#i thought of that one night and thought it was so funny | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

julietsf1 · 2 days ago

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The Idiot I Call Mine - Lando Norris x BestFriend! Reader

summary: best friends are supposed to share laughs, inside jokes, fries and the occasional late-night drive. what they’re not supposed to do is flirt like it’s a competitive sport or make you question every unspoken rule of friendship. at least, unless your name is Lando Norris apparently. (7.1k words)

content: fluff! friends to lovers; flirty dynamic; mutual pining

an: whaaat? a fic about another driver? yes loves. this is me coming forward as a secret Lando fan. I hope you'll enjoy as much as I did writing this :)

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Lando Norris has this annoying habit of always being right. It’s not even about anything important—it’s just little things. Like the time he guessed exactly how long it would take before I caved and ordered dessert, or when he said I’d end up watching a rom-com tonight even though I claimed I wanted “something deep and meaningful.”

“See?” he said smugly, leaning back on the couch as the opening credits of The Holiday played. “I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Hardly,” I shot back, tossing a piece of popcorn at him. “You just know I have a weak spot for Jude Law. That doesn’t make you psychic.”

“No, but it does make me an excellent best friend.” He winked, plucking the popcorn off his lap and popping it into his mouth like the show-off he was.

I rolled my eyes, pretending I wasn’t fighting a grin. Lando and I had been inseparable for years, the kind of best friends who finished each other’s sentences and shared a borderline unhealthy obsession with late-night McDonald’s runs. But lately, something had been… different.

Not bad, exactly. Just different. Maybe? I wasn’t even sure to be honest.

“You’re staring again,” Lando said, breaking into my thoughts. He was sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest in a way that felt entirely too casual and yet completely deliberate. His green eyes sparkled with mischief, and his smirk was the kind that could make even the most confident person question their sanity.

“I wasn’t staring,” I lied, grabbing a handful of popcorn and shoving it in my mouth for good measure.

“You were absolutely staring,” he teased, leaning closer. “What’s on your mind, hmm? Thinking about how devastatingly handsome I am? It’s okay—you can admit it.”

“You’re such a joke,” I said, trying to sound unimpressed but failing miserably. “Devastatingly handsome? Please. You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Exactly,” he said, flashing a grin. “And yet, here you are, spending your Friday night with me. Interesting choice.”

“I’m here for the popcorn,” I deadpanned, though even I didn’t believe myself. “And because you begged me.”

“I didn’t beg,” he protested. “I suggested strongly. There’s a difference.”

This was us—lighthearted insults, jokes at each other’s expense, and an ease in our conversations that felt like home. If there was something different lately, I told myself it was just my imagination running wild.

“Speaking of choices,” I said, leaning back against the couch. “What’s the deal with you and your phone wallpaper?”

“What about it?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“Oh, come on, Lando,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “You really expect me to believe you just happened to pick a picture of me for your wallpaper?”

“It’s a great photo,” he said with a shrug. “You look happy. And let’s not pretend your wallpaper isn’t me.”

I froze, caught. He was right—my wallpaper was him, but that wasn’t the point.

“That’s different,” I said quickly. “You look stupid in yours. It’s funny.”

“Ah, so I’m your personal clown now?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock offense. “Good to know my humiliation brings you joy.”

“Always,” I said sweetly, tossing another piece of popcorn his way.

The movie played on in the background, but neither of us was really paying attention. We were too busy pushing each other’s buttons, like always.

“Hey,” Lando said after a while, his tone a little softer. “You’re coming to dinner at Mum’s next weekend, right?”

“Do I have a choice?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not really,” he said with a grin. “She’s already planning the menu. Something with pasta, probably. You know how she gets when you’re coming over.”

I smiled despite myself. His family had always treated me like one of their own, and his mum had a knack for making me feel special in ways that were both comforting and overwhelming.

“Well, in that case,” I said, pretending to think it over. “I guess I can clear my schedule.”

“Good,” he said, nudging me with his elbow. “I’d be bored without you there.”

It was moments like this—simple and familiar—that stuck with me longer than they should. The way he said things so casually, as if they didn’t carry any weight, even when they somehow did.

“You’ve got something on your face,” I said suddenly, trying to distract myself.

“Where?” he asked, leaning closer.

“Right there,” I said, tapping the corner of my mouth.

He smirked, deliberately licking the spot where I’d pointed. “Better?”

“Ugh, you’re insufferable,” I said, shoving him away. But I was laughing, and so was he.

“You love it,” he said, and for once, I didn’t argue. Because maybe I did.

As the night went on, the teasing continued, each remark more loaded than the last. By the time the credits rolled, I wasn’t sure if it was the movie or Lando’s lingering glances that had me feeling so off-kilter.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” he said, breaking the silence as he stood to clean up the popcorn bowl. “Something on your mind?”

“Just thinking,” I said vaguely, not meeting his gaze.

“About?” he pressed, leaning against the counter with a smirk that said he already knew the answer.

“Nothing important,” I said, grabbing my phone and pretending to scroll.

“Liar,” he said, his voice playful but probing. “You’re terrible at hiding things, you know that?”

I glanced up at him, my heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it had been doing lately. He was standing there like he had all the time in the world, his green eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

“Goodnight, Lando,” I said finally, brushing past him on my way to the couch.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he called after me, his voice laced with amusement.

…

“You know, for someone who claims to be an athlete, you spend an alarming amount of time eating,” I said, glancing at Lando over the top of my menu.

“Carbs are fuel,” he replied, flashing me a grin. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand that we could’ve gone somewhere normal instead of whatever this place is,” I said, gesturing to the overly fancy restaurant. The kind of place where the wine glasses sparkled brighter than the chandeliers, and the menu was full of words I couldn’t pronounce.

“You’re so ungrateful,” he teased, leaning back in his chair. “Do you know how hard it was to get a table here? I had to name-drop myself.”

“Wow,” I said dryly. “The struggle.”

“Exactly. And now you’re here, about to enjoy the finest pasta in town, thanks to me. A little gratitude wouldn’t kill you.”

“Gratitude? You dragged me here under false pretenses. You said this was a ‘low-key spot.’”

“It is low-key,” he argued, gesturing around. “For Monte Carlo standards.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto my face. This was just how things were with Lando—effortless, easy, and borderline ridiculous.

“Alright, what are you getting?” Lando asked, lowering his menu.

“Fettuccine Alfredo,” I said without hesitation.

“Of course you are,” he said, smirking. “Predictable.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I shot back. “What are you getting, then? Something groundbreaking? Life-changing? Revolutionary?”

“Tagliatelle al tartufo,” he said with a mockingly posh accent.

“Wow,” I said, feigning awe. “Truffle pasta. You’re really pushing the boundaries, Norris.”

“Don’t be jealous just because I have sophisticated taste,” he replied, the smirk never leaving his face.

“‘Sophisticated’ is one way to put it,” I muttered, pretending to study the menu again. “Another is ‘pretentious.’”

“You’ll be begging for a bite,” he said confidently, setting the menu down.

“Please,” I said, scoffing. “You’ll be stealing mine before the plates even hit the table.”

He leaned forward, his grin widening. “You know me so well.”

The food arrived soon after, and, as predicted, we switched plates halfway through without even discussing it. It was second nature by now, like so many other things about us.

“You know,” Lando said, twirling a forkful of fettuccine, “if this whole racing thing doesn’t work out, I could be a food critic.”

“Sure,” I said, deadpan. “Because people are dying to know what Lando Norris thinks about pasta.”

“They would be,” he said, undeterred. “My palate is unparalleled.”

“Your palate consists of pizza, chicken nuggets, and whatever I’m eating,” I shot back.

“And yet, here we are,” he said, gesturing to the table. “Me, enjoying this culinary masterpiece, and you, enjoying my company. Life is good.”

It was shaping up to be another night of easy conversation and mindless teasing until a voice interrupted us.

“Lando?”

I looked up to see two women standing at the edge of our table. They were both tall, blonde, and effortlessly elegant, the kind of women who looked like they belonged in a magazine spread rather than real life.

“Oh, hey!” Lando said, his face lighting up in recognition.

I glanced at him, watching as his entire demeanor shifted ever so slightly. He straightened up, his grin widening just enough to make my stomach twist.

“We haven’t seen you in forever,” one of the women said, her smile bright and practiced.

“I know,” Lando said, leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. “It’s been a while.”

“You look great,” one of them said, her smile bright as she leaned in a little too close.

“So do you,” Lando replied, his tone polite but just warm enough to make me suddenly very interested in my water glass. The conversation floated around me, full of laughter and inside jokes I didn’t understand.

“And who’s this?” one of them finally asked, her gaze flicking to me with polite curiosity.

“This is Y/N,” Lando said, gesturing toward me with a casualness that felt too deliberate. “My best friend.”

Best friend. There it was again.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

“Likewise,” she replied, her tone perfectly pleasant.

They didn’t linger much longer—just enough to leave their mark before excusing themselves with a wave and a promise to “catch up soon.”

“Old friends of yours?” I asked once they were gone, my voice light but with a slight edge.

“Something like that,” Lando said, taking a sip of his water.

“Something like that?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, his smirk returning. “They’re sisters. I, uh… may have had a thing with both of them. At different times, obviously.”

My fork froze midair. “Both of them?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, laughing. “It’s not that weird.”

“It’s incredibly weird,” I said, shaking my head.

“I mean, it didn’t overlap or anything,” he added, as if that somehow made it better. “But yeah… sisters.”

I stared at him, equal parts amused and horrified. “That’s… impressive? I guess?”

“Thank you,” he said, grinning like he’d just been handed an award. “Think I should call them again?”

“Sure,” I forced a laugh, stabbing at my pasta. “And then ask if they have any other sisters you might’ve missed.”

He chuckled, clearly oblivious to the sarcasm in my tone. “Good idea. Always room for a hat trick.”

My stomach churned uncomfortably, but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I focused on my plate, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way my mood had shifted.

…

The paddock was its usual chaotic self—teams rushing to prepare for practice sessions, fans peering over barriers for a glimpse of their favorite drivers, and media personnel darting between interviews. I decided to escape the madness for a bit, heading toward the staff catering building for a much-needed coffee.

The line was mercifully short, but as I joined it, I noticed someone already waiting near the front. Tall, dark-haired, and wearing a Ferrari polo with his name—Marco—stitched neatly on the chest. He turned slightly, catching my eye and offering a polite smile.

“Busy morning?” he asked, his tone warm and conversational.

“Something like that,” I replied with a small smile. “You?”

“Always,” he said with a soft chuckle. “But coffee makes it manageable, no?”

I nodded. “A universal truth.”

Marco stepped aside to let me order, a gesture so casual it almost went unnoticed. As I gave my order to the barista, I felt him glance at me again—not invasive, just curious.

“So, not Ferrari,” he said after I stepped back to wait for my coffee.

“Is it that obvious?” I joked.

“A little,” he admitted, his grin widening. “You’re far too relaxed to be one of us.”

“Should I be offended or flattered?” I asked, tilting my head playfully.

“Flattered,” he said easily. “Relaxed is a good thing.”

We fell into an easy rhythm as we waited. Marco was effortlessly charming, asking questions without prying and tossing in a few self-deprecating remarks about Ferrari’s chaos.

“You’re here with a team?” he asked eventually.

“A friend,” I said vaguely.

“Lucky friend,” he said, his tone light but genuine.

I laughed softly. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

Marco opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a familiar voice cut through the hum of conversation.

“There you are.”

I turned to see Lando approaching, his expression relaxed but his eyes sharper than usual.

“Hey,” I said, surprised. “I thought you were doing media.”

“Finished early,” he said, stepping closer. His gaze flicked briefly to Marco, who stood quietly by my side. “And I figured I’d find you here.”

“Good instincts,” I said lightly, though something about his sudden appearance felt… deliberate.

Marco offered his hand to Lando, ever polite. “Marco. Ferrari engineering.”

“Lando,” he replied, shaking his hand. “McLaren driving.”

Marco chuckled. “I know who you are. Good to meet you.”

“You too,” Lando said, his tone friendly but with an edge I couldn’t quite place.

The barista called my name, and I turned to grab my coffee, giving them a moment to exchange polite words. By the time I returned, Marco was stepping away with his own drink.

“Enjoy the rest of your day,” he said, offering me a small wave before disappearing into the crowd.

Lando watched him go before turning back to me. “Who was that?”

“Marco,” I said simply.

“And what was Marco talking to you about?” he asked, his tone too casual to be entirely innocent.

I raised an eyebrow. “Coffee, mostly. Why?”

“No reason,” he said quickly, taking a sip of my drink.

I studied him for a moment, noting the way his shoulders tensed ever so slightly. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird,” he said defensively.

“You’re definitely acting weird.”

Lando sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, fine. I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, genuinely baffled.

“He was flirting,” Lando said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I blinked. “He was being nice.”

“Nice,” Lando repeated, his voice laced with skepticism. “Sure. That’s one way to put it.”

“Lando, he’s just a guy who works for Ferrari,” I said, shaking my head.

“Exactly,” he said, as if that proved his point.

There was a beat of silence as I processed his words.

“You sound jealous,” I said finally, testing the waters.

“Jealous?” he scoffed, though the flicker of something in his eyes gave him away. “Hardly. I just think you can do way better than some guy who chats you up in the coffee line.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” he asked, smirking now.

“Yes,” I said firmly, though the warmth in my chest betrayed me.

We walked back toward the McLaren garage, his mood lightening with every step. By the time we arrived, he was back to his usual self—chatting with the mechanics and laughing at some joke I’d already missed.

But his words stayed with me, replaying in my mind as I sat down with my coffee. My coffee which Lando had somehow already drank half of.

…

The McLaren lounge was a rare oasis of calm in the chaos of a race weekend. Engineers hustled past the windows, radios crackled with updates, and somewhere in the distance, an engine roared to life. But in here, it was all plush couches, soft lighting, and a distinct lack of urgency.

I was curled up on one end of the couch, flipping through a magazine, while Oscar and Lando lounged on the other side. Lando, as usual, couldn’t sit still. He was draped sideways over the armrest, absently spinning a water bottle in his hands.

“Alright,” Lando announced, breaking the comfortable silence. “Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses?”

I looked up from my magazine, narrowing my eyes. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

“It’s an important question,” he insisted, his grin wide and mischievous.

I pretended to ponder for a moment. “One horse-sized duck. Definitely.”

Lando gaped at me like I’d just declared something outrageous. “Terrible answer. Absolutely terrible.”

“It’s the smart answer,” I shot back, sitting up straighter. “You outmaneuver one big target instead of exhausting yourself trying to wrangle a hundred tiny ones.”

“Do you even know how terrifying a horse-sized duck would be?” Lando asked, his voice rising in mock disbelief.

“And do you know how terrifying a hundred duck-sized horses would be?” I countered, raising an eyebrow.

Lando leaned forward, his grin widening. “Oh, come on. You’re telling me you’d rather face one giant, angry duck with a wingspan bigger than this couch?”

“Absolutely,” I said confidently. “Ducks aren’t that scary.”

“They can bite, you know,” he shot back, gesturing dramatically. “One snap, and you’re done for.”

I smirked, leaning closer. “I think I’d survive. Besides, I have a secret weapon.”

“What’s that?” he asked, his eyes narrowing playfully.

“You,” I said, deadpan. “I’ll just toss you in its path and run.”

Lando gasped, clutching his chest in mock betrayal. “Wow. That’s cold, Y/N. I thought we were a team.”

“We are,” I said, grinning. “But only if you pick the right answer next time.”

For a moment, he was quiet, his grin faltering just slightly as he met my gaze. It wasn’t much, just a flicker of something softer beneath the banter. But it was enough to make my stomach do that annoying little flip I’d been trying to ignore.

“Lando,” Oscar interjected, his tone casual but pointed. “You’re staring.”

“I am not,” Lando said quickly, his ears turning the faintest shade of pink as he looked away.

“You are,” Oscar said, leaning back with a smirk.

“You’re imagining things,” Lando muttered, crossing his arms.

Oscar snorted but didn’t press the issue, instead grabbing his phone and scrolling through it idly. But the look he shot Lando wasn’t lost on me—or Lando, for that matter.

As the banter settled into silence, I decided to grab a drink from the catering area, leaving the two of them alone.

The moment the door swung shut behind me, Oscar struck. “Mate, you’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

“About what?” Lando asked, feigning innocence as he fidgeted with the water bottle.

Oscar didn’t even look up from his phone. “About Y/N.”

“What about her?”

Oscar set his phone down, leveling Lando with a knowing look. “You’re acting like a lovesick puppy every time she’s around.”

Lando scoffed, though the tips of his ears betrayed him again. “That’s ridiculous. We’re just friends.”

“Sure,” Oscar said, dragging out the word like he was savoring it. “That’s why you light up like a Christmas tree whenever she walks in the room.”

“I do not,” Lando said defensively, but his voice lacked conviction.

“You do,” Oscar replied, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. “Mate, you’re glaring holes into the back of her head every time she talks to someone else. And don’t even get me started on how you were watching her during the duck-and-horse debate like she’d just solved world peace.”

“That’s—” Lando started, then stopped, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not like that.”

“Right,” Oscar said, his smirk firmly in place. “It’s exactly like that, but go off.”

Lando opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly searching for the right words. “It’s… we’ve known each other forever. It’s Y/N.”

Oscar nodded, as if that made sense, but his smirk didn’t waver. “Don’t you think it would be time to change that soon? You two are exhausting.”

Lando shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it.

“I’m just saying,” Oscar said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “You’re completely gone for her. Admit it already.”

Lando groaned, leaning back against the couch and running a hand through his hair. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said, grinning now. “But I’m right.”

Lando didn’t respond, his gaze drifting to the door where I’d just left. And for the first time, he let himself wonder if maybe—just maybe—Oscar was onto something.

…

The moment we walked into George’s celebration, the energy hit like a wave. The room was packed with familiar faces—drivers, engineers, and friends—dressed to the nines in that effortless way people in motorsport always seemed to manage. String lights twinkled across the ceiling, soft jazz played over the speakers, and a steady hum of conversation filled the air.

“You’re going to owe me for this,” I teased, glancing at Lando. “Dragging me here after wasting twenty minutes deciding between two identical shirts.”

“They weren’t identical,” Lando replied with a roll of his eyes, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back as we weaved through the crowd. “One had a darker stitch.”

“Completely life-changing,” I said dryly, though I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

“See? You get it,” he shot back with a grin, steering us toward a booth near the bar.

The way his hand lingered, warm and steady, was something I tried not to think too much about. It was just Lando being Lando—playful, touchy, and completely oblivious to the little flips my stomach insisted on doing whenever he leaned too close.

We found our way to a booth not far from the bar, where Alexandra and Charles were already seated. Charles was gesturing animatedly about something, while Alexandra sat with her usual poised grace, sipping champagne. When she saw us, her face lit up.

“Enfin, vous êtes là !” Alexandra exclaimed, waving us over. (Finally, you’re here!)

“Lando a changé de chemise trois fois,” I replied, throwing him a look. (Lando changed his shirt three times.)

Charles chuckled, leaning back with a smirk. “Toujours dramatique, hein ?” (Always dramatic, huh?)

“English,” Lando whined as we slid into the booth. “You’re ganging up on me in French. It’s not fair.”

“Pauvre bébé,” I teased, patting his arm lightly. (Poor baby.)

“Whatever that means,” he muttered, though the grin tugging at his lips made it clear he wasn’t upset.

The conversation flowed easily between the four of us. Lando, of course, dominated the chatter, weaving an elaborate story about George’s awkward rookie days. His expressions were so animated, his gestures so over-the-top, that even Charles—usually the calm and composed one—was cracking up by the end.

“That’s not true,” I said, nudging Lando with my elbow. “You’re exaggerating again.”

“I’m not!” he protested, his green eyes wide with mock innocence. “It’s all true. Every word.”

“Sure it is,” I replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Back me up here!” he said, turning to Charles.

Charles raised a brow, taking a deliberate sip of his drink. “I wasn’t there, but… I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Alexandra laughed softly, glancing at me. “Toujours l’acteur dramatique, ce Lando.” (Always the drama actor, that Lando.)

“Hey,” Lando said, pointing at her. “I know that wasn’t a compliment.”

I smirked, leaning closer. “It absolutely wasn’t.”

He gasped dramatically, his hand over his chest. “Betrayed by my own friends. I’ll never recover.”

“You’ll survive,” I said, brushing him off, though the warmth in his gaze lingered just a beat too long.

Lando eventually excused himself to grab drinks, leaving me to chat with Alexandra and Charles. As soon as he was out of earshot, Alexandra leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Il est tellement évident qu’il a un faible pour toi,” she said softly, her voice full of amusement. (It’s so obvious he has a thing for you.)

“Quoi?” I asked, my cheeks heating instantly. (What?)

“Ouvre les yeux,” she said, smirking. (Open your eyes.)

Charles chuckled, sipping his drink as he watched the exchange. “C’est écrit partout sur son visage.” (It’s written all over his face.)

“Stop,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re imagining things.”

Alexandra raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, her expression saying everything her words didn’t.

At the bar, Lando was cornered by Carlos, who leaned casually against the counter, his expression smug.

“You know,” Carlos said, his tone casual, “you’re not very subtle.”

“What are you talking about?” Lando asked, though his focus kept drifting toward the booth where I was sitting.

Carlos raised his drink, gesturing toward me. “You’ve been staring at her all night, hermano. Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”

Lando stiffened, his grin faltering. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just tell her,” Carlos said, swirling his drink lazily.

“It’s not that simple,” Lando replied, his voice quieter now.

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because if I mess this up, I lose her,” Lando admitted, glancing toward our booth.

Carlos tilted his head, studying him. “You’re scared. That’s what this is.”

“Of course I’m scared,” Lando muttered, running a hand through his hair. “She’s my best friend. If it doesn’t work—”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Carlos interrupted, his voice softer now. “But you’d better do something soon.”

Carlos’s smirk softened slightly, but before Lando could reply, Liam Lawson appeared at the bar.

“Who’s the girl with Charles and Alexandra?” Liam asked, nodding toward the booth. “She single?”

Carlos grinned mischievously. “Yeah, she is—go for it.”

Lando’s head snapped toward Carlos, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Carlos.”

“What?” Carlos said, feigning innocence. “Just giving the kid a shot.”

…

Liam approached with the kind of confidence that only a Red Bull driver could pull off.

“Hey,” he said, sliding into the seat across from me. “You’re Y/N, right?”

I blinked, momentarily surprised but recovering quickly. “That’s me. And you are?”

“Liam Lawson,” he said, extending a hand.

I shook it, his grip firm but not overbearing. “Nice to meet you.”

“How do you know George?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table as if he had all the time in the world.

“Through Lando,” I replied, keeping my tone polite but measured. His easy demeanor was almost disarming, but there was something about the way he looked at me that made me hyper-aware of my surroundings.

“Ah, Lando,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Lucky guy. You two seem pretty close.”

“We’ve been friends for a long time,” I said simply, taking a sip of my drink and trying not to overthink his comment.

“Well,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “his loss if he hasn’t made a move yet.”

That caught me off guard. My gaze flicked to his, searching for any hint of a joke, but he was entirely serious—or at least good at pretending to be.

“Excuse me?” I asked, my voice betraying my surprise.

Liam grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. “Just saying. If I were him, I wouldn’t be sitting over there, letting someone else steal your attention.”

The comment was bold, and I didn’t quite know how to respond. My thoughts were a mess of confusion, flattery, and something else I didn’t want to name. Before I could formulate a response, the familiar sound of Lando’s voice cut through the air.

“Liam,” he said smoothly, stepping up to the table. His tone was calm, but his green eyes held a sharpness that made me sit up a little straighter.

Liam glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“Christian’s looking for you,” Lando said, his tone casual but firm. “Something about debrief notes.”

Liam frowned, clearly reluctant. “Now?”

“Yeah,” Lando said, nodding. “He seemed pretty keen.”

Liam hesitated, his gaze flicking between me and Lando like he was weighing his options. Finally, he sighed, pushing himself to his feet. “Alright. Nice meeting you, Y/N.”

“You too,” I replied, watching him leave with a mixture of relief and something I couldn’t quite pin down.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Lando lingered for a moment, his hands shoved into his pockets as he avoided my gaze.

“That,” Charles said, his tone thick with amusement, “was the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

Lando shot him a glare, his ears turning faintly red. “Mind your own business, Charles.”

Charles just smirked, raising his glass in mock surrender. “Whatever you say.”

I didn’t say anything, but a flicker of suspicion settled in the back of my mind.

Had Lando just…? No. That would be ridiculous. Wouldn’t it?

“Let’s get a drink,” Alexandra said, pulling me to my feet.

…

As Alexandra and I made our way back toward the booth, she nudged me gently, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

“Lando looked like he was about to breathe fire earlier,” she said casually, sipping her drink.

I laughed softly, trying to deflect. “He’s always protective. It’s nothing.”

“Protective?” Alexandra repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That was not protective, chérie. That was jealousy.”

I opened my mouth to respond but stopped short as we neared the booth, Lando and Charles’s voices filtering through the hum of the room.

“It will just be awkward, mate,” Lando said, his tone low and almost resigned.

“Just talk about it,” Charles replied simply.

“It’s not that simple,” Lando muttered. “She will never be more than just a friend.”

The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. My chest tightened, and the air around me seemed to still. Alexandra’s hand touched my arm gently, but I barely noticed.

“I— I need some air,” I managed, turning away before she could respond.

The ache in my chest grew with every step I took, his words echoing in my head.

She will never be more than just a friend.

And just like that, everything I thought I’d imagined felt painfully real.

…

I turned my phone face down on the table at Gigi’s, willing myself not to glance at the screen again. The missed calls from Lando were piling up, his name lighting up my notifications every half hour like clockwork. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to him—I did. But every time I thought about his voice, his laugh, his damn words, the ache in my chest tightened.

She will never be more than just a friend.

I shook my head, forcing the thought away as the waiter arrived with my order. The smell of rich, cheesy pasta wafted up, comforting in the way only food could be. I twirled a forkful absentmindedly, hoping the carbs would somehow fill the space that had been hollowed out the night before.

The familiar growl of an engine outside pulled my attention from my plate. I glanced toward the window and froze.

The unmistakable silhouette of Lando’s Miura parked just outside, sleek and shining even under the soft glow of streetlights. A moment later, the door opened, and there he was, stepping out effortless as usual—but his expression wasn’t the easygoing grin I was used to. He looked… worried.

Before I could decide what to do, he spotted me through the window, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. He pushed through the door, his eyes locking onto mine immediately.

“There you are,” he said, relief evident in his tone as he approached my table.

I blinked, caught off guard. “Lando? What are you doing here?”

He pulled out the chair across from me, sitting down without asking. “Looking for you.”

My heart twisted. “Why?”

“Because you’ve been ignoring me all day,” he said, his voice quieter now.

I looked away, focusing on my fork. “I had my phone off that’s all.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

“I knew I’d find you here,” he said finally, his voice softer but steady.

I glanced up, frowning. “What?”

“You always turn to cheesy Italian food when you’re upset,” he said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s your thing.”

The casual observation caught me off guard, a mix of warmth and frustration bubbling in my chest.

“So what?” I said, my tone sharper than I intended. “You’re some kind of expert on me now?”

He sighed, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Y/N, I know you better than anyone. And I know something’s wrong.”

I didn’t answer, twisting my fork in the pasta and pretending to be engrossed in my meal. But the usual comfort it brought was absent, replaced by the uncomfortable weight of his gaze.

“You’re not yourself,” Lando said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, my tone clipped.

“Don’t lie to me,” he replied, his tone more serious than I was used to.

I set my fork down, the clink of metal against porcelain louder than it should have been. “Maybe I just don’t feel like talking.”

His eyes softened, his frustration giving way to concern. “Y/N…”

“Lando, I’m fine,” I interrupted, though the words felt hollow.

He didn’t push further, but I could see the gears turning in his head. He sat back, glancing down at my half-finished plate of pasta before gesturing to the waiter.

“Can we get the check, please?” he asked, pulling out his wallet.

I frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Paying,” he said simply, standing as the waiter approached.

“For me?”

“Yes,” he said, looking down at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “Come on.”

“Come on where?” I asked, my brow furrowing.

“You’ll see,” he said, extending a hand.

I hesitated for a moment before letting him pull me to my feet.

The warm night air hit us as we stepped out of Gigi’s, the soft sound of waves in the distance mingling with the faint hum of the city. Lando didn’t say anything, his grip on my hand firm but gentle as he led me toward Larvotto Beach, just a short walk away.

“Lando, seriously,” I said as we reached the sand. “What’s going on?”

He stopped, turning to face me, his green eyes brighter under the moonlight.

“We need to talk.” he said simply.

And just like that, my heart started racing, even though I had no idea what he was going to say.

The beach stretched out before us, quiet except for the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore. The city lights glittered faintly in the distance, their reflection dancing on the dark water. Lando walked beside me, his shoulders tense, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

For once, I didn’t fill the silence. I didn’t trust myself to. My thoughts were a whirlwind—last night’s overheard words still fresh in my mind, colliding with the unexpected intensity of this moment.

We walked like that for a while, the sand soft beneath our feet, until Lando came to a sudden stop. He turned to face me, his green eyes catching the moonlight in a way that made my stomach twist.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

I crossed my arms, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. “Try the beginning.”

He huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “The beginning’s too far back. I’d be here all night.”

“Good thing I don’t have anywhere else to be,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

For a moment, he just looked at me, his expression softening. “Y/N, I have a lot of friends. Like, a lot of friends.”

I blinked, confused. “Okay?”

“But none of them get to me the way you do,” he said, his voice dropping.

I stared at him, my breath catching. “What are you saying?”

He glanced out at the water, like he was searching for courage in the rolling waves. “I mean… you’re not just anyone to me. You never have been. You’re the first person I think of when something happens—good or bad. And the idea of upsetting you? It’s unbearable.”

My throat tightened as his words sank in.

“Like today,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly. “You ignored my calls, and I couldn’t stop thinking about whether I’d done something wrong. Whether I hurt you somehow. Because if I did…” He stopped, exhaling sharply, and shook his head. “I can’t stand the thought of you being upset because of me.”

I didn’t respond, too caught up in the flood of emotions his words were pulling from me.

