t harm me.”
“You didn’t go against it?” Mingyu asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
You paused to think before shaking your head. “No, not at all. I wasn’t planning to get married. I was just focused on my business.”
Mingyu nodded thoughtfully. “How about now?”
“What do you mean now?” you asked, a hint of confusion in your voice.
“Get married,” he clarified. “Do you want to get married?”
It had been three years since the engagement, and throughout that time, you and Mingyu had maintained your commitment to each other. Even though your parents had pushed for a wedding, you both had insisted on getting to know each other better. It was only after a year of engagement that you truly began to enjoy each other’s presence.
“With you?” you asked innocently, and Mingyu rolled his eyes with a chuckle.
“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t with me. Do you want to get married to me?”
A scowl formed on your face as you stared at him, your emotions a mix of surprise and curiosity. “Are you proposing?”
Mingyu laughed, his eyes twinkling with affection. “Why? You don’t like it, baby?”
The scowl melted away, replaced by a warm and genuine smile. “I’d love to. I’ve been happy these two years with you. Why not be happy forever?”
Mingyu’s expression softened as he cupped your cheeks gently. “You’re really happy?”
You nodded, your eyes shining with sincerity.
He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. “Then I’m happy too.”
In that moment, it felt as if everything had come full circle. The uncertainty of the past had given way to a future filled with promise, and both of you were ready to embrace it together.
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