“When you’re upset, it breaks my heart,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “And when you laugh… it’s like my entire day gets brighter. When you’re sad, it feels like my world’s falling apart.”

“Lando,” I started, but he held up a hand, shaking his head.

“I’m not done,” he said, his words tumbling out now, faster and more frantic. “I’ve been feeling like this for so long, and I thought I could just push it aside or pretend it didn’t matter, but it does. It matters so much. And if I messed up—if I’ve ruined this somehow—I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“You didn’t—”

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted, his eyes locking onto mine. “I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now, but I’ve been too scared to admit it. And I know this might change everything, but I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”

I froze, his confession slamming into me with the force of a tidal wave.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know if this makes sense. I just… I can’t lose you, Y/N.”

Without thinking, I stepped closer, grabbed his face, and kissed him.

For a second, he was completely still, caught off guard. But then he kissed me back, his hands slipping to my waist as he pulled me closer. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it deepened quickly, making the world around me disappear.

When we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine, both of us catching our breath.

“So… I’m guessing you feel the same?” he asked, a small, nervous smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re so slow sometimes,” I murmured, shaking my head with a laugh.

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes,” I said, smiling.

The relief on his face was almost comical. He pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me tightly like he never wanted to let go.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for so long,” he murmured into my hair.

“And I’ve wanted to hear it,” I admitted, my voice muffled against his chest.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his brow furrowing slightly. “But… yesterday. Did I say something? Did I—”

I hesitated, my stomach twisting. “I overheard you talking to Charles.”

His face paled. “Oh.”

“You said I’d never be more than a friend,” I said, my voice wavering.

Lando winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “God, Y/N, that’s not how I meant it at all. I said that because I thought I didn’t stand a chance. Like… you’re so important to me, and I didn’t want to mess up what we already had by wanting something I thought I could never have.”

He looked at me with a mix of regret and hope. “I’m an idiot. It wasn’t because I didn’t want more—it’s because I didn’t think I could have it.”

“You are an idiot,” I said, my lips twitching into a small smile. “But you’re my idiot.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Yours, huh? Bold claim.”

I tilted my head, my grin widening. “Think you can find someone else to deal with you the way I do?”

He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Deal with me? You mean worship my charm and tolerate my perfection?”

“Oh, please,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. “The only thing I’m worshipping is the patience I’ve built up putting up with you.”

His hands slid to my waist, pulling me slightly closer, his smirk turning more mischievous. “You love me. Admit it.”

“Not a chance,” I said, even as my pulse quickened.

His gaze dropped to my lips for the briefest moment before meeting my eyes again, his voice softening but still teasing. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

Before I could respond, he closed the gap, kissing me again with a fierceness that took me by surprise. This wasn’t the hesitant, nervous kiss from before. It was confident, teasing, like everything we’d been holding back had finally snapped into place.

I kissed him back, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer. His hands tightened on my waist, grounding me as he smiled against my lips, murmuring, “Still denying it?”

I broke the kiss just long enough to catch my breath, raising an eyebrow. “You think one kiss is going to make me fold?”

“Two,” he said smugly, leaning in for another without waiting for an answer.

I rolled my eyes but didn’t stop him, meeting him halfway this time. His lips curved into a grin mid-kiss, and I could feel his stupid, insufferable smugness radiating off him.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” I asked when we pulled apart, my voice laced with mock annoyance.

“Unbelievably,” he replied, his grin widening as he rested his forehead against mine. “And don’t pretend you’re not.”

“Maybe I am,” I admitted, smirking. “But if you keep talking, I might start regretting it.”

He laughed, pulling me closer. “Alright, no more talking. For now.”

“Good,” I said, leaning in again, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore fading into the background as everything else fell away.

The weight of everything unsaid was gone, replaced by the warmth of realizing we’d both been fighting our way toward the same truth: we’d always belonged to each other.

When we broke apart, Lando’s grin turned mischievous, and I immediately knew he was up to something. Before I could react, he scooped me up effortlessly and started toward the water.

“Lando! Don’t you dare!” I shrieked, squirming in his arms as laughter bubbled out of me.

“Payback for all those times you called me an idiot,” he teased, stopping just as the waves lapped at his shoes.

He finally set me down, his smirk smug and unapologetic. “Admit it. You love me anyway.”

Figures. I’m in love with someone who steals my fries and once confidently argued that dolphins were just “sea dogs.” I wouldn’t have it any other way though.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando x reader #lando x you #lando norris one shot #lando norris imagine #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine

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aliceinborderlandsquidgame · 2 days ago

Text

We meet again | In-ho x Fem!Reader | PT1

Summary: It was only one night for fun, you never thought you would see him again. Even less in a place like this one.

PT2

Warnings: S2 Spoilers - Canon violence - Pregnant!Reader - Non canon background for In-ho -

Na-eun -> Coworker - Use of (Y/N) - Angst - Suggestive -

Gif by: @el-cheung

The ocassions where In-ho could leave the island and get himself a drink with normal peopel in a normal bar were slim.

He liked to think of these as vacations of some sort. Even if it was in a lost town in the cost. He still avoided big cities.

The place was nice nothing fancy like he is used to. And that gave him a nostalgic feeling, made him feel like he was not that man, the one making sure the games went on. But another normal man enjoying a drink.

"Can I buy you a drink" A female voice broke his thoughts.

He took a look at his left side and felt his heart flutter, god did you look gorgeous, your hair kind of a mess but in a good way, not too revealing clothes, eyes to die for, that made him think you were piercing his soul, and your smile, it was like the sun.

He gave you a polite smile but refused, knowing it was better for both to not get involved.

Such a coward he was.

"Oh cmon handsome, just one drink and I will let you in peace" You insisted getting a funny look from the barman

"Dont scare my clients off (Y/N)" He called over his shoulder.

In-ho saw you pout at the barman, you were most likely from this town, a local. Someone with a boring life, maybe you worked with lifestock or had a small store. He could picture you having a flower shop.

"Sorry if I bothered you" You finally said feeling his lost of interest and going to take your own drink and get back to your friends who most likely would taunt you for getting rejected.

"Wait" In-ho said making you stop. He knew it was a bad idea but he could not help himself.

"What type of Man would let a girl pay? Let me buy you a drink" He finally said giving you a small smirk. "Im In-ho" He introduced himself when you took the seat besides him again.

"In-ho" You repeated, teasting his name in your tongue. It sent a shiver down his spine that he tried to ignore. "Well, im (Y/N) as you probably hear, pleasure to meet you, visting the town?"

In-ho signal for the barman bring two more drinks while he nodded at you. "You can say that..."

"And? Are you liking it so far?" You asked taking a sip from your drink keeping eye contact.

"The views are...quiet splendid" He responded not taking his eyes off from you.

~○~○~○~○~○~○

One drink made him feel more relaxed, he could talk without having to take his words under much consideration, the next one made his body feel hotter, specially when you would touch his arm or shoulder and laught at something he commented.

Most likely it was not that funny.

And drink after drink, it got you two closer, talking quietly like you two were exchanging deep secrets. Faces red, eyes open looking for something more.

"Do you wanna leave with me In-ho?" You asked in a whisper one hand on his chest.

Oh, he really wanted to. He wanted to end this night with you screaming his name over and over again. Maybe he would fuck you so good you would not even be able to forget about him.

"Aren't you too drunk?" He asked, always the gentlemen.

You just scoffed at him but did smile, feeling warm because of his worry, most men would jump at the offer.

But he was not like most men.

"Im fine, im sure about this. I want to leave this place with you"

In-ho payed for the drinks and left with you that night.

And just as he had planned he got you screaming his name till no end. Till you cried that it was too much but kept pulling him closer.

It was messy, it was long, sweat fell from your tangled bodies. It was as it you two were made for each other.

The next morning In-ho woke up first, he could not help but let out a soft smile, seeing your sleepy face, hair a mess, and the marks from last night.

He was temped for another round...

But his phone buzzed.

He groaned taking it already expecting problems.

"Sir..."

And just like that the dream ended. He had to leave you like that. Not a goodbye or a phone to call. You weren't his first night stand but you were the only one he felt bad leaving behind.

If he had time...he would have loved to take you to a proper date.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Part of you had hoped he would stay, at least to have breakfast with you. You had said you made the best in town.

But no, the bed was empy only his marks stood behind and the cum between your legs.

You tried to move on from it. Telling yourself it was good sex at the end. And that he would not even stay at the small town for much time.

Did it hurt ?

Like a knife passing your arm.

And things were going to get much, much worse.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

"Hey (Y/N) are you alright in there?" The voice of your worried coworker called from outside the bathroom stall.

You went to respond but feel another gag coming making you unable to.

"Im fine, just morning sickness" You finally said, breathing hard and sweating while getting out from the stall.

"Oh be honest, I have a sister you know? Who was pregnant recently" You coworker insisted getting close and gently giving your shoulder a squish. "You are not alone in this" She smiled gently.

You wanted to believe her, but the reality was not on your side.

Yes, everything is fine, you just have a baby whos father left after one night stand. The man never tried to contact you again or leave a fucking note. And you were so wasted you forgot the after day pill.

Fuck it all.

On top of that, you had to leave the small town after load sharks came looking for your brother who being an amazing brother left a debt, and since your parents were long dead and you were the only family left, the debt fell on you.

Which made you have to move from the small and calm town to Seoul, under the threats of the fuckers on making the town suffer if you did not pay.

Part of you believed they were too lazy to travel between the town and Seoul. But you did not want to put the place at risk so you left.

And now here you were, in a shit job in a hole that dared to call itself "bar", alone, with debt and barely doing any money for you. All went to pay the debt, part for the rent and other part to get the healthiest food you could get for you and your baby.

"Why dont you move in with me?" Your coworker suddendly asked, "We can divide the rent, you would get more money for you and the baby"

"Are you sure? I dont want to be a burden"

"Its fine, I would not offer it to you if I was not sure"

And you found yourself crying, over happines for the first time.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

In-ho had to get back to the Island for the next games. Things were moving in their place, getting players and new games. The classic "red light green light" needed to stay since it did clean off most players, the most weak ones in his opinion.

His mind would wonder to you. He had no idea why, after all you two did not know each other on a deep level. And yet he found himself repeating that night. Not only the sex, it was amazing, maybe the best he had in a long time. But also your confidence, how you had approach him first, then respectfully you tried to get away once he gave you a negative response at first.

He had a fair amount of insisting women and it made his skin crawl in disgust, but no. You were not like that.

And your eyes, and smile. In-ho thought he could let lost in these, he could stare at your eyes all day and night, watch you in the dark and just feel happy because he was with you.

Him, a respected and feared man, who had everything when it came to power. He found himself wanting you, by his side. Maybe he could get back to that town and look for you. Date you like a proper Man and maybe, just maybe you would return with him.

He knew he was being selfish, being with him would mean saying goodbye to a normal life. A quiet life you most likely had.

It was a inner battle, the wish to keep tabs on you, so he could properly approach you next time and have the upper hand. Also, there was a need to keep you safe. He was not sure why, he just felt it.

However, things were never that easy.

The phone from his office rang, he picked up with his mask on, his voice muffled by it.

"Sir, player 456 its causing problems outside"

In-ho let out a very long breath trying to collect his thoguhts.

"I will deal with him myself"

And like that, the ideas of going after you were pushed aside, he needed to fulfill his task as The Front Man first.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

You held the picture in your hands while you waited for the next train. Your baby, or well it was suppos to be your baby, you could not make much of the shapes but the Doctor had said it was healthy and that was enough for you.

"Hey little one" You whisper passing one finger over the photo not caring about the rest of the world right now.

But life seemed to like taunting you.

"Excusme Miss" A well dress Salesman talked to you his smile gentle yet kind ot intimidating. "Would you like to play a game with me?"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~

"What happened to you!!" The suprise scream from your coworker and now roomate filled your ears as you entered the small aparment.

"Nothing, dont worry about it" You tried to go pass her but she held you in place.

"Nothing? Your left cheeck its all red! Did someone attack you?"

"No, nothing like that. Please I dont really want to talk about it..."

Honestly you could not understand what had happen. You two played ddakji and you lost. In order to make up for it you got slapped. Lots of times you were about to leave but the Man would say something about money and motion to the photo you had. You were furious but kept playing till you won.

You got a card and a few wones, he said how he felt pity over you and to call the number on the card if you wanted to win more money.

The exchange was strange, bizarre, the only thing telling you it was real was the money you had in your pocket and the card.

"Put some ice on it" Na-eun told you going to get it herself. "Did you get the picture?" She screamed even if she was not that far away

"I did"

"Oh let me see!! I want to see my nephew!"

"Na-eun, i dont know the sex of the baby yet" You responded taking the ice and passing her the picture.

"Its a feeling, I can tell its going to be a boy"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Life was good for a few more weeks, as good as it could be in your current situation.

But saddly it did not last.

"What..."

"Im sorry (Y/N), my sister called me. She needs me at her home. I cant stay any longer in Seoul" She said between cries knowing you would have no one if she went away.

"Hey, dont cry. Its your sister, I understand" You said trying to reassure her that you would be alright but still...it was a hard pain to take.

"I will pay my part of the rent till next month but after that...she trailed off"

"Dont worry, I will find a way" You smiled at her trying not to worry.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

That same night you called the number on the card, knowing your life would just get harder and harder now that you were alone once more.

After saying your name and birth date you were told of a place to be on a specific day and time.

"Stay calm little one, we will be ok" You said caressing your growing belly. "Mom will take care of everything"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

The next thing you knew you woke up in what seemed to be a big room with multiple beds. It was cold, your old clothes were replaced by what resembled a sports suit. The number "344" adorned your chest.

The peopel around you seemed as confused and lost as you were. Fear started to creep inside you, maybe you screw up? Maybe this was human traffic? What would happen to you? And your baby?

You saw another female player who seemed just as lost as you and...wait it could not be.

Was she also pregnant?

Thinking you had nothing to lose you went near her. Not too sure what to say at first.

"Hello, you dont happen to know whats going on?" You asked knowing the answer but looking to make small chat.

She looked back at you then at your lower belly, the confliction in her eyes was clear as day.

"No I dont, how..how long are you due?" She asked nervously but also feeling better that there was someone else in the same situation as her.

You smiled, "A few more months, you?" She responded making your smile bigger. "Looks like we are in the same boat, player 222" You said seeing her number "Want to, stick together till we know whats happening?"

And like that, you made your first friend inside the games.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

After the long introduction the pink guards gave to all of you, they guided the group around a maze of colorfull stairs, you looked over player 222 making sure she was alright, you had to make small stops yourself. Behind you stood a player, 456 who seemed to notice your state and did not mention a thing, if nothing his face seemed to pale at it.

The guards finally left all of you in a big area, up front was a doll and a white line. Your mind went to think on the words from the guards, this was a kids game, it should be easy right?

"Hey 222, stick with me" You called a bit worried over her and you. If this game included running then it would be a challenge for you and her.

But you could do it, you had to do it.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

The splash of blood on your face made you want to vomit, move and run away. But the screams from player 456 stopped you. Reminding you that if the doll dectected movement then you would be shot.

"It cant see on your blind stops" He screamed moving his hand behind his back to show all of you. "Make a line, short ones behind tall ones, we will move together"

You gulped but did as he said getting behind a player with the number 390, who also noticed your state and looked worried.

"Im fine" You assured him stopping when the doll also stopped singing.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

Like any other year In-ho stood in his room seeing the first game, a glass of whisky being his only company.

He could not see the faces of all players, too focus in Gi-hun and his attempt to save everybody. However, years of being a detective and watching this game made him have a critical eye, he saw two, two pregnant woman in the game, struggling but not giving up. He felt a tug in his heart, he knew this was to make games more interesting, to have players of all ages and circumstances, but even him, someone who was once part of them could not shake the uncomfortable feeling.

"It cant be" He whispered seeing you move, something from you called him, like he knew you. But that could not be right? You were in that town, safe, living your life.

How wrong he was.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Once the game was over the need to vomit returned stronger, you held it back not wanting to bring attention over you.

Both player 456 (who he presented as Seong Gi-hun, and player 390 (who said his name was Jung-Bae) went to you. Asking if you were alright or needed anything, even if Gi-hun knew he could not get you a single thing.

"Im ok, I will survive, Thanks for your directions during the game Seong" You thanked the Man who nodded

"You can call me Gi-hun"

"344!!, 344!!" The screams of 222 filled your ears, you turned to see her and hugged her.

"Oh I was so worried over you, over both of you" You added quietly

"I lost you in the crowd...You are fine?"

You made a face, honestly the situation was far from fine but you needed to be strong.

"I will make it, will you tell me your name now?"

"Its Jun-hee" she responded in a low tone.

"(Y/N)" You pointed at yourself then at your belly "Little one"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Voting. You could vote to be out and walk with some money. In all honestly it did not cover your debt at all. But you prefer walking out alive, able to raise your baby than getting both dead.

"I will help all of you" The voice of Gi-hun cut off your thoughts, a small circle with him, his friend and Jun-hee was formed "Just help me to stop these games, peopel will keep dying if not"

"Im in" You said to him who nodded back.

The voting was thight, you had to held onto Jun-hee arm to not fall because of how nervous you were. Jung-Bae tried to calm both of you, saying most likely the Xs would win.

But it was a tie, a tie and only one player. Player 001 was going to break off. You did not see his face only his back, he took a moment to decide.

He pressed circle, the games will continue. And when he turned around you felt your soul leave your body.

It was him, In-ho the man who you had one night stand and left you pregnant with no way of contacting him.

The same man who's final vote would force you to continue playing.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

The dinner was....bad. That was the only word for it. You forced yourself to eat thinking in your baby, Jung-Bae was kind enough to give you his milk, you decided to divide it with Jun-hee who was also gratefull.

When circle players came, asking Gi-hun about next game you wanted to pull their eyes out. They were using him, like a secret card to win. But Gi-hun seemed unbothered, he said what the next game was and even told them that he would share it with everybody.

Some walked away angry, and giving Jun-hee and you some nasty looks, guess no one wanted two pregnant woman around.

"Ignore them" Dae-ho another player who had voted X and kind of formed a small friendship with Jung-Bae said to Jun-hee and You.

"Can we talk?" The voice of player 001 came as a suprise to all of you, but the suprise was bigger when they noticed he was talking directly to you.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Both of you walked away from the group needing privacy from them.

"What are you doing here?" In-ho asked taking your arms. The last person he would bet being here was you. You looked fine when he last saw you, not like a person who would be in debt. Besides you were from a small town, the organization moved between big cities.

Just...what had happen?

"Hello (Y/N) How are you doing? Or did you also forget my name too?" You responded too angry, confused and stressed.

He pressed his lips in a thin line to calm himself down. No, he could never forget your name. You filled his dreams every night, he did promise to himself he would go back to you once this games were over.

He never expected or wished that you would came to him, to this place.

"You cant be here" It was more like to negate himslef the fact that you were indeed here. "Its too dangerous for you and your baby" The last was said so softly it almost made you feel bad.

Almost.

"Well, thank you for making all of us play another round" You responded going to get away from him but he held you in place.

"I was not the only one who voted to stay"

"No, you were not" you did give him the reason "But your vote was the one that broke the tie. Sorry if I feel inclined to be angry at you.

In-ho gulped, no you were right to be angry, specially since you were not only fighting for your life but the baby in your belly.

"The baby..." He trailed off, the question clear but he found himself scared to say it out loud.

You took a long deep breath, you had imagined finding him and telling him about the baby, you never pictured it would be like this. But luck was never on your side.

"Yes, its yours. I wanted to tell you, but you ran away and left me no way of contacting you" A small pause to get your words together "Listen, I wont ask anything from you, we had a good time and thats it"

No. No he could not ignore it. First, you plagued his nights and days, making him feel like he was young again and having his first crush. Then you appear here, pregnant with his baby no less.

How could he ignore it? When a family with you was one of the many dreams he had. Even if it was like he was going too quick, thinking too fast when you two only shared a night.

"No, listen. Im sorry for leaving like that, I dont expect you to forgive me or understand me" He could not tell you why he had left, why he never contacted you. "But I promise I will take care of both of you. No harm will be done to you or to our baby"

Hearing him say "our baby" made you want to cry but you did not know he was able to protect you, to you he was just another player.

"Dont make promises you cant keep. And dont worry I have managed fine this last months" You said leaving him behind and returning to the group that were not so casually looking at the exchange.

Once you made it back you went directly to your bed, needing to rest just for a bit.

"Who was he?" Jun-hee asked softly

"No one, he is no one"

Jun-hee had a feeling about who he was but decided to be silent out of respect.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

In-ho saw you go, his hand moving to fists by his side. He wanted nothing but to have you moved out from the games. Maybe you could stay in his room till all ended. You would be well taken care of, would make sure the most trusted Doctor of the island checked on you and his baby.

A baby, a life. Something he had made on accident but did not mean he did not want it. No, he did. He could see you, him and the baby, the three of you living together, he would teach his kid so much and love you till death.

Was he becoming obsess? Maybe.

Did he care? No.

He would do whateve he could to keep you and his kid safe.

#squid game imagine #squid game imagines #squid game x y/n #squid game x reader #in ho x reader #inho x reader

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bunnydoobles · 2 days ago

Text

i have several but my main ones are Dames and Andy

march 5th!! >_<

3 years!! looking to top that :3

i really like The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

my nose and art abilities :(

Crispin Glover, Christopher Lloyd (both young and old, he's so silly), Rob Paulsen, Ewan McGegor, Brandon Rogers

Sasha Calle, Lea Thompson, Kat Dennings, Winona Ryder, Laufey Lín Bing Jónsdóttir

i'm aiming for a career in theatre but my fallback is something in visual arts

having the courage and energy to post my art again!! and making new friends!

hmm... i'm not sure actually? i'm not all that remarkable i don't have too many interesting facts haha! ^_^"

my highs; being able to sort through something really personal and hard for me with my beloved boyfriend, making time to hang out with my good friends, and being more confident about myself and my body and personality!!

my lows; unfortunately being a little slow and airheaded and misunderstanding situations between me and my friends and my boyfriend, being horribly lonely and sick because i was stuck in the house bedrotting-, and that's about it!!

where my mother grew up in Japan! or visiting my family in the Philippines <33

MUSIC HAS SAVED MY LIFE!! (and occasionally forcing myself to draw something, at least a doodle or so)

most likely Spotify + TikTok haha :3

Oh, god- Um- Uh- WAIT AM I GOING ALREADY?

my eyes :D

drawing! and singing (i like to think)

dancing- i can't dance to save my life, i'm wayyy too stiff (but i've been trying to take classes/get into it!!)

"I thought *you* drank the soda." (I, in fact, drank my mother's soda)

um... did you know Wakko Warner from Animaniacs was inspired by Ringo Starr from The Beatles? :3

my lover, Mikey- and my best friend, Lili

either my beloved record player or the necklace Mikey got me

5 or 6 years?? before i royally screwed it up-

making my first purchase without my parents allll by myself! >_<

i wanted to get into baseball but alas, i'm not cut out for it

pretty good! just got home from my gal pal's house hehe

both! i am perpetually tired

hmm.. no, not necessarily! but i fell for my bf "love at first art piece"!

you've got a 9 to 5, so i'll take the night shift / and i'll never see you again if i can help it

eating sweets and listening to my favorite music, drawing my ocs, and/or ranting about my useless interests

Mitski, Jhariah, Billy Joel

literally everything! i overthink a lot

when people call things "cringe" or bully others if they're having harmless fun instead of just... i dunno? walking/scrolling away?

again, literally everything! i'm very emotional- i cry at anything

depends on the environment and my mood but most all the time i'm just a fuckin weirdo- the people i click with usually say i'm funny and pleasant to be around so! there's that!

what flavor of toothpaste do you use? (did i do that right???)

sorry if i did that wrong, i wrote this all on my notes app LMAO! x3

Question Game

Are we tired of these yet?

What is your nickname?

When is your birthday?

What was your longest relationship?

What is your favorite book?

What is something you're insecure about?

5 Male celebrity crushes

5 Female celebrity crushes

What is your dream job?

What do you consider your biggest accomplishment?

What is a fact about you that nobody would believe?

What were your highs and lows for this last month?

Where is somewhere you'd like to visit?

How do you de-stress?

What are your favorite apps besides tumblr?

Describe yourself in one sentence.

What do you think makes you attractive?

What is something you're really good at?

What is something you're really bad at?

A time that you told a lie.

What's a totally random and useless fact that you know?

Who knows you the best?

What is your most prized possession?

What is your longest friendship?

When did you first feel like an adult?

Do you/ Have you played any sports?

How are you feeling right now?

Are you an early bird or a night owl?

Do you believe in love at first sight?

Favorite song lyrics right now?

What does self care look like for you?

Describe yourself with 3 singers.

What makes you nervous?

What’s a pet peeve you have?

What will always make you cry?

What kind of first impression do you think you make on people?

Free Pass! (Ask any question you want that's not on the list)

#questions #get to know me #myself #new to tumblr #looking for mutuals #this just came on my page!#this is me ig! <33

10K notes · View notes

minnietrys · 2 days ago

Note

I LOVE YOU SO MUCH YOU DONT KNOW HOW I LOVE YOUR WRITINGS

YOUR SO GOODDDD

I JUST WANTED TO KNOW IF you could write something where player 120 met fem! Reader in a bar and then they make out XD

I just want to read smuts about this woman

Pookie I got you. I started brainstorming when I saw this so I have multiple ideas for this so I just started writing and let it lead, I did end up giving them a past so hopefully you like it!

So with my further do I present:

Is it casual now?

◯ Cho Hyun-ju x Fem! Reader

△ Alt! Universe- You and Hyunju are kinda like friend with benefits but you to be more

▢ oral(f!receiving), fingering, pet names, rough, kinda made her a bit toxic…2k words

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

Okay so this is my first ever smut and I just gathered all the info and tips I learned from reading smut so hopefully it’s good and if it is expect more soon :p

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

‘Casual’ that’s what you and Hyunju were according to any of your friends that asked. But oh boy how that hurts you in every way.

Was everything she has done to you that casual? Was spending hot hours of the night together that casual to her? Was all the marks she left behind that casual? Was that sore morning feeling she left that casual?

Oh how that word casual was used so wrong in this situation.

But here you are doing nothing but staring at her from across the table. With a drink in your hand trying to wash away that stupid word from your head. Maybe even trying to enjoy the celebration as causal friends.

“Unnie? Are you okay?” youngmi words snap you out of your train of thought. “Oh yes, sorry youngmi. What happened?” You asked with a complete sorry tone.

“Ah nothing, but we were just about to cut the cake! Also you look out of it? Are you sure you’re still up to continue celebrating?” she asked with those adorable sincere doe eyes. To be honest you always seen youngmi as younger sister but didn’t really like that her and Hyunju were also close. It made you feel green inside.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss the celebration of your 21st! It’s a once in a life time and the only day I can watch you get wasted for the first time” you laughed out while she gasped “are you sure it isn’t you who going to be getting wasted” youngmi said in a teasing tone.

“Ha ha ha your so funny, that only happened once” you said in a defensive tone with a pout but you notice someone staring at you from your peripheral vision. You felt your mouth go dry and your body tense up.

So you decide to look back at her but there she is staring at you a smirk looking you up and down like your some kinda of piece of candy. Did she just lick her lip, oh how you felt your legs start to shake.

“Uh excuse me youngmi, I have to the restroom.” You excuse yourself but not without feeling someone eyes follow you.

Once you finally reach the restroom all you could do was sigh. Maybe you were just a girl she banged but how she treats you makes you feel different.

Gripping the sink you take a deep breath and hear the door open. Looking up into the mirror you see her. She walking up to you, slowly pushing your hair that covered your neck to aside. You feel her breath on your neck making you release an airy moan.

“You know it’s not fair. You all over everyone else here but not daring to look at me.” She grips your hips pulling them back to met hers. “It’s quite rude actually. One day you’re in my bed and the next you ignore me, come on baby that no way to act.” She says in that pouting tone while she bites your ear in a teasing way.

Turning you to face her, your arms automatically move to around her neck waiting for her next action. But she just keeps moving her eyes from between your eyes and lips with that damn smirk that makes you weak to your knees.

Grabbing your chin she pulls you forward so your lips would met. A never ending battle with your mouths start. Tongue against tongue, tongue moving from in and out of your mouth, you felt like you were going wild.

Till she grips your neck to pull you away. You notice the string of saliva that connected your lips together. The hand around your neck gets your attention but is easily lost when she squeezed your neck making you whine while your eyes round back.

“Wow, you really know how to win a girl back with that face and noise don’t you” she laughs out with a smirk but not daring to move her hand not when she has you where she wants you.

“Mhm—please…” you manage to get out of your mouth. “Please? Huh you asking for something but I don’t know what you want. Your going have to use more words baby” oh how you hate when she does this, she knows what you want.

Gasping out “you..please…unnie” you start gripping her hair. “Aw the baby wants her unnie” Hyunju says in a teasing pout while she put her knee between your legs making you moan out and grip her harder.

“Okay here what I want you to do, your going to walk your pretty self to my car and wait patiently as I go tell the others we are heading out, if you don’t you won’t get anything from me got it.” She said sternly while looping a piece of your hair around her finger and staring at you like she ready to eat you.

Whining as she lets you go “ah come on, walk or I just go back and sit down but judging by the look on your face you won’t want that.” Ugh she just keeps pushing all the buttons that make you feel so weak.

Slowly walking away with a stumble from your shaking legs you make it to the door but not without turning once more to look at her with that begging expression. All she does is smirk in return and wave in a teasing way.

You’re not really sure how you did it but you managed to make it to her car, well with a few strange glances on the way. Getting into the passenger seat you fully take in what happened.

Shit I’ve fallen for it again… you thought as you threw your head back on the head rest. Why couldn’t you catch a break with this women were you really that stupid, yo— your thoughts get cut off when you heard the driver side open.

You felt a hand grip your chin forcing you to look at her, “come on, what can unnie do for you?” again with that hungry look in her eyes while she lets her thumb rub and play with your bottom lip. You couldn’t help it you started sucking on her thumb while trying your best to give her those ‘fuck me’ eyes.

Groaning she pulls her thumb out of your mouth and starts attacking your lips with hers. You pulled her in not getting enough of her taste it’s so addictive. Suddenly you feel one of her hands squeezing your breast over your top, you couldn’t help but like out a moan causing her tongue to dart straight into your mouth.

Pulling her away “Unnine..please f-fuck me..please” you let out with a crying while a few tears row down due to the need for pleasure. “You see baby that all you had to do, use your words” Hyunju says while wiping away the tears and gives you a small peck on your cheek.

“Now do me one huge favor and recline your seat back” she said with a sweet smile like what you guys weren’t about to do something freaky in her car.

Once doing so her hand suddenly gripped your thigh pulling your shut legs apart causing a moan to exit you due to the sudden action. “You look so pretty when you’re turning into a mess but you’re eternal when you’re a full mess” she whispered as she pushed your skirt up exposing the wet mess hiding under causing her to bite her lip.

You felt yourself tremble as she slowly started to trace the lines of your folds over your undies and pressing sweet kissing on your neck causing you to whine. But you started to push into her hand hard looking for the sweet friction “Ahah what did I say about being impatient baby..” she warns as she was taps at where you clit is located.

“I-I am sorry, I just need you so so so bad unnie please” you cry out trying to beg for her to fully touch you.

“Fine, since you asked so nicely but you better not start crying when you can’t handle it” she warned as she pushed you panties to the side and finally felt her thumb meet your clit making you let out a relived moan.

Your finally get that sweet sweet pressure you be looking for all night but the sudden feeling of two fingers entering you cause your legs to shut close.

“Hey I thought you were going to behave-” she growled out as she forced your legs back open with her other hand causing you get even more wetter. “Good now be a good girl and take what I give you” she said as she gave a rough thrust causing your hands to fly to hers, gripping it as if she going to tone down her thrust.

Moan after moan that’s what she pulling out of you and how that makes her movement go faster.

“Mhm! Unnnie…please—” cutting off your pleases she sticks her tongue in your mouth while gripping the back of your neck making her tongue travel more further. Continuing her abuse with her hand, she finally hits that sweet spot that makes you see star causing you to throw your head back. So she starts her recoloring her previous marks from nights before. She wants people to look at neck and just know your off limits, to know that your being taken care off.

“Hyunju!” You scream out as the hot knot in your stomach finally popped but that doesn’t matter Hyunju will continue her abuse til your done riding out that delicious high.

Sighing in delight Hyunju pulls her fingers out and makes you look at her as she stuff her soiled finger in her mouth causing you to moan.

“Mhmm~ quite a wonderful taste, now I am craving the taste but from the source” she smirks as you whimper and try to close you legs but she is already out of the driver side walking to the passenger side. Opening your door she push the button to make your seat go back as she just smiles.

She slot herself knee deep in the passenger seat while looking into your eyes she rubs and kisses your thighs. You couldn’t help but moan oh man is this casual now?

Opening your thighs she slowly leads her kisses to your folds. Groaning as she comes lips to clit she starts sucking causing your hands to grip her hair. “Ngh—unnie” you moan out causing her suck harder.

Pulling away she groan just getting a glance at your state “you really are eternal” she said was she licks your clit down to your slit. “Mh—please”that’s it, that’s all it took for her to enter you with her tongue groaning at the taste.

You start to squirm in pleasure, you just can’t get enough nor can handle it. But your put to sudden stop as she slaps the side of your thigh and grips your hip letting her nails press into your skin. All you could do was whine and shred those tear Hyunju loved so dearly.

A sudden loud moan leaves your mouth as her thumb starts circling around your clit adding more pleasure on top of what you’re already experiencing. You can feel the knot in your stomach start to twist with all the amount of pleasure so you start trying to push Hyunju head away.

“Unnie please I’m close—” you really tried to push her away but that woman won’t budge she kept her mouth where she wanted it whiling pushing in her nails even deeper into you.

“Wai—” you were cut off with your loudest moan of the night causing the knot to finally pop all over Hyunju. Gasping for air you start to calm down but that calmness is quickly gone with Hyunju rubbing her fingers over your slit.

“Mhm you did such a good job, and tasted so good” she said as she licked the leftover juices on you and her lips. “How about we head to my place?”

Oh you already know what she means…another ‘causal’ fuck with no strings attached. “Please” she mutters with that sad puppy look as she rubs up and down your leg so you just bit back that remark and nodded.

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

Ahh um let me know thought because I had to pause and rethink if I’m doing this right

#squid game x reader #squid game season 2 #squid game fanfic #squid game 2 #squid game #cho hyunju x reader #cho hyun ju x reader #cho hyun ju #cho hyunju #hyun ju #hyun ju x reader #hyunju #reader insert #fem reader #smut #squid game smut #Hyunju smut

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depravitycentral · 2 days ago

Text

Yandere! Gyomei Himejima NSFW Profile

Yandere! Gyomei Himejima x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, mentions of non-con, reader is implied to be smaller than Gyomei but let's be real EVERYONE is smaller than him regardless of your weight or height, anal play/fingering (m receiving), allusions to breeding, sub-ish Gyomei, masturbation, minor objectification, Gyomei is whipped, Stockholm Syndrome, accidental exhibitionism, Gyomei is a stone cold virgin (haha I am very funny), fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 13.6K

HABITS:

Sex is not a priority for Gyomei.

Not only does his lifestyle make having a partner difficult, but even the physical act of sex is something he’s never been particularly interested in. He’s just simply not that physical of a man – affection isn’t something he’s especially comfortable with, and while he wants nothing more than to hold you and keep you in his arms forever (and he really does mean forever, something he doesn’t hesitate in reminding you), touching you isn’t at the forefront of his mind.

And this is especially true in the context of sexual intimacy – it’s one thing to crave holding your hand, but it’s another to crave having your thighs wrapped around his head. It’s one thing to desire you falling asleep with your cheek pressed against his chest, but it’s another to imagine you perched on top of him, your pretty moans of his name making his cheeks feel hot and his pulse rising dramatically.

It feels disrespectful, more than anything, to imagine you in a sexual light; he’s already painfully aware that having any sort of romantic feelings towards you is wrong, but to doom himself even further with explicit, lewd fantasies of you? Just the thought makes him bristle, unease and shame crawling up his spine because only perverted men do that, men with no morals or self-control.

And he’s able to keep this mentality for an impressively long period of time - you’d be hard pressed to catch him having any sort of risqué thoughts regarding you for much of the time his obsession festers, the furthest possible thing being imagining kissing you and gently cupping your cheeks.

(And even then, the idea of slipping his tongue into your mouth makes his cheeks feel hot, his entire body feeling like it’s on fire and making him hurriedly forget the thought, instead busying himself with imagining hugging you or pressing a quick kiss to your temple. But as time passes, if his concentration lessens for even a single moment, then he’s suddenly thinking about you putting your tongue in his mouth, and suddenly he needs to sit down, his head feeling dizzy and light and overwhelmed.)

He manages to stay within the confines of innocent fantasies of you, physically conditioning himself to halt any thoughts further than holding you by pinching himself or biting his tongue, anything at all to deter such thoughts and reprimand himself. But really, while Gyomei may be a very morally guided man with one of the gentlest hearts, he’s still a man.

And like most men, he has needs – even if he himself isn’t truly aware of them.

And so, while he forces himself to stay respectful of you during the day, he’s not so in control of his thoughts at night. It’s not as easy to stop himself from playing out vivid, pleasure-filled scenarios when he’s in the grips of slumber, his subconscious running wild and imagining how you’d feel with your hands on his body, your soft breasts pressed against his own rigid chest, your lips kissing his neck, and the wonderful warmth between your legs that he’s absolutely sure would be such a tight fit, truly stretching you out in every possible way.

(And god, while the size difference intimidates him ever so slightly because he doesn’t want to hurt you, there’s something about the fact that you’re just so damn tiny compared to him that makes something primal and territorial stir in his gut, the sense of protectiveness and ownership he feels over you only amplifying, despite his wishes. And then he’s imagining the way you’d squeal and grasp onto him as he sends rope after rope after rope of thick, white cum as deeply inside of you as he can manage, and it’s only then that Gyomei truly gives up any hope of not viewing you in a sexual light because how can he not fantasize about stuffing you so full that you’re leaking it? Leaking him?)

He’s woken up to messy sheets, a sweaty body and heavy breathing more often than he’d like to admit, the cum smeared across his softening cock and the material of the bed making him feel dirty, ashamed and disgusting.

(And when he sees you later that day, you’ll notice he’s a bit quieter than usual, not standing as close to you as he normally would, but if you bring it up he’ll only tear up a bit, telling you to disregard his strange behavior, but not really giving you a reason for it. He can’t lie to you, it feels wrong, but he can’t tell you, either, so he settles with omission, praying you won’t push the issue further.)

And so, as time passes, slowly he’ll find himself becoming a victim of the lust that begins showing itself, rearing its ugly head when he finds himself wanting you most, the bouts of loneliness he feels late at night making fighting off his desire difficult.

But even then, Gyomei has the patient of a saint and could probably stave off his urges to actually touch himself for the rest of his life. Dirty thoughts, no, but the act of actually stroking himself or acting upon those thoughts? He could, if he really tried – or at least he could without the intervention of something outside of his control, something that pushes him to finally, finally give in.

And that intervention comes one summer evening, when the wind is warm and the night air is full of liveliness. The village he’d been sent to had a night market that was bustling, hence the presence of a demon slowly picking off the shoppers every night. Finding and destroying the demon was quick and easy, and as Gyomei wandered through the market after completing his mission, a wrong turn led to a rather shocking discovery.

The woman’s voice sounds almost exactly like yours, only a bit higher, a bit more slurred, a bit sultrier as she moans presumably the name of the man pinning her against the wall. The alleyway between the two buildings in the downtown segment of the town reverberates her cries strongly, the wet sucking and kissing noises as the man worked at her neck making Gyomei freeze, embarrassment slowly creeping up his spine.

Of course, Gyomei isn’t naïve – he knows about the intimate relations between men and women, and although he has no sexual experience of his own, the heavy breathing, racing hearts and wet plap plap noises echoing down the alleyway towards him tell him more than enough about what exactly is taking place just a few meters away. He knows that this is really quite a private moment, and he knows that he should really, really move.

And yet, the similarities between your voice and the woman’s make him pause, his legs suddenly feeling like lead, even as the man’s grunts and questions of you like that, baby ring in his ears, making Gyomei’s eyebrows shoot up because oh no, what a horribly inappropriate thing to be hearing.

A particularly harsh thrust and a nearly pained groan from the man has Gyomei suddenly moving, sensing that the man is close to his end and the Hashira would prefer to give them privacy during such a moment. He tries to continue on with his evening, focusing entirely on the feeling of the beads between his palms and the bustling sounds of the town’s evening life as he heads back towards the more populated area, but the damage is already done.

The woman sounded so much like you that it haunts Gyomei that night, the sound ringing through his ears on repeat and driving him nearly mad, forcing him to head back home to his estate early. Once he’s smelling the familiar air of his home (tinged ever so slightly by your scent, you having visited earlier that day and leaving a lingering reminder of you that he immediately deeply inhales once he enters), Gyomei relaxes ever so slightly, head dipping down in shame as he notices the way his trousers are still fitting tightly, the woman’s sounds and the small, barely-there thoughts he’s trying to repress about your sounds physically affecting him.

Furrowing his brow, he resigns himself to the knowledge that he’ll likely spend the rest of the evening hard enough to be uncomfortable, instead simply sitting and resting atop his bed. He tries to distract himself as the minutes slowly tick by, thinking of training, praying, and anything else he can conjure up, brain working as frantically as possible because the idea of you moaning his name in that same wanton, needy way just absolutely refuses to leave him.

It’s infuriating, really, and it leaves Gyomei with a heavy sense of shame in his gut because it’s just so, so disrespectful to be thinking of you in such compromising, lewd ways. It’s abhorrent, truly a sign of just how weak he’s become in your hands, all without you even realizing it.

The next few hours are painful, his erection remaining prominent and sweat beading his brow, his concentration waning the longer it drags on. Every time he lets his mind wander, it’s turning back to you – he’s thinking of the delicious smell of curried meat that was coming from a market stand, and suddenly he’s imagining the way you would suck on the meat stick, and it’s not long before he’s thinking of how you’d suck on his lips, his fingers, him –

He sits up abruptly, biting his lip and forcing himself to his feet. And eventually, as Gyomei tasks himself with whatever simple task he can think of as a distraction, the concentration and resolve eventually breaks. The neatly folded pile of his clothing in the corner of the room shouldn’t make him pause as it does, but as his fingers feel over the fabric to identify each piece, he can’t help but notice the presence of something new atop the other items – something lighter and softer, a material completely unlike the rough, thick fabric of his uniform.

Curiously, he brings the material up closer to his face, leaning down slightly and inhaling, only to immediately stop, eyes going wide because fuck, this is your shawl, isn’t it?

You’d accidentally left it in his home and he’d placed it in the corner with the hopes of keeping it out of the way to preserve it and not accidentally ruin it. And yet, as he stands there, muscles tense with each inhale bringing your scent to his nose again and again, Gyomei finds that he simply can’t take it anymore. He’s so hard that it hurts, and with the smell of you filling his lungs, how can he possibly hold himself back any longer?

And so, with a heavy heart and shame creeping up his neck, Gyomei finds himself once again laying on his bed, back flat against the ground and swallowing heavily. He’s never touched himself before – maybe once as a young teenager, but he’s simply not had the time nor desire to, and he’s ashamed to admit that he’s nervous.

But then he’s imagining the way you’d moan again, your pretty voice ringing in his ears, the syllables of his name rolling off your tongue like velvet, G-yo-mei whimpered in his ear as he kneads at your breasts, thumbing at your nipples and kissing along the sensitive skin of your jaw.

And that’s all it takes for him to gently loosen the belt of his uniform trousers, his hand slightly trembling as he shuffles them down a bit, the cold air brushing against his freed cock and making him shiver slightly.

He’s slow and methodical as he very, very slowly relaxes. Guilt still consumes him, but he’s already got his pants off, cock in hand – and soon, he’s throwing caution to the wind and instead focusing on the idea of you.

He starts by imagining a simple part of your body – your hands, the ones whose fingers always brush his own, resting against his clothing as you compliment him, always feeling warm and soft and so, so very foreign. He swallows, his fist moving to grip himself at the base, the dull pleasure making his toes curl a bit.

Then he’s mentally picturing your arms, remembering the way they feel against his palms. He’s sure the skin there is soft, too, and he squeezes tighter as he thinks of the way you’d wrap them around his neck as he thrusts into you, hovering over you and trying to get as deep as he possibly can – he wants to feel every possible inch of you, to leave you stuffed full enough to be a gasping, stuttering mess.

He’s imagining your collarbone, his free hand coming up to trace his own for reference. He decides that your must be more delicate, softer, pretty and mirroring the shape of your jaw. Slowly, his hand begins moving upwards, a low, uneven breath falling from his lips because oh, this is a strange feeling.

He’s not entirely sure what breasts feel or look like, but as he licks his lips, he thinks back to all the (unpleasantly and unwilling) conversations he’s overheard from perverted older men. Soft, he thinks, and surely firm enough to grasp onto – one hand continues the slow, steady strokes as the other reaches up in front of him, shame eating away at him as he spreads his fingers, cupping and squeezing them as if your chest were right in front of him, your pretty tits bouncing, the plap plap noise of skin hitting skin filling the room.

He quietly groans your name as he continues to squeeze, head lolling back slightly against the floor, a strained look crossing his features because no, he knows the feeling that’s coming is an orgasm but dammit, he wants this to continue, even as depraved as it is. Even as disrespectful and rude – even as badly as he hopes and prays that you do this thinking of him, too.

His thumb comes up to quickly swipe at his tip, his abs clenching tightly at the sensation. He’s thinking of your stomach – it’s soft, he just knows it, the perfect thing for him to grab at, imagining the way he’d rest his head against the soft pudge of your lower tummy as he licks and sucks between your legs, feeling your thighs cage around his head, squeezing and crushing and fuck fuck fuck –

He groans your name, hips bucking up and up as he imagines what lays between those pretty thighs of yours, the exact picture a mystery but the idea making every nerve feeling like it’s on fire, white hot pleasure burning its way from the pit of his stomach through to every limb.

He’s sure fucking you would be heavenly – he’s heard women’s genitalia described as warm, wet, and tight, and the mere idea of you being that way is enough to get him gasping, his orgasm hurriedly approaching and his concentration too haphazard to use a technique to slow his breathing and delay the inevitable.

It’s futile, really, because when he imagines the way you’d clutch onto him and tell him such sweet praises, your pretty lips pressing against his desperately, whining that you want him, that you need him, it’s only natural for him to start bucking up into his hand, thrusting against his fist faster and faster and faster, the sound of his ass clapping back down against his bedsheets reverberating through the room, along with the wet slapping noise of his balls clapping against his fist as he imagines fucking into you harder, faster, more more more –

And just the idea of you moaning a breathy, adoring I love you, Gyomei is enough to get his back arching up, every muscle in his body going taut as spurt after spurt of warm, thick cum spurts from his tip, landing in rivulets across his chest, feeling hot and wet even over the fabric.

He’s panting, breathing heavily and bathing in the aftershocks of his orgasm, cock still pulsing and throbbing even as the minutes tick by, still mostly erect even as he grasps at the sheets, a fresh wave of tears beading at his eyes because what has he done?

Clarity rushes back to him and for a moment he’s in shock, the pleasure still numbing his senses. He’d masturbated to the thought of you – imagining your naked body touching his own, fantasizing about the way he’d taste you, how he’d ever so carefully ease inside you, a thumb constantly pressing against your clit to make sure everything feels as good for you as he’s sure it will feel for him.

He’s breathless, disappointed in himself, and as he silently sits up and washes himself up in the bathroom, scrubbing at the drying cum stains on his uniform, Gyomei can only sigh. It’s truly amazing what you’ve done to him – what you’ve reduced him to.

And yet, as Gyomei walks towards your home the next day with the intention of walking you to the market, he can’t help but subtly take wider steps, hoping to adjust himself as he grows hard at the mere thought of being close to you.

What have you done to him?

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your Voice

Due to his blindness, Gyomei perceives your beauty in more meaningful ways than simply your appearance.

He fell in love first with your voice, the things you say never failing to leave him in awe of your kindness and your humility. He falls in love with your laughter, loving the sound and finding himself speaking more often simply for the chance to say something that would amuse you.

(Something that both you and others will notice, if only because it’s extremely unlike Gyomei to say anything even remotely hinting at humor, and while his comments often don’t land as he intended, you’ll often times end up laughing simply because it’s so out of character and odd of him. And oh, in the moment Gyomei is basking in the sound of your laughter, committing every inhale of breath and slight snort to memory, obsessively replaying the sound over and over and over.)

And so, when he’s falling into the depths of loneliness, arousal and desperation for you becoming too difficult to handle, he’ll think of the lulling sound of your voice, the way you roll your letters and how you enunciate your words. He’s memorized your speech patterns, always trying to engage you in conversation just so that he can listen to you talk, eagerly absorbing everything you say because it all feels important, like he’d be doing you a disservice to not memorize every little quirk, mannerism and opinion you have.

And so while his love for your voice begins platonically and innocently (or at least as innocent as it can be, considering his feelings for you are anything but), Gyomei finds that over time, this sentiment begins changing.

Sure, he’s still in love with your voice, but now he can’t stop thinking about what you’d sound like when you’re out of breath, when you’re moaning, when you’re whining and keening and begging and needing him to please touch me Gyomei, I need it so bad please please please –

He’s fantasizing about what you sound like during sex long before he feels comfortable with it, his mind conjuring up all these questions and hypothetical scenarios without his control. He’s idly wondering if you’re more of a moaner, all high-pitched and girly, plentiful sounds that are expressive enough for him to very easily and quickly be able to read exactly what you’re feeling, exactly what you’re wanting. Or perhaps you’d be a little deeper, more of a groaner, more likely to let out sighs rather than whines. Or perhaps you’re just very quiet - he’d be happy with that, too, finding that the minimal sounds he does manage to get out of you are all the more rewarding, all the more precious and worthy of cherishing.

(He’s even found himself, in a moment of dissociation as he tries to sleep, mimicking what he imagines your noises would be like – he catches himself after the third moan slips out, immediately stopping himself and becoming mortified because oh god, does he now not even have autonomy and control over his own body and actions?)

And once he’s stolen you away, his hand forced by some external event, Gyomei’s love and appreciation for your voice persists. He’s still captivated by it, except now he’s paying even more attention, listening to your heartbeat and the way you breath, finding himself pressing his ear up against walls when he wants to give you space but still needs to hear you.

Once your sexual relationship begins, he’s absolutely addicted to drawing all sorts of sounds out of you – he wants to hear your every moan, your every comment, every everything because he wants to know exactly how you’re feeling and what he can do to make it better for you.

He’s always encouraging you to be louder, to be more expressive, always asking you questions during sex in attempts to get you to be more vocal. It’s selfish, sure, but with the way his cock throbs at the sound of your voice, can be really be blamed?

You just have an effect on him – one he absolutely adores, shivers running up and down his spine merely at the sound of you breathing.

His Fingers

Even outside of the bedroom, Gyomei is reliant on his fingers. It’s a necessary part of his job – wielding his axe and flail, praying, even simple day-to-day activities. They’re thick, and they’re strong – calloused and weathered with the scars of battle and a tough life, and Gyomei has remarkable dexterity and control over them.

And while he may be blind, Gyomei notices almost immediately that you seem to take a liking to them, once your fear and apprehension towards him starts to wear off, once you start to see him as less of a threat and more as a provider, a lover, even.

So while he’s never really given them much thought, there’s just something about how you react to his thick, scarred digits that makes him positively swoon with happiness – it starts off relatively platonic, with you simply touching his fingers. Letting one of his hands rest in your lap, your smaller fingers comparing sizes, tracing scars and callouses, idly toying with them as you talk about something seemingly trivial to you.

(Little to you know that Gyomei is listening with rapt attention, every one of his senses heightened because you’re touching him, and it feels so soft and sweet and adorable that he almost thinks he might combust, his cheeks feeling warm and something fluttering in his stomach.)

It’ll move to you asking him to rub your shoulders, letting out little moans at the feeling of him running thumbs against your back, digging in – carefully, of course – against the tight, sore muscles of your shoulders, all the while Gyomei has to focus on continuing his job and relaxing you, ignoring the rather insistent erection pressing heatedly against his pants as a result of your sounds, the feeling of your skin, and the proximity of your scent.

And of course, you absolutely adore his fingers in the context of sex - one of them is enough to have you pleading with him to wait, please, the stretch is too much, you need a second to adjust, immediately pausing or pulling back, listening to you and asking if you’d like him to try again, if he should go slower, if you’d like to be done and instead do something else, or nothing else at all.

(He hopes, prays, even, that you’ll let him try again, that you’ll let him sink his fingers into you, curling and rubbing and mapping out every inch of you like some sort of sacred knowledge, like knowing you inside and out is his only purpose.)

And while Gyomei has never been an especially prideful guy, he can’t help the surge of satisfaction that rolls through him at the knowledge that he’s enough for you in bed, that he’s able to satisfy you and give you what you want at any time, sometimes even with just his fingers alone.

He had no experience before his infatuation with you began - he’d never even kissed someone, let alone fingered them or been inside them, but once he realizes how badly he wants to make you come, how desperately he needs to hear up-close the way you sound as your orgasm crashes through you, he’s suddenly learning as diligently as he can, taking into consideration your every whimper, moan and gasp.

Soon, he’s able to pinpoint your spot within the first three thrusts, and once he feels the way you tighten around him, almost as if you were sucking his fingers in further, deeper, he gets to work - he’s thrusting, curling, rubbing and stretching you out just how you like it, hearing the symphony of your noises and cries, along with the lewd squelching noises of his fingers pushing and pulling out of you again and again.

And when his calloused fingertips find your already swollen and sensitive clit? Honestly it’s game over – they’re never leaving the spot, quickly learning precisely how you like to be touched, the accuracy and ease of the movements nearly unfair as you squirm and writhe and gasp out his name.

Gyomei is determined, and he will get you to come, if it’s the last thing that he does. After all, how can he call himself good enough of a lover for you if he can’t even manage to do that?

DRIVE:

Before his infatuation with you began, Gyomei’s drive was quite literally nonexistent. The thought of sex hardly ever crossed his mind, and if it did, it was immediately shoved away, pushed aside for more important matters in his everyday life. Survival, hunting demons and saving innocents took all of his free time and energy, and touching himself was both unnecessary and a stark reminder of not having a partner.

(Something that doesn’t bother him up until he meets you – because now he’s suddenly hyper aware of what couples do. He’s constantly thinking of holding your hand, brushing back your hair and cupping your cheek, softly pressing his lips to the corners of your mouth and against your jugular, holding you in his arms at night to keep you protected from both the cold and any wayward demons. And of course, the other things couples do – the things that make him feel like some hormone-driven teenage boy for being so easily flustered, for being so horribly eager to try them out with you.)

His libido was essentially non-existent, and while he’d sometimes overhear Tengen talking in shockingly explicit detail to Rengoku about his latest sexual escapades with his wives, he genuinely never felt the need to even so much as think about intimacy like that, let alone indulge in it.

But once you worm your way into his heart, suddenly the urge to be with you in an intimate manner is just too much to ignore. Of course, it’s still very gradual – it takes years of friendship in order for Gyomei to even form romantic feelings towards you in the first place, much less feelings to this degree. And even once they’re realized, it’ll take a long while before he moves past fantasizing about simply sitting by your side and slowly breathing in the air you’re exhaling and instead towards fantasizing about fucking you until you’re crying.

But as time passes and he slowly gives in more and more to his better judgement, Gyomei finds himself idly toying with the thoughts lingering at the edges of his subconscious – ideas of how you’d feel underneath him, how your lips would curve against his skin, how you’d keen and sigh his name. It becomes too hard not to imagine the way your pretty cunt would suck in his fingers, clenching down and fluttering around him as he curls and thrusts them, listening to the beating of your heart and slowly but surely finding every spot that drives you absolutely crazy.

His drive is still quite low even once he realizes his infatuation with you (simply finding that while he very, very much wants to have sex with you, it’s not something he needs on an hourly or daily basis), but the more lewd, dirty thoughts about you are most certainly still swirling in his mind.

And really, how can he be expected to not fantasize about you?

You’re so beautiful, inside and out, and Gyomei is sure that if you were to allow him to touch you in such an intimate way, he'd be in heaven. The softness of your skin, the tightness of your throat, the warmth of your pussy…

(He’s heard, once again mainly from Tengen but also from others he’s unfortunately overheard, that vaginas tend to be warm, hot even. Initially, he’d just thrown aside this information, having no use for it, but the comments flow back into his head as he tries to picture what your cunt must feel like. Warm makes sense, but then he’s thinking of how it’s supposedly so very wet, assuming the woman is aroused, and Gyomei can only gulp at the thought, imagining the wet schlock noise that would ring in his ears when he’s got you bouncing in his lap. And of course, the tightness – he’s gripping himself harder at the mere thought, gasping sharply as he brings his fist up and down, varying the strength of his grip as he imagines where you’d be tightest, how your walls would squeeze and massage at him just how he’s been told it is.)

And you make it very, very hard to keep the thoughts from entering his head once he's accepted his sexual attraction to you.

When he notices the little sound you make when you throw your arms over your head and stretch, how can he not think of the way you’d squirm and cry out when he gently, sweetly presses a finger inside of you, curling and rubbing at the spot that Tengen promises will make you feel good? And although he knows it’s probably a bit inappropriate to be thinking of you in such ways despite you not being married quite yet, he honestly can’t help it - you’re too attractive to him, you mean to much for him to not want to be with you in every possible way.

After all, Gyomei wants to do everything in his power to make you as happy as possible, and if it means burying his face between your legs for hours on end and bringing you to your high a few times, he’s already plopping down onto his knees, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

(And even if you don’t really want it, Gyomei is still more than happy to taste you, practically begging you without saying the words, reminding you that he can make you relax, please allow me to pleasure you, it should help with your headache. And while it’s mostly for you, genuinely, there’s still a selfish part of him that’s hurriedly settling your pretty cunt over his face because he wants your thighs caging around his head, the taste and smell of you enveloping his senses, to have every ounce of your attention solely on him him him.)

He's not perpetually desperate for you in a sexual sense, but once Gyomei’s infatuation settles in for long enough, he will not turn you down should you offer.

That said, Gyomei will never force anything physical onto you in any capacity.

(And this is true In all senses – obviously he won’t force you into sex if you don’t consent, but he also won’t do things like holding your hand or calling you petnames, wanting everything in your relationship to be as reciprocated as possible. Except, of course, where your safety is concerned – if he looks the villain for kidnapping you, so be it, but at least he isn’t pinning you down and taking what he wants from you. Though with his stature, you’re aware that he could take practically anything he wants and you’d not be able to do a thing about it.)

While he isn’t especially experienced with romantic relationships, he’s more than aware that consent is everything, that each action and step should be accepted by both parties, whether it be a peck on the cheek or bending you over the nearest counter and leaving you sore.

Gyomei hates when you cry, and as the target of his obsession, this works in your favor - while you’re likely to develop sympathy and possibly even some warped sort of love for him, you won’t ever have to worry about being taken advantage of, or being put in a situation in which you’re forced to do something physical that you’re uncomfortable with. His top priority in any situation is you, and how can he justify shoving his tongue down your throat if you’re cringing, pushing at his far too muscular chest, showing obvious signs of fear?

How can he enjoy spreading your legs and running a thick finger up and down your folds when you’re shivering, whimpering with a few tears trailing down your cheeks?

He’d never forgive himself if he touched you without your consent, if he hugged or kissed or - heaven forbid, fucked - you without your explicit agreement, and this honestly ends up advantaging him in a strange way. It’s wrong and you know it, but eventually you’ll begin to grow fond of his gentle touches, his way of treating you as if you were made of glass, far too fragile and breakable for this world.

Perhaps it’s Stockholm Syndrome or the extreme isolation of only seeing one other person on a consistent basis, but eventually you’ll stop caring, justifying your growing yearning for his touch as simply a natural response to your situation. And at some point, you’ll want him to go further - no longer is a soft caress of your cheek enough; no, you want him to press his thumb against your lips, tracing the outline and pushing in just enough to pop it past your lips, settling on your tongue and telling you in that calming, deep voice of his to suck.

At some point you’ll decide that instead of him simply placing the palm of his hand on the top of your head as a sign of subtle, noninvasive affection, you’ll want him to instead have you on your knees before him, that same hand pressing your head down as you choke and gag on what you’re sure is a very, very sizeable cock. And once you voice these needs, gathering the courage and confidence that he won’t reject you (he would never, no matter how compromising or humiliating what you’re requesting of him is), Gyomei will be shocked, flustered, nervous, even.

When you shyly tug at his belt, kissing along the line of his jaw and whispering his name in a way that gets shivers erupting over his whole body, he won’t fight you. And all throughout the process he’s asking for your consent, refusing to move his hands until he gets explicit verbal confirmation that he can touch your back, your waist, your tits, your thighs, your ass, your cunt, your everything.

(Honestly, the question of are you sure, is this okay, does that feel good that constantly falls from his lips is almost too endearing, the ever-so-slight tremor in his voice giving away just how excited and nervous he is to be getting so intimate with you, as if the very, very insistent bulge pressing against your ass isn’t enough to tell by.)

It’s in moments where he’s completely vulnerable with you that the Stockholm Syndrome really accelerates: he’s slowly drawing circles against your clit and listening as if his life depends on it to the changes in your breathing, your moans, feeling the way your hips and thighs twitch at certain stimulation. It’s sweet, really, how attentive Gyomei is and just how anal he is about making sure that you’re comfortable with everything, and with each soft moan of his name and each orgasm he coaxes out of you, Gyomei can only thank whatever is listening, savoring the taste of you like a starving man and trying to memorize every inch of your body.

(It’s in the times of post-orgasmic bliss that he finds himself incredibly grateful for having prioritized your comfort and not pushed you into anything too early – sure, covering his mouth with the section of his happi you’d touched early in the day and absolutely yanking at his cock, his fist moving so quickly it’s nearly a blur wasn’t ideal, but it lead to this. All those evenings spent desperately trying to orgasm to release some of the built up sexual frustration and to minimize your chances of seeing the rather massive tent in his pants were worth it – anything is worth it to have you cuddled up in his arms, cheek smoothed against his bare chest, your soft breaths puffing against his nipple and making him lick his lips. Anything at all.)

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Oral Fixation

Specifically, Gyomei absolutely adores going down on you.

In general, he’s a giver in bed. He’s not a selfish lover by any means – in fact, he’s almost infuriatingly generous, prioritizing your pleasure over yours no matter the situation to the point that it’s almost irritating. And because he’s so cautious and aware that he’s significantly larger than you and thus has a cock proportionate to his height and stature, he knows that he needs to take things slow and spend a very, very long time preparing your body to take him.

And Gyomei’s personal preference is to use his tongue on you – to spread your legs and leave you squirming against him, the taste of you invading every one of his senses and only driving him to lick with more fervor, to suckle harder, to give you more more more because he needs you to be ready and able to take his cock or he thinks he might go insane.

He likes the intimacy of using his tongue on you – it means you trust him, he thinks, and there’s something so wonderful about the lewdness and vulgarity of it all. Having his mouth on the most sensitive, personal place on your body, all while your thighs cage his head in, your hips twitching and your fingers tunneling through his hair. He loves the way he feels so close to you – like he’s experiencing the most real, raw part of you that he can, the feeling almost as euphoric and intimate as having his cock nestled inside of you, warm and snug and full.

He loves the smell of you – it’s musky and earthy, something that makes his eyes roll to the back of his head and something resembling a groan slip from him at a mere whiff of between your legs, often leading to his hips bucking on their own, unconsciously moving to come closer to the source of your scent, his body physically unable to stop itself from trying to rut and fuck into you.

(Something that embarrasses Gyomei slightly, if only because he finds it rather pathetic just how poor his body-control becomes around you, ashamed at his inability to stop himself from responding so carnally, so perversely.)

He’ll often lean down and press his face against the pretty hair covering your cunt, nose-deep into it as he inhales, pants growing tight embarrassingly fast because oh fuck, he’s practically Pavolv’d himself into orgasming the moment he smells you, arousal blooming through him even though he hasn’t touched himself even the slightest.

And he’s not shy to tell you that you smell good, either – he’s always praising you in bed, but he’ll murmur to you that you smell divine, the compliment sounding throatly and groaned, and he’ll always finish it off by pressing soft, adoring kisses around the junctures of your thighs and pelvis, making sure every inch of space has been touched by his lips.

(And he gets very, very into it, too – he’s groaning lightly against your skin, letting his lips linger, letting his tongue come out to rub at the skin of your inner thigh, sucking slightly and letting go with a wet plop sound that makes your face feel hot and your stomach twist. It’s often at this point that he’ll wind up unconsciously very slowly grinding against whatever object is available, often the blankets you’re resting on and even sometimes your leg when he’s feeling especially needy, often when he’s returned from a prolonged mission. On those rare occasions, you may even feel something wet and very, very warm seep against your leg, hot cum already staining your skin and only serving as an omen for what Gyomei wants to do to you.)

He’ll trail kisses up to your clit, little kitten licks while he listens and gauges your reactions, trying to discover if you’re more in the mood for circles, figure eights, stripes, or – when a strange, unusual bout of possessiveness surges through him – the kanji for his own name.

(He’ll always grip onto you harder when he does this, still trying to be mindful of his strength, but with enough force to leave you completely immobile, utterly subject to whatever he wants to do to your body – a fact that both frightens him and excites some small, carnal part of him.)

He’ll station a thumb to work the pattern against you, rhythmic and steady, while his tongue darts out to dig between your folds, pressing shallowly into you while you twitch and whine, his thumb insistent against you. He’ll take his time to explore you, leaving no area untouched, and he’ll pull back with a few hearty sucks against your labia, licking his lips as he presses kisses against your stomach.

How would you like to come, my love? He’ll ask between kisses, the emphasis on the word ‘my’ subtle but still there. If you want to come solely from his tongue licking and sucking at you, he’ll be more than happy to – he’ll shift his positioning, laying on his back with you perched on his face, keeping his tongue stationary and instead moving you to the rhythm he knows you like, just so that all you have to do is sit there and take it, leaving your body completely in his control.

He’ll bring you to your high solely through sucking at your clit if you’d prefer, puckering his lips and keeping the pressure up, running his tongue over the sensitive skin and keeping them attached even when you buck up, your hips moving uncontrollably as you near your orgasm.

He’ll do both, if you want, able to multi-task and keep everything exactly as you like it, desperation motivating him because he needs to feel you come for him, to feel the way you muscles clench and spasm around him, to hear your pretty cries and feel your fingers dig against his scalp, pulling and yanking and making him groan lowly at the pain-twinged pleasure.

He just loves to please you really, and he can spend hours between your legs – genuinely, and without a single complaint. He’ll bring you a single orgasm or twenty, whatever you want of him, all you have to do is sweetly ask, to say his name and say please Gyomei, need another one, you feel so good and I want to come for you again all the while you grind against his tongue.

(If you really want to get him going, do all that and grab his free hand, slipping a finger or two into your mouth and sucking yourself, making sure it’s wet and sloppy and full of drool. He’ll pause for a mere second, before swallowing hard and immediately diving into your cunt, motivated because oh god, you never use your mouth on him – his own instigated rule, simply because he’s terrified he’ll choke you and kill you should he lose control and thrust down your throat. But this? Oh, perhaps he does have a penchant for your mouth, too, the oral fixation extending both ways and leaving him dizzy and light headed because even your fucking mouth is perfect, all warm and wet and smooth, making his cock leak so much precum that he idly wonders if he’s undergoing a single long, drawn-out orgasm because of the sheer volume.)

And Gyomei will be eager for the entire time he’s between your legs, keen to take you in any position – you laying down, from the back, you sitting on his face, anything that feels right – in any setting. He just loves the way you taste – how it’s so earthy, heavy against his tongue, natural in a way that makes him desperate for more, finding himself craving the taste at the most inopportune of times.

(Thank god for the looseness of the uniform pants – you can notice the tent in them, of course, with just how often he’s sporting an erection in your presence, but this way his fellow slayers won’t notice – which is good, because as your sexual relationship progresses, it’s a near daily basis that a passing thought of your taste hits him, literally making him salivate and having to leave the room briefly.)

He just really, really likes using his mouth on you, and he won’t hesitate to offer himself up at even the slightest change of you wanting it. Even the slightest chance.

Praise

He’s not terribly vocal in bed, but when he speaks he makes it count.

His natural sounds during sex are much more controlled – he’s always letting out these long, shaky exhales, his lips parted slightly and his eyebrows drawing tight because fuck you feel good. He’ll groan your name and often hiss lightly through his teeth, soft little ah-ah sounds falling from his lips when you’re sucking on him just right and riding him with the rhythm and angle he likes best.

And yet, he was very, very quiet at the beginning of your sexual relationship – only breathing heavily and giving you a slurred, rushed I’m coming right before so much cum is stuffed up into your cunt that you’re literally leaking around his still-hard cock inside of you. He was quiet mostly because he didn’t want to turn you off by letting out some of the more intense noises, groans that start low but turn into this higher, whinier sound, or chants and mantras of your name like a prayer when he’s gently rolling his hips into you, every muscle in his body clenching in an effort to restrain himself and not absolutely pound into you like he so desperately wants to.

He didn’t want to scare you or make you uncomfortable, but as he grows more familiar with your body and your sexual preferences, Gyomei finds that complimenting you seems to fall naturally off his tongue.

He already thinks of you as perfection in human form, idolizing you to such a degree that he knows it’s unhealthy but he can’t find it in himself to stop. He’s never seen your face, of course, but he’s sure that you’re beautiful, fingers having groped and traced out every feature of your face, every slope and curve of your body (even the inside of your body, too, of course) more times than he can count.

And before he knows it, all sorts of praises are filling the wet, thick air between you as he fucks into you – his voice is still low and timbered, the vibrations making shivers shoot up your spine and your nipples harden up, his strained praise of you take me so well, love only serving to get you going faster, grinding and scooping your hips more aggressively and feeling the way he sucks in a sharp breath and tenses up underneath you.

A lot of his praises focus largely on your performance during sex – always complimenting you for the way you feel, telling you that you feel like heaven and that you’re perfect and that you’re everything I’ve been dreaming of quietly under his breath the first time he carefully, almost fearfully cups your tits in his hands, squeezing gently and waiting pointedly for your response, forcing himself to not cave and squeeze as hard as he can.

He’s complimenting parts of your body, too – telling you that your skin is so soft, that your lips taste so good, that your ass is so warm and perfect to grip onto while you’re riding him. Of course, not in such vulgar terms – he only gets crude when he’s right on the brink of orgasming, some of his more lewd, risque thoughts coming to life because fuck fuck fuck it’s like you’re milking him for everything he’s worth, cunt sucking him in so tightly that he thinks he might die and oh god oh god oh god –

Even then, it’s still nothing terrible, but he’ll switch out some of the sweeter terms for cruder ones, calling it a cunt rather than your warmth or something equally virginal, really.

(Which makes sense, considering that it’s extremely obvious the first time that you touch him that he is in fact a virgin, his startled little gasps at every touch even against his torso leaving some sort of power trip rushing straight to your head because while he’s this hulking, huge, powerful man, you have him crumbling with a simple brush of your index finger, every muscle in his body flexing so hard it nearly hurts when you lick at his tip for the first time.)

Instead of asking you with a rather polite please go faster, angel when he needs you to bounce on him at a quicker pace, he’s throwing his head back a bit, Adam’s apple bobbing as he clutches onto you, losing his composure and telling you that you feel so – so good, oh keep going, don’t stop, you’re making me so close to coming – please tell me I can finish inside of you…

Which brings up another major aspect of his praise kink – Gyomei always seems to be asking for permission, even borderline begging at times. It doesn’t read as begging often, though, simply because he's still the one in control most of the time, even if you’re on top or dictating the pace. But he’ll always slip in a please, or bite his lip and wait for you to give him permission, managing to stave off his orgasm long enough to hear you moan out a yes, please come inside me, and suddenly he’s calling you beautiful and clutching onto you as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear, cum spraying into you and leaving you squirming because you can feel just how hot it is and just how much there is.

During his orgasms he’s particularly vocal, not to an exaggerated degree but always babbling in that deep, groaning voice that gets high at the very end about how you’re perfect, how you take him so well, how you’re made for him, how he loves you he loves you he loves you he loves you –

He genuinely finds you to be perfect, and every sexual encounter with him will leave you uncomfortably aware that he feels this way. He’s always complimenting you, and due to his lack of vision, the compliments are often extremely specific and leave you more puzzled than flattered.

He’s telling you that you’re the perfect size for him (this is often size closer to his orgasm, when he’s marveling and unable to fathom just how fucking tight you are around him), that you smell like how he’s always imagined (followed with a loud, audible sniff that’s trailed off with a moan, his voice higher than normal), that you’re so soft and squishy (this is always punctuated by particularly hard thrusts if he’s fucking you, and he’ll bury his face against the warm skin of your neck, hands groping at any fatty, squishy part of your body in a frenzy that’s rather uncharacteristic of him).

He just finds that while he’s normally able to stay composed and can be judicious about just how much he reveals he knows about you when he’s not touching you, the moment your skin comes into contact with his, a bit of his judgements flies out the door, instead focusing on the way you feel, how he’s been dreaming about this moment for months, guiltily wringing his cock dry at the mere prospect of getting to touch your used clothing, of getting to hear you breathing in his ear while he thumbs at his tip and lightly squeezes his balls.

You’re just so, so damn good – and in those moments where his admiration and obsession with become dangerously on display, you’ll feel equal parts disturbed and flattered, because really isn’t it just so damn pathetic that you’re able to turn such a large, important, strong man into a groaning mess that’s holding onto you for dear life with just a grind of your hips and a few well-timed, sultry phrases in his ear? Pathetic, sure, but also erotic, sexy in a way that scares even you for feeling it.

But Gyomei can’t seem to care, unable to stop himself form laying on the praise thick, not even conscious that he’s doing it – you just affect him that much.

Orgasm Control

But specifically, Gyomei wants you to control his orgasms.

Most of the time, Gyomei assumes a more dominant role in bed. He doesn’t really adhere to the dominant and submissive roles per say, but it’s rather because he holds so much power over you outside of the bedroom that it naturally follows between the sheets. You’re his captive, after all, and while you’ve slowly come around to him, perhaps even returning his feelings in some sort of deranged way, Gyomei is still undeniably the one in charge in your relationship.

So while he’s not shoving your face into the mattress and mounting you like some sort of animal staking his claim on you (though if you begged him hard enough, he might consider maybe doing something along the lines, but significantly toned down and with a constant question of is this alright, my love asked before each and every motion), between his size and his aura you’ll often find at the start of your sexual relationship that you’re following his lead, doing what he wants to do.

And this bothers Gyomei – he doesn’t like the fact that you still feel a shadow of fear for him, obvious in the way that you look to him for guidance and approval during sex, even though you have at least as much experience as him if not more. It makes him uncomfortable and reminds him of the reality of your situation, something he wants to escape from when he’s being intimate with you.

He wants to think of you as wanting to be naked in his arms and kissing him rather than you having talked yourself into it simply because he’s the only human being you regularly have contact with now. And to remedy this, Gyomei does his best to let you dictate the timing of his orgasms. He has impeccable self-restraint and control, and while it’s not necessarily easy, he’s pretty adept at holding off his orgasms.

(It’s a lot easier to come on command, of course, simply because all he needs to do is focus on the feel of you under his palms and around his tongue or cock, listening to your heartbeat and the sound of your voice and he’s already halfway there, only needing a single, final push to get him groaning and letting go.)

And while he doesn’t explicitly say it at the start, you’ll notice pretty quickly that he only lets himself go when you beg him to, only warning you with a clipped I’m close to coming as a prompt for you to tell him to either hold it in or release.

You’ll soon figure it out, and Gyomei absolutely loves the power structure that forms when you finally understand what he’s trying to do. There’s something thrilling about letting go of his control and handing it totally over to you. No longer does he have to be the strongest, wisest, or most senior – no, now he can just be Gyomei, just be your lover, the man unequivocally whipped and subject to your beck and call.

It’s freeing, almost, and he looks forward to seeing what mood you’ll be in each time your clothing gets peeled off. He’s not sure which mood he likes most – there’s something arousing about the way that you tease him, denying him his orgasm over and over and over, leaving him pent up but still attentive to your words, following your instructions and holding himself back, even when you’re doing things you know drive him crazy.

(Like bouncing on him just right, the feeling of your ass clapping against his thighs making his mouth feel dry. Or when he’s hovering over you, fucking into you slowly and deeply, and you go and wrap a leg around him, drawing him closer, begging him to finish inside but stopping him just moments before his release, telling him nuh-uh, not yet, you only get to come inside me when you’ve earned it. Or one of the rare times you’ve convinced him to let you take him in your mouth, teasing him with tracing his tip over your lips and collarbone, alternating between suckling at his tip and pushing your breasts together to rub up and down his length, narrating to him the whole time exactly what you’re doing. They all make his face go slightly red, his fists clenching up and the muscles in his arms bulging, veins standing out and leaving you to drool slightly, entranced that this behemoth of a man is listening to your words like gospel, forcing himself to be good and do exactly as you say. Even if you’re not an especially dominant person, there’s still something that’ll get you going about that, some sort of power trip that leaves you feeling light headed in the best possible way.)

The edging only serves to make his orgasm stronger, to make everything feel more intense, his eventual orgasm ending up being way more powerful, arcs of cum shooting from his swollen, red tip with such intensity that it feels almost painful against your skin.

(And he’ll finish wherever you tell him to, too – his preference is always inside of you simply because it feels the most intimate and it satisfies some small possessive side of him, but Gyomei will do whatever you want – you want him to finish on your chest? He’s painting your tits in white, droplets dripping from your nipples and drying in thick smears against your skin. Grab his hand and let his fingers feel over the mess he's made and he’ll lowly gasp, a smaller, less impressive spurt landing freshly on your chest, the feeling of his cum on you enough to get the last, sad little bit out. He’ll finish on your back, your ass, your stomach, your thighs, anything you want – just say the word and he’ll do it, eager to please you and make you enjoy your time with him, even if it means leaving his seed somewhere other than where it really belongs – inside you.)

But of course, Gyomei also loves the other side of you dictating his orgasms – that is, similarly to his ability to hold himself off, his refractory period is short. If you were to take advantage of that, you'll see him at the closest to pussydrunk you’ll ever get – make him come in quick succession, your hand steady and quick as you jerk him off, and you’ll see how the first orgasm is the familiar heavy load, the second is slightly reduced, the third even more so, and by the fifth orgasm he’s shooting blanks, abs clenching and unclenching so quickly that you almost feel bad for him, but the sounds he’s letting out are filthy. His normally low and masculine voice rises with each one, until he’s letting out something that isn’t quite a whimper but isn’t not one, either.

He loves the way you bleed him dry, your voice soothing and alluring even as you push him to the edge of his comfort zone, tears pooling in his eyes as you tell him to keep going Gyomei, I know you can give me another one, please give me another one paired with a wet, needy kiss to his lips.

You unlock all sorts of kinks and sides to him that he wasn’t aware even existed, and he’ll let you play with him as much as you please, eagerly setting down onto your shared bed, spreading his legs and helping guide you to your place in his lap, already rock hard below you.

He’s too big and powerful to be called pathetic, but he sure toes the line when you’re touching him, when you’re driving him absolutely insane.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Size Kink

Though, only in very specific circumstances. By and large, Gyomei is painfully aware of just how extreme the size difference between the two of you is – and regardless of your height or weight, you are smaller than him. Small enough to make him worry constantly about accidentally hurting you, terrified that he’ll somehow crush you or bruise you or simply be too much for you. It’s his number one concern when doing anything sexual with you, worrying that even a single finger slipping into your cunt will make you squirm with more than just pleasure.

But by the same token, there’s something so inexplicably right about just how much bigger he is than you. It’s shameful, he thinks, and it makes him feel like some sort of freak for being attracted to the size difference, but it makes him feel stronger, more masculine, feeling like a true protector and provider for you because he can encompass your whole body simply by hovering over you.

And he’s reminded of it at every turn – his hand against your waist covers half the area, the skin soft and plush and warm underneath him, but he can feel the curve of your hip, the expanse of his hand just that much on your body. He can feel the way your fingers struggle to fully grab around his cock, fingertips barely touching even as you squeeze him tightly, and while it seems to frustrate you, Gyomei can only headily swallow, cock twitching in your hands because god, there’s no way that will fit inside of you, will it?

And yet as he swallows, oh so slowly eases you down as you straddle him, going slow and giving you ample breaks to adjust to his size, there’s something about the way he can feel you tremble, your cunt stretching to accommodate him that makes him fist at the sheets, struggling to maintain his composure.

(The warmth and wetness of your walls certainly don’t help his predicament, absolutely soaked and sensitive from the some three orgasms he’d already pulled from you in preparation.)

He’s cautious and terrified that he’ll hurt you, of course, and his concern for you weighs out over any sort of sexual pleasure he gets from the size difference, but it’s still present at the back of his mind, toying with him and begging him to just shove himself inside of you, to take a quick, harsh pace like his body is dying to, to use you as some sort of living cocksleeve for him to fuck into and fill up. He won’t ever do that, of course, but it’s one of the main motivations behind his deep, far-reaching thrusts, enjoying the way you gasp and claw at him when he’s nudged up right against your cervix, pressing and filling you to the point of you almost feeling that you’re being split in half.

He preps you well enough that you’re always able to just barely take him, too worried that he’ll hurt you otherwise, but he still can’t deny the allure of just how different your bodies are.

(And this extends beyond the bedroom, too – he loves the way you fit against his side when you cuddle against him, or how he has to lean down for you to press kisses against his face - something he absolutely adores and very does not mind leaning over for.)

It’s just sweet in his opinion, and while it gets blood rushing south more easily than he’d care to imagine, it ultimately only serves as another reminder that he needs to keep you safe and protected, that you’re too weak to survive in the real world without his aid.

(And, of course, some selfish part of him is satisfied with the knowledge that now that you’ve had him, you’d never be satisfied with another man’s cock, never able to feel the level of stretch and fullness that he can give you. Not that he’d allow you the opportunity to try with another man – he’s not terribly possessive, but the thought of someone else touching you, fucking you, is enough to get his nostrils flaring, rage simmering through him because he absolutely does not want anyone else getting even remotely close to you in that capacity.)

Thigh Riding

Gyomei lives to please you in bed. Every sexual encounter with him sees your pleasure as the absolute priority – he’ll have pulled some three orgasms from you before he even thinks about reaching one himself, before he even really pays attention to the fact that he’s so hard he’s soaked the front of his pants through.

And he’s not picky about how to get you there – namely, Gyomei doesn’t mind being quite literally used for your pleasure, his every limb and feature available for your use. He’ll let you do whatever you want to him; bending him into all sorts of positions, giving him directions for how to finger your pretty cunt, laying down and letting you grind and hump at his face like he’s a mere pillow.

He loves to be of service to you, and he finds that the best sex is where he’s nothing more than a toy for you, at least at the beginning – hence, Gyomei grows to absolutely love having you ride his thigh. He’s huge, a hulking man with muscles so thick and defined that you’ll quite literally be drooling the first time you see them, sucking in a sharp breath when you touch him for the first time.

(And he’ll feel a mixture of pride and bashfulness grow inside him when he hears your little gasp – he’s overjoyed that you seem to like what you’re seeing and feeling, some small, anxious part of him having been terrified that you’d be repulsed by his size and the scars littering his body, that you’d find him to be too muscular, too intimidating. And you can tell, too, because the way that he visibly becomes harder afterward the gasp is a clear indication that you’re doing something to him, your mere presence and breathing getting him hard as a rock.)

He likes the physicality of the act – he keeps you steady on his thigh, the muscle large enough for you to straddle, and the feeling of your hands gripping onto his chest for support makes him oddly giddy.

The first time it happens, Gyomei honestly isn’t sure what you’re trying to do - when you straddle his thigh rather than his waist, his lips part slightly, confusion evident across his features. But as your hips start moving, your exposed, wet cunt sliding against the toned, broad expanse of his thigh again and again, he’s suddenly grasping onto our hips, helping guide you up and down the length of his thigh, occasionally tensing his muscles in order to hear you gasp and cry out his name.

He wants to do everything he can to service you, to help you reach that wonderful high, and the only thing that’s rolling through his mind at that moment is how perfect you feel, the way his name slips from your lips as your body shakes in pleasure, how he can feel the pulses and clenches of your cunt even as you pick up the pace.

And when he snakes a hand down to thumb against your clit, he nearly comes from the sound that escapes you - it’s so wanton, so lewd and dirty but so fucking hot, and suddenly all he can think of is the repeated phrase of make her come, make her come, a mixture of desperation and determination leaving him frantically rubbing at your clit.

Gyomei will offer his thigh to you whenever you feel like riding it, and once you’ve finished, your body exhausted and laying down next to him, he’ll sneakily rub along the area where your slick has rubbed off onto his thigh, bringing his fingers up for a taste and groaning as your flavor coats his tongue, free hand reaching down to palm at himself, squeezing at his balls and shuddering. Gyomei can and will do anything to make you feel good in the bedroom, and he’ll never turn down the opportunity to see you fall apart on his thighs.

(And if he’s feeling particularly needy or knows he’s leaving for a long mission away from you, he won’t bother to wash off his legs afterwards – he'll let your slick dry against his skin, wearing it like a sort of badge of honor, feeling connected to you as he slaughters demons even while you’re miles and miles away from him. It’s dirty, sinful, even, but it’s enough to keep him satisfied, to let him bear to be away from you while he does his duty. And yes, he’s running his fingers along the area occasionally and sniffing, his knees getting ever so slightly weak because the smell has the taste of you flooding his mouth, the sound of your moans ringing in his ears, even phantom touches of yours erupting all over his body.)

BIGGEST FANTASY:

As a general rule, Gyomei prioritizes your pleasure in the bedroom. He’s not a particularly sexual man, and so he views intimacy as being all about making sure that you enjoy it to the fullest extent possible – in many ways, he sees himself as merely a tool for you to use to reach your high.

(And if he happens to orgasm – which he always does when it’s you touching him – then great, but it’s not a necessity.)

And this is largely true – he really does want you to enjoy fucking him, and he’ll go to extremes just to make sure everything is as perfect as possible.

But Gyomei is only human, and as such he harbors a few fantasies that are entirely selfish, entirely about him – one of which develops by complete accident. He’s so terrified to hurt you that he’s constantly looking for ways to satisfy you without using his cock, because although he loves the feeling of your lips, fingers, or cunt wrapped around him (to the point that just thinking about it makes his composure falter ever so slightly, his jaw going a bit slack and his Adam’s apple bobbing harshly), he’s always concerned that it’ll be too big and you could hurt yourself if he fucks you with it.

And so, during the rare times he’d get off before he begins any semblance of a sexual relationship with you, Gyomei’s exploring alternative options.

And while it isn’t necessarily a way to help you get off, per se, he’d been idly gripping himself while thinking one evening, biting his lip and feeling awfully shameful of his actions but unable to bring himself to stop. He’d reached down further, sucking in a sharp breath as he carefully and delicately cupped his balls, idly squeezing and rolling them between his fingers.

But he must’ve been too deeply in thought, distracted by the idea of you, that his hand continued down, reaching and pressing against his skin, until a sudden, odd sensation made him pause, eyes going wide. He’s never even considered anything involving either your ass or his own, but at the single press of his fingers against his hole, the strange, fluttery feeling in his chest makes him feel a bit light-headed.

It’s dirty, taboo, and he hadn’t explored the thought any further that night simply because he was too embarrassed to have found it pleasurable, but it sticks around in the peripheral of his mind. There’s this ever-present question of what if, a sort of far-off fantasy that he toys with every once in a while, when he’s particularly needy and missing the feeling of your skin on his or your attention on him.

And the idea of you taking your time, worshipping his body and guiding him through a new, pleasurable experience makes more than just his cock swell, because there’s something so loving and calming about it, and letting himself be vulnerable in that way is something he hasn’t done for years – something he can’t afford to do, no matter how wonderful it sounds.

Of course he’d never, ever bring up the idea to you for two reasons – it bothers him a bit that you wouldn’t be getting any direct pleasure or stimulation out of it, and he’s too embarrassed to admit that he wants you to touch his ass, afraid that you’ll find him disgusting or flatly reject the idea. He'll keep quiet about it, and if you were to bring it up, you’ll see the way he subtly perks up, body tensing as he swallows, telling you that you don’t have to, I understand that you may not wish to.

But if you’re insistent, and you see the way it affects him, Gyomei will be putty in your hands – you can do anything to his ass, and he’ll take it so well, the only sign that you’re affecting him being the small, barely-there moans leaving his lips, a slight flush across his cheeks, and the copious, copious amounts of precum oozing from his swollen tip.

So really, play around – he’ll never request it, but it’ll only make his feelings for you grow stronger, his desperation and dependence on you growing because only you can make him feel this way.

“Gyomei, I want to try something new tonight.” You start, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips. He’s got you straddled in his lap, large hands resting on your hips and his back leaning against the near wall. At your words, he nods, encouraging you to continue.

“Anything you wish, angel.” His voice is low, deep, excited in a way that you can ever so slightly pick up on.

You take a deep breath, leaning up to whisper into his ear as you brace yourself on his chest. “Gyomei, I want to touch you. All of you.”

His hands lightly squeeze at your sides. “You have all of me, you know this. I am all yours, and you can do whatever you please with me.”

You laugh slightly and it makes Gyomei shiver, his grip tightening just enough to make you uncomfortable, but you don’t say anything. “No, I want to touch you where I haven’t before – somewhere new.”

You reach back and grab one of his hands, guiding it to press against your clothed ass, his index fingers landing on the indent between your cheeks.

Gyomei gulps. He’s silent for a moment, mind racing, but the semi-hardness underneath you throbs at your words, and you only smile as he shakily exhales, murmuring an “Are you sure?”

Carefully taking his earlobe between your teeth, you grind down onto him, your thumb finding his nipple over the fabric of his top. Humming, you let go of his skin with a kiss, telling him, “Yes, please… lay on your front for me, please Gyomei.”

Which leads to where you are now, with your big, strong captor laying on his front, arms kept tucked at his sides. This angle makes his muscles stand out, his sculpted back and the definition of his thighs nearly making you drool. And of course, the tan skin of his ass, muscular enough to make you grab handfuls of each cheek and spread them apart to get a good look at him. Coarse black hairs dabble over his skin, and Gyomei finds himself oddly self-conscious as he feels you staring. He’s laying with his head to the side, his breathing still a little quick, and he waits with baited breath for you to do something, to say something, anything.

What he isn’t prepared for, though, is to feel your soft lips press against the sensitive skin of his cheeks, making him jerk ever so slightly and stiffen up under your touch. Your thumb rubs soothing circles against his skin as you kiss a trail down from his tailbone to his thigh, the hardness of his muscles never ceasing as you continue.

“Gyomei,” you whisper against his skin, “relax for me, please. I want to take care of you.”

He hesitates, but forces himself to be less tense, only slightly shifting under the weight of your lips. You smile at that, planting another kiss. “So good f’me.”

That gets something small and uncharacteristically high sounding from low in his throat, but you don’t comment on it.

Your thumb comes down to press softly against his puckered hole, and Gyomei sharply inhales at the sensation, immediately clenching and shaking slightly at the feeling of you increasing the pressure, just idly rubbing circles over it.

The way you retract your hand without warning almost makes Gyomei grunt, confusion and disappointement contorting his face, but then your thumb is returning, something warm and sticky coating your thumn, and suddenly you’re pushing in, further and further until you break past the tight ring of muscle, Gyomei’s breath goes ragged because it feels strange –

It feels good, though, and as you settle in to your first knuckle, his toes curl slightly, the sensation odd but not unpleasant.

“How does it feel, Gyo?” You ask, pressing more kisses along his back and squeezing at his ass. He can’t quite answer, too overwhelmed by the feeling of your thumb inside him. Smiling, you lightly nibble at the skin of his lower back. “Know what I’m using for lube?”

He shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to get used to the feeling.

Pressing your thumb just a hair further, you smile at the way he jolts, thigh muscles tensing hard enough to see visible definition. “It’s me, seeing you like this is making me wet enough that I’m using my own slick to prep you…”

That gets Gyomei groaning, the sound muffled by the pillow underneath him, but audible nonetheless. His cock’s painfully hard, pressed up against his stomach, and he can feel the wet pool of precum already staining his skin and the fabric of the sheets below him.

Humming, you press another inch or so in, curling your finger slightly and listening the way his breathing changes, trying to identify what he likes most.

“So pretty, Gyomei,” you start, and his eyes snap open when he hears the familiar sound of your fingers sinking into yourself, the small sigh you make only making him clench around your thumb and his cock throb underneath him.

Your thumb’s all the way in now, and as you slowly, shallowly begin thrusting it, you time it with your own pumps inside. “I’m fucking myself at the same pace as you, that way it’s like we’re together.”

Your voice makes him melt, and as you angle your thumb just right, a gasp tunnels its way through him, ripping him apart and making his hips jerk forward, humping at the sheets below him.

You smile. “There, huh?”

And immediately you’re abusing the spot, pressing tightly against it and rubbing it in a hithering motion, Gyomei’s hips twitching wildly at the feeling. He’s chanting your name under his breath as the pleasure begins mounting, eyes shut again and eyebrows drawn tight.

He’s embarrassed, truly, because even something as small as your thumb has him falling apart like this, desperation lacing his movements because this is building up to be a different feeling from his normal orgasms, something entirely different that makes his whole body tense up and stutter, a muffled groan sound, “It-It’s coming – “

And suddenly cum is caked along his front, your eyes watching transfixed as the visible portion of his balls clench and spasm wildly, his ass flexing and the tightness nearly forcing your thumb out. Instead, you keep pressing against his prostate, watching the way he clutches onto the fabric below him, grip so strong that the fabric rips under him, his strength uncontrollable as his orgasm rocks him.

It’s easily a twenty second affair, cum pouring out of him and visibly seeping into the fabric surrounding him, making you lick your lips because oh, isn’t this precious? Your big, sweet, strong Gyomei falling apart with your thumb up his ass, something like whimpers falling from his lips because you’re still rubbing inside him, reaching deeper with every curl and leaving his back to tense up, shoulder blades visible as he fights off the acute feeling overstimulation.

You only press a kiss to the back of his head, pausing your movements for a single moment as you murmur his name in his ear, telling him with a near purr, “You’ll give me another one, right? I know you can do it, my pretty boy.”

And the way he shudders, hand snapping out to grab onto your thigh as he nods tells you enough, as does his muffled, choked “y-yes”.

#yandere kny #yandere kimetsu no yaiba #yandere ds #yandere demon slayer #yandere gyomei #yandere gyomei himejima #_lee's profiles #_kny #_gyomei himejima #yandere smut #kny smut #kny x reader #gyomei himejima x reader

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gobeyondthesky · 2 hours ago

Text

I almost trip in shock.

The prince? Here? With a cake?

I must have lost my mind… maybe smelled one too many Dusklilies and I’m hallucinating. The image of a prince in his pristine outfit, complete with his little hat, standing in the middle of my living room/room/kitchen, with a dirt floor and an old Merlin’s Magical Goods tarp for a ceiling, was one I never thought I’d see.

Some remaining sane part of me screams “Say something!”, but shock is a funny thing. I’m stiff like late King Corvious’ statue and my mouth as dry as the Hasar Desert.

“Uh— is she dumb?” His Majesty asks.

That brings me back.

“Of course not!” I yelp. Quickly remembering I could lose my head for being rude, I add begrudgingly, “Erm, Your Majesty”.

I can’t remember when was the last time Prince Ellias left the palace. Rumor has it he’s been preparing for his ascension to the throne day and night, working to master his talents — mysterious powers no one knows about. I’ve always thought he’s just a stuck up bitch baby that won’t get his pretty little silk slippers dirty.

Sure, he is beautiful. Gray-blue eyes, sculpted face, silky black hair falling on his face gracefully… but nice? The stories seem to tell otherwise, and I’m confirming that live.

“You don’t seem like a flower girl at all”, the baby says, a sneer on his face. He looks me up and down, pointedly stopping at my empty hands.

The bastard. Like I wanted to do this. Stealing flowers and selling them is easier than stealing and selling anything else. Hells, there’s a house in Puckard Street owned by a blind lady that has a huge garden with all sorts of plants and it’s not like she will notice them missing.

The prince looks back at his advisor, confusion mixed with disdain. The advisor shrugs back, hands trembling a little over some papers.

“She’s the only flower lady in the realm that’s in her 20s and has a birthday today, Your Majesty,” the advisor tries to whisper, nervousness lacing his voice.

To me he says, mustering courage, “the Prince wishes to celebrate your birthday, as a sign of thanks for your service to the realm”.

I don’t buy it. So I stare at him point blank.

The Prince sighs, clearly debating something with himself, his body hunched as if in defeat.

The part of me that cares not for her head blurts out, “What.”

And suddenly, he’s on me.

His lips are trying to find mine and my two brain cells can’t decide between stabbing him with my hidden knife or kissing him and seeing where this is going, hopefully leading to some money. I’m tired of living in this alley makeshift house my mother left me in.

I decide to push him. Instinct I guess.

“You— what the hells is going on?!” I scream pushing with all my strength and the two loafs of bread I’ve had to eat today.

He stumbles back, his advisor catching him. His eyes lock with mine as he says “I will not continue to live with this curse, stop making this harder on yourself”.

The fuck?

Why can’t I have nice things? I mean, it’s my birthday for god’s sake! Where do these people get these ideas from? How can I, a mere flower girl that hasn’t two pennies to rub together, break a curse?

“What in the Hells are you saying?!” I stare back and hard. I will not stand for this.

“It’s your birthday is it not? The prophecy states I must share a love kiss with a ‘girl touched by flowers on the date of her 25th year or the darkness will persist’” he exclaims as if I had to have knowledge of this, because of course, who wouldn’t.

I can only stare in disbelief.

That damned mother of mine. She truly was a witch. And she truly meant it when she said she’d give me “the realm and the world to lead”. I thought she was on something. Balckcapped mushrooms perhaps.

And I, naturally, break out laughing.

The cake is a nice touch, but this is a game I can play too.

“Oh, Prince, I would most definitely kiss you, but this will cost you”, I purr.

The advisor bites his lip and closes his eyes, as the prince squints his eyes and shakes his head. I can hear him mutter to himself, “flower girl alright”.

I smile and mentally start to prepare for the rest of my life.

You are a poor girl selling flowers. Today is your birthday but no one knows. When you return home you find the prince of the kingdom waiting for you with a birthday cake. "Are you sure this is the one?" He whispers to his advisor.

#first short story #my writing

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bewaryofpity · 11 hours ago

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NEXT STEP IS LOVE - L. HUGHES

[2.0k] luke brings you to the family skate, surprising his teammates, and the usual “i didn't know you had a girlfriend” comes up, but this time luke has enough of calling you just his best friend.

warnings: none ! just some cute ol' fluff; probably really cringey 😔

a/n: she's a short one, and i’m not really fond of it but here it is anyway. sorry guys :(

“Didn’t know Luke had a girlfriend.”

“That’s because he doesn’t. That is his best friend.”

“Bullshit.” Kovacevic laughed in Jack’s face before turning his head back towards Luke near the bench.

Luke was kind of a private person so the idea of him having a secret girlfriend would have made sense to anyone, especially to the new guys he wasn't close with yet. But when Jack revealed that the girl in front of Luke was simply a friend had to be the biggest lie Kovy ever got told. Because friends don’t look at each other that way.

Luke’s fingers were trembling as he tied the laces of your skates carefully, making sure they weren’t too tight or too loose. He felt nervous having you here with him, which was strange because it wasn’t like you’ve never been around the guys before, but the new season meant new guys too. Which also meant that the same old dreaded question was going to come up at any moment.

“Good?”

You nodded in response before stretching your hands out so Luke could help you up the bench. You were wobbly at first, as he tried to hold back the teasing grin creeping on his lips, definitely not used to being on skates as often as him.

You slowly made your way onto the ice, clutching his hand like your life depended on it. He couldn’t help but keep his gaze on your concentrated face, cheeks flushed from the chill of the arena as you found your rhythm. He was lost in his thoughts, stomach filling with butterflies when your hands squeezed his tighter. And if it weren’t for the little squeak you left out, he would’ve let you fall.

“Sorry,” he said with no hint of honesty in his voice while you shot him a playful look.

It wasn’t long before you found your footing and let go of his hands to skate side by side. There weren’t many chances for you to hang out with Luke in these settings. The last time you skated together was when he was still a rookie, and he almost got in trouble too many times for using the rink after hours just to teach you how to skate, but you loved every single moment of it. So when he realized your day off coincided with the family skate, he didn’t hesitate to mention it and you couldn’t wait to be there for him, doing something you know would make him happy.

Though, the only thing that was different from those times was the fact that holding Luke’s hands now had your heart doing funny tricks on you. The newfound warmth that has taken over your body in his presence this past year or so was unexpected and scary because you were well aware what this meant and you couldn’t lose Luke over a stupid crush.

If only you knew that he too got to a point where hiding his feelings for you was actually painful. He tried everything to spend as much time with you as possible. Faking being too tired to drive back to his place and sleep on your couch, missing optional skates, staying up at night before an away game just to hear your voice, letting you nap and waking you up only to convince you to spend the night at his place because i don’t want you to drive, it’s too dark outside and dangerous. It was all worth it in his eyes. But the ache in his chest everytime he had to leave you was becoming harder to suppress than he thought and he couldn’t take it anymore.

As he tried to grab at your brushing hands, Pesce stopped abruptly in front of you and almost knocked you down in the process.

“Didn’t know Rusty here had a girlfriend.” He said with a grin before turning his attention to Luke, wiggling his brows in a teasing maner.

“Oh, no, I'm just a friend.”

“Oh.”

“His best… friend, actually.” You tried to smile as sincerely as you could. The question never bothered you before, you two were close enough that such was expected, but the way Luke couldn’t look at you during the exchange with his teammate created a pit in your stomach.

Before he could take you away from the awkwardness of it all, Cotter skated over too. “Here we go,” mumbled Luke.

“Meeting the girlfriend without me?”

“Not the girlfriend apparently.”

"Really?" He asked, his tone skeptical as his eyes flicked between you. "Could’ve fooled me."

Luke groaned, not missing the way his teammates exchanged knowing looks and chuckling under their breaths. He couldn’t really blame his teammates for jumping to conclusions. If he were in their shoes, he might have assumed the same thing, it happened way too often anyway.

He grabbed at your hand and pulled you towards him, skating as far as possible from everyone. Was it really that obvious he liked you? Yet, you were still by his side, seemingly not phazed by the constant nagging and teasing from outsiders about your relationship, which could only mean that you didn’t like him back.

Luke was tired of all of this and the months he spent burying his feelings for you, convincing himself that your friendship was enough, were all coming down on him now with everyone assuming you were a couple. Feeling heavy, he hoped the family skate came to an end soon.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry about them.”

“That’s okay.”

You nodded but didn’t press further, not yet at least. Your hand came to rest around his bicep, seeking his warmth and pretending to need balance as you grew tired.

The easy rhythm you found earlier was now gone. Luke could tell you were trying to bring yourself comfort by staying close to him, though you kept your gaze on the ground which could only mean you were absorbed in your thoughts. And he hated that it was all his fault, he hated the idea of you thinking he was embarrassed or annoyed by the assumption that you were together. Because he wasn’t, he had dreamed of being your boyfriend more times than he‘d like to admit. And he wanted nothing more than being able to call you his.

Sensing your exhaustion, he led the way towards the bench to change back into normal shoes. The rink was quieter now, families thinning out. You leaned back, stretching your legs, and looked at him with a small frown on your lips. You didn’t have time to reach down when he brought up one of your feet to untie your skate.

“What’s on your mind, Luke?”

Luke hesitated, his fingers fumbling with your skate laces. “Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Luke. You’re too quiet, what’s wrong?”

“Does it not bother you when people ask if we’re a couple?”

You blinked at him, startled by the question. It wasn’t what you expected, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. Luke had stopped untying your skate, his hands frozen mid-motion as he waited for your answer. His expression was unreadable, but you could see the tension in his shoulders and the way his jaw tightened.

“Bother me?” You repeated softly, the chill of the rink seemed to seep into your skin, though you weren’t sure if it actually was the cold temperature or the sudden shift in the conversation. “No, not really. I mean, it happens all the time, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Luke nodded slowly, looking down at your skate again. He resumed working on the laces, but his movements were slower now, almost hesitant. You shifted slightly, your other foot tapping lightly against the rubber mat beneath the bench.

“Does it bother you?” You tilted your head, watching him carefully.

Luke let out a quiet sigh and dropped his hands on your leg. “I don’t know.” He admitted. “Sometimes, I guess. Not because of what they think, but… because of what it implies.”

“And what does it imply?”

You echoed, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart began to race, the steady rhythm you’d been clinging to slowly slipping away. You couldn’t help but search his face for clues, for anything that might explain the sudden vulnerability in his tone.

Luke hesitated, his green eyes flicking up to meet yours for something — permission, maybe, or courage. And for a moment, he seemed to be weighing his next words, his brows drawing together in a way that made your chest ache.

“Luke…”

“I like you,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush, as if he was afraid he’d lose his nerve if he waited any longer. “I’ve liked you for a while now and I’ve been trying so hard to pretend that I don’t. I can’t stand being apart from you, I need you close to the point where I am not my own person anymore. I’m tired of the ache in my chest everytime I have to leave you, not just for roadies, but every time we part ways, it’s like I’m a different person without you that I can't recognize.”

“When they say stuff like that, it just makes it harder because I want it to be true. I want us to be more than just friends. I want to wake up next to you and come home to you every day.”

You blinked, clearly caught off guard. You tried to open your mouth as if to speak, but he pressed on, the words tumbling out like water breaking through a dam. His words started fading in your racing mind. His confession hung in the air heavy and raw, and all of it felt like you’ve been hit by a truck. Luke, your best friend, liked you and you were glad he hadn't stopped talking because, truly, you didn’t know what to say.

Luke’s heart felt like it might burst from his chest, every beat echoing in his ears as he braced himself for rejection, for awkwardness, for the possibility that he’d just ruined everything. The silence that followed when he stopped taking felt like an eternity. And for a moment, you just stared at him, expression unreadable.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just… wanted you to know.”

You dropped your foot to the ground and scooted closer to him. As he turned to face you, your hand pressed against his cheek and you leaned in to place a delicate kiss on his lips. It was soft, almost hesitant, but it was enough to make Luke freeze. His mind blanked, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. When you pulled back, your face was mere inches from his, your hand still lingering on his cheek. Your cheeks were flushed, though whether from the cold or the weight of the moment, he couldn’t tell.

His heart pounded in his chest as you bit your lip, your hand dropping from his face to rest on your lap.

“It’s always been you, Luke.” Your gaze met his once more, the blush on his cheeks making him cuter than he ever looked. Luke’s eyes widened, still incredulous even after your kiss.

“Really?”

“Really.” You smiled, a small, tentative curve of your lips as you nodded.

He leaned forward slightly clearing his throat, his eyes searching yours. “Can I kiss you again?” He asked, voice barely audible.

This time, the kiss wasn’t hesitant or fleeting. It was soft and tender, a promise of everything you both hoped to build together. When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads rested against each other, and for the first time in a long while, everything felt right.

“Hey, lovebird! Tone it down a bit, there’s kids around.”

Luke groaned at one of the guys’ teasing from the other side of the rink, and you laughed at his antics, the weight on your shoulders had finally been lifted off.

“So… does that mean you’ll be my girlfriend?” You didn’t know your cheeks could flush any more, and smiling at his question, you reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from his face.

“Eh, I’ll have to think about that.”

#luke hughes x reader #luke hughes smut #luke hughes fic #luke hughes x you #luke hughes one shot #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl fic #nhl one shot #nhl smut #luke hughes #bewaryofpity writes

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inmyheaddd · 2 days ago

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after midnight - percy jackson x reader

summary: percy jackson!boarding school au - its late at night and you're trying to sneak back to your dorm room. everything is going to plan, until percy jackson appears and makes a plan of his own, one that involves him being way closer to you than usual. wc: 2k

the school halls were eerily quiet as you tiptoed down the corridor, your heart pounding in your chest.

you weren't supposed to be out after curfew, but as you were reading, you looked out the window momentarily, and the stars had looked too perfect to resist sneaking up to the roof.

you were passing through the main hall now, and were just trying to get to the staircase which led to the girls dorms upstairs. you warily looked around, then you suddenly froze.

you heard footsteps behind you. just your luck— of course you were about to get caught. you were already beginning to think of excuses to tell the teacher before you turned around to look.

you turned your head slowly, pulse thrumming in your chest.

but it wasn't a teacher. in fact, you probably would've preferred it to be, because now you were face to face with none other than percy jackson.

you realised this was the first time you saw him out of his school uniform. he was wearing dark blue sweatpants, a plain white shirt that seemed to be a tiny bit too small- considering the way the sleeves hugged his biceps. somehow, his hair was even messier than usual.

percy tilted his head at you, a sleepy grin slowly stretching on his face as he realised here you were, breaking the rules.

he called out your name, "lovely seeing you here," he looked down at his arm in a way one would check their watch, except he didn't have a watch. "isn't it past your curfew?

you swallowed thickly, still not fully out of your previous stupor from your fear of being caught. "you didn't see anything. leaving now." you blurted quickly, turning around on your heels. "bye!"

you began speed walking away, but you heard percy mumble, "hold on, not so fast." as he jogged up to you.

he put a gentle hand on your shoulder to stop you, and you whipped your head around to face him.

"you know, this is really off brand for you." he tilted his head at you questioningly, his sea green eyes looking dark in the dim light of the hall. "what is it with you and breaking the rules recently?"

"im not breaking any—" you cut yourself off with a huff, because... you technically were breaking rules. "whatever, you're out too. what are you doing here?"

he held up his left pinky finger simply like it held all the explanations, and it was wrapped with bouts of bandage and had a splinter to keep it straight.

you snorted, "you're kidding."

"nope." he responded, a twinge of bitterness and sass in his voice that made you want to laugh. "i was peacefully, respectfully, might i add, minding my business in my own bed. when my buddy thought it would be funny to sit on my goddamn hand while i slept."

you bit back a smile at the way he was visibly frustrated at the story, huffing and running his other hand through his hair.

you nodded, "wow, that really sucks," you said dryly, gaze flickering from his hand to his face. "i feel so bad for you."

"is that sarcasm? ya know, i don't think my pinky will ever look the same, it was all cooked and bent and bruised." he rose his eyebrows and held up his pinky for added effect. "even the guy who did it winced when the nurse was wrapping it up. believe me, not a pretty sight."

you refrained from laughing at his dead-seriousness. "no, no, i'm being for real. that looks really bad." you said, shaking your head, but the smile you were falling to hold back said otherwise.

you cleared your throat as you picked up on what he else said. "oh! but, at least your friend took you to the nurse after what he did."

percy frowned. "took me to the nurse?" he repeated, his eyebrows scrunched up. "oh- no, he's uh," he couldn't even finish his sentence without a low chuckle escaping his lips, "he was there for his own reasons." he ran his good hand over his jaw, humming slightly. "still there, actually.”

your eyebrows raised in shock slightly, suddenly taking real notice of the bruises on his knuckles.

you were just about to say something really smart like, 'oh!' when you both suddenly froze, eyes widening as you caught each others gaze.

you both heard footsteps from ahead, and percy didn't say anything as he quickly wrapped an arm around your shoulder.

well he said one single word: "limp."

the proximity made you stumble over your words; you had ever even physical contact with the guy before, and now his whole arm was around you and urging you to lean your weight on him.

"what the?" you spluttered, and the fact that he smelled really good did not help your predicament.

if whoevers footsteps you were hearing belonged to a teacher, surely percy's arm around you would not help you get out of trouble.

a girl and a guy all huddled together after curfew? thats like asking for a lifetime of detentions— as if percy didn't have enough detentions. you, on the other hand, never had any. you weren't about to let him ruin that for you.

"percy, i know how to handle-" you began to whisper-shout at him, only to cut yourself off as the footsteps got increasingly and dangerously closer.

now you had no choice, pushing him off would look equally suspicious.

you started limping.

you hoped whatever crazy plan he had pushed you two in was going to work, because what came into view was your principal.

she must've been doing the dorm checks, because she didn't look all that shocked to see the two of you in the hallway, almost as if she was specifically looking for someone to get into trouble.

your principal stopped in her tracks, posture as straight as ever and still in her work clothes, as if it wasn't 12 at night. "percy jackson," she chided, her tone sour. "past curfew, again. what's new?"

you both continued walking, well, percy helping you walk as you fake limped towards her, slightly hunched over like you were really struggling.

she didn't say anything to you, but you noticed the slight raise of her brow as she took in the way percy's arm was around you.

you heard percy take a deep, almost shuddering breath beside you, and it occurred to you he might've been nervous too- because of the teachers presence, of course.

"well, actually, mrs edwards, both of us happened to be at the nurse," he help up his other hand with his injured pinky. you watched him resist a smile then clear his throat, "and, uh, as you can see, she injured her leg. the nurse asked me to help walk her to her dorm."

mrs edwards hummed with her eyebrows furrowed slightly, looking like she considering the story, then she raised a questioning brow at you. "is this true?"

percy was covering for you? why didn’t he just let you get in trouble? wasn’t that his motive 24/7?

it was moments like these that made you question everything you thought you knew about percy jackson.

you brought yourself out of your thoughts as you nodded quickly, "yeah, unfortunately." you said with a light, hopefully convincing and natural laugh.

"you know how competitive sports gets sometimes, there's always an injury." you glanced at percy next to you, and he was already looking at you, his gaze completely focused on just you and a strange glint in his eye and a smile like he was amazed . he looked away the second you caught his eyes though.

"very well, i see." she managed a small smile at you, but it faded just as quick as it came when she looked at percy. "nevertheless, you need to get to your dorms. it is far too late." she looked both you and percy up and down. "and," she regarded you, "i hope your leg recovers soon."

"thanks mrs edwards," you managed a smile, ignoring the way you couldn't tell if your heart was beating this fast because of percy's arm around you, or almost getting into trouble. "goodnight."

you slightly nudged percy with your elbow, still awkwardly smiling at your principal.

"ow!" he quickly cleared his throat, "i mean, uh, goodnight, mrs edwards."

your principal sighed, shaking her head slightly as if she was thinking, what on earth do i do with this kid? before she finally said, "goodnight, you two."

she then walked off in the direction you two came, the click-clacking of her shoes fading off behind you as she went.

you exhaled a deep breath you hadn't realised that you were holding, you actually got away with it. you heard that the last time a group of friends were caught past curfew, they had to spend their break time cleaning up the PE changing rooms. for a month.

that moment of relief was short lived, because you heard percy groan petulantly from beside you. "man, what about my finger?" he complained, "you had a fake injury!"

you let a giggle fall past your lips. you didn't know why, but in this moment you didn't hate percy so much. maybe it was that without all the people around, the rude teachers, gossipy students, stress surrounding academics, everything just felt easier and lighter in this quiet moment with him here.

it almost felt like talking to a friend, which was something you'd never say outloud, because, well, he annoyed you and you hated it. that was your thing: it wasn't helping out each other get out of trouble and walking with his arm wrapped around you and smiling and feeling flustered- no. you didn't get flustered, especially not at the hands of percy jackson.

"i don't think she likes you very much." you said sarcastically, fake pity painted over your features as you pressed your lips into a line.

"yeah?" he chuckled, looking at you with a slight tilt in his head, "i really don't think so either."

you smiled, glancing behind you, seeing your principals retreating figure fully gone, so you stopped limping and straightened up. "um, thanks for covering for me."

"its no biggie," he said casually, he said, his arm still wrapped around you. he realised a second later, then cleared his throat as he swiftly put his arm back at his sides. "i-my bad, sorry."

you hoped he couldn't see the flush of "its fine, percy." you said with a near nervous laugh, but you prayed it came off as casual. "chill."

he shot you a bashful smile, but it quickly turned playful after he looked you up and down. "uh, you know, since i did you a favor, that technically means you owe me big time now." he said half jokingly, "so, that means i can copy off of you in tests, like, for life, right?

"of course you'd ruin the moment like that." you debated shoving him as you huffed a laugh, not missing the way percy's gaze stayed fixed on you as you smiled. "no, you can’t copy off of me, idiot."

his grin widened, stepping a little closer to you as you continued waking side by side.

"are you saying that there was a moment to ruin?"

your eyes widened, keenly aware of his closeness which made it almost impossible

"wha- no! there was no moment. i was just-" you cut yourself off, seeing that glint in his eye that told you he was trying to get you to stumble like this. "goodness, you are so annoying.”

"i do try." he shot you a grin and you rolled your eyes, which felt natural, like what you always did.

what wasn't natural though, was the smile you fought back and the urge you felt to look at him once again and see that grin of his.

what was happening to you?

you sighed, finally choosing to shove him little to which he only laughed at. "its definitely working, i'll tell you that much." you muttered, which was probably the wrong thing to say, because you got a feeling he'd only annoy you tenfold more now.

you were 10 steps away from the door that held the the staircase that led to your dorms. on said door, there was a big poster decorated by the girls in your block. ''girls dormiotes. no boys!'' written in bold, underlined in red.

''you know, maybe i should walk you to your dorm.'' percy suggested, scratching the back of his neck. ''can’t have you tripping over yourself, i mean your leg injury was pretty serious.”

you raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “you wanna walk me to the girls’ dorms? i’m good, thanks.”

percy laughed, taking a step back as he raised his hands. “hey, i’m just trying to make sure my friend gets to her room safe. no ill intentions here.”

you stared at him, arms still crossed as you deadpanned. “i’m your friend?”

percy blinked. “...yes?”

you couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh, a stark contrast to the way your heart fluttered, and how it felt like there wasnt just butterflies in your stomach, but the whole goddamn zoo.

you shook your head. “ok, well, friend or not, i don’t need your help.'' you told him.

you turned on your heel, walking away quickly, trying to mask the smile tugging at the corner of your lips. you could practically hear the way percy stood there, speechless, behind you.

but just as you reached the door, you heard his voice, still full of amusement. “i see how it is.”

you glanced back over your shoulder, one hand on the door handle. he was standing there, one hand still in his pocket, the other placed over his heart dramatically “you’re really just gonna leave me hanging like that, huh?”

you chuckled as you rolled your eyes, giving him a little wave sarcastically. ''better?''

''much better.'' he seemed to have recovered from his shock, that grin of his settling back on his lips as he put his hand back in his pocket.

"same time tomorrow?" he quipped jokingly, with the quickest of winks you almost wouldn't have caught it if you weren't so focused on the way his eyes looked in this light.

you smiled sweetly, "not a chance in hell.”

percy sighed, fake slumping and shaking his head to himself. "i tried." he mumbled, sliding his hands into his pockets.

you chuckled half heartedly, the 'staying up late' finally catching up to you as you offered percy a sleepy smile, your hand still on the handle ready to go.

"alright, goodnight, percy."

this time, he didn't need to be nudged to say it back.

he smiled a genuine smile at you, "goodnight."

taglist: @lovethornes @littlemissmentallyunstable @midiosaamor @maybxlle @imaseabear @sheisntyou @off-to-the-r4ces @anintellectualintellectual @wish-i-were-heather @hxress23 @hermesenthusiast

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo #pjo hoo toa #pjo series #percy series #percy jackson x you #pjo fanfic #pjo x reader #hoo x reader #percy pjo #percy jackson fluff #❦ jude writes

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orangeblossomsintheair · 1 day ago

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ILLICIT AFFAIRS (2/4) | CS55

summary : You tap on his profile again, almost like you’re double-checking to make sure this isn’t some kind of glitch. But no. Apparently, it’s real. You thought it was just a one-night stand. Maybe it still is. But who the hell follows their one-night stand’s Instagram?

wc : 7.5k

an : uh.. hi again 🫶 this was super fun to write!! :> im so glad ppl seemed to enjoy pt 1

He’s hyperaware of the heat radiating from your skin, the faint sheen of sweat glistening against the dim light, and the way your fingers lazily trace patterns across his chest.

When it’s over, Carlos feels the weight of you collapse onto his chest, your soft breaths mingling with his own as both of you struggle to steady yourselves.

He knows this should be the part where he gets up, grabs a drink, maybe offers you a towel.

Instead, his hands wander down your back, his fingertips finding those tiny dimples near the base of your spine. He traces slow, absentminded circles, grinning when you squirm against him with a halfhearted giggle that bubbles up like a melody he didn’t know he liked.

“Ticklish, huh?” he teases, his voice low and teasing, though it lacks the sharpness he usually reserves for these fleeting encounters.

“Maybe,” you mumble into his chest, your voice muffled and sleepy.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

It’s the kind of thing he doesn’t normally do.

Too intimate, too dangerous. But with you, it feels natural, easy.

And therein lies the problem.

He pulls out, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead when you let out a quiet whine.

With a practiced motion, he removes the condom, ties it off, and tosses it into the bin before slipping back into bed beside you, not even a minute later.

The two of you lie there in the quiet, the air between you filled with the soft sound of your breathing.

Carlos stares at the ceiling, his mind racing even as his body feels like it’s sinking into the mattress.

This was supposed to be simple.

One night. No strings.

But you’re fun. Too fun, really.

It's not that he’s never met women who are funny, or ones who’ve turned an evening into something more than just a tangle of bodies.

It’s just that, for the most part, that’s all it is. An unspoken agreement that they'll share the night, and then part ways. A blank, if not lustful, exchange.

You, on the other hand, have spent the whole night surprising him, throwing him off-kilter in a way he didn’t think he’d enjoy.

The banter, the teasing, the way you’d wrinkle your nose at him when you didn’t believe his answers.

It all stuck with him in a way he knows it shouldn’t.

“You want tiramisu?” he asks suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence.

You lift your head, your sleepy eyes meeting his with a confused smile. “What?”

“Tiramisu,” he repeats, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Do you still want some?”

Your laugh is so unexpected and genuine that it catches him off guard. It’s light, carefree, and the way your nose scrunches in that way he's becoming to fond makes his chest tighten.

“I just… gave you the best sex of your life,” you say, propping yourself up on your elbow, your grin mischievous. “And you’re offering me dessert?”

Carlos raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “What can I say? I’m a man of priorities.”

“Priorities, huh?” You snort, shaking your head. “So what, tiramisu’s your way of saying ‘thanks for the good time’?”

“Something like that.” He shrugs, though the glint in his eyes betray his amusement.

You narrow your eyes at him, but there’s no real malice in your gaze. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously charming,” he counters without missing a beat, his grin turning cocky.

You roll your eyes, but the way you settle back against his chest tells him you’re not as annoyed as you pretend to be.

And that’s when it hits him, the thought sinking like a stone in his gut.

He likes this. Likes you.

Maybe not romantically. Not yet at least. But definitely more than he should.

The realization is unwelcome, gnawing at the edges of his carefully constructed rules.

This is a one-night stand. That’s all it’s supposed to be.

But here you are, lying on his chest like you belong there, laughing at his dumb jokes and making his heart flip in a way that feels too good to ignore.

The thought itself makes him sick.

“Alright,” you say suddenly, breaking him out of his spiral. “Fine. Let’s get tiramisu.”

He blinks at you, startled by your casual agreement. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, grinning. “But only if you admit I was better than you.”

Carlos groans, his head tipping back against the pillow. “I’m never admitting that.”

You laugh again, soft and sweet, and Carlos knows, despite himself, that he’s in trouble.

He places the order moments later.

You’re still sprawled on the bed, a lazy grin playing on your lips.

“Do you always use tiramisu as a post-sex strategy?” you ask, your voice light but curious.

He smirks, sitting on the edge of the bed and tossing his phone onto the nightstand. “Only for people who deserve it.”

You snort, rolling onto your stomach to prop your chin on your hands. “Lucky me.”

“Lucky me,” he counters, glancing over his shoulder at you. The way your hair falls across your face, messy and untamed, makes his chest tighten.

When the dessert arrives, Carlos grabs it from the door, careful not to let the guy bringing it up see the faint red marks on his neck.

He returns with the elaborate cloche, holding it up triumphantly. “Food is served.”

You both sit cross-legged on the bed, the plate between you.

Carlos hands you a fork, watching as you take your first bite. Your eyes widen in exaggerated delight.

“Wow. This might be better than sex,” you joke, though the mischievous glint in your eye says otherwise.

Carlos chuckles, shaking his head. “You wound me again.”

“Well, maybe if you’d ordered two...” you tease, but your tone softens as you gesture for him to take his own bite.

The tiramisu is good. Great, even. But Carlos barely notices.

He’s too focused on the way you laugh when you get a bit of cream on your nose, or how your lips curve as you savor each bite.

You’re funny, in a way that feels effortless. It’s not just the jokes or the teasing; it’s the way you bring a lightness to the room, the way you make him feel like this moment is the only thing that matters.

And there's that thought again.

He shouldn’t be feeling this way.

He barely even knows you.

Carlos watches you scrape the last bit of tiramisu from the plate, your eyes gleaming with triumph as you lick the fork clean.

He leans back against the headboard, arms crossed, a mock glare plastered across his face.

“Didn’t even save me the last bite,” he says, shaking his head. “Unreal.”

“You snooze, you lose,” you reply smugly, placing the empty plate on the nightstand with a flourish.

“I was letting you enjoy it,” Carlos argues, sitting up straighter. “It’s called being a gentleman. Look it up.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “A gentleman wouldn’t sulk over dessert.”

“A gentleman wouldn’t have to sulk if someone had manners,” he shoots back, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

You throw your head back, laughing, and Carlos feels a strange pang in his chest.

He quickly smothers it, keeping his expression light, his tone teasing.

“Don’t worry,” you say between giggles. “I’ll order you a second one. You’ll survive.”

“Don’t bother,” he says, waving you off dramatically. “I’ll just starve. Waste away. Die in this very bed.”

“Oh, stop it,” you say, swatting his arm. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Me?” He feigns shock, pressing a hand to his chest like you’ve mortally wounded him. “I’m the picture of restraint.”

You narrow your eyes at him, a smirk playing on your lips. “Restraint? Coming from the guy who ate my pussy out earlier like a starved man?”

“That’s called quality service,” he says, completely deadpan. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Quality service,” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

He smiles, nodding.

This is what you deserve.

Lighthearted fun, no heavy emotions weighing you down.

He’s an expert at keeping things that way, at making sure there’s nothing to hold onto when the moment ends.

It’s what he promised you. And it’s what he’s going to give you.

Because anything more would be unfair.

Carlos slides out of bed quietly, careful not to disturb you as you stretch languidly under the covers.

His shirt, now crumpled, is pulled over his head in one swift motion, followed by his jeans.

He pauses for a moment, running a hand through his hair, the weight of the night settling on him like a second skin.

You watch him with a raised brow, propped up on your elbow. “I thought I was supposed to be the one getting kicked out?”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he glances at you, shaking his head. “It’s a hotel, not my permanent residence,” he retorts, his voice tinged with amusement. “I’ll go.”

The playfulness in your tone doesn’t escape him, and he can’t help but snort softly. “Besides, you look too comfortable to be evicted.”

You laugh, tucking the sheets around you. “Chivalry isn’t dead, huh?”

“Not tonight,” he quips, grabbing his wallet and keys from the nightstand.

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

The weight of reality hangs in the air, but you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you watch as he slips on his shoes, movements practiced and deliberate.

“You don’t have to, you know,” you say finally, your voice softer now. “Leave, I mean.”

He pauses at the door, his hand resting on the handle. “I do,” he replies, looking back at you with a small, almost sad smile. “But thanks for making tonight worth it.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a warmth to your expression. “You’re a sap, you know that?”

“Guilty,” he says, offering you a mock tip-of-the-hat, before stepping out.

As the door clicks shut behind him, Carlos exhales, the cool night air hitting him as he makes his way down the hall.

His chest feels tight, but he pushes the feeling aside, forcing himself to focus on the sound of his footsteps echoing against the hotel’s tiled floor.

It’s better this way, he tells himself. Simple. Clean. No messy feelings to untangle in the morning.

—-

The next morning, Carlos slowly stirs awake, groaning as the sunlight filters through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the room.

His muscles feel heavy, his head a little foggy.

Last night is a blur, but the warmth of it lingers. The weight of your presence, the quiet moments between laughs, the way your eyes shone...

He stretches, cracking his back, but then, like a sudden punch to the gut, it hits him.

The NDA.

“Shit,” he mutters, sitting up so fast it makes his head spin.

He runs a hand over his face, the realization sinking in.

How could he forget that?

He’s been drilled on it, the legal side of things, the contracts, all of it.

He tries to calm himself, taking a deep breath.

You wouldn’t talk. You wouldn’t risk your own career for some tabloid fodder. You’re famous too, after all. Not in the same way, but enough that the press would chew you up if you decided to spill anything.

But still. His PR team would rip him apart.

His manager? Worse. And the worst part? He’d promised—promised—to behave for at least a month. A month.

And if Carlos is anything, he’s a man of his word.

“Dios mío,” he groans, grabbing his phone from the bedside table.

He scrolls through his messages, finding your number quickly. The last text exchange, brief and teasing, makes him pause.

He hesitates for a moment, wondering if texting you about this will only make things worse. Then again, what could be worse than his manager screaming in his ear while tabloids run wild?

His thumbs hover over the keyboard before he types out:

carlos Hey. So... I realized I forgot to make you sign an NDA last night. My bad.

He deletes it immediately. Too casual.

carlos Morning. Hope you slept well. Quick thing, meant to get an NDA signed last night. Oops.

carlos Don’t think you’d spill, but PR would freak. Let me know if you’re alright with me sending one over?

Carlos hesitates for a moment before adding:

carlos Also, thanks again for last night. You’re fun to be around, even if you’re a little too good at teasing me.

He hits send before he can second-guess himself, tossing his phone onto the bed with a resigned sigh.

Now all he could do was wait and hope that:

1. You wouldn’t be offended.

2. His manager wouldn’t find out about this oversight.

—-

You blink into the morning light, squinting at the phone buzzing on the nightstand like it’s trying to crawl off the table.

You groggily grab it, seeing Carlos' name pop up with a new message.

You stretch, still half asleep, and glance over the message.

The first thing that hits you is the casual tone of it, which instantly makes you raise an eyebrow. NDA?

You don’t exactly need one, at least, you didn’t think you did. But then again, it makes sense. It’s a weird industry, and it’s not like you haven’t signed your fair share of these ridiculous things before.

You laugh a little at the thought, recalling the night before. The way everything felt so effortless, so easy, and now, here he is, texting you about NDAs like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You picture him sitting in a hotel room, pacing, maybe even nervously fidgeting with his phone like some kind of over-caffeinated, nervous wreck.

You click on his message again, rereading it.

It’s... kind of adorable, the way he’s trying to play it cool about the whole thing. You grin.

And then you spot the part where he thanks you for last night. You’re fun to be around, even if you’re a little too good at teasing me.

That makes you smile, your cheeks warming a little.

You know what he's trying to do, being all casual and kind of sweet. But you can’t help it; it’s working.

You were just teasing him for fun, but hearing him say that? Well, it kind of feels nice.

But you don’t let it linger for long.

You know the drill. You’ve signed NDAs more times than you care to count, and it’s not like you’d ever be stupid enough to leak anything. That’s not even on the table.

Sure, there are some ridiculous tabloid stories out there, but you’re not about to give them the satisfaction.

Your career and reputation are worth more than any cheap headline.

You’re not the kind of person who’d throw away your dignity for a bit of gossip, not to mention that Carlos probably wouldn’t either.

He may be a little reckless, but you get it. Both of you have something to protect, and you respect that.

You stare at your phone, a little smile tugging at your lips. You decide to just keep it simple. He’s worrying, but you’re not about to make things more complicated.

You type out your reply:

you Don't worry about it. They're not getting anything out of me.

you I’ve signed worse things than an NDA, and I’m not about to be the person to ruin your career. If it can even be ruined at this point

you Go ahead and send it over. I’ve got you

By the time afternoon rolls around, you've handled the whole NDA situation with surprising ease.

The paperwork is signed, sealed, and done in record time.

You would have expected more back-and-forth, but Carlos kept it simple. Sent the document, answered your questions, and now it’s behind you.

No drama, no complications.

You step out of the hotel with a relieved breath, feeling like the morning's oddities are finally behind you.

But then there's that nagging little detail: Charles.

Charles, who always has a million questions when you don’t stick to your usual routine.

You grab a coffee on your way back to your room, the scent a comforting excuse for your absence.

It's just something simple. Something that won’t trigger his radar.

You know Charles too well.

A well-timed story about running out for caffeine sounds harmless enough.

And if not, well..

You’ll make it work.

—-

The next week, you’re nursing a mild headache, the kind that makes the sound of your alarm feel like a personal betrayal.

As you peel your face off the pillow, the regret for every sip of alcohol you’d had the night before hits you with the force of a freight train.

You really should stop letting Daniel and Landon drag you to every club under the sun.

Your hair’s a mess, your pajamas are a little too wrinkled for comfort, and you move with the grace of a sleep-deprived zombie who’s been deprived of both sleep and caffeine.

First stop? Coffee. Always coffee.

You shuffle into the kitchen, eyes half-lidded, and reach for your favorite mug, the one that’s seen better days. The faded design, "World's Okayest Sister," is probably more fitting this morning than ever before.

You measure the coffee grounds with mechanical precision, almost like your body’s running on autopilot.

The machine hums to life, and you watch it, waiting impatiently as the rich aroma of coffee fills the kitchen.

If you stare hard enough, maybe it'll brew faster.

Once the mug is filled, you lift it to your lips and take a long, heavenly sip.

The warmth radiates through you like a tiny, much-needed hug. It's not perfect, but it’s coffee, and that’s all that matters right now.

With the cup cradled in your hands, you shuffle back to your phone, which is still sitting on the counter from last night.

Scrolling through the notifications, you pause, your thumb hovering over the screen.

And then you see it.

carlossainz55 followed you.

Your coffee mug pauses midair, precariously balanced as you blink once, twice, trying to process what you’re seeing.

No, surely you’re still asleep.

That has to be it.

You’re dreaming. It’s the only logical explanation.

But no, the notification doesn’t disappear when you squint at it. It stays there, glaring at you, daring you to react.

Carlos’ profile pops up on your screen.

His name. His profile picture, all charm and confidence. His grid, filled with race shots, candid moments, sponsoring deals and that annoyingly perfect smile.

And there it is, glaringly obvious: “Follows you.”

You tap on his profile again, almost like you’re double-checking to make sure this isn’t some kind of glitch.

But no.

Apparently, it’s real.

You thought it was just a one-night stand. Maybe it still is.

But who the hell follows their one-night stand’s Instagram?

You stare back at the notification, still processing it, still waiting for something to make sense of this.

The world feels like it's moving at half speed as you squint at the screen.

Maybe it’s a mistake, you think. Some part of you wants to just close the app and forget it.

But the notification doesn’t disappear.

It lingers. Mocking you.

It’s not like you hadn’t thought about him.

Hell, how could you not? The night had been... well, amazing. The chemistry, the way everything just clicked, the way he made you laugh, how easy it all felt, like you’d known each other far longer than you really had.

The sex? Stellar. Absolutely 10/10. Probably something you'd brag about to your friends in a very classy, not-at-all-suggestive way if you hadn’t signed that NDA.

But now... this.

Him following you on Instagram?

It's like getting slapped in the face with a wet fish that had somehow been lit on fire.

What does this even mean? Are you supposed to act like it’s totally normal? Like you didn’t just have a mind-blowing night that now, suddenly, has an Instagram follow attached to it like a weird souvenir?

Is this how Carlos tells people he’s into them? Like, “Hey, I’ll follow you on Instagram, but let’s keep it low-key, like how I casually post sponsored content about luxury watches that cost more than your rent.”

Maybe he follows everyone he hooks up with?

But no, he’s Carlos Sainz Jr.

This is a guy who gets paid in gold bars, signs contracts that come with their own zip code, and has a fanbase that could start a small country. He's the type who has a personal assistant for his personal assistant.

The fact that he’s following you feels like finding out that Beyoncé follows you. It’s just.. weird.

You inhale sharply, suddenly remembering how to breathe, and glance at the clock.

It’s way too early for this kind of chaos.

You take another sip of coffee, as though caffeine might somehow help you process what’s unfolding.

Your thumb hovers over the follow-back button. Do you? Should you?

Of course, you do.

You tap the button before you can overthink it, and the little blue “Follow” turns into a subdued grey “Following.”

You sit there for a moment, staring at your phone, waiting for… something.

A notification.

A message.

Maybe a rogue pigeon delivering a note written in Carlos’ annoyingly neat handwriting. But nothing happens.

Nada.

“Cool,” you mutter to yourself, setting the phone down as if you’re trying to pretend nothing happened.

You take a deep breath, forcing your mind to focus on literally anything else. Like taxes. Or organizing your sock drawer. Anything but the lingering feeling of weirdness in your gut.

For the rest of the day, you pretend to be busy.

You check your notifications like a paranoid criminal every hour, convinced that your phone is holding some secret conversation you’ve missed.

But no. Nothing. Just the usual nonsense. Some ads, a message from your mom about dinner, a reminder to wash your laundry.

One day turns into two. Then three. The silence becomes more deafening, and you start to wonder if you imagined the whole thing.

Did Carlos actually follow you? Did you dream the entire sequence?

By the end of the week, your life is back to normal. The frantic phone-checking ceases. It's forgotten, a memory that’s faded to black like an expired coupon.

Then, seven days later, your phone lights up, the notification banner buzzing with the energy of a surprise party that you didn’t ask for.

carlossainz55 So, do you always follow people and then pretend they don’t exist?

You blink.

Twice.

Maybe you missed something?

You almost drop your phone because you’re so unprepared for whatever this is.

It feels like being tackled by a puppy while holding a glass of wine. You were doing fine, and then suddenly, everything’s upside down.

yourhandle Excuse me? You followed me first

carlossainz55 Details. The silence was deafening

yourhandle I figured you were busy being, you know, a world-famous rally driver. No time for little people like me

carlossainz55 I make time for the important things

You snort into your coffee, half-amused, half-annoyed. The casual way he says it makes you want to roll your eyes, but you're also weirdly charmed.

yourhandle So, what prompted this sudden message? Lose a bet?

carlossainz55 I was cleaning out my DMs and remembered there was one person I forgot to annoy

yourhandle Wow. I’m honored

carlossainz55 You should be

carlossainz55 By the way, how’s your brother? Still glaring at pictures of me?

yourhandle Probably. I think he keeps a dartboard somewhere with your face on it

carlossainz55 Tell him he needs better aim. I’m still standing

yourhandle He's practicing

carlossainz55 If he needs lessons, tell him I’m available

yourhandle Yeah, I’ll let him know. I’m sure he’d love some quality bonding time with you

The conversation flows easily, light and teasing, like you’re two middle schoolers passing notes in class.

Except the notes are digital, and the subject isn’t Mrs. Henderson’s questionable choice in socks but rather the unspoken elephant in the room.

You both dance around it like you’re in twelve-year-olds, neither of you brave, or stupid, enough to confront it head-on.

At least not until Carlos, true to form, decides that subtlety is for mortals.

carlossainz55 So… about that night…

You freeze, suddenly less comforted and more “oh no, where is this going?”

yourhandle What about it?

carlossainz55 I was just thinking...

yourhandle Dangerous start

carlossainz55 ...we should do it again.

Your jaw drops. This man. This actual man.

Subtle as a brick to the face.

Your brain short-circuits for a moment, staring at your phone like it just insulted your family.

yourhandle Excuse me?

carlossainz55 You heard me. Round two. Let’s make it happen

yourhandle Carlos, you don’t just text someone a week later and propose a sequel. That’s not how this works

carlossainz55 Why not? It’s efficient. I’m a very busy man

yourhandle Busy doing what? Posing with expensive cars and pretending to care about energy drinks?

carlossainz55 Exactly. It’s a tough life

You snort, shaking your head.

He’s absolutely ridiculous, and yet you can’t stop yourself from responding.

yourhandle And what makes you think I’d even say yes?

carlossainz55 Because the first round was great. Admit it.

You hesitate, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

But he’s not wrong.

yourhandle Okay, fine. It was great. But that doesn’t mean I’m jumping at the chance for a repeat performance.

carlossainz55 Come on, live a little. I’ll even let you pick the time and place

yourhandle Oh, how generous of you

carlossainz55 I try my best

You roll your eyes so hard they practically fall out of your head.

But deep down, you’re kind of enjoying this absurd back-and-forth.

He’s bold, sure, but there’s something oddly charming about his audacity.

yourhandle I’ll think about it

carlossainz55 That’s a yes. I’ll pencil you in

yourhandle Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sainz

carlossainz55 Too late

The next day, your phone pings with a message. It’s too early for coherent thoughts, but you know it’s him.

You squint at the screen, and sure enough:

carlossainz55 So… have you decided? Sex?

You blink. Twice. Is he serious? Of course, he is. It’s Carlos.

yourhandle Wow. No preamble? No “How are you?” Just straight to it?

carlossainz55 I’m efficient

yourhandle I think the word you're looking for is shameless

carlossainz55 That too. So? Are you free?

yourhandle Oh, totally free. Let me just clear my very busy schedule of pretending to have my life together. Where are you, anyway?

carlossainz55 Mallorca. Family stuff. You?

yourhandle Monaco. Basically living in Charles’ yacht at this point. You know, as one does. Mostly trying to avoid being swallowed by the summer rumor mill

There’s a long pause. You can practically hear him doing the mental math.

carlossainz55 Okay, so… two-hour flight? That’s nothing. I can be there by dinner

yourhandle Carlos, are you seriously suggesting flying across countries for a booty call?

carlossainz55 I’ve done more for less

yourhandle This is why the planet’s dying

carlossainz55 Okay, okay. Saving the dolphins. What’s the eco-friendly option here?

You roll your eyes, fully expecting the next message to be ridiculous.

And, of course, it doesn’t disappoint.

carlossainz55 Phone sex

yourhandle I’m sorry, what?

carlossainz55 Efficient. Sustainable. Zero emissions. It’s the responsible choice

yourhandle Carlos, do you even know how phone sex works?

carlossainz55 No, but I’m adaptable. Like learning a new track. Same principles

yourhandle You did NOT just compare dirty talk to racing strategies

carlossainz55 Why not? Both require focus, timing, and precision. And confidence, of course

You groan, half in disbelief, half because you’re genuinely entertained.

yourhandle Carlos, this is absurd. You’re absurd

carlossainz55 Absurdly charming

yourhandle Absurdly something, that’s for sure

carlossainz55 So? Are we doing this? Or are you too chicken?

You laugh, shaking your head, still not sure how you ended up here— bantering with a world-famous driver about... phone sex.

You’re almost impressed by how persistent he is.

yourhandle Carlos, I swear, you’re something else.

carlossainz55 I know. It’s a gift

---

Carlos is nervous.

He shouldn’t be.

He’s Carlos Sainz Jr—cool under pressure, smooth behind the wheel, and cocky enough to make people swoon without lifting a finger.

Yet here he is, pacing his room like a lovesick teenager, nerves coiling tighter with each passing second.

Why is he nervous?

He already knows the answer— Because it’s you.

Because for the past week, you’ve been haunting his every waking thought.

Every stolen moment has been spent thinking about the way your lips had parted for him, the way your eyes had rolled back when he sank deep inside you, the way your voice, breathless and wrecked, had gasped his name like it was your favorite prayer.

He’s pathetic, really.

Fisting his cock every night like some horny rookie, chasing memories of you that refuse to fade.

He remembers every little detail too vividly.

Your soft whimpers, the flush of your cheeks, the dazed way you’d looked up at him with a mixture of awe and need.

It’s seven minutes until your scheduled call.

Scheduled.

Like this is some professional meeting and not an invitation to lose his mind over you through a goddamn phone.

He swears under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face as he feels the familiar heat pooling low in his belly.

“Joder,” he mutters, already hard just thinking about you.

He sits back against the headboard, sliding his boxers down his thighs.

His cock springs free, aching and flushed, already leaking like he’s some desperate virgin. He swears again, low and guttural, wrapping his hand around the base as if it’ll calm him down.

It doesn’t.

Carlos spits into his palm, slicking himself up with a firm grip.

His hips twitch at the first stroke, and he hisses through his teeth, already so sensitive he’s on the edge of losing it.

He shuts his eyes, letting his mind drift to you. Fuck. Your pretty little cunt, so tight and wet around him, gripping him like you never wanted to let go.

He can still hear the way you’d moaned his name, sweet and broken, like you couldn’t get enough of him.

He strokes himself harder, his fist moving in slick, desperate pumps.

His breathing grows heavier, each exhale mingled with a groan as his hips lift to meet his hand.

“Good girl,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, the words slipping out without thought.

His mind is full of you.

How perfect you’d looked when he’d buried his face between your thighs, your legs trembling as he devoured you.

He remembers the way you’d begged for him, the way your fingers had tugged at his hair as he licked and sucked until you fell apart.

“Fuck,” he groans, his pace quickening. His free hand grips the sheets, knuckles white as he imagines your face again.

Your lips parted, your expression blissful and wrecked as he pushed you over the edge.

He’s close, teetering on the edge of release, his cock throbbing in his fist.

“Such a good girl,” he slurs, his hips bucking uncontrollably. “Taking me so well—mierda—just like that...”

The thought of your cunt fluttering around him, your breathy cries echoing in his ears, pushes him over.

With a guttural groan, he spills over his hand, thick ropes of cum painting his stomach as he rides out his high.

His chest heaves as he comes down, the pleasure fading and leaving behind a warm haze and just a little shame.

He stares at the mess he’s made, breathing heavily as he mutters a soft curse.

And then the phone buzzes. Your name lights up the screen.

Carlos firmly believes that every man has a refractory period, it's simple biology.

But as his cock twitches at the sight of your name lighting up his phone screen, he starts to question everything he’s ever known.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he hardens again, his body responding to you like you’ve got some magical hold over him.

He huffs out a breath, staring down at the mess he’s made on his stomach, the sticky evidence of how utterly gone he is for you.

With a shaky hand, he answers the call.

His voice comes out softer, more composed than he feels. “Hey.”

Your reply is immediate, and the sound of your voice sends another jolt straight to his cock. “Hey.”

Carlos clenches his jaw, fighting the urge to whine. His body’s so sensitive it aches.

“You nervous?” he asks, his tone laced with a teasing edge to hide how wrecked he feels.

“A little,” you admit, your voice breathy.

He exhales through his nose, his lips quirking up into a smirk. “Then let’s fix that, shall we?”

—

There’s a pause, and then he murmurs, “Do you mind if I take the lead, sweetheart?”

You bite your lip, heat pooling low in your belly at the pet name. “No, Carlos.”

“Good girl.” The words roll off his tongue, slow and deliberate, and you feel the throb of need between your legs intensify.

“Are you in your underwear right now?” he asks, his voice dropping to a low rumble.

You glance down at yourself, cheeks flushing. “Mhm...”

“Tell me what they look like.”

“They’re red,” you whisper, your voice shy.

Carlos grins, his tone playful. “My favorite color. Take them off for me, baby.”

Your breath hitches, and you slip them off, letting them fall to the floor.

“Are you wet for me?” he asks, his voice husky.

“Very,” you admit, your cheeks burning.

“Let me hear.”

You hesitate, unsure how to respond. “How do I-?”

Carlos chuckles, the sound deep and rich. “Slip a finger in, baby. Let me hear how soaked you are for me.”

You inhale shakily, doing as he says.

The moment your finger slides in, you let out a soft whimper.

It’s not enough.

It’s nowhere near enough.

“Fuck,” Carlos groans, the sound making your pussy clench. “You are wet. God, baby, I’d kill to be there right now. All those pretty juices going to waste... I’d lick you clean.”

You whine at his words, your hips shifting against your hand as you try to chase the feeling.

“I know, I know,” he soothes, though his voice is strained, like he’s holding himself back. “Start moving that finger, sweet girl.”

You obey, your breath hitching as you pump your finger slowly. It’s good, but it’s not enough. Not compared to Carlos.

“Carlos,” you whimper, your voice breaking. “Please...”

His laugh is soft, teasing. “Need more?”

“Yes,” you gasp, your hips bucking into your hand. “Yes, please-”

“Okay, baby. Add another finger for me.”

You do, slipping in another finger with a hiss. The stretch feels better, but it still pales in comparison to what you really want.

“Thank you,” you mewl, your head tipping back against the pillow as you fuck yourself slowly.

Carlos groans, his hand wrapping around his cock again, unable to stop himself. “That’s it, baby. Fuck yourself for me. Let me hear those pretty little sounds.”

Your thighs tremble as you press your palm harder against your aching clit, your hips rolling instinctively.

The heat pooling low in your belly is unbearable, and every tiny movement sends sparks racing across your skin.

On the other end of the phone, Carlos has been quiet, but you can hear it, his uneven breathing, the faint hitch in his breath that tells you he’s not unaffected.

You let out a soft, broken moan, unable to keep quiet, and his breath catches audibly.

“Are you…” Your voice is trembling, slurred with need as you choke out the words, “…are you touching yourself?”

“Of course I am,” he groans, his voice wrecked. “How could I not? Fuck, you’ve got me so hard I can’t think straight.”

The image of him stroking himself, his cock slick and swollen, his jaw clenched as his chest heaves, sends a rush of heat to your core.

You grind your hips against your palm, pressing harder against your clit as your thighs tremble.

“I wish you were here,” you whimper, your voice breathless. “Wish I could feel you. I’d be so full, Carlos. I’d clench around you so tight, just like this-”

The sound of your stuttered moan nearly sends him over the edge right there.

Each gasp, each whimper, each broken sob of his name over the line is another jolt to his already oversensitive cock.

He’s gripping himself tightly, too tightly, the pain blending with pleasure until he can’t tell where one starts and the other ends.

His grip falters for a moment before he picks up the pace, stroking himself mercilessly despite the ache in his stomach and the burn of overstimulation.

“You sound so fucking good,” he rasps, his voice cracking slightly as he fights to keep it together. “God, I wish I could see you right now- wish I could spread those legs and watch you touch yourself for me.”

Your shaky whimpers only spur him on. “Carlos… I-I’m so close.”

“Yeah?” His tone dips, almost desperate. “You gonna cum for me, sweet girl? Gonna make those pretty little noises when you fall apart?”

You grind your clit against your palm, your back arching as you nod, even though he can’t see you. “Yes- yes, Carlos-”

He groans, his hand faltering slightly as his cock twitches in his grip.

He’s so fucking close, but it’s almost unbearable now, every stroke of his hand sending shocks through his overstimulated body.

“Fuck, I can hear how wet you are,” he grits out, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip to stop the whines threatening to spill out.

“Wish I could taste you. God, I’d bury my face in that pussy and never come up for air.”

You gasp, the sound high-pitched and desperate, and he knows you’re right on the edge.

You can hear the faint, wet sound of his hand moving faster, matching your pace.

“Think about me, baby,” he murmurs, his voice rough and commanding. “Think about how good I’d feel inside you, stretching you, filling you. You’d take me so well, wouldn’t you? So tight, so wet for me.”

The filthy words rip a broken moan from your throat, your hips bucking wildly as you grind against your palm.

“Carlos,” you gasp again, your voice high-pitched and desperate.

“Come for me,” he whispers, his voice wrecked and raw. “Be a good girl and let me hear you fall apart. Let me hear how much you fucking need me.”

The moment your cries reach their peak, his hips buck involuntarily, his cock pulsing painfully in his hand.

“Carlos!” you scream, your voice cracking as you tumble over the edge.

Hearing his name on your lips like that almost breaks him. His body is trembling, his stomach tight, and the overstimulation is nearly unbearable.

He grits his teeth, his hand still moving as he chases his own release. “Fuck- fuck, baby, you sound so good- so perfect-”

Carlos can barely breathe now. His hand is slick with his own cum from earlier, and every stroke feels like fire, but he can’t stop. He won’t stop.

“God, you’re gonna kill me,” he groans, his voice shaking. “I’m so fucking close- fuck, I can’t-”

His words cut off as his orgasm crashes over him, his vision going white as his cock pulses in his hand.

It’s too much, way too much, but he strokes himself through it anyway, biting back the sobs of pleasure-pain threatening to escape.

When he finally collapses back against the pillows, utterly wrecked, he hears your soft, breathy laughter on the other end of the line. "Are you okay?"

Carlos exhales shakily, his chest still heaving as the aftershocks ripple through him. He wipes a hand over his face, his body buzzing and completely wrecked, but he manages to keep his voice even as he speaks.

"Yeah," he lies, his tone almost too casual. "Just… pent up, I guess."

The truth, though, is that he’s fried. His hand aches, his cock is oversensitive, and his nerves feel like they’ve been set on fire.

But he’d go through it all again, every unbearable second, just to hear the way you came undone for him.

“So,” he asks after a beat, breaking the heavy silence. “How’d I do? Be honest. I can take it.”

There’s a pause on your end, followed by a soft laugh that makes his chest tighten. “Was that really your first time?”

He snorts, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “I mean, yeah. First time on the phone, anyway. Not my first time… y’know.”

“Uh-huh,” you tease, and he can hear the smirk in your voice. “Because you sounded like a pro. Like, suspiciously good.”

“Suspiciously good?” he echoes, feigning offense. “I’m just naturally talented, thank you very much.”

“You’re definitely talented,” you admit, your voice soft and warm. “Very good.”

He grins, letting the compliment settle into his chest like a warm weight. “Thank you,” he says, a little smug.

Then, without missing a beat, he adds, “Now, clean yourself up and drink some water.”

“Bossy,” you shoot back, laughing.

“Always,” he quips, his grin widening. “And I’ll keep saying it because I care. Hydrate, or I’ll call you again just to nag.”

“Fine, fine,” you relent, your tone playful. “I’ll get some water, but only because you’re so convincing.”

He chuckles, wishing he could actually take care of you.

He imagines bringing you a glass of water, wiping you down gently, maybe even cooking you something if you were hungry.

But he can’t. Not tonight, anyway.

“So,” he says, shifting the conversation, “how’s everything else? What’s new with you?”

You hum, and he listens as you shuffle around, likely cleaning yourself up as instructed. “Not much. Work’s been… chaotic. But in a good way, I guess? Keeps me busy.”

"I know that feeling," he says, grabbing a handful of tissues and grimacing as he cleans up the ridiculous mess pooling on his stomach. He swipes at it with quick, efficient movements, though the sheer volume makes him pause for a second.

"Dios mío," he mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

“The season’s kicking back up soon, and summer training’s been brutal,” he continues, his voice a little strained as he carefully wipes himself clean.

When he reaches lower, the sensitivity makes him wince, a sharp hiss escaping through clenched teeth.

His body’s wrecked, his nerves shot, and he’s not sure if it’s pleasure or pain anymore.

You are definitely not good for his health.

“Brutal, huh?” you tease. “Poor baby. All that fame and fortune must make it so hard to be you.”

“Hey, don’t knock it,” he retorts, laughing. “I’ve got to stay in top shape so I can keep looking good for you.”

“Oh, that’s why?” you shoot back, giggling. “Not, like, for the whole racing thing?”

“That’s just a side gig,” he jokes. “The real goal is impressing you. Obviously.”

You both laugh, the conversation easing into a comfortable rhythm.

He listens to you talk about your day, chiming in with little quips and teasing remarks that make you laugh.

It’s easy, natural, and he almost forgets that you’re miles apart.

Eventually, you yawn softly, and he can hear the tiredness in your voice. “I should let you go,” you say reluctantly.

“Yeah,” he agrees, though the thought of ending the call makes him a little regretful. “Get some rest.”

“You too,” you reply softly. “And Carlos?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For… tonight. For everything.”

His voice softens. “Anytime, baby.”

When the call ends, he stares at the ceiling for a long moment, the silence of his room pressing in around him.

He sighs, running a hand over his face, and mutters to himself, “You’re so fucked, Sainz.”

—-

series taglist :

@5sospenguinqueen @wadupppp @waytooobsessedwithlife @weekendlusting

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namism · 3 days ago

Note

Hi! Can I request a Zoro x reader who's mihawks daughter, I think it would be a funny scenario bc he would have to get his approval first lol

with wine, zoro | roronoa zoro

➳ categories: canonverse, female reader

➳ word count: 1.9k

➳ summary: Who knew that the mysterious Dracule Mihawk had a daughter? Zoro certainly didn't, but now that he's fallen head over heels for her, he supposes he has to do something quickly.

➳ notes: i adore this request! this is by far the one fic of mine that i would proudly reread without cringing because it's funny 😭

➳ cross-posted on ao3

"Psst!"

Zoro looks to his left. Slowly, Perona floats past him with her stuffed animal Kumashi in one hand, the other holding her parasol.

"Where were you last night?" she asks.

Zoro ignores her and goes back to whatever he was working on.

"Were you outside again?" Persistent as ever, Perona floats in front of him and blocks his line of sight. "You must have visited that girl from the tower!"

"How do you know her?" Zoro snaps. Perona smiles to herself smugly.

"A-ha! I knew it! You and that girl are together, aren't you? You disappear so often, I can't believe I hadn't caught on until yesterday!"

Zoro grumbles under his breath. Walking past her, he asks Perona what she's bothering him for, to which she replies with her uniquely annoying laugh, one that Zoro has heard too many times over the course of the eight months they've been together on Kuraigana Island. Her Hollows fly around her as she bursts into a fit, bearing an expression of mockery on their translucent faces.

"Just bothering you," she answers. Zoro picks up the weights he was lifting moments ago and proceeds to ignore her again, but she continues to pester him. "What is she to you? A friend? A girlfriend?"

Zoro huffs in annoyance. "Why do you bother?"

"Because this island is boooring!"

"Find something to work on," he suggests.

It's Perona's turn to show her annoyance. Hovering over Zoro, she extends her arms and spreads out her fingers toward him.

"Negative Ho—!"

"She's a friend!" Zoro yells in panic. Perona stops her Hollow attack with a flick of a finger. "She's... special... can you get those stupid ghosts away from my face?"

"Wow. You aren't as unemotional as I thought." Blinking rapidly, Perona's hands fall to her waist. Zoro always seemed withdrawn like Mihawk, so she never pictured him as the type of guy to hold any romantic feelings for anyone.

A light blush coats Zoro's cheeks. He looks away shyly but composes himself apace. He can't be vulnerable in front of Perona—she would tease him for ages.

Perona has different plans, though. She would tease him if it were about anything else, but she's smack dab in the middle of nowhere, and her boredom convinces her to be more considerate than pesky. Besides, she's been annoying toward Zoro enough. It's time to compensate.

Using her powers, she conjures a Special Hollow and orders it to pick the swordsman in its mouth. Zoro drops his sword and flails his arms around helplessly. With a manic laugh, Perona flies to the castle with the Hollow trailing after her.

"Let's get you a girlfriend!"

Zoro didn't know what to expect when Perona dragged him back to Mihawk's shady castle, but the events that transpired were definitely not in his top 5 guesses.

Perona held him at gunpoint—just her Negative Hollows, really—and told him to list all the things he likes about you. When that didn't work because Zoro was too flustered to speak, she concocted the perfect plan that is guaranteed to win your heart over, should he execute it properly.

Right now, Zoro stands in front of you with his hands crossed over his chest. It's the morning of the plan's execution, but facing you brings him back to the first time he stepped foot in your dwelling.

Ever since he and Perona were teleported to Kuraigana Island eight months ago, he found himself exploring (or rather, getting lost around) the island that apparently housed Dracule Mihawk's residence. He lives in the abandoned castle of the now fallen Muggy Kingdom that stands in the middle of the dense forests, just a few kilometers away from a lone tower nestled in between the trees.

When Zoro explored (got lost) too far, he scouted the tower and found you there, sleeping peacefully. You shot up from your bed in panic and used your swords to attack, but Zoro had backed you into a corner. Afraid, you begged him for your life and proved your innocence.

Zoro had no business with a random girl he met on a random Tuesday, who was stuck in a random tower on a random island he was magicked into. Yet you eventually charmed him with your abilities, earning his trust and respect to a degree close to acquaintances. As time went by, you started getting flirtatious that crossed the line of "just friends," leading Zoro to feel a mutual fondness for you that he couldn't quite communicate.

That leads him to his current predicament. As he waits for your reply to his quiet confession, he prepares himself for what's to come.

"It doesn't take one to figure out that I'm fond of you, too," you tell him with a soft smile. "However, you have to ask someone first."

Zoro isn't surprised by your reciprocity, but he's surprised by the latter. Whose consent does he have to ask for?

"Who is it?"

"My father."

Zoro furrows his brows.

"You live alone."

"Well, yes! I live alone in the tower."

Suddenly, the front door of your home is kicked open. You turn on your heel to greet the visitor, while Zoro watches intently.

Mihawk appears at the doorway.

"Good morning, love. Sorry for my entrance. Are you in the middle of something?"

You run over to the man and help him with the bags of groceries in his arms. Hauling them over to the kitchen counter, you invite him inside the building.

"We were, but it's just Zoro. No big deal."

Mihawk looks at the swordsman, one eyebrow raising in curiosity at his presence.

Meanwhile, Zoro tries to understand what's happening. The fact that you know Mihawk isn't shocking since you've lived on the island your whole life, but being called 'love'? Zoro doesn't mean to be possessive, but he has a problem with that.

"I guess my student has become acquainted with my daughter," says Mihawk nonchalantly before helping you unpack your groceries.

At that moment, Zoro wishes to be eaten alive by the island mandrills.

What. The. Fuck. He thinks. Daughter?!

"Daughter?!" he repeats aloud.

"Mm-hmm! I don't live in the castle. This tower is far better than that ominous place." You hum to yourself. Looking at Mihawk, you grin sheepishly. "Sorry, Father."

"Doesn't matter. Your absence gave the ghost girl a room to her liking."

Nearby, Zoro hears a faint gasp.

Clasping your hands together, you approach Zoro slowly. You look at him with sincerity in your eyes, a look that has Zoro going crazy.

"Well, my father is here. Would you like to ask him now?"

But the admission of your relationship to Mihawk, his master, is far crazier. Zoro doesn't have the time to be wooed in by your cuteness because he feels like an idiot for not having caught on to this fact much earlier.

Your swordsmanship, your demeanor, your aptitude for many other things—Zoro understands it now. There is no questioning your abilities when you had genetically inherited them from someone. You're Mihawk's daughter, and you had always been.

"Is something the matter?" you ask softly.

Zoro loses the color on his face. He feels dizzy.

Floating right outside the tower's open window, Perona makes a face of surprise as she eavesdrops on the conversation.

"Shoot," she cusses quietly before flying away.

"I can't remember the last time I've witnessed anything more devastating than falling for your master's daughter," Perona ponders aloud, causing Zoro to glare at her as he nearly hyperventilates. "Calm down! We can do something about it!"

Zoro grits his teeth at Perona's poor attempt to cheer him up. Coming from the ghost girl who knows nothing but to attack people with her depressive powers, her optimism is anything but helpful.

"You said you spied on her a few times in the past. Did you not know this?!" Zoro shouts.

"Well, I'm sorry I didn't intrude enough!" Perona yells back. "You didn't even bother asking your girlfriend what her full name was! Ugh, you tire me out—you're unbelievable!"

After Perona fled the scene, Zoro followed in horror. He looked too disturbed that you offered to escort him back to the castle so that he could take a deep breath and process the situation. However, Zoro excused himself and instead ran down the spiral steps of your tower, disappearing into the forest that led him back to the castle.

Having reunited with Perona in her bedroom (that was apparently yours before she teleported to the island), Zoro admits that she has the right to insult him. Zoro never asked for your family name, and you never told him about it either. He thought you were an orphan since you had always lived alone, and it wasn't rare for people in the Grand Line to be secretive of their family.

Still, he feels like an idiot. Despite looking different from your father (you must have taken after your mother in appearance), you're incredibly trained with a sword, and you have a familiar aura around you. Zoro should have connected the dots together and theorized that you're Mihawk's daughter, but it's too late for that now.

He isn't mad by all means, but he curses the old man for not even telling him. He's been living under his roof for the past eight months, for goodness' sake!

Perona floats in front of him, twirling her hair.

"What are you going to do now?" she asks.

Zoro doesn't respond. He's clueless.

"Me either," she says. She flies around the room, thinking to herself. "Well, only a coward would accept defeat in courting a woman. Get back there and ask for her father's blessing!"

Zoro clenches his fists, his nails digging into the palms of his hands.

"Help me with something."

Many hours later, Mihawk comes back from his day visit at your tower. Tired from today's events, he decides to lock himself in his bedroom and take some time reading the newspaper over a glass of wine. To his dismay, he seems to have run out.

Thus, he immerses himself in the newspaper, wine-less, thinking it's good to cut down on the liquor for a while. In the middle of it, a knock sounds on his door, followed by a soft clink of glass. Mihawk waits for a minute to pass before standing up from his seat and peeking out the door to investigate the sound.

Whoever had knocked is now long gone. Instead, there sits by his foot a bottle of unopened wine and a piece of parchment. Mihawk collects the items and retreats to his bedroom.

He opens the bottle and pours himself a drink. Then, he settles back in his armchair and finishes the newspaper before picking up the parchment.

"A letter," he says to himself. He reads.

Thank you for taking me under your wing.

I'm sorry for running out earlier. I like her, and I stand by that.

Have this for now.

With wine, Zoro

Mihawk drops the letter on his lap and takes another sip. He laughs to himself.

The next day, he calls Zoro to his room as he reads the daily newspaper with careful sips of the gifted wine. As Zoro speaks, having swallowed his pride another time in front of the man, Mihawk leans back into his chair, seemingly pleased.

With wine or not, he was going to give his permission anyway.

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wolvietxt · 2 days ago

Text

𝓑UTTERFLIES, PART TWO.

pairing : bucky barnes x fem!reader warnings : fluff, kiss, that’s literally it i think summary : after much deliberation, bucky finally acts on his feelings for you wc : 1.2k a/n : part two to this fic💕

bucky had been avoiding the common areas of the tower for the past few days, ever since his conversation with wanda. her teasing words about him having a crush had burrowed deep into his mind, and every time he thought about seeing you, his heart raced and his palms grew clammy. but he couldn’t avoid you forever, not when you’d become such an integral part of his days.

so, when he found himself in the kitchen one morning, staring blankly at the coffee machine, he wasn’t entirely surprised to hear your voice behind him.

“good morning,” your cheerful tone was always comforting.

he turned, offering you a small smile. “morning,” he mumbled.

“you look like you could use some coffee,” you teased, gesturing to the empty mug in his hand.

“yeah, guess i’m not fully awake yet,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “what about you? you’re always so… chipper.”

“it’s caffeine,” you joked, flashing him a grin. “and maybe a little bit of just liking mornings.”

he couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped him. “guess i’ll have to take your word for it.”

as the two of you stood there, the conversation flowed easily, touching on everything from your latest mission to the strange quirks of living in a tower full of superheroes. bucky found himself relaxing, the tension in his shoulders easing as you laughed at one of his rare jokes.

“you’re funny, you know that?” you said, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

“not sure anyone’s ever called me that before,” he replied, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“well, i’m saying it now,” you said with a firm nod, your smile still beaming. “and i don’t lie about these things.”

bucky’s heart did a little flip at the sincerity in your voice. he wasn’t used to compliments, let alone ones that felt so genuine.

from that day on, your interactions became more frequent. whether it was a shared meal in the kitchen or a brief exchange in the hallways, you always seemed to find a way to brighten his day. bucky, in turn, began to seek you out, drawn to the warmth you radiated.

one evening, you found yourselves in the common room again, this time watching a movie with the rest of the team. bucky had taken a seat on the far end of the couch, but you’d plopped down right next to him, a blanket draped over your lap.

“didn’t take you for a movie night kind of guy,” you whispered, leaning closer so only he could hear.

“i’m not, usually,” he admitted, his voice low. “but… this seemed like a good idea.”

“well, i’m glad you’re here,” you said, your smile soft and genuine.

as the movie played on, bucky found it harder to focus on the screen. his attention kept drifting to you - the way you laughed at the funny parts, the way your expression softened during the emotional scenes, tears brimming at your waterline. at one point, your hand accidentally brushed against his, and though you quickly pulled away with an apologetic smile, the brief contact sent his heart racing.

when the movie ended, you turned to him, your eyes bright. “what did you think?”

“it was… good,” he said, though he couldn’t have recalled a single plot point if his life depended on it.

“you’re such a liar,” you teased, nudging him lightly. “but that’s okay. next time, i’ll pick something you’ll actually like.”

next time. the words lingered in his mind long after you’d gone to bed. he wasn’t sure when it had happened, but somewhere along the way, you’d become the highlight of his days. and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

over the next few weeks, bucky found himself growing more comfortable around you. your conversations became longer, your laughter more frequent. you had a way of drawing him out of his shell, of making him feel like the version of himself he’d almost forgotten.

one afternoon, the two of you were sitting on the tower’s balcony, a light breeze rustling through the air. you’d brought out a deck of cards, insisting on teaching him a game he’d never heard of.

“okay, so the goal is to get rid of all your cards,” you explained, shuffling the deck with practiced ease. “it’s kind of like uno, but with regular cards.”

“sounds complicated,” he said, his brow furrowing.

“nah, you’ll get the hang of it,” you assured him. “and if not, i’ll just keep winning.”

he smirked. “we’ll see about that.”

the game quickly devolved into playful banter, with you teasing him every time he made a mistake and him firing back with his own dry humor. by the time you’d declared yourself the winner for the third round in a row, you were both laughing so hard your sides hurt.

“okay, okay, you’re officially banned from shuffling,” you said, wiping a tear from your eye. “you’re too good at stacking the deck.”

“hey, don’t hate the player,” he replied, his grin widening.

as the laughter subsided, a comfortable silence settled over you. bucky found himself watching you, the way the sunlight caught in your hair, the way your lips curved into a soft smile even when you weren’t talking. his chest tightened with an unfamiliar but not unwelcome feeling.

“you know,” he said quietly, “you make this place a lot more bearable.”

you looked up, your eyes meeting his. “that’s funny,” you said, your voice just as soft. “i was going to say the same thing about you.”

the words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. bucky’s heart pounded in his chest as he searched your face for any sign of hesitation. but all he saw was warmth, an openness that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he could take the leap.

“would it be okay if i…?” he trailed off, his gaze flickering to your lips.

you didn’t answer right away, but the way you leaned in, the way your breath hitched ever so slightly, was all the encouragement he needed.

when his lips met yours, it was like the world fell away. the kiss was soft, tentative, as if he were afraid of breaking the moment. but as you responded, your hand coming up to rest against his cheek, he felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the sunlight.

when you finally pulled back, your eyes searched his, a shy smile playing on your lips. “so,” you said shyly, your voice barely above a whisper. “was that as scary as you thought it’d be?”

he chuckled, his forehead resting against yours. “not even close.”

“good,” you said, your fingers brushing lightly against his. “because i’ve been wanting you to do that for a while.”

“me too,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “i just didn’t know how.”

“well, you figured it out,” you said, your smile widening. “and for the record, you’re pretty good at this whole talking thing when you try.”

he laughed, a genuine, carefree sound that felt foreign yet wonderful. “guess i’ll have to keep practicing, then.”

“i’ll hold you to that,” you said, leaning in for another kiss.

this time, he didn’t hesitate. because for the first time in a long time, bucky felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

ᰔ bucky barnes : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid

@yvespecially, @hhiggs, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd, @superlegend216

@withasideofmeg, @pvndomi, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @bbittenapples, @hazydespair

@aoi_targaryen, @person-005, @corvuscattus

more tags : @vicmc624, @starsmoonn, @daddyyy88, @illusionaryjourneys

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

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jungwnies · 1 day ago

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wreckage - charles leclerc (4/4)

୨ৎ : pairing : charles leclerc x wife!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : as charles fights for his life, his wife faces the hardest decision: let go or fight for him. a small miracle gives hope for recovery.

୨ৎ : genre : emotional fiction, angst, fluff ୨ৎ : tws : injury, surgery, medical trauma, emotional distress, guilt, near-death experience, physical pain, anxiety ୨ৎ : wc : 2402

part one | part two | part three | part four

Love is funny, isn’t it? You think you have it all figured out, and then one day, you realize that the love you thought would always be there can sometimes fade into the background. But it doesn’t just fade. No, it burns out, slow and steady, like an ember that’s been left too long. That’s the worst kind of loss—the one you didn’t see coming, the one that happens while you’re still holding on, telling yourself everything will be okay.

You remember when you and Charles first fell in love. The world felt like it was yours, and nothing could get in the way of the connection you had. The world around you blurred into the background, and it was just the two of you. You’d laugh together, make silly promises to each other, the kind of promises that felt forever, like they couldn’t possibly be broken. And in your mind, you believed it. You believed you’d grow old together, that no argument could ever pull you apart. But life has a funny way of surprising you.

The love you shared in the beginning was so full of light. It was easy. It was simple. And somewhere along the way, somewhere between the late-night talks and the quiet moments, you lost that. The arguments crept in. At first, they were small, just misunderstandings, but they grew, louder and sharper, until they couldn’t be ignored anymore. The more Charles drowned himself in the racing world, the more you felt yourself slipping away. But neither of you stopped to listen to what the other needed.

You can’t help but wonder now: If you hadn’t argued so much, if you hadn’t allowed that distance to grow between you, would he be lying in this hospital bed today? Would he still be fighting for his life? Maybe. But then again, maybe not. The thought makes your chest ache with a weight you can’t shake off. You want to believe that everything could have been different, but you don’t know for sure.

---

The steady beep of the monitors is the only thing that keeps you tethered to the present. Charles’s vitals have stabilized since the crash, and you try not to let yourself hope too much, but each small sign of improvement sends a rush of relief through you. You hold onto that hope, even though you know it might be foolish. Every small movement, every little shift in his breathing—each one feels like a promise. A promise that he’s still here.

Pascale’s footsteps break your train of thought. She steps into the room, her face tired, but there’s a quiet strength in her eyes.

“You’re doing everything you can,” she says, her voice gentle, like she’s trying to reassure you that you’re not alone in this. “You’re not to blame for this. The sport… it’s dangerous. We all know that. But Charles loves you. And this—it’s not your fault.”

You swallow hard, your heart heavy with the weight of her words. But they don’t sink in, not completely. You can’t stop the guilt that keeps clawing at your chest. You can’t help but wonder, what if you could have done more? What if you had said something different, done something different? Would he still be here, conscious and fighting? Or would this still be his reality?

“I just don’t know what to do anymore,” you admit quietly, your voice shaky, betraying the calm you try to maintain. “I don’t know how to make it right.”

She takes a step closer, her hand finding yours. “You don’t have to,” she says, her tone firm but soft. “Just be there for him. That’s what he needs right now. And when he wakes up… when he’s ready, you’ll figure it out together.”

You nod, not sure if you believe her. But you hold onto her words like a lifeline. Maybe, just maybe, she’s right. But it doesn’t make the ache in your chest any less painful.

---

Hours stretch into what feels like an eternity. The doctors come and go, each update a little less hopeful than the last. Charles is still critical. There’s no telling when he’ll wake up, if he wakes up. And the waiting—waiting without knowing what’s happening to him, if he’s improving or slipping away—feels unbearable.

And then, without warning, his heart rate drops.

The machines beep with a harsh, frantic sound, and the room erupts into chaos. Your body freezes, the air thick with panic. Nurses rush to his side, hands moving quickly, calling out to each other in a language you can’t fully comprehend. You stand there, paralyzed, not knowing what to do. Your mind spins with fear and confusion, and all you can think about is the man lying in front of you, fighting to stay alive.

Charles’s heart rate flatlines.

A scream gets caught in your throat, but it doesn’t escape. You don’t have the strength to let it out. The world feels like it’s spinning, like you’re stuck in a nightmare you can’t wake from. You watch as they work on him—CPR, chest compressions, defibrillation—but none of it seems to matter. It doesn’t feel real. He’s supposed to be okay. He’s supposed to wake up.

But then, just as suddenly as it started, the doctors manage to stabilize him again. His heart rate picks up slowly, steadily, until it’s just enough for you to breathe again.

The doctors exchange glances, unsure how to explain the sudden shift. They weren’t expecting this. They were preparing to pull the plug. Now, it seems he’s fighting back.

But the fear doesn’t dissipate completely. It lingers in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating. There’s no telling if this is the end of the battle or just another moment of temporary reprieve. All you can do is wait.

---

Time passes, but it feels like you’re standing still. Charles’s breathing evens out. The monitors beep at a normal rhythm now, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel a glimmer of hope.

And then, as though your prayers have been answered, you hear it. A soft groan. His hand twitches in yours.

“Charles?” You whisper, your voice barely above a breath.

His eyelids flutter, and slowly, his eyes open. The confusion is evident in them. His brow furrows, trying to process everything.

“Y/n?” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper, but you can hear the recognition in it. The relief that floods through you makes it hard to breathe. You’re shaking, but you can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face.

“Oh my God. Charles… you’re awake.”

His eyes flutter again, blinking as he adjusts to the light. He tries to speak, but it’s a struggle. “What… happened?”

“You were in a crash,” you explain, your heart racing. “But you’re awake. You’re okay. You’re breathing on your own.”

His hand tightens around yours, a weak but determined grip. He doesn’t have to say anything else. You know he’s here. He’s alive. That’s all that matters.

You lean in closer, your voice soft but firm. “You don’t need to say anything right now. Just rest. You’ve been through enough.”

His eyes close again, exhaustion taking over. But this time, it’s different. He’s not slipping away. He’s fighting. And that’s enough for you.

---

It’s been a few days since Charles woke up. His recovery is slow, but every step forward is a victory. The doctors are cautiously optimistic, and his vitals are improving steadily. He’s no longer on a ventilator, and they’ve managed to reduce the pain medications, though he still winces at the sharp pangs in his body when he moves. His face is pale, his body thin, but his eyes—they’re alive. They’re still the same Charles you love.

His hand rests weakly in yours as he shifts in the hospital bed, a small groan escaping his lips. You watch him carefully, knowing he’s still in pain but feeling so much relief that he’s here, breathing, talking, and slowly getting better. It’s surreal how much has changed in just a few days.

You gently press a kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering longer than you expect.

“Still hurts?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Everything hurts,” he replies, his voice hoarse from the tubes and the strain, but it’s unmistakably Charles—weak but teasing. “But I’ll live.”

You chuckle, even though your heart still feels heavy with all that’s happened. “You better. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His hand tightens around yours, and for a moment, there’s silence between you two, the hum of machines and the quiet shuffle of footsteps in the hall the only sounds filling the room.

The door opens softly, and Pascale enters, her eyes lighting up when she sees Charles awake.

“You’re really here,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “I can’t believe it.”

“I told you,” he mutters, a weak but determined smile crossing his face. “I don’t give up that easily.”

She chuckles, her relief palpable. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

The doctor enters next, checking his vitals and making small talk about his progress. But after a few minutes, you sense that everyone is trying to give you two some space. You appreciate it more than you can say. You need a moment alone with him, just the two of you.

“Can we talk?” Charles asks suddenly, his voice quieter, the weight of everything pressing down on him. His gaze locks with yours, and you nod.

Once the room clears, you move closer to him, pulling a chair up beside his bed and sitting down, your hand never leaving his.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, his voice soft but full of emotion. “More than I ever thought possible. I was… so afraid. I didn’t know if I’d get another chance.”

Your heart catches at his words, and you squeeze his hand tighter. “You’re here. That’s all that matters now.”

“I know I messed up, Y/n,” he says, his voice trembling slightly as he continues. “The arguments, the distance between us… I didn’t know how to fix it, but I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve done better for us.”

You shake your head, leaning closer to him. “We both messed up. I pushed you away. I let my own fears and doubts take over, and we let the distance grow between us. But we don’t need to dwell on that now. What matters is we have a chance to rebuild. We can start again.”

Charles’ eyes soften as he looks at you. He lifts his free hand and brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers are weak, but his touch is gentle, so tender it makes your heart swell.

“I don’t want to waste another moment,” he whispers. “I want to make it right. For us. I want to give you everything I have. I want us to be… forever.”

You feel a rush of warmth in your chest at his words, and you can’t hold back the tears that sting your eyes. “Charles… I love you. I always have. No matter what happened before, it’s in the past now. We’ll get through this together. We’ll be better.”

He nods, his smile growing as much as his weakened body allows. “Forever,” he repeats, his voice firm. “You and me.”

You lean forward, pressing your lips to his gently, the kiss soft and full of promise. You feel the heat of his lips against yours, the lingering taste of the past and the hope for the future mixing together. It’s everything you need. Everything you’ve always wanted.

After the kiss, you rest your forehead against his, the moment feeling peaceful, intimate, like the world has slowed down just for the two of you.

"I promise I’m never going to leave you," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

“I know,” you whisper back. “And I won’t leave you either. We’re in this together. Forever.”

His breath catches, and you can see how tired he is. His eyes start to close, his body relaxing into the bed. You’re thankful for this moment—this quiet moment of peace between the chaos. It’s all you need for now. His grip tightens one last time around your hand before he drifts off, his breathing steady, but shallow.

As you watch him sleep, your heart swells. There’s so much to be thankful for now. He’s here. He’s alive. And even though he’s still in pain, the fact that he’s awake and breathing on his own, that he can talk and even smile, fills you with a sense of relief you can’t describe.

Time may not have stopped, but you feel like it’s been kind to you in the small ways. And in this moment, with Charles beside you, you’re ready to take on the future. The fights, the love, the challenges—they’re all worth it. Because at the end of the day, it’s you and him. Together.

---

As the days continue, Charles slowly gets stronger. The pain from the crash is still there, but it’s manageable. He’s talking more, eating small meals, and regaining some mobility. He even laughs now and then, the sound a balm to your weary soul.

It’s slow, but progress is progress, and with each passing day, your connection with him grows stronger. The weight of the past seems lighter, and you find yourselves rebuilding, piece by piece, finding new ways to love each other.

You’re not sure what the future holds, but for the first time in a long time, you know you’ll face it together. Whatever happens, you’ve found something worth fighting for.

---

A few weeks later, Charles is finally cleared for a short walk around the hospital floor. It’s a small victory, but it feels huge to both of you. He’s still weak, but he’s standing, with you by his side, helping him steady himself.

“You’ve come so far,” you say, your voice thick with emotion.

Charles smiles at you, the kind of smile that makes you feel like you could conquer anything. “I’m not done yet. I still have a lot of living to do. And I want to do it with you.”

You nod, feeling your heart swell as you walk beside him, hand in hand. This journey isn’t over. It’s only just begun.

But for now, you’re both here. You’re together. And that’s enough.

Forever.

taglist: @emryb , @htpssgavi , @aleatorio1234 , @ayap4paya , @prttylight , @meadhbhcavanagh , @iluvnewtie , @hiireadstuff , @armystay89 , @anunstablefangirl , @waytoooobsessedwithlife , @larya810 , @laufeysvalentine (tags closed, story complete)

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rubyvhs · 2 days ago

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who’d believe? | dean winchester

summary. dean finds you six years after you ‘died’. tags. wc 2.3k, car sex (just fingering), angst, mentions soulless sam. lailas notes. this is for my ‘stuck on you’ by meiko square for @jacklesversebingo + actually got inspired by @little-diable ‘s not a ghost fic. so so beautiful and i think everyone should go read it! ++ for my 500 celebration, so happy i got to it so quickly && the title is the translation of the song title. and most importantly, beta’d by the incredible @copperboom82 who made it much more readable and enjoyable.

You were never really a bar type of person, mostly because of the loud noise and smell, other than that, you liked a good party. But you decided you needed to celebrate getting your dream job, or, okay, whatever, your friend is forcing you to.

"I'm not taking no for an answer," she said, handed you your outfit and went outside to get the car started, not even giving you time to reject the idea. Though the second you stepped foot in the lively place, you were glad you came.

The drinks and music were exactly what you needed; a nice night out with no responsibilities. And especially no men (at least none like those you work with, you're honestly over them).

An hour into dancing with your friend, two more strangers join you. When the last song ends and another less 'pop' and more 'rock' one starts, they suggest going out to smoke for a second. Despite not once in your life trying it, you agree.

You should really work on saying no.

Thankfully you're sensible enough to refuse when they try to hand you one, just standing next to them, linking your arm with your friend's. "Where do you work?" You ask one of the girls. She has shorter red hair that almost reaches her shoulders, black eyeliner and a septum piercing. In other words? Fucking sexy.

"Police." Your eyes widen and you stand up straighter. "Oh, stop it! You're fine."

You laugh but shake your head, "No, no, that's not what I meant, you're just so— cute, I guess. Wouldn't have taken you for the assertive cop type."

"Yeah, well," she shrugs, dismissing the thought. It's obvious she gets it a lot. "Saw the hottest guys today, by the way—"

Her friend interrupts, beautiful brown pin-straight hair, pale skin, a gorgeous smile; "God, he was pretty. And his brother too…”

"Oh yeah. Agent something and Agent whatever, I don't remember, I was too busy looking through the shorter one’s shirt." You all laugh, a sway in your demeanor. You're pretty sure it's the alcohol that's got them saying all this but it's funny either way.

"Yeah, he was amazing. Like, those green eyes, honestly—" Your smile drops fast. Green eyes had always been somewhat of a trigger for you ever since Dean, especially that specific beautiful shade. Then again honestly everything's been a trigger: hunting, black cars, vintage cars, food, pie— you could go on.

"Oh and the way he walks? The little outward bounce of his leg, so cute!"

You shift, a little uncomfortable. How many guys do you know with bow legs, green eyes and are cops? They're probably not allowed to tell you he's FBI.

The red-haired girl touches your arm making you jump. "Shit, you okay, honey? You seemed out of it."

"Oh, no, I'm sorry, just reminded me of someone. Old…" Dean.

There he is. Alive and in the flesh. You don't become a hunter and not hear about the Winchesters, you, on the other hand, fly under the radar. Especially since you try to stay away from any and all hunters.

But you heard nothing of how gorgeous he has grown up.

The girls catch your drift mid-sentence and look back to see what you're staring at. A dumb-struck Dean. "Oh! Agent…" Her friend elbows her stomach and Dean doesn’t peel his eyes off of you to speak.

"Right, yes. Hi, Officer."

She blushes under the dim light but Dean apologizes before breezing past them and holding your arm roughly to drag you away behind the bar. Your friend makes sure to motion to you if you need help before you let her know she should just get back inside. It’s pretty damn obvious you know the guy.

"Are you fucking serious?"

You let out a shy smile, "Dean, hey, how are you?"

"'How are you?'" He mocks, letting go of your arm aggressively, "'how are you?'"

"Is that not what they say anymore?"

"Are you serious?" He seems to enjoy repeating sentences much more than when you last saw him. "I looked for you, I mourned you." You mourned him too, in a way.

You and Dean were acquaintances, occasionally hunting together until you stayed at Bobby's place for a week and he came to visit coincidentally. You both started talking more that night, exchanged phone numbers and became somewhat friends.

Sam left for Stanford and you guys stayed together more frequently. Sam came back and you 'died'. Not on purpose, obviously, but Dean thought you died. You did, for a second, before you were brought back for some twisted, fucked up reason. Not that you knew it but if you did you're sure it would be fucked up.

By the time you woke up Sam and Dean had been long gone and your body had been buried. Didn’t burn your bones like he should’ve, no. He buried you. You're not sure which is worse.

"Look, I don't know what happened—"

"What does that even mean? You magically come back to life; you fucking call me! Ever thought of that?" A thousand times.

But Sam had finally decided to come back and hunt with Dean, Dean buried you, and so, you'd reasoned he was fine. You knew that if you were Sam, your body would've been preserved in the Impala for months before he'd ever allow himself to do that, to put you six feet under. The fact that he didn’t hold on to you had to mean he was okay.

But neither of you deserve more guilt. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"That's really rich. Real rich comin' from you. Grieved you for goddamn years. Six." Huh, that's a lot longer than you’d have thought. You were sure it would be six minutes. You knew he cared about you, but Deans also a 'what's done is done' kind of man.

"I'm—"

"If you apologize, I'll kill you. Again." You're about to crack a joke but his glare sets you off. Oookay, tough crowd, whatever.

"I wanted to call, I swear I did," how do you explain to the king of 'I don't deserve good' that you don't deserve him. He'll think it's a cruel joke. "I didn't know if you'd want me to reach out, I thought you were moving on with Sammy, okay? Going on with finding John. Me calling wouldn't have made a difference."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "I went to hell." You bite your bottom lip between your teeth. He sighs, a mix of emotions on his face. "You knew?" Your nod makes him turn around in anger (disappointment? hurt?), kicking the cardboard box as far as it'll go, another plastic one breaks and you flinch at that one.

In your defense, everyone knows.

"I couldn't do that to you and Sam, you moved on, Dean, I heard about you and Lisa and Ben—"

"Where the hell did you hear that?" Hunters talk. And he knows it. He turns around in an angry haze. "I didn't fuckin' move on, alright? I did what Sam wanted me to do when I didn't have you. Because my goddamn brother was in a cage with Lucifer, and now he's walking around without a soul!" He raises his voice until it gives out and so does his breath. You can't help the way your heart clenches, not even because of the words, but the tired look behind Dean's eyes.

Subconsciously, you move forward until you can hug him, and like he always used to: Dean throws himself into it, his head in your neck as he breathes you in. "I missed you." He whispers.

You don't believe how easily he's adjusted to this. If you were in his place you wouldn't hesitate to kill him, thinking he's a demon or a shifter.

He chuckles, his whole body rubbing against you. "Haven't hugged anyone like this in— ever. Was waiting for you."

He's never been safe, always made everyone else feel protected, you could only hope you built a safe place within yourself for him. You're at least close.

"I missed you too, De. Every single day, I swear."

You don't know what about the sentence sparks anything in him, but it does. He pulls away to smirk and push you against the hard wall. You gasp, doing nothing but turning him on more and giving him an entrance to your mouth.

He kisses you like he's lost his mind. He has.

His touch is electric as he pulls you closer, the heat of his body searing your skin, the raw intensity of desire saying more than words ever could. The kiss evolves, turning feral, almost carnal. He holds you, firm but tender, and rediscovers your mouth like a starving man. He is, he hasn't tasted you in… ever.

This is your first kiss with Dean, but the explosive chemistry between you makes the blood scream in your ears. It was never a secret that you and Dean were more than just hunters to each other, and it seems you dying was his last straw.

"We— Dean, can't here—"

He agrees. Or he doesn't. He's still kissing you and you're not sure if either of you are breathing.

Eventually he lets go. "Yeah," he whispers against your lips, moving for another kiss, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth, leaving a peck and panting out, "right."

"'M sorry." God, why are you apologizing? Why are your bodies so far away?

He shakes his head, moves away (even if it looks like he's struggling to do so), "it's fine, what— you were here with friends? Are you staying?"

"Are you asking me to not stay?"

He smiles, leans down for another kiss and you decide to say goodbye to your friends now or else you're never getting the chance.

"De, someone can see—"

"Don't overthink it." He says, burying his head between your breasts, kissing, biting, licking and loving all the noises you're making. He groans into your skin, nipping at a particularly sensitive spot that has you moaning out loud. "God, sweetheart, love that sound."

He moves his hands to your waist, thrusts his hips once, checking your reaction. A little tremor passes through you. Eyes hood over.

"Can't believe you're here, and all for me."

"Yes," you breathe, resting your forehead against Dean's, overwhelmed by his words and how close his hand is to your inner thigh. "Please."

"If I slide my hand up your skirt, will I find you dripping wet for me?" Another shudder shakes you gently.

"Yes."

When he grips your knee and your neck, closing your lips with a kiss while his other hand travels higher, you start feeling your pulse hammering in your ears. The windows start misting over, giving you privacy— not that you particularly believe Dean cares.

Dean moves his seat back, then pushes you until your shoulder blades hit the steering wheel so you're more comfortable, your legs bent on either side of him, hands braced against the door and his chest.

"Dreamed about this," He says, his voice low and husky. The way his eyes are raking over your body, you're not even sure you're supposed to hear him. "Thought about this everyday for six years, sweetheart. Now I get to have you."

He glides one finger between your lips, sliding up and down slowly. “Such a pretty pussy,” he groans, eyes focused between your legs and you fall over, your head on his chest, before he pushes you back against the steering wheel, "nu-uh, wanna see it. Wanna see how wet you are for me, baby."

You have so much to say— a lot of apologies and 'I miss you's’ and so many more beautiful words and kisses and you want to tell Dean that you care about him as much as he does you and why you left—

He dips two fingers inside you. Curls them immediately, and just like that, he finds your most sensitive spot.

You half pant, half moan, the words 'Dean, oh my god, please' a jumbled drowned-out mishmash because he starts torturing your clit, his thumb rubbing perfect circles, hard and fast, reducing your bones to liquid. But when you're right there, he eases away, lazily pumping two fingers in and out.

He smiles, exhaling a content breath as his gaze zeroes between your thighs, ignoring your pleas. "Yeah? you wanna come, darlin’?" the pet name and the question both bring out a loud moan you didn’t know you were holding, your hips involuntarily moving against his fingers until he stops you. you’re about to whine again but he increases the pace, crooking his fingers inside you while his thumb rubs your clit, and that’s all it takes.

The orgasm rips through you, powerful, relentless, so intense you think you might just black out. You’ve never felt so boneless in someone's arms, until your head falls right into his chest as he works your pussy, the sensation easing off and then coming again like waves crashing against the shore.

Dean doesn't stop. His fingers are rough, his thumb still being put to good use, and the release lasts so long. So fucking long you think you have an out-of-body experience.

It takes a minute until you're able to breathe anything but his cologne. When you can, you sit up slightly and move into the seat next to him, thankful for the lack of a console to separate you since you don't get very far, just lay your head on his chest.

He kisses your head. You can even feel his smile against the kiss until you notice the bulge of his pants and frown. You quickly get up and Dean's entire face falls. "I'm sorry, I didn't think—"

Dean grabs your wrist before it makes it halfway to his dick. "This isn't an exchange, sweetheart." Your entire body is like jelly, you can't move and you're pretty sure if you try sucking Dean off, you’ll pass out. But it feels… rude. "You're spent. I'll get you home so you can take a hot shower, and we'll pick this up again when you're ready. How about that?"

You can't fucking believe your luck. Dean wants an 'again'.

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lvzrii4 · 3 days ago

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꩜ .ᐟ LITTLE THINGS 이희승

— ✮⋆˙ heeseung x reader ✮⋆˙ fluff, established relationship, non-idol au ✮⋆˙ 0.7k wc ✮⋆˙ grammar errors

WHEREIN heeseung finds himself falling more in love with you every time you do the smallest things.

every little thing you did made heeseung’s heart race in ways he never thought possible. he always told himself he wasn’t the type to get caught up in the small details—but then you came along

it was the way you’d smile at him, that quiet kind of smile, like you knew all his secrets and still loved him anyway. the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you laughed, the way they softened when you looked at him.

heeseung could get lost in your eyes—he had, so many times.

heeseung was on his way home after you’d sent him out to buy a few things. as he walked past a small flower shop, the colorful display caught his eye. it instantly reminded him of you and the way you always lit up whenever you two visited one.

“did you know daisies symbolize purity and innocence?” you’d say, rambling random flower facts while pointing to your favorites.

he smiled to himself. it was one of the many reasons he fell for you—your curious mind and the way you turned even the simplest outings into something memorable.

on the bus ride home, he overheard a group of friends saying their goodbyes. it reminded him of how you always waved at your friends with the sweetest smile before rushing over to him.

heeseung couldn’t help but chuckle softly, looking down at his phone. your messages popped up on the screen.

lovelove ❤️

food’s almost cold!

stay safe, i love you!

oh yeah, i think i miss you already:(

he laughed at the cute sticker you’d sent along with it. snapping a quick picture of himself on the bus, he texted back:

my fav person ! 💞

on my way. don’t eat without me! :)

when heeseung finally arrived home, you greeted him at the door, practically throwing your arms around him. “woah, easy there,” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist.

your face was glowing, your eyes sparkling with sincerity, warmth, and love—the kind of look that made him fall in love with you all over again.

“welcome home! oh, let me get these—thank you for buying them,” you said, pulling away to grab the bags from his hands. he watched you with a fond smile as you disappeared into the kitchen.

“oh, and dinner’s ready!” you called out. “i also bought your favorite drink yesterday.”

heeseung sat down at the dining table, resting his chin on his hand as he watched you move around the kitchen, chattering about your day. you pulled his drink from the fridge, placing it on the table with a proud smile.

“oh, and yeah—” you paused when you noticed his silence. “everything okay?”

heeseung blinked, his thoughts catching up. “yeah,” he said, smiling softly.

you squinted at him as you sat down across from him, serving portions of food onto both plates. “you’re giving me that look again, hee.”

“what look?”

“like you’re trying to manipulate me or something,” you joked, though your cheeks warmed under his gaze.

he laughed at your playful tone, leaning forward to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “you’re funny. but you know what? you do the same thing to me all the time. your eyes, your smile… even the little things about you make me forget everything else.”

your heart raced at his words, your cheeks now burning. “you’re being so dramatic,” you mumbled, suddenly shy.

“i’m not,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “everything i said is true.”

heeseung picked up his chopsticks and started eating like he hadn’t just turned your heart racing so fast it felt like it might burst.

as the night deepened, the two of you stayed like that—sharing food, laughter, and quiet moments where words weren’t necessary.

later, you both found yourselves curled up on the couch, a soft blanket draped over you as you rested your head on his chest. the sound of his heartbeat matched the rhythm of your own, steady and comforting.

later, as you lay curled up on the couch together, heeseung rested his chin on top of your head. “you know,” he murmured, “you’re everything i never knew i needed.”

you tilted your head to meet his gaze, his eyes full of love that left you breathless. “and you,” you whispered back, “are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

heeseung smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

and as you closed your eyes, you thought of the way he looked at you—like you were the only person in the world.

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sugucvnt · 3 days ago

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PERFECT ROLE | 2.7k

alcoholic! toji fushiguro x fem!reader

description: you’ve always been his perfect housewife. you’ve been there to keep the bed warm, keep the food hot, and there to cry when he’s been out all night drinking.

tags/warning: angst, crying, kitchen sex, clothed sex, mentions of drinking, implied alcoholic, toji's not a great husband but he is trying, REPOST (from my other account lolol), emotional sex

all of your days seem to start the same.

laundry, feeding your child, cleaning her room, etc. when you signed up for motherhood, you weren’t expecting the redundancy that tags along with it. still, even your bad days feel good and you couldn’t imagine trading motherhood for anything else. you smile a little as you tuck your last child into bed, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead before leaving quietly.

you have no regrets because you love your little girl. and sometimes, you love your husband too. the sound of jingling keys seems to snap you out of your thoughts and you huff out a breath, making your way downstairs. the stairs croak a bit, so you’re aware he knows you’re coming.

it isn’t written on your face, but you are rather upset. you’ve known your husband since he was a teenager- which means you’re aware of things he may not even be aware of. like the fact that he honestly prefers eating with other people. you’ve noticed the man goes a little crazy when you refuse to eat at the table with him. not just that, though, but you know the way his mind works.

toji doesn’t know what a promise is. or he’s got no idea what it means to make one.

he’ll make tons of empty promises that he never intended to keep in the first place, and then he’ll get pissy at you for being upset with him. it’s unfortunate, but you’ve always learned to just accept it and work around that flaw. until now, you’ve never allowed his blatant disregard for your feelings to send you into such despair. your emotions are a tool you’ve worked diligently to keep in place. it’s like a stone wall: they aren’t so easily broken or disturbed. not by just anyone, at least. the only person who could disturb the artificial peace you’ve created to keep yourself sane is toji.

you’re barely near the man, still leisurely walking down your loud, wooden steps- but you can smell him.

cheap liquor. it’s all you’ve been able to smell this week.

“‘m back,” he calls, the shrinking scar on his lip pulling into a sickening grin. it seems so long ago but there was a time when you enjoyed his smile. there was a time when it brightened your day just to see the stupid little smirk he’d have on his face when you did something for him, or even when you’d wore a pretty outfit he liked.

“it’s late, toji,” you start, finally making your way down the steps and right past your husband. he barely feels like that to you anymore. “haven’t even had work this week but you’re out all night. it’s funny.”

you shoot him a quick glare before brightening up the kitchen a bit when you turn the stove light on.

“don’t be like that, i let you go out when you wanna.” he sits in one of the chairs in the dining area, a sly grin still glued to his stupid face. your eyebrows furrow and your head turns to look at him, your hand anxiously playing with the loose strings of your nightgown.

“let me? toji, you can’t let me do anything. i haven’t even been out to do anything but run errands.” another sigh escaped your lip and you feel like you might vomit. you’ve been up since 6, running errands, doing laundry, and making breakfast. not to mention, crying yourself nearly to death worrying about your husband. is he alright? why’s he been out so much recently? does he need to talk?

you’re worried out of your mind. it’s like your head’s been spinning and your thoughts aren’t even your own. so anxious, you’re nearly on the verge of vomiting daily. toji hardly even notices you said anything before he’s back to picking at the food on his plate.

“you promised you wouldn’t keep drinking.” he’s draining your energy day by day and you’re unsure if you can even keep up. your voice is merely a croak, fingers still widely tangling and untangling in the loose threads of your satin gown. you wanna say good night and kiss him on the cheek? even tell him that you aren’t mad, just worried is all.

you don’t.

you’re about to move past him. you’re tired and irritated- you need some sleep and a long bath and much to your dismay, he carefully grabs your arm. you’ve been with the kids all day. the kids you’d agreed to procreate when he promised a foolish illusion of a perfect family. you won’t regret your children- don’t think you could ever live with yourself if you did, honestly.

but you’re starting to think you chose the wrong person to start a family with.

he doesn’t speak. his presence is so subtle, it’s like he’s holding his breath. you feel a chill run through your back when he pulls you into his lap, attempting to have you straddle him. your energy, the rest of it, has been used up for the night. you don’t have the proper motivation to even fight with him. on a normal night, maybe you’d push him away a little hard and then come back to apologize. maybe on a normal night, you’d just bury your face in his welcoming neck without fighting him. maybe even ask if he’s okay. you wanna know. you gotta.

however, tonight isn’t a normal night. you haven’t had one in a while.

you have enough energy to turn your head to the side. you can barely stomach looking at his flushed face and wild hair. he’s as red as a tomato, with individual strands of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. you’ve been missing him so much that the images of how happy he used to look simply from being around you and your children flash through your mind, almost as if your own head’s mocking you. like your mind’s telling you how pathetic it is that you’re losing the family you built. going from a loving housewife to your husband’s burden.

does he hate you? is that why he’s been acting so recklessly? you’re no stranger to fantasizing about your life before a family. you often thought about a different career choice or how much free time you’d have if something, anything, had changed. that didn’t mean you didn’t want toji anymore, though. the thought of him hating you or feeling any type of disgust with you caused your stomach to churn painfully, embarrassingly enough. he was still your lover. always had been.

“you know how much i love you, yeah?” he whispers, the scent of liquor heavy on his thick tongue. his words cause you to flush with a bittersweet sensation. loves you? he’s constantly gone and making you worried. you can’t remember the last time he asked about your day or helped out at home.

you pout childishly, stifling an unwanted laugh. nothing about this is amusing to you, but you genuinely can’t help the laugh beginning to escape your lips. “yeah? then i don’t see why you make me worry so much.” you finally bring yourself to face him, tears awkwardly welling in your eyes. blinking them away, you subconsciously pressed your head against his. you can hear his breath hitch in his throat before his hands gently grip your clothed waist. you’ve been doing well at keeping your frustration with your situation at bay, but something about sitting in your husband’s lap just broke you. when was the last time you were able to feel his warmth? it felt nice. you were starting to remember just how much you missed feeling his body against yours again.

god, you were beginning to feel so needy.

“hey,” you hear him start before he quickly stops talking. you assume he’s attempting to rack his tipsy brain for the right words, but it must be difficult in his haze. still, he’s seeming to sober up in your presence. “don’t cry, please. not over me.”

tears still drip from your eyes, your body ignoring his words. how can you stop now? you’ve been crying all day. all week. he’ll never understand what he’s doing to your mind until it’s too late for the both of you. you’re constantly on edge, feeling like you’ll break. he’ll tell you something sweet, claiming he’ll stop or that he’s sorry- but won’t do anything to make you believe it. you’ve stopped trusting him and you hate that so much. hate how much you’re regretting a relationship with him and how far you’ve both taken it.

neither of you is ready to be together.

even then, you can’t leave. you have a child together. and secretly, even if you won’t admit it, you still love him. even if you’re angry and frustrated, and depressed- you’ll always love him. you’ll always be here, keeping the bed warm and keeping food on the table for when he gets home.

that’s one promise you can’t break.

“please, you’re hurting me a lot.” you’re trying to be honest. until now, you’ve held the way you’ve felt for as long as possible, only confronting him when the situation escalates. you’ve been a good woman. a good wife, for him. “i can’t- not by myself. please, toji. please.” you plead with him, bringing the back of your hand up to quickly wipe away your unwelcome tears.

even in the dim light, you can tell how much his face drops seeing you cry. you’re aware of how his mouth opens, but then quickly shuts. his eyes find yours and his hands squeeze your waist a little. nothing is stopping you from releasing a low groan, so you do. poking your lip out while you watched, or rather felt, for his every move.

he presses a chaste kiss to your neck and suddenly, you can’t remember what you were so upset about. the feeling of his scarred lip bewitches you and forces more groans from your lips. your body seems to move on its own, hips gyrating over his clothed bulge in a steady movement. your lips move to his neck now, your brain filling with fuzz while his hands travel over your needy body. goosebumps begin to form along your skin when he touches you, but he barely notices. it’s been too long since you’ve been touched like this.

“there she is,” toji pushes his strands of hair out of his face before gently grabbing your chin. his eyes are intimidating as ever, but you feel a sudden warmth when he looks at you now. the same gentle fire in his stomach you used to feel. it’s dangerous. it’s dangerous because it feels like hypnotism. every worry or stressor in your life seems to become so blurry they’ve disappeared. your feelings are surprisingly at ease, and shoulders that were once tense now drop lazily. “my pretty lil’ housewife. knew you couldn’t stay mad at me…”

his words should snap you out of your daze. they should upset you because now it’s clear he’s either attempting to make a shitty apology or distract you. despite your awareness, you’re unable to bring yourself to stop.

“yeah…” you breathe out hoarsely, attempting to roll your hips against his hardening bulge once again before he stops you, tightly gripping your waist. your head shoots up to stare at him, silently questioning him. his hands quickly leave your waist before silently fumbling with his belt and zipper. you suck your lip into your mouth and nervously pull your nightgown up to your tummy. the world around the both of you seems to fade away, the only thing on your mind now being your husband. toji, toji, toji.

you breathe out a cool breath, shaky fingers snaking down to pull your sticky panties to the side. your husband’s mouth pulls into a grin when he notices his effect on you, blowing some air from his mouth. you watch intently as his thick fingers wrap around the base of his cock. he glances up at you for a split second before he’s rubbing the top of his cock against your wet clit. you shiver, your chest rising and falling dramatically from such a simple touch. you can feel nerves surge throughout your stomach from both pleasure and anxiety, but you ignore it.

it’s painfully quiet, the only sounds being your soft groans and toji’s grunts. he slicks his cock with a mixture of saliva and your arousal before lining it with your entrance. once he pushes in, you can no longer contain yourself. your eyes water again from the stretch, but you’re still moaning. couldn’t stop if you wanted to. your mouth hangs open, tongue lolling to the side while bottoms out in your tight heat.

“been so long baby,” he whimpers, fucking whimpers, in your ear, the familiar feel of his hands now back on your waist. “missed feeling you like this so bad.” you can feel his hips thrust upward, fucking into you in swift movements while you just take it. you feel his cock drag against your sopping walls, the sound of your slick gushing not going unnoticed by either of you. it’s almost awkward the way you just sit there and take what he’s giving you.

his pace slows down now and then, the gentle drag of his throbbing cock sending waves of pleasure through your body. you huff out gentle breaths into his neck while toji has his way with your body for the first time in a while. neither of you feels talkative tonight given the tension, but you wanna cry out to him. your body’s been on fire these nights without feeling his cock filling you up so, so so perfectly.

with a free hand, he makes a gap between the both of you and presses his finger to your aching clit, causing you to cry out loudly. you throw your head back, finally gaining a bit of control. you leisurely rotate your hips, holding onto toji’s broad shoulders as a way to keep your balance. toji never stops moving. he never stops fucking himself inside of you, one hand gripping your ass while the other gently presses down on your clit.

you know he isn’t good at apologies. is this his way of apologizing? you can’t help but wonder.

he could feel your walls gripping him like you were too afraid to let go- and it was driving him insane. you could tell as much, groaning from the way he throbbed inside of you. “gripping me like-” he stops and grunts, pace quickening once again. you can hear the sound of his cock pounding you, along with the sound of your slick continuing to escape your pussy. it’s almost too much, really. “like you want another baby. do you? you wan’ another, hm?”

goodness, no. you don’t need another child in this situation. you wouldn’t be ready and you know he wouldn’t be either. despite that fact, the fantasy of him pumping more children into you was starting to force a reaction from you. your toes clenched tightly while you rode his cock, pulling yourself off a bit before sliding down quickly. the nerves in your stomach were out of control and you broke out in chills. you were almost there. you buried your face in his shoulder while you moaned, riding out your quiet orgasm. his fingers sped on your aching clit, encouraging you to use him for your own pleasure. he was so lovely in bed.

toji whispered how much of a good girl you were for him before he found himself painting your walls in thick ropes of hot cum. he thrusts into you a few more times before halting, hands weakly wrapping around your hips in an attempt to pull you even closer.

he didn’t have to say anything for you to know he was sorry.

“‘m sorry i haven’t changed.” his voice was croaky, you’d noticed.

“‘ts okay. won’t leave you. can’t.” your lips were pursed while you lay your head on his shoulder, thinking about your words. there was nothing sadder to you than your own desperation. no matter how this played out, you couldn’t see yourself leaving him. no matter how much you were regretting your marriage, you’d never leave.

you were realizing that maybe you weren’t good for each other after all. the toxicity of your relationship was nothing to laugh at.

but even then, you’d continue playing the role of his perfect housewife.

#— TOJI FUSHIGURO #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk #jjk smut #jjk x reader #toji smut #toji x reader #smut #fanfic #jujustu kaisen #toji fushiguro smut

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